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danascully77 · 3 years

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X-Files Secret Santa Gift

Hi, @frettingoverthis! I was your secret Santa for the @thexfilesnet Christmas event! As you requested, I wrote a MSR fanfic based on the early years. It’s a bit silly, a bit smutty, and a bit mushy. I hope you like it! <3 (Also, I’m down to write another chapter with more smutty bits if you’d like). Happy holidays!

By the time they get back to the motel, Scully is absolutely freezing. She had blasted the heat in the car, but the cold air has settled into her bones and her body is visibly shivering as she heads to her motel door.

“Shit.” She curses under her breath as she drops her keys, her hand too shaky to navigate the key into the lock.

“I got it.” Mulder is behind her almost instantly, grabbing her keys from the door and nudging her out of the way with his hip.

A blush settles across her cold cheeks and she feels a tingle of warmth for the first time in hours. Spending a night on a rock in the middle of frigid water after abandoning a sinking boat was not what she expected from this investigation, but then again, none of Mulder’s cases ever are to be expected.

“Thanks.” She mumbles as Mulder swings her door open for her. A pout settles over her features when she spots Queequeg’s food and bowl near the frame of the door.

“I am sorry about your dog.” He looks almost bashful apologizing.

“It’s not your fault. I dropped his leash.” She admits, holding out her hand for her motel keys.

Mulder nods and hands them back to her as a harsh shiver races up her spine. He knows better than to address what Scully would consider a weakness and instead asks her about food. When she confirms he nods and takes a step toward his door. “I’ll order pizza.”

“I’ll be over after I shower.” Scully smiles, shutting her door to see a small grin on Mulder’s lips.

The past year has been a year of growth for her and Mulder and she lets a smile of her own grace her features as she strips her wet clothes off of her body.

She makes quick work of ringing out her wet clothing and hanging them over the edge of the tub so that they can dry, and eagerly steps into the heated shower. A sigh escapes her lips as the water warms her skin, easing some of the tension in her shoulders from sitting hunched over most of the night to conserve body heat.

When she finishes her shower, she pulls on a silky pajama set and wraps a heavy robe overtop before quickly drying her hair. It’s a bit wild and unruly, but she has become comfortable enough with Mulder to not fret too much about it.

Once finished, Scully steps outside, shutting her motel door to walk down the sidewalk to Mulder’s room. This is one of the rare motels that doesn’t have adjoining doors, a recent staple in their travels. She knocks once and hears him call “it’s open,” before stepping inside.

“Perfect timing. The pizza just got here.” Mulder smiles and waves his hand to the pizza box on the small table in the room. He is already eating a slice, sitting along the left side of the bed. She realizes he must have also showered because his hair is slightly damp and he is no longer smells like swamp water. Her eyes try not to linger on his t-shirt and sweatpants clad body as she toes off her shoes.

After grabbing her own slice, she sits in the loveseat adjacent to his bed. His room is slightly cooler than hers and another small shiver tingles through her body.

“Still cold?”

“Hmm?” She asks around a mouthful of food, unaware that Mulder had been studying her for the past few minutes. “A bit. The shower helped, but I can’t seem to shake the chill.”

“Come here.” Mulder pulls the covers aside and pats the spot next to him. An eyebrow arches on her face, eliciting a chuckle from Mulder. “Don’t worry, agent Scully. I promise to stay on top of the covers.”

The grin he shoots her way ensures he will be respectful and Scully gives him an eyeroll even as she stands, bringing her pizza with her, and sliding into the bed beside him. She allows him to push the covers over her lap and tries to ignore the spark of liquid heat that shoots up her leg from where his hand brushes her thigh over the covers.

Mulder turns the television on to a random lifetime movie and for the next few minutes they eat in content silence. He abandons his position on the bed to grab another slice before returning to his place over the covers.

Scully can feel the heat emitting from his body and tries to subtly slide closer to him. If he notices he doesn’t say anything, letting her brush their arms together.

Licking her fingers clean of any lingering grease, Scully shuffles lower in the bed, tugging the covers higher on her body. The rational part of her brain is telling her to leave his room, but warmth is finally starting to seep into her chilled frame and she can’t bring herself to move.

Instead, she remains tucked in the sheets and absentmindedly watches the program.

A quiet yawn slips from her lips and she feels her eyes fluttering shut. Outside of their motel, the beginnings of daylight is making its presence known to the world, but neither of them notice. The thick blinds are drawn shut and Scully feels the efforts of staying up all night to fight a giant alligator catching up to her.

Mulder watches her out of the corner of his eye.

He is shocked by how young she looks. He knows of course, that she is still in her twenties, but outside of her pantsuits her youth is impossible to ignore. She looks so tiny and small wrapped in her robe, her blow-dried hair curled around her cheeks.

Just as he is sure that she has dozed off, her sleepy voice startles him out of his admiration of her youth.

“Would you really eat me if you had to?”

Mulder’s cheeks flush as his mind takes a dirty route involuntarily and he is grateful her eyes are still closed. He knows she would have given him hell if she had noticed the innuendo shining behind his eyes.

“Well, it’s just like you said. Survival instincts and all that.”

He turns just in time to see her bottom lip pucker out in a pout. The lack of sleep is making it hard for her to maintain her aura of professionalism and her true reactions are flashing like a neon sign across her face. Mulder relishes in the chance to see casual Scully.

Her eyes flutter open sensing his attention and she trains her sleepy vision on him. “I would have attempted fishing before I ate you.”

Mulder watches with giddy mirth as a cheeky grin takes up the expanse of Scully’s face and she tucks her chin down to her neck in amusement.

“God you’re cute.” The comment slips from Mulder’s lips before he can stop himself and he immediately realizes it is the wrong thing to say. Her smile disappears and she pushes herself to sit straighter against the headboard.

“I should go back to my room.”

Mulder watches as she moves the cover off of her lap and immediately tries to back-track. “Scully, wait. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

“Mulder, it’s late.” She checks the clock next to his bed. “Or really early. I should get some sleep before we have to check out.”

“Wait.” Mulder says again and leans over her lap to grab her hip, keeping her from sliding out of the bed. “Stay. The bed is already warm and you just stopped shivering.”

Scully’s hesitant, arched eyebrow tells Mulder everything he needs to know. He smiles and leans back to his place on the bed, holding his hands up next to his chest in a mock surrender pose.

“I’ll be a gentleman. Scout’s honor.” He senses she is still uncertain and drops his hands to his lap in a moment of honesty. “I don’t plan on sleeping until we are back home. I’m too riled up.”

“Still thinking of Big Blue?” Scully smirks, the first sign that her resolve is slipping.

“Maybe.” He grins back at her.

Despite her better judgement, Scully slides back under the covers. “I’ll stay. But only because it is warm here.” She ends her statement with a firm nod of her head as if solidifying her justification. Which she’s justifying by attributing them to lack of sleep.

“Of course.” Mulder says and hides his smirk by biting his bottom lip.

Scully takes a moment to situate herself under the covers and cradles her head on one of the pillows, facing away from Mulder. “Do you have an alarm set?”

“Yes, Dana.” Mulder teases.

Scully rolls her eyes, but doesn’t reply.

In truth, she has no idea why she is staying in his room. It goes against FBI protocols and is dangerous territory for self-control. Scully ran from a risky relationship, having joined the FBI to halt the irrational decision making in her personal love life.

Yet, staying in his motel room, in his bed, is only proving that she hasn’t run far enough. Mulder’s cheeky spooky charm ignites hot desire within her and she longs for her reckless college self to take over and jump his bones.

Instead, she huddles deeper under the covers and wills her body to go to sleep. She will just have to settle for being close to him.

By focusing on his body heat warming her backside, Scully feels the exhaustion of the night weighing her down and within a few more minutes she is fast asleep.

To Mulder’s credit he does keep his hands off of her but as the credits roll on the lifetime movie, Mulder tucks his legs under the covers feeling a shiver in his body. He doesn’t mean to fall asleep, but a thirty minutes later he is in dreamland.

The sound of the alarm wakes Mulder and he quickly reaches over to switch it off. He feels stiff, having fallen asleep upright against the headboard, and as he moves his hands over his lap to push the covers back he lets out a soft gasp.

The warmth in his lap is not from the blankets, but rather is emitting from the redhead fast asleep on his thighs.

In her sleep, Scully had rolled over and wrapped her body around his. Her head is perched on his lap, her arms encircling his waist, and her legs are tucked around his own. A small piece of her hair is blowing up and down with her breath as it dangles in her face and Mulder gently flicks it behind her ear.

He sends a silent prayer up to Scully’s god that she is facing away from his lap, his morning wood hard and rigid behind the back of her head and he knows he needs to extract her without waking her to save himself from embarrassment.

Mulder gently presses his hands against her arms, intending to pry her from his body, but the action causes Scully to stir in her sleep and bury herself further into his lap. Her head nuzzles against his cock and Mulder has to bite his lip to keep from grunting.

Attempting to push her off once more, she reacts the same way and her arms tighten around his waist.

“Shit.” Mulder curses under his breath and sinks back against the headboard. If he knew Scully wouldn’t be equally as embarrassed to find herself in this predicament, Mulder would find their current situation amusing and possibly adorable.

Staring down at the redhead, Mulder feels his cock jump against her skull and clenches his fists.

“Now is not the time.” Mulder chastises himself. He’ll think about this later tonight when he is alone with his hand down his boxers. Right now, he needs to get her off of him.

Mulder carefully pushes the blankets off of their bodies, exposing just how intwined around him she truly is. Her shorter legs are tucked up and between his own, her knee possessively placed across his thighs.

“Scully.” Mulder whispers, gently shaking her shoulder. “I need you to roll over.”

“Mmmm five more minutes.” Her sleepy form answers, nuzzling closer. It is clear she isn’t quite conscious yet, trapped between reality and dreamland.

“You can keep sleeping. I just need to stand up.” He tries again.

“Warm.” She grumbles.

“I’ll tuck you back in, just roll over.” Mulder’s attempt to reason with a half-asleep Scully fails miserably as her half-conscious mind processes the words. She does roll over, but not how he intended her to.

Instead, she flips herself the other direction and presses her face against the length of his erection covered by his sweatpants.

The movement makes Mulder freeze in surprise and he stares down at her with wide eyes. He is afraid to move, worried that she’ll wake up to realize just how close her lips are to his cock.

His hands hover in the air over her body and he rolls his eyes. “So much for god answering people’s prayers.”

“Scully, roll onto your back.” His attempt falls on deaf ears, Scully having already fallen back to sleep. Her mouth is open slightly and Mulder watches as a small trail of drool drops onto his sweatpants.

He has to throw his head back and shut his eyes for a moment to keep the visual of Scully coating his cock with her spit from his mind.

Glancing back down to his lap, Mulder assesses the situation once more. He thinks that if he can quickly throw her towards the center of the bed that she’ll be shocked enough to be able to slip out before she becomes fully aware of her surroundings. Then he’ll just throw a “good morning” in her direction and act like he has no idea why she was startled awake.

She might ask questions later, but it will give Mulder enough time to disappear into the bathroom and adjust his cock to save them from embarrassment.

He nods to himself to affirm his plan and on an intake of breath, Mulder puts his plan into action.

It almost works.

He manages to throw her toward the center of the bed with a quick thrust of his hips, but what Mulder didn’t account for was Scully’s reflexes. As her body is whipped over to the side, her arms lock tighter around his waist as her body thinks it is being thrown over a ledge.

She awakens with a gasp and as Mulder tries to extract himself from her grasp, he feels himself being tugged forward. The action lands him half over top of her body with his cock directly in front of her face. His hand braces behind her head on the bed to keep from pressing himself into her and he holds perfectly still.

It takes her a second to realize her predicament, but once she does she gasps loudly and pushes herself away from him, extracting her body from underneath his body.

“Mulder?” She questions after there is a safe distance between them on the bed and they are both sitting up, facing the other.

“I wasn’t trying… you were on my lap… I just wanted to stand up.” He fumbles, face turning a light shade of red.

“Are you blushing?” Scully grins at him. It’s one of the first times she has seen him flustered and it surprises her.

Mulder opens and closes his mouth twice, her sudden shift in questioning taking him off guard. “You’re not mad?” He ventures a question back to her.

“As curious as I am about how exactly we ended up like that and how you got under the covers…” she trails off with an eyebrow arch in his direction, “… I’m not mad.”

“You’re not?” He asks again, skeptical about her reaction.

“Mulder, I trust you. I know you weren’t trying to do anything to me.”

His eyes go wide. He hadn’t even considered their position as being anything more than embarrassing, but it’s true. She could have thought he was sexually assaulting her and the idea of that makes him want to puke.

“I would never.” His tone is stern and apologetic.

“I know.” She smiles and reaches across the bed to place her hand on his arm.

Mulder nods and looks down at her hand on his arm before they both glance down to his lap. His erection is clearly visible, tenting his gray sweatpants.

“I…” Mulder starts, reaching down to adjust himself over the top of his pants. As he does he accidently makes eye contact with her and his sentence cuts off in his throat.

“It’s okay.” Her voice sounds raspy to her own ears and she clears her throat to gain some dominance over the situation. “It’s a natural reaction. Many men experience morning erections due to…” “Scully, please stop talking.” He cuts her off.

“Right. Sorry.” She stammers and stands off the bed. “I should go change and collect my things. I’ll meet you at the car.”

Without further communication, she bolts from the room and Mulder sighs. His hand flies down his boxers and he flops across the bed, grunting as his hand makes quick work up and down his shaft.

“I forgot my… shoes.” Scully stops, mid-step in his doorway her voice squeaking on the last word.

“Jesus, Scully!” Mulder groans and jumps off the bed, his hand shooting out of his sweatpants, snapping his boxers against his hips.

“Sorry… I… I didn’t think…” She stutters and Mulder groans again. “Right, right. Going.” Grabbing her shoes, she darts from the door again, slamming it on its hinges.

“Fuck.” Mulder groans and runs the hand that wasn’t down his pants across his face.

The car ride back home is tense and awkward. Neither of them address the elephant in the car and Scully is pretty sure this is the sole reason that article 314 of the FBI handbook forbids agents fraternizing in motel rooms. Nothing good comes out of it.

As Mulder pulls up outside of her house she feels the tension thick in the air. She doesn’t want to leave things like this between them, but isn’t sure how to broach the topic.

“I’m sorry I put us in this predicament.” Mulder’s voice startles Scully out of her internal query.

“What?”

“I shouldn’t have insisted you stay in my room.” The sincerity in his voice unnerves Scully. She is pretty sure she hasn’t heard this tone from him since their very first case together when he told her about Samantha.

“Why did you want me to stay?” Scully makes sure to lower her tone as well, as if afraid of scaring a small kitten away.

“It was just nice to not be alone for once.”

The answer comes so quickly and quietly that Scully thinks she imaged it at first. But a glance at his face tells her she hasn’t misheard. Mulder is looking at the steering wheel, a nervous expression across his features.

Scully wonders, not for the first time, what exactly happened in Mulder’s past relationships to make him so hesitate about emotional conversations.

Needing to comfort him, she reaches across the car to place her hand on his thigh. The touch makes him turn toward her with a reserved expression on his face. “It’s okay.”

“You don’t have to say that. I know I crossed a line today.” Mulder responses, not believing her.

“Mulder, we both did. It’s not like I exactly put up a fight when you suggested to stay in your room.”

A look of realization settles on his features. “Why did you stay?”

It’s Scully’s time to blush softly and she tries to retract her hand from his thigh, but his larger one suddenly drops from the steering wheel to hold it in place. The action traps her hand and her eyes lock with his.

“It was nice to not be alone.” She echoes his reasoning.

They both smile gently at the other before Mulder brings her hand up to his lips to place a kiss on the back of it. Scully flushes a darker red and is grateful for the darkness of the vehicle.

“See you Monday?” Mulder husks, finally letting her have her hand back.

“Monday.” Scully confirms and opens the car door. She slides out and shuts the door before walking around the front to head into her apartment.

Two steps away from the vehicle she turns around and waits until Mulder rolls his window down.

“Everything okay?” He asks when she doesn’t say anything.

“Do you want to come up? I think there is beer in my fridge.”

She doesn’t even need to hold the breath she inhales because Mulder answers almost instantly. “Chinese tonight?”

“I’ll order it once we get upstairs.”

Mulder rolls the window up, turns the car off, and follows Scully into her apartment building. Neither is sure what the night entails, but one thing is certain: they will not be alone tonight.

#christmas exchange #secret santa #msr #x files

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saphie3243 · 3 years

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First Solstice

For my Secret Snowflake @tomtenadia

Nesta spends her first Solstice sober in Illyria, unable to bring herself to brave the inner circle celebration for a second year in a row.

Word Count: 5500+

Read on AO3 here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28297182

There was something soothing about a room being so crowded it became hard to breathe. Better still when the music was so loud you can’t hear yourself think. Best when bodies are grinding, booze is flowing, and something to smoke is being passed around. Everyone was here for the same reason, everyone wanted a distraction. Amren had made several comments that she couldn’t believe Nesta got males to go home with her when she smelled like sweat and a distillery. She apparently didn’t understand that everyone smelled the same at places like this.

The band was better than usual. The music was… actually good. Maybe that’s why the bar was extra packed today. Or maybe it was because Solstice was tomorrow and no one wanted to think about all the ways they’ve disappointed their families this year.

Disappointing. The male she dragged into the bathroom was just that. He wasn’t even worth the time she wasted not getting another bottle of wine. She didn’t even let him finish before booting him out and stumbling back to her favorite stool. The bartender knows her by now and has mulled wine waiting.

It’s warm and more mulled than wine. She nodded to him. They know how to take care of her here, she certainly spends enough. Leo is decent enough to warn her off of the less than savory types that might be interested in more than even she was willing to give. She sighs back into the glass. Why she felt the need to judge herself when tomorrow she was going to get 5 times over from Feyre and insipid little family was why she needed another glass.

She turned around in her stool, facing back out, watching the crowd move in a formless mass. This band had changed over. The new one wasn’t nearly as good. Several months haunting bars and clubs to all hours in the morning had provided Nesta a proper sampling of Velaris’ bands, and, in her mind, gave her a liberty to criticize as she saw fit. This crater-faced crooner was pitchy and couldn’t move a room if he winnowed them. That earlier one had a woman out front. She was unusual for a Fae. She was beautiful, yes, but she wasn’t the wispy waif most fae women were. She was tall and built, covered in a layer of extra fat that filled out wonderful curves and jiggled when she danced. But that wasn’t what made her remarkable. Her voice took your heart by the ears and pulled you into the emotion she wanted you to feel.

“Weird compliment, but I’ll take it.”

“Lor-Cass said you weren’t going home this year,” Emerie placed the breeches she was folding into a pile of identical wares.

“I didn’t go home last year, either,” Nesta swished the black liquid in her cup as she reviewed the ledgers. Last Solstice only served to remind Nesta how much of a stranger she was to her own family, to Feyre’s new one. She would never be able to call that debacle “going home.” This year, however, she could avoid Velaris. Being banned from the city meant Feyre no longer had the ability to force her into attending farcical family meals, no matter how pissy she was about it.

She closed the books with a sigh and placed them back into a drawer. “Numbers look good.”

Emerie moved her pile of pants over to their shelf. “Thanks for looking over them, I haven’t had anyone to check my math since dad.” Nesta nodded and pulled out the books and notepads Emerie kept hidden with her accounting ledgers.

She leafed through to the furthest marked page. “You didn’t get much further last night,” she commented.

“Ah, no time, had to process a big shipment.”

“It’s fine,” Nesta muttered. 5 words underlined. Not the most, not the least. She reviewed the best-guess at the words definition in Emerie’s notebook. Most were correct. She added pronunciation guides next to some. “Macabre means bloody, gruesome.”

“Why is there an R in it?”

“Because the gods are cruel.” She heard Emerie’s answering laugh. “You’re doing well though. We can probably move on to actually writing.” She didn’t really think it would be that hard for Emerie to learn to read and write. She ran this business - she was clearly whip-smart, just uneducated. It could easily be remedied.

“In the meantime, can you answer the orders?”

This little arrangement worked out nicely. Nesta lended her books and made her literate, meanwhile she would help out with store correspondence and would review the books. Reviewing the books was less about checking Emerie’s math - that she had a natural understanding for - and more about making sure each transaction had sufficient notes.

She took another sip from her night-black liquid. The best part of Illyria, in her mind, was this coffee thing. It didn’t grow locally, needing a warmer climate for the source plant to thrive, but it had become a staple in the tribes as a way to keep troops moving with minimal sleep. Hot and bitter, it really shouldn’t have been as pleasant to drink as it was, but she found herself unable to stop.

“When does Lo- Cass head down south?”

“He should be meeting everyone Solstice morning and be back the day after.”

“What are you going to do?”

Stare at the liquor bottles he filled with water to tease me. Drink my weight in coffee and stand outside Devlon’s house at 2 am sending waves of power over the door to fuck with him until some asshole walks by and works up the balls to ask me back to their place - or die of exposure. Whatever’s first.

“Not sure, why?”

“Would you… I don’t know… want to spend tomorrow with… me?” Emerie had approached the table, tapping her fingers with each phrase. Nesta looked her up and down. If it was anyone else, she would have thought Cassian put her up to it. But she was also alone for the holidays, and Nesta knew that was probably a much bigger deal for the Illyrian than it was for her. She had mentioned once that she didn’t have many people since her father died. Adding in that Emerie didn’t do anything she didn’t want to do... If she was asking, it was because she wanted to spend this day with Nesta.

She smiled at her friend, “Come over whenever.”

___

Dinner was hot and ready when she came in. Cassian always made sure that their meals were piping. His own way of combating the awful wet cold of Illyria. She had to wonder if part of it also had to do with keeping the fires low in the house.

Nesta kicked off her boots by the door and carried them to the fireplace. She set them down next to Cassian’s - the secret to warm feet, he’d said. Their coat rack was also by the fireplace for similar reasons. She gently felt the socks left hanging there- warm, thank the Wall. She pulled off her damp knits and left them in a pile on the floor while pulled on the fresh clothes. They went up to hang immediately after.

“Do you need to take every peg? Emerie’s store is only 5 minutes away,” Cassian called from across the house. He was standing in the kitchen with two bowls of stew.

“Five minutes flying, 25 walking,” she turned to him. “Through a foot and a half of snow.”

She pointed to the bottom of her dress and the crust of ice that had formed there. He grimaced.

“I would have picked you up if you asked.”

“Unnecessary.” She pulled the dress over her head and left it to hang on the coat rack. After months of living together, they had long overcome the initial discomfort with mild nudity. Not that she was anywhere near naked. She still had the chemise that ended at her knees, her wool sleeves, her knitted belly warmer, and a double layer of wool hose. She was more covered than either Amren or Morrigan on any given day. Finally in only dry clothes, she marched over the kitchen and took the bowl from Cassian.

Four months of living with Cassian in Illyria was… surprisingly easy. The mountains were peaceful, simple. The way of life here is more similar to the human society she grew up with than the magical speed of Velaris. Emerie was a pleasant discovery. She still wanted a drink, desperately, but the biting cold had a similar numbing effect if you stood out in it long enough. The worst part was being dragged out of bed at dawn for “training”. Though her training was less about learning to fight herself and more about standing around the training rink terrifying males while Cass tried to teach little girls to throw a punch.

Coincidently she hadn’t gotten laid in 4 months either.

“As much as I love seeing you in your underwear, you do have very nice, very warm leathers.”

“Bite me,” she said as she shoveled food in her mouth. She had made it this long avoiding putting those damn things on. She wasn’t going to cave now. No matter how much imagining the fur lining made her whimper.

He smiled down at her, making a point of flashing his teeth. “Gladly.” Whatever mischief was running through his thoughts cleaned itself up as he changed subjects. He was the other surprise. The animosity between them was turned down to a polite simmer. Oh they still bickered, and they flirted. They never said it, and God willing never would, but any edges of disgust in their banter had long been smoothed by fondness. “Az will be picking me up at 7 tomorrow. If you change your mind about coming with me, be ready to go then.”

“I won’t,” she answered, choosing not to tell him that she would be spending the day with Emerie.

Surprisingly, he didn’t push.

“Oh good, you’re up. I’m making breakfast, if you want.”

Nesta woke up in a bed that was far too clean to be her own. Her head ached, her throat was dry, and she was naked. She sat up and took in her surroundings. This room was not hers. She had less furniture and more piles of shit everywhere. She was trying to figure out how she got there when the door opened and a woman came wandering in.

Nesta recognized her as soon as she spoke and finally recalled the night prior. She was the singer for that band. They chatted each other up at the bar for hours, getting progressively drunker. By the time the bar closed they stumbled home - going to hers because it was closer. They jumped each other as soon as the door closed. It was a new experience for Nesta, being with a woman. And it was good. The singer sounded as lovely when she came as she did when she belted.

Staying for breakfast would be nice. Something real in her stomach to soak up the alcohol was very needed. And if she played it right, there was a chance for as lovely a morning as there was a night.

“Yeah, I’ll be out in a minute.”

Nesta waited until her partner had left the room before she pulled on her dress and snuck out the window.

Lovely wasn’t what she deserved.

___

No training didn’t mean that Nesta didn’t wake up at first light. It just meant she didn’t need to get dressed. Part of the initial torture of first arrival was learning that Cass put her in an east facing room with larg windows on the walls - and refused to let her have curtains. Privacy apparently wasn’t as important as making sure she didn’t have oversleeping as an excuse.

She swore at the sun, as she did every morning, and felt around in the bed next to her. Before getting out from under the covers, she pulled on her fluffy robe. This little trick she learned back in the hut. Sleep with the clothes you’re going to wear if you want them to be warm in the morning.

She trudged out to the main room and kitchen, beginning the process of preparing breakfast. Another rule of the house, if you are up first, you cook first. Same for dinner and coming home. Lunch they were on their own. There was a housemaid when she first arrived, but… she didn’t last long. She found the tea kettle and set about making hot water while she poured oats into bowls. From their icebox - a box they just left sealed outside to let winter keep cold - she pulled out a package of cured bacon. The kettle whistled, and she used the entire batch to steep the coffee. The next round of water was for the oatmeal.

The shadows between the windows grew and darkened. Before he even stepped out, Nesta greeted him.

“I’m making coffee. Get a cup if you want some.”

“Thank you. I’ll take bacon, too, if you don’t mind.”

“It’s Cass’s money,” she answered, adding three more pieces to the griddle.

Azriel was the only one from Velaris that visited with any sort of regularity, mostly due to how closely he needed to work with Cassian. He would come up about once a week for updates or meetings or to winnow Cass somewhere. He had begun to make a habit out of arriving early to chat with Nesta. Sometimes he just came up to hang out with them. He probably only came up to spend time with Cassian, but since she was usually around, they included her.

No one else from the Inner Circle bothered to visit. Rhysand and Feyre came up once, but that… did not end well. Elain felt too guilty to come see the sister whose banishment she had consented to. Morrigan wasn’t even on the island, so it wasn’t a surprise she didn’t stop by. And Amren… Amren was keeping her vow to not speak to Nesta until she apologised to Morrigan. Something Nesta still didn’t think she needed to do.

Morrigan spent 4 nights a week at a gay bar. How the fuck was Nesta supposed to know she wasn’t out?

“Elain asked me to bring this,” he conjured a set of books and hand-knitted socks into existence, placing both onto the table while pouring himself a cup. The books were tied together with ribbons and decorated with small bows, clearly meant to be her Solstice present. The socks - well, Elain had taken up knitting sometime in the last year and had Azriel deliver a pair every time he visited.

“Why didn’t she just ask Cassian to bring it back with him?” Nesta scooped some brown sugar into her oatmeal.

The ever so slight blush on his cheeks told her what his answer did not. “She wanted to make sure you had a present for the holiday.”

“Because she knows how much I care about holidays,” and it had nothing at all to do with you leaving from her room this morning and it seeming convenient at the time. They wanted to be discrete, and Nesta accepted that - no matter how bad they were at hiding it. She poured in the hot water into her breakfast and stirred. “Any messages with that present?”

“The bacon looks done.”

“Azriel.”

He sighed. “No.”

Nesta tightened her jaw and moved the bacon from the stove to a plate, allowing him to have a piece. She wasn’t sure if she was more pissed that he didn’t have a message or that she was still hoping he would. Either way she was going to play it off. “I’m surprised they didn’t have you hock me about going, too.”

Az cocked his head. “Cass made it pretty clear you weren’t ready for that.” She snapped up at him.

“And what was his barometer for knowing if I was ready?” She sneered.

But Az only shrugged, well accustomed to playing referee for Cassian and Nesta by now. “You not wanting to go.”

Nesta was still thinking about Azriel’s answer by the time Emerie came over. She couldn’t decide if Cassian was being a presumptive ass or if he was being genuinely considerate. He had a habit of being both interchangeably. Like when he finally made his way to the kitchen, fully dressed and demanding breakfast. He added in some last minute jabs about coming back early if she got lonely as Az winnowed away with him. And even through the mocking tone, the message was clear. “If you don’t want to be alone, just say the word and I’ll come back.”

He still didn’t know she was spending today with Emerie then.

“Do you not own any decorations or do you just not like them?” she asked, looking around the room.

“What decorations?” Nesta strained in her thoughts, there was a lot of extra shit in Feyre’s living room last year…

“Solstice decorations.You know, candles, holly, garlands,” Emerie explained. It sounded like what Feyre had up - and what most of Velaris had up - but in all honesty she was not sober enough last year to make the connection that it was for the holiday and wasn’t just some seasonal nonsense. Emerie squinted at her and placed a wrapped box on the table. Presents!

Fuck. That’s right. Fae exchange presents on the Solstice.

“I honestly don’t know.”

Emerie squinted at her. “What do you mean you don’t know?”

Nesta shrugged. “Humans don’t have holidays.” At most they had festivals, but they were distinctly not holidays, just an excuse to drink and dance with as many strangers as possible. The closest thing they had to a formal holiday was Treaty Day, and even that was not the intimate affair this seemed to be. She hadn’t even heard of a Solstice dinner until Feyre asked her to go last year.

“How do you not have holidays?” she asked.

“Holidays used to be very dangerous days to be human.” There were plenty of horror-stories around the suffering of human slaves on religious days. Whether they were being traded as gifts or killed as sacrifices... even if the stories were exaggerations, it led to whole-sale rejection of everything religious by human society.

“So you know nothing about solstice?” Emerie placed a hand on her hip.

“It is the longest night of the year.”

Emerie made it her mission to instruct Nesta on the finer points of an Illyrian solstice. First and foremost, every 5 years it was the last day of the Blood Rite. The theme of doing battle still continued in the other years, most tribes had hunts or tournaments for the men to mark the occasion. Women were expected to work the day to prepare for the night. The night of the Solstice was the only true peace Illyria ever saw. Solstice nights were for feasting, music, and dancing. Fighting after dark was strictly forbidden. Gifts were expected between families, friends, and especially rivals. It symbolized an acceptance that though Illyrians may compete with one another, they were still members of one army.

“Does this tribe have a tournament?” Nesta asked. Cassian hadn’t mentioned anything about it, or a feast afterwards, but he might not have thought her interested. Or ready, she thought ruefully.

“Devlon hosts a melee tournament. Puts all the entrants in the ring together and waits to see who comes out. The large feast at the end is prepared by entrant’s families,” Nesta knew she meant women in those families, “For the entrants and their families. Dad didn’t enter, so we would just watch the tournament and then spend the night at home.”

“Do you want to watch the tournament this year?”

“Yeah but you’re still in your pajamas,” Emerie laughed.

She watched by the door as Nesta dressed in her warmest clothes. Watching men fight on her day off wasn’t exactly Nesta’s idea of a good time. But Emerie wanted to go. And Cassian had tried to make the decision of whether or not she should go by not telling her about it, so that in and of itself made her want to go. Because neither were entering, and certainly neither were cooking, they wouldn’t be able to attend the feast after. But that’s just as well. A night back at the house with hot drinks and Cassian’s pantry seemed just fine to both of them.

The tournament took place in the training rings. Normally the 5 or so rings were roped off from one another, allowing different ages and skill levels to train separately. But today Devlon had taken down the separators, providing an obnoxiously large space for his melee. But it was needed. It seemed every one of Devlon’s soldiers signed up for the tournament. About 200 competitors, ranging from small boys to grown men. There were even some father-son pairs helping each other warm up in the ring.

Outside the rings, there was yet another crowd of voyeurs. Women and girls taking breaks from their preparations to watch, the merchant families - like Emerie’s, and the men too old and frail to compete anymore. Standing at the head of it all was Devlon, a poor-man’s Cassian. He caught wind of them walking up and immediately flared at the sight of Nesta before turning back to the tournament. Being a witch in Illyria had certain perks. Devlon’s apprehension being only part of it. The crowd parting for them, allowing them to stand at his side and have the best view, was another.

“Soldiers!” Devlon called as he stepped forward. All 200 men turned to him at attention, well trained by now. “You know the rules. No siphons, no weapons, no flying, no killing. You fall, you’re out. You yield, you’re out. You get knocked out of the ring, you’re out. The last men standing at sunset wins.” He raised his arm in the air, making it visible to all. He took one last look around the ring, took a breath, and dropped his arm and stepped back as he bellowed, “Lay on!”

The chaos was immediate. One of the younger kids, there without a father to hold them up, fell immediately. The rest were at each other's throats, kicking, punching, wrestling. Part of her was worried that the battle-royale would be too similar to the war. But without the clang of steel and the geysers of blood, she found this was more similar to the crowded dance halls in Velaris. Devlon, now standing next to the girls, kept his eyes on the mock-battle as he spoke. “I thought you’d be with Cassian today.”

“And miss a battle royale? Honestly Devlon, do you know me at all?” She smiled at him, relishing how he flinched at her grin. “Can’t help but notice none of the girls are competing.”

His jaw tightened. “The Solstice melee is not training. It’s tradition.”

“Now you said the same thing about the girls training, too, did you not?” Nesta had no interest in ever learning how to fight herself, and didn’t really care if girls trained or not. But there was a difference between choosing not to do something and not being allowed to do something.

“If Lord Cassian wants to insert his views here as well, he should be here to do it himself.” The harsh words were undercut by the bead of sweat racing down his cheek. He wasn’t wrong. That was part of the reason Cass was stationed up here full time. Changing the rules around women required full time intervention. In Nesta’s mind, it also required more input from the women, but that was a discussion for another time.

“Maybe next year,” Nesta yawned. She watched the battle progress. After the initial early eliminations, they had plateaued into a minor stalemate. Some alliances also became clear. Groups of friends or families fighting together, watching each other’s back, catching each other before they fell. She didn’t cheer as the crowd or Emerie did. Rather, her and Devlon seemed to be the only calm people there.

Then… something odd happened. One of the teenage boys fell suddenly. He didn’t seem to get hit particularly hard, for one. And secondly, he didn’t get back up. Both Devlon and Nesta leaned forward, looking closer. She saw it first, sniffed it out. Blood. The boy had been hit in the side and was bleeding from the wound.

“Devlon,” she said very carefully.

“I know, I didn’t see who did it.”

“We need to get him out.”

“His friends will get him out.”

She held her breath, watching. No one came. She hadn’t been watching him particularly, but she didn’t remember him teaming up like the others. The way they walked around him… “He doesn’t have friends,” she snarled. Even Emerie gulped as Nesta’s anger stirred the well of her power. Cass told her stories. Back when the shakes and cold sweats were unbearable, he stayed up with her and told stories, trying to distract her through it. Trading one dark truth for another. She told him about watching her mother die, he told her that he was alone for years until Rhys. A bastard that was left to fend for himself, potentially to die if he wasn’t strong enough. From the way they walked over this kid, he was the same. She needed to get him out of there. He was bleeding out and no one was doing a damn thing about it.

“We cannot interfere with the melee,” Devlon said, “it’s against the rules.”

“So is weapons, but someone clearly has a knife,” she spat. Devlon didn’t say anything to that. He just kept scanning the make-shift battlefield, searching. “There!” he shouted, and his green siphon flashed. Another teenager was plucked into the air by his wings. He kicked and thrashed, a small knife in his fist. Devlon pulled the kid to him, releasing his magic’s grip and decking as asshole as he got in range. The boy went down with just that one hit.

But the first boy was still out there. He was still bleeding out. Alone in a crowd. He was going to die. He was going to die in this little mock battle where killing was strictly forbidden. Was this why Cassian didn’t tell her about it? Did he have holidays like this? Did older boys gang up on him and try to kill him without anyone noticing? Was he left alone to bleed on his own?

“Nesta!”

Emerie’s voice was farther away than it should have been, and muffled by a crowd of idiots fighting with one another. She wasn’t entirely sure how she got here, but Nesta was standing over the fallen boy. As they registered her presence, one by one the soldiers stopped. “The witch.” “It’s the witch.” “Why is the witch here?” She ignored them all, kneeling down to the injured. He was pale and grimacing, having lost a lot of blood - still losing it, actually. The knife had gotten him just below the ribs, catching who knows which organs. Without another word she picked him up, allowing his head to rest against his shoulder and his body to rest on her torso.

She turned back to Emerie and Devlon, one watching with concern, the other pissed as hell. She stepped towards them, slowly, carefully. She didn’t want to jostle the kid’s injuries more than necessary. No one came near her as she walked out of the ring. At first she thought it was the same as the audience, that they were simply afraid of the witch. But a glance around gave her a different answer.

Her power extended around her in a sphere, creating barriers of ethereal flowing silver. The grass around her withered and died, and no man here wanted to see what would happen if they touched the walls of silver flames. When she got to the edge of the ring, the rope touched her power and rotted to nothing. She didn’t know how this boy still lived in her arms, but he was still breathing- barely. She spoke to both Devlon and Emerie.

“He needs a healer.”

“I’ll find Marta and have her meet you at the house.”

Nesta nodded to her friend and turned to walk the familiar path to Cassian’s house, her power dying down as she crossed the threshold.

Marta arrived at the same time she did. They set the kid down on the kitchen table as the old woman got to work. The boy did get stabbed, but only in the liver. It took longer than Nesta would have thought, certainly longer than the battlefield-healing she remembered from the war, but Marta was able to stabilize him and stitch him up. She left them with instructions to make sure the boy didn’t get infected or pop a stitch in the night.

“Not how you planned to spend the Solstice, I’m guessing?” Nesta asked.

Emerie tilted her head, “No but seeing every warrior in the village piss himself is worth it.” She slumped down on the couch. “We have a moment, want to open your present?” she gestured to the box on the table.

“Y-yeah, just let me grab yours.” Nesta ran back to her room. She grabbed the stack of books Elain bought her, still wrapped from this morning. Definitely a faux paus, but she would never know.

Nesta came back out with the present and set it in front of Emerie. “Happy Solstice.” The look of awe and excitement was worth it. As Emerie began to untie the books, Nesta began to unwrap her present. Under the paper was a long, thin box. She unlidded it to find a set of leather and wood hair pins - Illyrian style hair pins, made to not get cold in winter.

“Thank you,” she said, still admiring the etching on the leather thong.

“I’d thank you but, I think mine goes to Elain.”

“What?” Nesta whipped her head up to see the first book open on the table and Emerie holding a hand written note. She was clearly reading it but let Nesta snatch it from her anyway.

“So should I let you borrow the books or-”

“Shush.” Emerie laughed and paged through the first novel as Nesta read the note.

Dear Nesta,

I know you are still upset with me, and with Feyre, for sending you away. And you are right to be upset. You were there for me, after the Cauldron and after Grayson. You held our family together after Feyre left. And when you needed us, needed me, I didn’t know how to help.

I don’t know if it is the power or just my own knowledge of you, but I knew there was nothing I could do. I knew that if I tried to help, I would only fail. And that is not an excuse. Fear of failure does not make not trying ok, but it is what I did. And I am sorry.

I know putting this in a letter hidden in a book is still the coward’s way, but I don’t think I could face you if I didn’t apologize first. I hope to have Azriel take me for a visit after the Solstice if you would have me.

Your sister,

Elain

___

They stayed up most of the night, playing cards, reading, and watching over the boy. Nesta had planned to stay up the full night, but using her power that day and waking up at 6 am had taken its toll. She found herself drowsing into her cards. Around 3am, Emerie sent Nesta to bed, agreeing to stay up and keep watch. Nesta’s head barely hit the pillow before she was out.

She woke in darkness. Not odd for her. Waking up in the middle night was fairly common. But when she looked to her window, she saw that it was not night. There was sunlight shining behind the makeshift curtain someone had thrown over her window. She pushed herself up. Who?

“You’re up.”

She turned her attention to the chair on the other side of her bed. Cassian sat there, watching over her with an indecipherable expression. She sat up.

“When did you get home?”

He ran his fingers through his hair. It was down and knotted, unusual for him. There were bags under his eyes. “Last night, before dawn. Az brought me back,” he brought his hands together and looked at her. “Emerie told me what happened. You lost control again.”

“How’s the boy?”

“Petros is fine. I moved him to my room to sleep off the rest of the potion the healer gave him.”

“That’s good.”

“No, you couldn’t,” his hands gently reached out and lifted her face to look at him. “Why couldn’t you?”

Cassian moved to the bed, sitting next to Nesta. “You lost control for him.”

“I-I couldn’t just let him bleed out,” she explained, staring at a spot on the bedspread.

Because he reminded me of you. She didn’t know if she said the words out loud or not. But Cassian’s answering kiss was so soft, so gentle, so sweet, she didn’t care. She responded to his kiss in kind, her hand cupping his face, finally feeling those perfectly chiselled cheekbones. His tongue passed over her lower lip and she opened for him, inviting him deeper. She met his tongue with her own and wrapped her hands around the back of his head, pulling him closer. He grinned through the kiss, gently placed his hand on her shoulders, and pushed her back down on the bed.

It was the first time Nesta stayed for breakfast after.

___________

Tagging potential readers:

@perseusannabeth

#secret snowflake #Nesta Archeron #Nessian #Cassian #post Acowar #post acofas #elain archeron #emerie #Nesta and Emerie will be besties if it kills me #Nesta and Cassian adopt that kid.#Potato-burp is ask-able tumblr #so that one is in the exchange.#but my writing goes here so here we are #never posted fic directly to tumblr before.#weird

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jadekitty777 · 3 years

Text

On Your Six, Chapter 5

Day 5: Mission Go- Cooking for @taiqrowweek

Wait what do you mean I switched the prompt days around? Dunno what you’re talking about ;)

(Don’t worry it’ll make more sense in the long run)

Rating: T for this chapter, M for overall

Words: 2.5k

Summary: Qrow was what most of society would call a small-town criminal. But to those oppressed, he hoped only to be a healer. In an effort to make a change in the world, he moves from kingdom to kingdom, searching for branded omegas in need. His goal? To turn the derogatory words the reformatories forced them to bear on their skin into works of art.

Then one day, his past catches up to him in the form of Taiyang, his former best friend, with a brand of his own stained onto his skin and a plea for help in his eyes. Qrow has no choice but to answer, even if it means he’d have to face his mistakes once and for all.

[An ABO-style universe in a modern-day style Remnant. No Grimm, because people are the real monsters in this one]

Ao3 Link: On Your Sleeve

Tai had started feeding him.

At first, it had begun with little things, shortly following that fateful day he gave him the picture. Prepackaged snacks or fresh fruits or vegetables as a healthy addition to the cheap, instant lunch meals he could easily afford. Then it quickly dissolved into tubberware covered leftovers of various pastas or stews, things that kept well and were well adept at making in large servings.

By late May, with the advent of Qrow’s twenty-sixth birthday, Tai arrived at his place loaded with grocery bags, a proper skillet and a determined purpose to make his favorite dish of chicken curry. It was, hands down, one of the best meals he’d had in years.

Yet, even after the occasion passed, the trend continued until it seemed Sunday became the day his stomach most looked forward too. Normally, Qrow would put up a fight about being doted after – Tai wouldn’t be the first omega to develop the habit. The most prominent of whom had been Maria, whose sessions had to be shorter than most both due to her age and the difficulty working with thinner, more wrinkled skin.

But she had also been a grandmother. A feisty one, who smacked him on the head a lot with her cane, but was also kind and worried and constantly remarking on his too-thin frame until he just gave up and let her do whatever she wanted.

But with Tai, he couldn’t even manage to feign annoyance. In part because Tai’s cooking was damn good and he’d be a fool not to gobble it up at every opportunity. But also, because it gave an excuse for their sessions to run long.

He didn’t even think it was a one-sided endeavor. Beyond the innate omega instinct to care for and Tai’s naturally generous personality, there was a loneliness in those blue eyes that told the truth behind all the fumbled attempts to waste time or make breaks run longer. By July, Tai wasn’t leaving his place until at least ten at night.

Neither of them complained about the arrangement.

Then August rolled around, and Qrow had an absolutely foolish idea.

The first Sunday of the month was on the 5th and it passed with little incident or notice. They were back at the first of the designs, arguably the most complex with the amount of color layers needed, so their dinner was nothing fancy. Just simple sandwiches and side salads, so most of their time could be spent under the needle instead.

He’d banked on that happening so that what would happen next wouldn’t have a chance of paling in comparison.

You busy tonight? He messaged early Wednesday.

Tai responded a few hours later, probably when his first break popped up. No. Why?

Come over after work. I have something to give you. He replied after he’d finished with his client for the day, sometime early afternoon.

The final response was cheeky and towards the end of the school day. You’re about as subtle as a brick.

Almost at 6 P.M. on the dot, there was a knock on his door.

“Coming!” Qrow called, dancing between the kitchen and the table to make sure everything was perfectly in place. He gave it all a satisfactory nod, then hurried over, sliding the door open only enough so he could wedge between it and the threshold, blocking Tai’s view.

The omega looked different, fresh out of work. His blond hair had been lightly gelled, just enough to give it a bit of bounce. The casual wear he was normally in was swapped out for a more professional look; pants and a collared shirt ironed of any wrinkles and shoes shined enough they gleamed.

So of course his eyes fell onto the one thing that completely ruined the look with a teasing snort. “Nice tie, Tai.”

“You like it?” He grinned, pulling at the absolutely hideous yellow abomination that was covered in yapping cartoon corgis. “The kids love ‘em. They call me the Funny Tie Guy.”

Oh Gods. “Bet you get a kick out of it every time.”

“I literally can knot get enough of it.” Tai had the nerve to wink as he said it too.

Qrow groaned. “You are so lucky it’s your day. Speaking of-” He swung the door open, revealing the room with a flourish.

Admittedly, it wasn’t much. Still, it was satisfying to see the way Tai’s face lit up with joy as he spotted the modest little table set for two, dinner already set in their bowls and the most expensive white wine he could reasonably afford already poured. The omega looked from it to him, grin growing, “You did all this?”

“Yeaaah.” Qrow flushed, trying to hide his anxiety. He’d never been great with giving gifts. “Happy birthday ya big lug.”

Tai laughed, throwing an arm over his shoulders and pulling him into a hug. “Thank you. This is just what I wanted.”

He could have stayed there forever – but he didn’t work himself to death to let dinner go cold. He pat his back, mindful of the healing wounds, and said, “Let’s eat.”

Qrow’s relationship with cooking was disjointed and the spread seemed to reflect that. The fried rice was perfect; it was one of the first things his mother taught him how to make on the stove. The garlic broccoli, more of a staple in the Xiao Long family, had a bit of crunch where some of the pieces hadn’t fully cooked through because he hadn’t had Tai beside him to remind him to stir. Just like the many other easy things he helped him learn how to make when he found out he and Raven had been living off nothing but white rice and peanut butter sandwiches for months.

The moo shu pork was the trickiest and most complicated dish by far and nothing he’d ever even attempted before. His amateur hand left it looking a bit of a mess as they poured it onto the tortillas. Unpretty as it was in presentation and lacking a few of the pricier ingredients like oyster sauce and sesame oil, the marinade had the pork still bursting with flavor.

The wine was there to act as a garnish to make the food seem better than it was. Which was probably why Qrow kept pouring it until he and Tai had split two and a half glasses between each other. Either that, or because Tai was adorably chatty when he was tipsy.

“So, there we are, watching about thirty of these Fayblades spinning around, knocking into each other and some of the cheaper ones are falling apart. Everything is going too fast for any of us to do the math problems on them. And Missy and I just look at each other like we both just realized what a horrible mistake we made. It was only the first week back and I was pretty sure we were about to lose an eye or something.” As he told the story, Tai animatedly gestured around with his glass, liquid sloshing almost past the rim. “We get the kids to back up until they all stop. Then Missy starts gathering a few up, saying how this time we would try less so we can actually keep count – when Velvet speaks up from the back and says ‘Blue wins 124 to 90’.”

Qrow polished off his own glass, setting it on the table. “That’s the quiet one with the rabbit in her bag, right?”

“Mmhmm. She kind of tries to hide when everyone starts looking at her, so I don’t say anything right then. Just take it as fact and move on. But when recess comes around, I pull her aside and ask her how she knew the answer. And she tells me, completely serious mind you, that she’s a camera. So it was easy to do all the math when she basically had the pictures saved in her head. And I’m like, holy shit!” He taps his temple for emphasis. “She has a photographic memory.”

“Ain’t that just a myth?” He asked, starting to gather the empty dishes.

Tai waved him off. “Pfft. Qrow, you gotta stop thinking like the world’s just a big science textbook. It’s more like a-a fairytale! Where magic can happen at any moment.”

“Tai, you’re drunk.”

“I am not!” This time, when he gestured, some of the wine hit the table. He blinked down at it. “Ah, shit!”

He laughed. “Man, you still can’t hold your liquor.”

“You dishonor me.” The omega accused, pointing to his right hand as if it were an exhibit. “I’m holding it just fine.”

That only made him laugh harder, until he had to wipe tears from the corners of his eyes.

Somehow, they found themselves laying side by side on the bed, shoulders pressed together. Tai’s scroll was balanced between the head of the bed and the wall, the display playing the finale of their favorite show growing up, Silver Eyes. It was the height of the final battle. Rosette was locked in battle with Bastinda while the rest of her friends lay, unconscious or ensnared in traps, around them.

“Do you not yet see how pointless this all is? How my power eclipses you all?” Bastinda snarled as she swung her wand down. “You’re all just insignificant riffraff!”

Rosette seemed to find some strength, blocking the attack with her broadsword. “You’re wrong! No one is insignificant! Even the smallest of us has something good to contribute.”

“Foolish child!” A powerful gravity spell threw Rosette to the ground, knocking her sword out of her hand.

“Gods,” Qrow griped. “This is cheesier than I remember.”

Tai shushed him. “Hush, the best part’s coming up!”

He rolled his eyes, but his traitorous mouth smiled all the same. Alright, so maybe this part was pretty hype. Watching it play out again on the screen, he felt ten again, practically glued to screen as his excitement built.

A large shadow stretched across the valley, delaying the witch from striking the final blow as she turned to the source. Up on the hill, sun behind him, was Zwei. Rosette’s little corgi that had been with her from the start of the show. He came racing down the hill, stubby little legs barely able to pick up speed.

Bastinda sneered, pointed her wand at the dog. “Pathetic.”

“Zwei, no!!” Rosette cried, tears filling her eyes just as the blast fired.

It seemed like the end for the lovable pup as smoke filled the air.

And then, with a blast of light, something came flying out of the dust and landing before the witch. The world rumbled under powerful paws as the giant white wolf stood before her, letting out a powerful growl that brought her to her knees.

“I don’t believe it!” Blanca cried from her mirror prison. “Zwei’s a Guardian!”

The rest of the finale played out just as he remembered, Zwei turning the tide of the fight and giving Rosette a chance to free her friends, all of them coming together for one final attack that rid the world of the cruel witch once and for all. After that, the wolf turned back into the lovable and more marketable corgi pup, and everyone headed home to enjoy true peace for the first time in a millennium.

Tai sat up as the credits began to roll, stretching his arms above his head. “I still think it holds up pretty well.”

“Sure, if you ignore the fact they completely sidelined Silver Eyes. It’s only the title of the show.” He snarked.

“Come on now. It’s not about the power ups. It’s about the journey and the-”

“Friends they made alone the way.” He mimed gagging. It was only the motto shoved down his throat at the end of almost every episode.

Tai merely laughed at his antics, picking up his scroll and slipping off the bed. “It’s late. I better head home.”

Maybe it was the vestiges of the alcohol or maybe it was the other’s scent, sweeter and more inviting than usual, that loosened his tongue enough to offer, “You could crash here, if you want.”

“In your bed? We hardly fit.”

Acquiescently, he rolled onto his side, practically shoving himself against the wall as he pat the wide, empty space. “It’ll be fine. And your drunk.”

“Hardly. And I’ll have to get up early to get back home and get ready.”

“It’s fine.” The noise left him involuntarily. It wasn’t a growl, really; it was barely more than a rumble. Regardless, the regret hit him instantly as he bit down on his tongue and turned his face up apologetically.

The omega just arched a brow, entirely unaffected and unimpressed by his pitiful display. Then he chuckled, any meteor-sized tension there could have been burning up long before impact could be made. “Gods, you’re such a punk, you know that?”

“I…uh…”

“Alright, you win.” Tai set the alarm on his scroll with his right hand, while he crossed the room and got the lights with his left. He used the glow coming off of the device to find his way back, dropping it onto the nightstand. In the bits of moonlight coming from the window, Tai became an erotic beauty as he undid his tie and buttons, shrugging out of his shirt. His belt hit the ground next – though mercifully he kept his pants on.

Qrow watched him, utterly transfixed, as he lowed himself to the bed, mattress dipping anew with the readded weight as the omega stretched out onto his stomach. Beyond all comprehension, he had to fight every muscle in his body from reaching for him. The need to bring him close and curl around him was overwhelming. So, he shoved his hands underneath the crook of his neck and locked his elbows.

Why had he thought this was a good idea again?

Tai heaved out a long sigh, mumbling, “Goodnight Qrow.”

He swallowed, voice barely above a whisper as he responded, “G’night.”

Without a clock in the room, there was no telling how long he lay there, coiled up tight like a spring waiting for the pressure to come loose, listening to the sounds of Tai’s breathing slowly evening out. It wasn’t until Qrow was absolutely certain the other wouldn’t wake that he risked it.

Though it felt a bit reprehensible, it was with that same uncontrolled desire in which he found himself scooting his upper half forward, inch by agonizing inch, until the bridge of his nose was pressed up against the curve of Tai’s shoulder.

His eyes slipped shut, breathing in deeply. The omega’s scent swirled around him, sunflowers and soil and bright summer days; a smell that was unmistakably, irrevocably Tai.

Here. With him.

Slowly, the rigidity to his muscles relaxed and he finally drifted off, the scent embracing him as securely as its owner could.

#qrow branwen #taiyang xiao long #Taiqrow #taiqrowweek #rwby #fanfiction #Chase Firekitten's Tale

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fanfictionaries · 4 years

Note

Giiiiirl, I am CRAVING some baking with Bucky. Like some good old recipe from his mom or sisters, eating half the batter, being all innocent and goofy. Maybe Reader introducing him to the world of cupcakes with a second batch of batter they make. Just a sweeeet baking day ❤️

I made myself happy sad with this one. XD

Might be a little more angsty than you were looking for, but all the sweet fluff is there as well!

Inspired by my own great great grandmother’s recipe.

Orange Rolls

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x female reader

Words: 3k

Warnings: None, just the fluffiest fluff you can imagine; slight angst.

Author’s Note: I loved doing this, so please people. Send me more requests! ALSO this is an actual family recipe of mine. I recommend trying it!

I recommend listening to this song while reading this: https://open.spotify.com/track/7pR7yPgbYcipmTUHT5g68p?si=nQZeCOmoTcm43qOI1YRPNA

***

Step 1. Dissolve 2 yeast cakes in ¼ cup warm water.

The room was alight in the glow of soft warm sun. Nestled in your blankets, you rubbed the sleep from your eyes and yawned widely, stretching and turning to snuggle into the familiar warmth of Bucky. Firm muscle, soft skin, ticklish arm hair – all missing. Instead only cool sheets, drawn back on his side of the bed. You didn’t have to check the time to know it was early, but you rolled over to the bedside table to check your phone anyways. Five AM. Much too early to be up on a Sunday morning, even for your early bird of a super soldier. Rolling onto your back, you stayed quiet, attempting to hear any signs of life in the small apartment. Perhaps he’d only gotten up to use the bathroom. The sound of heavy items falling and a string of curses coming from the kitchen brushed away the thought. Jumping out of bed, you pulled one of Bucky’s large sweatshirts over your head and stepped into your slippers.

When you rounded the corner, the first thing you noticed was the expanse of your pantry laid out onto the floor. The second thing you noticed was Bucky, sat cross-legged in the middle of the array of flours, sugars, and spices, head in his hands. You knew this look. This crumpled, defeated look that so few had the privilege to witness. Everyone saw the stoic, cold Winter Soldier. So little saw Bucky Barnes, a kid from Brooklyn. Tiptoeing around the spilled bags of sugar, flour, and sprinkles, you stood beside him, leaning over and placing a gentle hand to his back, rubbing soft, slow circles.

“Nightmares?” you asked, moving your hand up to thread through his freshly cropped hair, scraping your fingernails against his scalp. Bucky tilted his head back, leaning into your touch like a cat leaving its scent. You could see the telltale signs; red rimmed eyes, pink tipped nose, raw bitten lips.

“No, no nightmares. I uh…I had a dream about my mom,” Bucky answered, the end of his sentence biting off in a short, harsh laugh. You held your breath. It flattered you that Bucky felt comfortable enough with you to share the gory, ugly details of his past – the things that kept him up at night. The things he thought you couldn’t love him for. But never had he talked about his family. The only memories of his past life you ever heard were the ones Steve brought up, the rowdy stories of two young men up to no good in 40’s Brooklyn. Yet on his own, Bucky remained silent about his life before the war. You never pushed him. It would be cruel of you to press a subject that was most likely too painful for him to think about. Now, the waver in his voice and the tears that welled in his eyes told you that that assumption had been correct.

“I was sittin’ in my old kitchen and uh—” he sniffed, taking a moment to clear his throat “—it was Easter. I know it was Easter ‘cause ma made orange rolls. She only ever made them on Easter. And it—it was the best damn orange roll I’ve ever had. I woke up and I remembered Steve brought over some boxes of my family’s old things, stuff Rebecca left behind I guess, and I found this.”

In his hand he held an aged recipe card, stained from years of use. The yellowed card stock was bent and torn, but the writing still held clear, thick and messy in some places as if it had been traced over multiple times. It was well used. Well loved. At the top, clearly labeled in large looped font, were the words ‘Orange Rolls’.

“I couldn’t get the taste out of my mouth. I figured I’d try to make them, but I wasn’t much for the kitchen back then, let alone now. And—and you don’t have any yeast cakes. I can’t make them without yeast cakes (Y/N). It’s the first ingredient and I can’t—” The words broke off, catching in the back of his throat. He wrapped his arms around your legs, clinging to them like a broken child. Rolling off of him in waves, the permeating sadness and longing washed over you, breaking your heart with each hit.

“I don’t think they make yeast cakes anymore Bucky—” you spoke slowly, choosing your words carefully. At the statement, you felt his arms tighten in a panic. You were quick to placate him “—but I have some dry active yeast that I think should work. Why don’t we clean this up and then see what we can do, yea?”

Step 2. Warm 1 cup milk, add ½ cup sugar, 3 Tbsp shortening, 2 tsp salt.

Turns out, a single yeast cake is equal to approximately 4 and ½ tsps of dry active yeast. After this joyous announcement and your internal praise to Google’s ever living library of knowledge, Bucky was up on his feet, standing in front of the stove over a saucepan of milk.

“How do you know when it’s warm?” he asked, looking curiously down at the pan of milk in front of him.

“Stick your finger in it, if it feels warm, then it’s probably warm,” you answered sarcastically, reaching into the depths of your pantry for the Crisco. A rarely used, but very important staple for any kitchen.

“What? I’m not sticking my finger in it,” said Bucky, watching with rapt horror as you walked up beside him and dipped the tip of your pointer finger into the warm, white liquid.

“I think it’s warm enough to put the sugar in. What?” you asked him when you saw the look of exasperation on your boyfriend’s face.

“You put your finger in the milk.”

“And? My hands are clean. You watched me wash them. Don’t tell me you’re afraid of catching cooties. Cause I hate to break it to you but, you probably already have them.” Lifting on your toes, you placed a sweet, soft kiss to his lips. Catching you around the waist before you could drop back down, Bucky kissed you back with slow purpose.

“Is that right?” he asked teasingly, breaking away from your lips ever so slightly.

“Afraid so,” you murmured against the soft, heat of his mouth.

Step 3. Beat in 3 eggs, 2 cups flour, and add dissolved yeast. Let rise for 1 hour.

The wet dough sat on the counter; a kitchen towel draped lightly over it. By this time, the sun had fully crested over the city skyline, pouring blinding light into the small space of your kitchen. The two of you sat at the kitchen island, sipping your coffee as you waited for the dough to rise. Your bare feet sat, propped in Bucky’s lap, the thumb of his metal hand absentmindedly rubbing the arch of your right foot as he spoke animatedly.

“You should have seen her. Becca was so mad; I thought her head was going to spin all the way around!” laughed Bucky, the creases at the corners of his eyes making a warm and welcome appearance as he regaled a story that you had never heard before.

“Well that’s what she got for touching your stuff,” you said, taking Bucky’s side in the long forgotten sibling argument.

“Thank you! See, you get it. I wish I could say the same for my parents. My pa gave me such a lickin’ and then ma sent me off to bed with no dinner. All for putting worms in her bed!”

“Did she get in trouble for letting your pet frog loose?” you asked, enraptured by the story.

“No! Do you know how hard it was to find a frog in Brooklyn?”

“Impossible. I don’t even know how you did it.”

“Well, really it was Steve that found him—”

“Him? Did he have a name?” you interrupted him with a cheeky smile.

Bucky scratched the back of his head, a light pinkness appearing on his cheeks, “He might of…”

“Aaaand?” you pressed, wanting to know the name even more at the prospect of it being embarrassing.

“I don’t know if I wanna’ tell you. I think you’re just gonna laugh.”

“I won’t! I promise!” you exclaimed, drawing an invisible cross over you heart.

Bucky looked at you skeptically, a raised eye trained on you before answering, “Fine. It was Mr. Ribbits.”

You tried your hardest, really you did. But a snort escaped your nose before you could stop it and then Bucky was playfully pushing your legs off of his lap and turning away from you, “See! I knew you’d laugh. You’re such a bad liar!”

“I’m sorry!” You reached for him, still attempting to stifle your giggles as you pulled at Bucky’s arm, turning him back towards you. “Really, I am. I think Mr. Ribbits is a respectable name.”

“Thank you. It is.” His tone was resolute, but it didn’t take a trained eye to spot the small smile working its way onto the corner of his lips. “But no, Becca didn’t get in trouble. In fact, my pa said I was too old to be picking up animals off the street anyways.”

“How old were you?”

“I think I was about ten.”

Step 4. Add 3 cups flour and beat in with spoon. Let raise 1 and ½ hours.

“We have to wait again?!”

“Yea, we have to let the dough rise, otherwise the rolls will be tough and there won’t be enough to roll out,” you explained, placing the towel over the bowl once again and reaching for your empty coffee cups.

“But I thought we just did that,” said Bucky in confusion. You tried not to smile at him, but the cute little scrunch of his eyebrows made you a weak and gooey fool.

“Baking is more of an art in patience than skill. Especially any kind of bread, babe. Don’t worry, once they’re done, they’ll be more than worth the wait,” you reassured him, patting his cheek gently.

“Well…can we make something else while we wait? What’s your favorite thing to bake?” Bucky asked, his innocent tone making him sound like a wide-eyed child.

You smiled, big and happy, and walked over to the recipe box that sat atop the fridge. Taking it down and setting in on the counter in front of you, you dug into the baking section and produced a handful of recipe cards.

“Take your pick soldier.”

Step 5. Roll out dough and spread on icing – 2 cups sugar, 1 orange: rind grated and juiced, 6 Tbsp melted butter. Roll, cut, and place in muffin tin. Cover and let raise 20 mins.

“Stop eating all the batter!” you scolded, whacking the back of Bucky’s hand with a spatula. The impact had no effect, the sneaking man having had the forethought to use his metal hand.

“If I wasn’t supposed to eat it this way, then why is it so delicious?” he argued, sneaking another finger into the chocolate concoction and bringing it to his mouth.

“Because it’s five pounds of sugar and fat,” you laughed, grabbing hold of his wrist and bringing the chocolate covered finger to your mouth instead. “Also – how is it gross for me to dip my finger into the milk but you can have these grubby little paws buried deep in my brownie batter?”

The question caught Bucky off guard. Raising his hand up, he wiggled the vibranium fingers in your face, “Metal arm – they’re, uh, sterile.”

You guffawed, absolutely tickled by the lame response, “Sterile. Okay. Well, preheat the oven Mr. Sterile.”

Using the spatula, you scraped the double chocolate chip brownie batter into the greased pan. Strong arms wrapped around your waist and a head came to rest on your shoulder, watching you scrape the sides of the bowl. Nuzzling his face into your neck, he placed a gentle kiss just below your ear.

“You know, you’re getting pretty mouthy these days. I have half a mind to take you over my knee,” Bucky growled playfully.

Before your brain could connect with what your body was doing, the spatula had already lifted away from the bowl and made contact with the side of his face. The wet splat of batter to skin sounded plainly through the kitchen. Releasing you from his hold, Bucky stepped back, his expression vacant and shell-shocked. Dropping the spatula back into the bowl, you covered your face with your hands as you tried not to lose it. He looked positively ridiculous. Chocolate covered the left side of his face, dripping down from his brow bone to his chin. You watched as he brought a hand up slowly, touching his face and bringing it back down to examine it. He stared at the chocolate proof on his fingertips for a few moments as you waited with horrific anticipation.

“Oh, that’s it, doll. You better run.”

The menacing words sent your heart rate soaring. A playful shriek escaped your lungs as you bolted from the kitchen, Bucky on your heel with a growl in the back of his throat.

Step 6. Place in the oven at 375 for 10-15 minutes. Makes around 3 dozen.

The brownies, already baked and cooling on the counter, were long forgotten as Bucky sat in front of the oven. Arms wrapped around his bent legs, he watched as the orange rolls slowly rose in their muffin tins.

“When are they gonna be done?” he asked you, staring into the depths of the oven like a fortune teller stares into their crystal ball. Like if he looked hard enough, he’d find all the answers to the universe.

“About five more minutes.” You sat down beside him, leaning into his side as the two of you watched his long-forgotten memories rise. You were excited to try the rolls. It was a recipe you had never heard of, which was a rare thing. But most importantly you were excited to try a little piece of Bucky’s life. A piece of the man, the boy, that he used to be before life happened. It felt special and intimate.

“What if they’re not as good as I remember?” The words were soft and honest. You could feel the same sadness and apprehension as earlier that morning drift from him to you. Leaning against him firmer, you took his hand into yours. Threading the warm flesh into your own, you continued to stare into the heat of the oven.

“They will be.”

Step 7. Enjoy.

The rolls were a beautiful sight. Small, golden brown swirls in a neat, compact shape. The sugar filling had melted down into the bottom of the pan, creating and thick and chewy caramel layer at the bottom of each one. A delicious detail that Bucky said was supposed to happen, but also made it incredibly difficult to pry them from their tins. Still, with the help of a butter knife and a lot of patience, the two of you were able to get most of them out unscathed. A buttery orange scent swirled through the air, causing your mouth to salivate as they sat atop of the wire cooling rack. The two of you sat at the kitchen island, staring at the rolls in silence – you with a look of anticipation, Bucky with a look of confusion.

“What is it?” you asked, wondering if he still doubted that they would hold up to his dream.

“I’m pretty sure they had frosting.”

While the recipe didn’t call for it, Bucky insisted that they always had a frosting on them. After a few minutes of questioning about what kind of frosting it was, or at least what it looked and tasted like, you came to the conclusion that it was most likely a simple glaze. A few minutes later, you each had a plate in front of you with a single, gooey, glistening orange roll sat pristinely on it.

You were starving. You’d been up for nearly five hours and you hadn’t eaten anything yet. But you didn’t dare dig in until Bucky had his first bite. Reaching out tentatively, he picked up the roll, twisting and turning it, inspecting it with a warry expression. Holding your breath, you watched as he brought the baked good to his lips and took a generous bite. He chewed, and chewed, and chewed – each second leaving you with more consternation than the last. When he finally swallowed, he set the rest of the roll down onto his plate and heaved a heavy sigh. Your heart dropped.

“No good?” you asked, fearing you already knew the answer from the way his shoulders bunched over the counter.

Looking to you, tears once again welling in his eyes, Bucky did something unexpected. He kissed you. A firm, chaste kiss that lasted only a moment but formed butterflies in your stomach before he pulled back.

“They’re even better than I remember.”

The proclamation sent your heart soaring. You let out the breath you’d been holding, feeling your own tears of relief and joy begin to well. Blinking them back, you smiled at him, blinded by the dazzling smile you received in turn.

“Well then, let’s eat them all because I am famished,” you replied, picking up your own orange roll and taking a giant bite. The mix of soft, warm bread, zesty orange, chewy caramel, and sweet frosting set your taste buds alight. As you chewed, you envisioned a ten year old Bucky sitting in his mother’s kitchen on Easter morning. Curly brown hair, all teeth and dimples in his Sunday best and as happy as a kid could be. Why?

Because this was the best damn orange roll you’d ever had.

Marvel Taglist:

@caffiend-queen

@hidden-behind-the-fourth-wall

#requests #fan fiction #fanfic #fluff #bucky x reader #bucky x female reader #bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #memories #baking #angst

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just-another-ficwriter · 4 years

Text

Boyfriend Bonfire

Pairing: Firefighter!Sweet Pea x Reader

Words: 1800ish

Warnings: Cheating, implied smut

Summary: When Betty arrives home devastated from her breakup, Y/N, Veronica and Cheryl try their best to cheer her up with their own disastrous love lives. But Cheryl’s suggestion of preforming a ‘bad boyfriend’ cleansing ritual takes a firey turn that ends in a 999 call.

Notes: Filling another square for my @riverdalebingo card using the prompt Firefighter AU! A rewrite of a scene from Friends 1x14.

You can hear the sobs from beyond your apartment door before you’re even on your floor. The noise floats through the hallway and down the staircase and you instantly knows it’s Betty.

For one brief second you debate turning around and grabbing a coffee before heading home but the thoughts over powered by the need to make sure your friends okay.

“What happened?” Cheryl and Veronica both stare at you wide eyed as you slip through the front door, Betty hunched over on the couch in between them.

“Don’t ask-“ Veronica speaks the same time as you, a desperation in her voice but her plead is already lost.

“Reggie dumped me!” A loud ear splitting wail follows her words and the three of you grimace in unison as Cheryl rubs soothing circles on her back.

“You had to ask.” Ronnie rolls her eyes in the way she does at practically anything these days as she speaks through gritted teeth.

It takes a further twenty minutes to calm Betty down again, the seconds filled with the story of how Reggie had dumped her by text and the reality of how awful you all thought he was anyway. It isn’t until you’ve all changed into pjs and settle back into the living room that she seems to be a little less devastated.

“Men suck.” She sinks back into the couch, her cheeks puffing out as you all nod in agreement. “Reggie was a total douche bag and I didn’t even notice.”

“Hey you’re not the only one who’s had bad luck with men.” You place four glasses and a bottle of wine on the coffee table alongside a bowl of popcorn. Betty grabs the drink a little too eagerly but no one says anything as you settle in on the floor, hoping you could make her feel better. “Remember Chuck?”

“Which one was Chuck again?” Cheryl furrows her brows as she thinks, unable to place a face to the name.

“Chuck the weeper. Remember? He used to cry every time we had sex.” Your cheeks blush a light pink at the realisation you’d slept with him a handful of times despite this fact before you start to mimicking him. A fake sob erupts from you as your shoulders move up and down with each harsh breath. “Was- that- good- for- you?”

“Yeah well, I’d take a little crying any day over Nick ‘I-Win’ Sinclair.” Veronica shudders at the thought, her eyes glazing over a little at the memory. “I dated the guy for two months, and I never won once.”

“That’s why I’m so grateful for my TT.” Cheryl’s smiling sweetly, unaware her words have you all secretly seething.

“Yeah, well we can’t all be blessed with the perfect partners.” A bitterness drips from your words as you shove a handful of popcorn in your mouth but the redhead seems unfazed.

“We have more wine right?” Betty sinks the liquid in her glass faster then she knows she should, her eyes still puffy from the crying and now the alcohol.

“Oh!” Cheryl bounces to her feet, her sudden burst of excitement making you all jump. “You know my friend Ethal who shaves her head? She said that if you want to break the bad boyfriend cycle, you can do like a cleansing ritual.”

“Cheryl, this woman is voluntary bald.” You roll your eyes alongside Veronica this time, her statement making you laugh.

“Doesn’t mean it won’t work!” Cheryl stuck her tongue out in playful defiance. "I vote we do it.”

“What exactly will we have to do for this ritual.” Betty sounded sceptical but there was a flicker of hope in her eyes that made you feel bad for her.

“Urm...” Cheryl tapped her red nails on her chin, trying to think of something. "Oh! We could burn the stuff they gave us!”

“Or?” Even Ronnie seemed intrigued at this point.

“Or... we can chant and dance around naked, you know, with sticks.” There was a triumph in her eye but the idea just brought the rest of you back to reality.

“Burnings good.” You quickly revert back to her first suggestion.

“I’m in.” Betty sighs, but for the first time since you entered the apartment she's smiling. Even if there is a sense of doubt to it. "I definitely have stuff to burn.”

It takes Cheryl a few minutes to find everything she needs but when she eventually comes back with the trash can from your room and a lighter she found in Ronnie's bedside table you start to question why you're actually doing this.

For Betty. You think.

“Ok, so now we need some sage branches and the sacramental wine.” She looks at you like the items she's listed are normal kitchen cupboard staples.

“All we have is oregano and cheap vodka.” You offer.

“That’ll do.” She shrugs, scrolling through a website she's found on her phone. “Okay, so now all we need the semen of a righteous man.”

“Ok Cheryl, you know what, if we had that, we wouldn't be doing the ritual in the first place.” The words roll of Ronnie's tongue sarcastically as she starts to fill her glass again.

“Can we just start throwing things in?” Betty huffs frustrated as she reappears from her room with an armful of stuff.

“Fine, but don’t blame me if doesn’t work.” Cheryl finally snaps, clicking her tongue in annoyance but starts to light a small fire to let Betty get started.

“Ok, Jughead's letters. Reggie's boxer shorts.” Betty tosses the items in, flinching at Reggie’s name.

“This reciept from a dinner date with Donna counts right?” Cheryl pulls the piece of paper from her bag and shrugs off the looks the three of you give her. "I mean to give me and Toni good luck.”

“Look, here's a picture of Archie Andrew’s naked." There's a small smirk playing on Veronica's lips at the memory that quickly disappears when you show her the picture in your own hands.

“Oh look, here’s the one he also give me.” The two of you shuddered simultaneously as you throw them into the fire.

“I still can’t believe you were both dating him and the other didn’t know.” Cheryl looks between the two of you amused, but any bitterness either of you felt about the situation had long gone as you both giggle together over it.

“And now here’s the vodka to really burn these babies.” Betty hiccups, a little drunk as she freely pours the liquor on top before anyone can stop her.

“Wait isn't that stuff really flammable-“ Flames are shooting up before you can even finish your sentence.

“So let’s see a piece of something, boxer shorts, greeting cards, and what looks like a half charred picture of a naked guy- oh wait 2 pictures of the same naked guy.” You bite your fingernails with nerves, eyes shifting from your room mates to the firefighter picking away at the contents of your charred trash can. He’d introduced himself as Fangs but you’d been too embarrassed to pay attention.

“You know, it's a really funny story how this happened.” Veronica straightens up a little, batting her eyelashes at him with the type of giggle she only does when she’s anxious.

“It's fine, you don't have to explain.” The second firefighter looks at his friend and stifles a laugh. “This isn't the first boyfriend bonfire that we've seen get out of control.”

“Happens all the time.” Fangs shrugs like it’s the most normal thing in the world.

“Really?” You would have noticed the way Betty’s eyes widened in surprise but you were too busy staring at the unnamed man stood in your apartment.

You feel a heat rising through out your body as he catches your gaze for a few seconds but you can’t tell whether it’s from his lingering look or from the remains of the fire. “Oh god this is so embarrassing.”

“What’s embarrassing is that these men have acted so badly towards you that you feel the need to do this in the first place.” You aren’t sure whether you made it up or if he looks back at you when he speaks. But before you can think about it he’s clearing his throat and you’re thanking them before saying goodbye.

“I can’t believe it!” Cheryl’s at your side, clutching onto your arm, her excitement resembling that of a small puppy’s. “He was totally in to you!”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” You correct her with another eye roll, but there’s a part of you that wants it to be true.

“No what’s ridiculous-“ Veronica smirks, deepening her voice and mimicking his words from moments ago. “Is that you haven’t chased after him for his phone number.”

“Oh look.” Betty claps, still a little drunk as she points at the kitchen table. “I guess he forgot his helmet, now you have to go after him.”

You bit your lip in anticipation, pondering the thought. “You really think I should?”

“Go!” The three of them shout at you in unison and you grab the helmet, racing out of the apartment before you can change your mind. You barely make it a few steps before you’re crashing into something.

“I’m so sorry-“ He grabs onto your elbow to stop you stumbling backwards but all you can think about is the heat from his touch. “It’s you.”

“Hi.” You feel the blush raise in your cheeks and you look down hoping he won’t notice. “You uh, forgot your helmet.”

“I was just on my way to get it.” He gives you an easy smile before handing you a piece of paper. “And to actually give you this.”

You laugh in surprise, your eyes meeting his dark ones. “A phone number?”

“My phone number, incase anymore bonfires go wrong.” The jokes stupid but it has you grinning at him. “Or if you maybe wanted to go on a date sometime.”

“I’ll definitely consider it.” You thread the paper through your fingertips, not missing the way he smiles down at you. Or the way it makes your heart rate accelerate a little. “I just realised I don’t even know your name, I’m Y/N.”

“Sweet Pea.” He introduces himself properly, holding his hand out for you to shake.

“I guess I’ll call you then, Sweet Pea.” You take it, enjoying the way his name rolls off your tongue.

“I’ll be waiting by the phone.” Usually you’d find his line cheesy but there’s something about the way it falls from his lips as he turns with one last look. “Cute PJ’s by the way.”

Your eyes fall to your chest and find the eyes of a bunny rabbit staring back at you.

And finally let the embarrassment from the evening consume you. But you don’t care about it as much as you thought you would as you tap his number into your phone.

Riverdale Winter Bingo Masterlist

Forever Taglist: @p-marie-sp

Sweet Pea Taglist: @80sand90simagine @wildberryyyy @hopelesslylosttheway

#riverdale #riverdale fanfiction #riverdale bingo #riverdale winter bingo #riverdale sweet pea #sweet pea edit #riverdale au #riverdale one shot #sweet pea #sweet pea x reader #sweet pea au #sweet pea imagine #sweet pea fanfiction #sweet pea one shot

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cubkitchen · 3 years

Text

Pound (me) Cake

Pound cake to me is such a staple in home baking, it is one of the most well known and identifiable cakes known to man. Growing up in a southern home I knew pound cake was coming just about every Sunday, however, it was from a box. Making a box cake isn't a crime if you're a child, but as an adult it is time to grow up and upstage your grandmother. If you're making this for the first time or even for the millionth time, this recipe is sure to provide you with an absolutely delicious loaf of cake.

What you'll need

14 tbsp of unsalted butter (at room temp.) plus more to lather all over your pan

1 1/4 cup of granulated sugar

1/2 tsp baking powder

1/2 tsp kosher salt

3 large eggs (at room temp.)

1 large egg yolk (at room temp.)

1/2 cup sour cream (at room temp.)

1 tsp vanilla extract

1 1/2 cups of all purpose flour

1 Stand mixer and paddle

1 9x5 Metal loaf pan

You may have noticed that most of the liquid ingredients have "at room temp" beside them. It is absolutely imperative that you have all of your ingredients at the same temperature. If you fail to allow the butter to reach room temp then it will not cream properly and you'll have to start over. if you do not allow your eggs or sour cream to reach room temp then the mixture will curdle and not properly combine. I cannot stress this enough, PREP BEFORE YOU COOK and that means hours ahead or even the night before. So alway set out your ingredients and allow them to reach room temp before you make a pound cake.

How To Bake It

Preheat your oven to 350ºF and grease your pan with butter

I prefer to use butter here instead of nonstick spray or olive oil because it adds flavor to the cake. If you were to use olive oil then the cake would take on the flavor and would most likely not release from the pan properly. It is very important that you use room temp butter to grease your pan. Should I say it again? USE BUTTER.

2. Place your butter in your mixer bowl and set the mixer to 2 at first and gradually up the speed until you reach 6.

What we are doing here is called "creaming" (not that kind). When you cream your butter this way you're almost whipping it. this is important because we are introducing air into the butter. this will incorporate air into to entire batter, it will also allow the proteins in the butter to be "cut" by the sugar.

3. Slowly incorporate your sugar into the mixer, yes while its still mixing, but do not touch the speed.

We are going to spend A LOT of time here, probably about 10 minutes collectively. During this process it is very important that you pause the mixer, lift and scrape down your bowl and paddle. IT IS SO IMPORTANT THAT YOU SCRAPE. Use a rubber spatula to get in there and make sure the paddle is reaching the mixture, this insures that there is an even mixture and no portion is under mixed. You need to scrape your paddle and bowl every two or so minutes. It will start to pale a little, this is good.

4. It's now time that we incorporate those eggs and that one extra yolk, Incorporate them ONE AT A TIME.

Its very important that you incorporate them one at a time. eggs are made up of a large portion of water, butter is a fat, the two don't mix well. If you were to dump all of your eggs in at once it would overwhelm the mixture and the ingredients would not combine properly. When you incorporate them into the creamed butter space them out, probably about 15 seconds or so will do the trick.

5. You may now add the vanilla extract.

Nothing special here just throw it in there (it better be room temp).

6. Incorporate your sour cream.

You may think to yourself "Damn, this looks like a lot" and it is a lot. What this does is it makes the crumb a bit more dense, allows for more of a *moist* cake. Also, it is good to gradually add this to your mixture as well. I hope you didn't try to make this in a hurry because it will not turn out the way you want it to if you rush.

7. Go ahead and take all of your dry ingredients and combine them in a large bowl. Once you've done this incorporate it into the mixer about a 1/4 a cup at a time.

The reason you want to slowly mix in the dry ingredients is that if you put them in all at once you'll end up with a cloud of flour mixture in your face. You will make a mess when you cook but you should desire to make as little of a mess as possible. there is no reason that you should be cleaning flour off of your ceiling, so control your mess making and mix slowly here.

7.5. If you're feeling adventurous this is where your can add a 1/4 cup of roughly chopped nuts or chocolate chips or something. I don't care, you do you, but you will have to make sure that these incorporate evenly.

8. It's now time to pan, turn off your mixer and detach your bowl and paddle. Once you've done this scrape any batter off of the spatula and into the mixing bowl. Take your rubber spatula and poor the batter into your buttered 9x5 loaf pan, give the pan a few taps on the counter to release any bubbles

9. Take a rinsed butter knife and make a slit down the middle of the batter

At first its going to look like the slit was filled back in by the batter, it wasn't. What this does is it creates a vent for steam while it bakes. The reason that you slit it down the middle is to achieve that beautiful domed loaf shape.

10. Throw this time consuming, back breaking, delicious thing in the oven and let it bake for 60-65 mins.

11. Once out of the oven and you've ensured that the cake is baked fully, allow to sit at room temperature to rest for about 15-20 mins. Once cooled take an offset spatula or dull butter knife and run it around the parameter of the cake (this will insure an easy release). Once loose. take your hand, place it over the cake and turn the entire thing over, the cake should release in your hand. set cake right side up and wait about 10 more minutes before slicing and serving.

#food #baking #gayguy #gay cub #pound cake

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xtruss · 3 years

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The Amazon’s ‘Mouth-Watering’ Fifth Flavour

— By Catherine Balston | BBC Travel | November 23, 2020

The ancestral sauce of black tucupi is making its way onto the menus of some of South America’s best restaurants, bringing a new sense of pride to an age-old tradition.

It all started with a bottle of chilli sauce. It was so fiery it makes my eyes water just thinking about it. I had bought it in 2014 from an old woman in Paraitepuy, a Venezuelan village near the base of Monte Roraima. It was the end of a seven-day hike up the table-top mountain, a sacred place for the local Pemon people, from which waterfalls spill over the edge in dizzying vertical drops. The sauce came home with me where it stayed, lurking unused in my kitchen cupboard for the next four years as it was far too hot for my palate.

A couple of years later, I discovered that this sauce was in fact black tucupi, a thick, dark sauce rich in the satisfying savouriness of umami, the so-called “fifth flavour”. Little-known beyond indigenous communities in the Amazon, it is being discovered by high-profile chefs in São Paulo, Lima, Bogotá and even Paris. Curious to know more, I began to dig into its origins, and what emerged was a tale of ancestral wisdom, rare Amazonian languages, poison and layers of intrigue that thickened, just like the sauce, the deeper I dug.

I am not the first person to be fascinated by black tucupi. The first written record of the sauce dates to 1929, in a posthumous publication by the Italian explorer and ethnographer Ermanno Stradelli: “To my taste, it is the king of sauces,” he wrote, “as much for game as for fish… and to which extraordinary cures can be attributed.”

Black tucupi, a thick, umani-rich sauce, has been made by indigenous communities across the Amazon for thousands of years (Credit: rchphotos/Getty Images)

Stradelli had discovered black tucupi during one of a number of expeditions deep into the Amazon rainforest in the 1880s and 1890s. The unique flavours of the Amazon enchanted him, as they had the Dutch, English and Portuguese explorers who had been shipping their “discoveries” back to Europe as far back as the 16th Century. When writing about this king of sauces, Stradelli referred to it as tucupi pixuna (pronounced “pishuna”) – pixuna meaning “black” in Nheengatu, a now-severely endangered language that was spoken all across the Amazon region until the late 1800s.

Tucupi pixuna, tucupi negro, kumaji, ají negro, kanyzi pudidy and cassareep are all different names for the same sauce. It’s a linguistic register of some of the indigenous nations that still make black tucupi right across the Amazon as far and wide as Guyana, Brazil, Peru, Colombia, Venezuela and Ecuador. “When was black tucupi discovered? Who discovered it? No-one will ever know because it was thousands of years ago,” explained Sandra Baré, from the Baré people that live in the Upper Rio Negro region, one of a handful of ethnic groups who still speak Nheengatu and whose tucupi pixuna is sold in markets around São Gabriel da Cachoeira, on the banks of the Rio Negro.

As for how it is made, that is one question Baré can answer, and I happily listened to her explain the process as part of a cooking class on manioc, a root vegetable (also known as cassava, or tapioca when in its pure starch form) that is now the staple food for hundreds of millions of people across the world. “Manioc has been sustaining indigenous nations for many years,” said Baré. She detailed the various techniques for turning bitter manioc into breads and flours, as well as the process by which bitter manioc juice is simmered down from a yellow liquid into dark and syrupy black tucupi.

Manioc, which is a staple food for hundreds of millions of people across the World, is packed with toxic cyanide (Credit: Tina Leme Scott)

“You have to be really careful cooking black tucupi because bitter manioc kills,” Baré warned. “Anyone who drinks the raw juice won’t take two steps before falling down dead.” It turns out bitter manioc is packed with toxic cyanide, and I wonder how many people over the years have literally fallen at that first hurdle. None hopefully, at least not for a couple of millennia, as bitter manioc has been cultivated and cooked (which brings the cyanide down to safe levels) by the Amazon’s indigenous nations as far back as 4,000 years.

Denise Rohnelt de Araújo, a Brazilian cook and food writer, first came across Stradelli’s reference to tucupi pixuna 10 years ago in História da Alimentação no Brasil, an encyclopaedic register of Brazil’s diverse culinary history that was first published in 1963 by the historian Luís da Câmara Cascudo. She’s been on its trail ever since, collecting samples from all over the Amazon. Late last year, when I visited her home in Boa Vista in Brazil’s northernmost state of Roraima, she presented me with a box full of bottles in all shapes and sizes.

“When I read Stradelli’s description of this king of sauces, I had to find out more,” de Araújo told me. “There are various different ways to make black tucupi and none of them are the same. The only thing they have in common is that it’s a reduction of bitter manioc juice. Some remove the manioc starch, others don’t. Some are fermented. Others add ants. The Venezuelans add chilli. In Guyana you have clove and cinnamon. Some have a slight bitterness or smokiness. Every ethnic group does it their own way.”

Boa Vista was my jumping-off point into the interior of Roraima to see for myself how different indigenous peoples make black tucupi. Here in the heart of the Amazonian savannah on the triple border of Brazil, Venezuela and Guyana, hot, dry air blows across a mainly grassy landscape. At Tabalascada, about 24km outside Boa Vista, a Wapichana community are fighting to preserve their land and their culture. Monoculture crop farming and urban development encroach from all sides. I hiked from the village into the forest with a community leader, Marcolino da Silva, to see their manioc plantation. The young plants were only five months old and nearly twice my height already, with leaves fanning out at the top of thin stems.

To prepare black tucupi, manioc has to be peeled and grated and the juice squeezed out (Credit: Tina Leme Scott)

Back in the village, a long table was being laid for lunch under the shade of some tall mango trees with parakeets screeching overhead. The shy but lively 62-year old Dona Carol, da Silva’s mother, is the village expert in making black tucupi, and she busied about bringing dishes to the table and clapping a nosy cockerel away. Everything she laid out was made with manioc, from the bread (beiju) to a manioc and fish stew (damorida) and a jug of boozy fermented manioc (caxiri). The prints of trainers, bare feet and animal claws in the dry earth charted the afternoon’s comings and goings, and as the sun started its downward slide and the caxiri went to my head, I eyed up a nearby hammock. Dona Carol has been teaching the younger generation her black tucupi recipe. “They have to learn to do this to not forget our Wapichana culture,” she said. “I am here today but who knows about tomorrow. Death knows no age.”

My next stop, Yupukari, was just over the border in Guyana’s Rupununi region. In a small Macuxi village, home to about 100 families, I was spending three days learning how to make black tucupi. I met the team at Caiman House, an eco-lodge in the village and one of a dozen or so eco-lodges run by indigenous peoples in the interior wilderness of Guyana. Nature lovers come here to explore the “land of the giants”, as it has been called; the world’s largest otters, spiders, anteaters, rodents and eagles can all be spotted here.

I had my sights set on black tucupi, however, known in Guyana as cassareep, or cassava sauce. This is the only country in the Amazon Basin where black tucupi has made its way into the national cuisine. It’s an essential ingredient in pepperpot, a meat stew in which black tucupi mingles with the cloves and cinnamon of Guyana’s Caribbean heritage. Industrially made cassareep is sold everywhere in Guyana, but I’d come to learn the traditional, artisanal way.

The resulting manioc juice is decanted and then simmered for several hours until it becomes dark and syrupy (Credit: Tina Leme Scott)

My next two days were spent with two local women as they harvested, peeled and grated nearly 100kg of manioc. The grated manioc was stuffed into a plaited palm tube called a matapi (or tipiti in Brazil), which looks like the engorged belly of an anaconda before it is stretched out thin, squeezing the manioc juice into a bowl below. Next, the juice rests for a few hours to let the solid starch (tapioca) decant, and the juice was then poured into a cauldron and left to simmer over a wood fire for around four or five hours.

In the meantime, the women transformed the grated manioc into toasted flour and flatbread. A crowd of onlookers shuffled around the space to avoid the smoke as it curled up and around. Things got tense in the final minutes as the simmering manioc juice begins to camarelise, turning red and then dark brown, then as thick as molasses and hastily whipped off the fire before it burned. Once it had cooled we all dipped the flatbread into the sauce and tasted the flavour bomb: intense, sweet and mildly sour.

The next day, it was added to a fragrant bowl of tuma pot – a traditional fish stew – served for lunch on my last day. I also took a bottle home with me, all the more valuable having seen the backbreaking work in making it.

Outside of indigenous communities, black tucupi evangelists in some of South America’s best restaurants are getting excited about its umami potential, glazing meats with it, adding it to dressings, broths and sauces, and even mixing it in Bloody Marys.

Black tucupi is making its way onto the menus of South America’s best restaurants due to its rich umami flavour (Credit: Tina Leme Scott)

In São Paulo, chef Helena Rizzo glazes fish with black tucupi at Maní restaurant; while Carla Pernambuco served confit duck with a black tucupi sauce at Carlota. On the far side of the continent in the Peruvian capital, Lima, high-profile chefs have been experimenting with black tucupi on their menus for a few years already. Their supply, sold in elegant glass bottles in Lima’s upmarket delis, comes from Bora and Huitito women near Iquitos in the Peruvian Amazon thanks to a partnership with NGO Despensa Amazónica. Pedro Miguel Schiaffino has put it at the heart of his menu at new casual diner Boa Street Food, infusing tomato sauce, pirarucu (fish) sausages and smoked pork tacos with its richness; while Gaston Acúrio brushes it on roasted cauliflower at Astrid y Gastón.

“Some people compare it to soy, some to Worcestershire sauce, but chefs simply see it as something unique,” said Joanna Martins, whose Brazilian food company Manioca sells black tucupi to retailers. She supplies some of Brazil’s top chefs with her version and is testing out the US market, too.

The Wapichana community in Tabalascada has plans to launch a certified, branded version to Brazilian retailers next year. They sell it locally and informally for now but are building up their capacity through a partnership with Brazilian NGO Instituto Socioambiental (ISA) as well as government funding thanks to Joênia Wapichana (the first indigenous woman to be voted into the Brazilian congress).

Manioc is also turned into flours and bread, as well as traditional alcoholic beverages (Credit: Tina Leme Scott)

“Black tucupi is an incredible product that respects the Wapichana way of life and their traditional agricultural systems, and that in turn helps protect biodiversity and the forest,” said ISA’s Amanda Latosinski. “For the youngsters, the chance to earn an income is an incentive to not leave for the city, and to resist the pressures of destructive activities like mining.”

It’s a win-win for the indigenous communities. And it’s a win-win for those who can get their hands on a precious bottle – the chance to try a unique, umami flavour and support a tradition that runs deep into the heart of the Amazon. I can still only handle a few drops at a time of the fiery black tucupi bought all those years ago in Venezuela, but the treacle-like cassareep from Guyana is black gold, used in my cooking as sparingly as my willpower allows.

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fourangers · 4 years

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Fate and Choices (ch.05)

Summary: When Naruto discovered who was going to be his soulmate, he jumped straight at this opportunity, looking forward to spending the rest of his life with his better half. Sasuke well…he was less eager in this regard though. NaruSasu. Soulmates tattoos. M-rated.

AN: A little warning that the full philosophical conversation will go exactly in this chapter. It can get a little too heavy (in the sense that it’s a lot of topics to talk about).

Chapter 04

AO3 link | ffnet link

--.--

Naruto’s blissful dreams of swimming in a Ramen pool were suddenly shaken awake when he heard loud tumbles and Sasuke running to the bathroom. There were noises of retching and agonized groans, as Naruto wondered if he should go to his aid, or if it would be better to let Sasuke have this private moment, since he was always the grouchy bastard.

After long minutes of silence, the faint light from afar showed that Sasuke wasn't returning to bed soon. Closing his eyes with a long inhale, Naruto stood up, went to the bathroom, already expecting the venomous glare coming from Sasuke. He smiled in commiseration.

"You need any h⏤"

"No."

"Not anythin⏤"

"Get out."

One blond eyebrow was raised. "Gotta remind you that you're in my house, sleeping on my futon, puking in my bathroom…"

Sasuke sighed, flushing the toilet. "I'm feeling better, thank you for your attention." Now scram wasn't voiced out but heavily implied.

Naruto picked a hand towel, dampening it with water and offered it to the brunet, as the latter silently grabbed and dabbed on his mouth, frown in place.

Sasuke sagged his shoulders, leaning on the bathroom's wall as he calmed himself down. Thinning his lips, he mumbled. "I'm sorry."

Naruto blinked wide, uncrossing his arms.

Sasuke continued grumbling, glaring at the ground. "You were worried over me and I was rude to you. I apologize."

Well…seven years do change a person. Naruto grinned, positively surprised by the outcome. "Don't worry about it. You need some water? I mean, taste of vomit is always unpleasant."

Sasuke nodded, sighing. "I'd appreciate it." He waited when the blond man went to the kitchen and returned with a fresh glass of water, downing the liquid with gusto. They later returned to their respective beds, with Naruto keeping an eye on Sasuke while he gingerly placed the cover over his body.

The rays of sunlight filtered through the blinds, allowing a gradual awakening. Naruto yawned, stretching his limbs wide and turned his body around, catching Sasuke’s peering gaze. He immediately stood up, muttering a fast greeting and slipping away from the room. Though Naruto could swear that he saw the pale face tinged in red.

While Sasuke was in the bathroom, Naruto prepared their breakfast, toasted bread, coffee and milk. Naruto wasted no time waiting for the bastard, there was no way he’d let his precious food go cold for nothing. He ate with his face leaning on the palm of his hand wondering if Sasuke took a huge dump or what because he’s taking way too long to remerge.

Sasuke showed up at last, pushing the chair in front of him with a sharp noise and sat sideways. He quickly picked the nearest mug and sipped his coffee, looking everywhere aside Naruto.

“Morning bastard.”

Sasuke grunted back, emptying his mug. “I apologize for my drunk behavior yesterday. Thank you for being so understanding and helping me out.”

“It’s okay, I’m pretty used to handling drunk people back in my college days.” Naruto grinned, unflapped. He cleared his throat, rubbing the back of his neck. “So…are you the type that forgets everything that happened while you were drunk or you’re one that regrets about everything once you’re sober?”

Sasuke inhaled deeply, fingers tightening his hold on the porcelain cup. Both men jumped when they heard loud ping coming from Sasuke’s phone. First he tsked, noticing the low battery then unlocked to read the new message.

Sasuke, I wanted to apologise for my behavior yesterday but you weren't home. I asked Neji-kun regarding you, however he just said you've been taking care of. You want to talk once you're comfortable? I'll make your favorite onigiris.

“It’s nii-san.” He muttered. “He wanted to talk about yesterday.”

Naruto gave out a long thoughtful hum, eyes moving to stare at the table while he drank his milk.

Sighing, Sasuke reflected for a second, mulling the best way to handle this situation. “I promise we’ll talk about what happened between us later, because I don’t think it'll be beneficial to us both if we did this now. I guess I didn’t understand myself enough, or else I wouldn’t have acted the way I did yesterday, so I need some time for adjustment and give you a fair explanation.”

Naruto gazed back, then nodded. “You promise then.”

“Hm.”

“You’re not going to use this opportunity to run to Antartida or some shit like that because I will hunt you down if necessary.”

“I promise Naruto. I’ll talk at least in one week. And well…I guess I’m worried about my father and nii-san.”

“Yeah, sure, family is important so it should have a higher priority. I’d have done the same.” Naruto picked Sasuke’s plate and put some toast. “Don’t go with an empty stomach okay? You’re so skinny.”

Sasuke shook his head, despite obeying him, munching the crunchy food.

⏤.⏤

Naruto lived in a city that was outskirts of Tokyo, required around forty minutes by train and subway to reach downtown. The rent was cheaper so he could afford a bigger apartment, and the neighborhood was pretty calm and cozy, a contrast to Tokyo’s frenetic urban streets. Sasuke saved the location for later use, also messaged Itachi so they could meet in his home.

“Are you feeling better?” His older brother enquired as Sasuke was unlocking his door.

“Vomited a little, nothing out of ordinary.”

“You vomited?” Itachi exclaimed, alarmed.

“Neji didn’t say⏤? Oh, I got drunk, that’s all.”

“Otouto-kun, what did I say about how alcohol is really hazardous to your health when⏤” When Itachi saw the glare directed towards him, he rolled his eyes. “Fine, I’ll let it slide for now. Where were you last night then?” Itachi barely managed to catch his brother’s mutter, so he asked again. “Sorry, come again?”

Sasuke huffed, pursing his lips. “I said, I spent the night in Naruto’s apartment. No, shut up, I’m not in the mood listening to your smartass comments.”

“Perhaps I should start making onigiris then?” Itachi smiled easily, picking up a bowl of rice and began washing it, while Sasuke sat on the kitchen’s table.

Staring at his older brother’s back as the air turned somber, Sasuke’s fingers tapped on the table for a while, waiting till Itachi turned on the rice cooker. “Anyways…” He mumbled. “Sorry for storming out yesterday. You and father didn’t kill each other after I was gone right?”

“No…he was quite shocked to restart any argument. You know how I’m not a fan of defending father but…” Itachi sighed, picking up some salmon. “He felt really guilty for almost hitting you, he kept asking your whereabouts throughout the night. And it was much easier to placate him after that.”

“Oh…really?” Sasuke relaxed his shoulders, also sighing in relief. “So how did you two settle in the end? Is he ok with us putting our company to the stock market now?”

“Oh no, he’s still very much against it, though he said that it’s too late to go back now. He did admit that since we managed to return the money he lent in such a short span of time, we are more skilled than he expected, so he’ll be trusting us more from now on.”

“Wow…Father actually said positive words about us.” Sasuke muttered in mild awe.

“Right? It’s been years since he has done that.” Itachi snorted. “He also said that he’s going to buy some of the company’s share too. I know, I know it sounds pretty alarming…” He raised a hand to calm his younger brother. “He assured me that he’s only buying to attract other potential investors, and he won’t buy much.”

“It’s probably another weird tactic he’s doing to control us.”

“Probably…I’m not worried about it for now. Oh! I brought some Mentaiko for us!” Itachi brightened up, showing the air sealed package.

“Aren’t you using way too fancy ingredients over some staple food like onigiri?”

“Nothing wrong with indulging ourselves every once in a while. Okay…” He picked some fancy soy sauce. “So, I’ll make onigiris with Sha-ke, mentaiko and nozawana fillings, you also like yaki onigiris.”

“You’re overcomplicating some simple dishes nii-san, just onigiris with umeboshi is fine.” Sasuke chuckled.

“I did promise I’ll cook your favorite onigiris.” Itachi lifted his chin with a prim sniff, cutting the vegetables at a deft speed.

They waited until the rice was cooked, sprinkling with some sesame seeds as they spread on a piece of plastic wrapper as it was cooling down. Sasuke helped his older brother by molding into the triangular shape, placing neatly on the ceramic dish as they got ready to eat it.

“Sasuke, I’m sorry for my behavior yesterday.” Itachi said while they were nibbling the food. “You were right about me hiding the whole plan instead of facing father.”

“It’s okay, I understand pretty well why you did that.” Sasuke shrugged. “It’s not like I didn’t hide something from father too in the past, I just don’t know…you’re my older brother, I expected you’d behave better than me and wouldn’t lie over something of this magnitude. There’s a difference between lying to go to some friend’s house and lying over our company’s future.”

“I know and I regret this. It’s just that…you know how father can be really inflexible. He won’t hear anyone else unless we comply with his ideas. He always believes that he’s the wisest, the most experienced and honestly it drives me crazy. Talking to him was a chore because he’s not listening to you, he’s trying to find a way to show that his point of view is better than yours. So…I got used to lying with him to avoid this. Lying was the easier path even if it had the worst consequences in the end. I didn’t include you in this because of this foolishness, so you got caught in the middle of this skirmish.”

Sasuke sighed, recalling memories from yesterday. “You two have been on each other's throats lately. Whenever father would open his mouth you’d disagree with him, it’s almost a visceral reaction.”

“I know…”

“And fortunately, father lent us this money without any interest. You remember when we went to the bank? The interest rate was very high. Say what you want about our parents, but he did sign the contract believing in you⏤”

“Yes, I understand the pitch, I heard this already, I get it.” Itachi sighed. “I guess I still feared that father would harm us some way or another so I just…well. You were there when that happened. I think we always have some trouble with communication, and we have the habit of avoid facing our problems even if it’s there right under our noses. So…”

Sasuke frowned from the sudden change of subject. “So?”

“Since it’s clear that you can manage the company better than myself, and I should stop postponing important occurrences in my life well…” Itachi adjusted on his seat, interlacing his fingers. “I have some news to deliver. My soulmate found me, also using Shinrei, so I plan to visit him soon.”

Sasuke blinked rapidly, taking time to absorb his words. “Well, that is quite…surprising.”

“Yes, and I already booked the ticket for tomorrow⏤”

“Tomorrow?!” Sasuke interjected.

“Indeed, because I considered your words too, Sasuke. I don’t want to run away any longer, and I believe my soulmate will give me the everlasting happiness that I’ve been looking for too long.”

The younger Uchiha huffed, curbing a sarcastic comeback, not wanting to ruin his brother’s good mood.

“Whatever negative thought might be inside your mind, otouto-kun, I assure you that it won’t break me. And since I don’t want to waste my time with any long debate…Sasuke, I’m leaving the company for you, for now. I trust you. I promise that I’ll continue to work remotely, however, handling the employers and all, will be your responsibility.”

“I don’t get this. You put someone you’ve never met on a pedestal and believe that whatever relationship you’ll have with this person is perfect when we know that it’s not a definite fact.”

“I don’t think I do that otouto-kun, and each relationship is different.” Itachi explained, his voice calm and confident. “Also, he was the one who searched for me, I thought I should do the courtesy to see him with my own eyes.”

Sasuke wrinkled his nose, taking the last bite of his onigiri.

“Despite your own beliefs, in this system…” Itachi touched the tattoo on his neck. “There’s another person involved, invariably. It’d be really heartless if I kept hiding from him, despite knowing his exact location. He’d keep looking for me his entire life, so the least I could do, even if I don’t believe in soulmates, is to give him a proper explanation.”

Narrowing his eyes, Sasuke picked the dirty plates, walking past his brother and went to the sink.

“You are ignoring me huh, but you know I’m right. You shut him out all those years and he’s still pretty patient waiting for your statement. Well, if it’s not the best example about why he’s your soulmate, I don’t know where else it would be. Plus…I always felt that you two had a special connection.”

That picked Sasuke’s attention, as he turned around with an enquiry. “How so?”

“Even back when you two were kids, it seems that you were constantly talking about him, you two were inseparable. Whenever you were sulking being stuck in our house, Naruto-kun would somehow goad you to come out so you two would do…I don’t know, do whatever two boys would do at that time. So I wasn’t really surprised when I saw your matching tattoos. Naruto-kun cared for you no matter what, right?”

Guilt churned on his stomach as Sasuke recalled last night, when he was so engulfed in a myriad of emotions that he acted improperly. The moment their tattoos connected, he could feel Naruto’s concern, warmth…affection. He craved for those positive feelings for so long that he kissed the blond man before he could stop himself.

He was also shocked that Naruto still held those emotions, even after that many years amiss. This just multiplied his remorse tenfold though.

“You’re right.” Sasuke mumbled, staring at the ground. “It’s time to make myself clear.”

“Well then…good luck to both of us.”

⏤.⏤

I’m ready to talk. What time is best for you tomorrow?

Naruto stared his cellphone for the umpteenth time, moving in circles around the sofa before sitting with a huff, shaking his right leg. He rubbed his hands to wipe the sweat off, standing up once again and emptied a glass of water in fast gulps.

He jumped from the noise of knocking door, breathing several times to calm himself down. Opening the door, there stood Sasuke in front of him, with his usual cool face, elegant cheekbones, kissable lips, stupid Sasuke, why did he have to torture him so?

“Hello.” Sasuke cleared his throat. “I brought some beer.”

“Ah. Um, yeah.” Naruto stepped sideways, allowing him to get inside. “Feel free to sit whatever makes you comfortable.”

Sasuke took a long look at the sofa, so long that Naruto actually gazed at the furniture too, with a raised eyebrow. He settled leaning on the kitchen table then, crossing his arms.

Another silence. Bewildered, the blond man decided to put the beer in the fridge, grabbing some of his cans that were cold enough and offered one to Sasuke. He studied closely as Sasuke accepted the beer with a nod, sipping and pausing, not once looking back at Naruto.

After another couple of minutes with them just drinking their beverage, Sasuke placed the beer on the table, exhaling. “So…”

“…yeah?”

“First of all…” Sasuke coughed dryly, knitting his eyebrows. “I have to apologize for my abhorrent behavior yesterday. I forced myself on you despite you not wanting⏤”

“Whaaa⏤wait, why are you saying as if I’m just some weak ass guy who can’t defend myself? And I wanted. I mean, in better circumstances, but I definitely wanted that.” Naruto interjected.

“Maybe, nevertheless in that case you were right, and I didn’t listen for a while. The effect of the soulmate system lingered in us and made me do that irrational act that should be condoned in any case so…”

“What the hell…Sasuke, you’re not making some terrible mistake and I stopped you in time so⏤”

Dark grey eyes glowered. “Just accept my apology will you?”

Naruto slackened his jaw, pondering upon Sasuke’s whole speech. “You feel like you forced upon me…because you view the Soulmate system as a negative thing.”

“…if I ever want something more with you, I wanted to feel it solely come from my own feelings, not spurred by some friggin’ tattoos with weird powers. So…” Sasuke sighed. “You were right. I was going to regret it if we went too far yesterday.”

Naruto felt a stab in his heart, exhaling tiredly. “Yeah…I figured.”

“I mean, I’m also sorry for forcing you in that ordeal.” Sasuke strayed his eyes to the ground, a tint of red flushing his cheeks. “Uh⏤so are you doing alright now?”

Aside giving me the bluest balls in history…fine. “I managed.” Naruto shrugged on one shoulder, gulping his beer.

“Anyways, after what happened to us, and analyzing it all…I really felt like I needed some overdue explanation why I refused to maintain contact with you. It’s a mixture of wanting to avoid you and then having too much on my plate while in college.”

“Sasuke, I get it, you parents divorced, I knew you wanted some time with yourself. I just never thought you didn’t plan to get in touch with me after that.”

“Because⏤!” Sasuke growled, before schooling his features and maintained an even tone. “Because my parents are soulmates. You don’t understand Naruto, my mother always loved being independent, wanting to get a job, using her intelligence. When she met my father though, he kept insisting for her to become the perfect humble wife, meek and feminine. She did try to persuade him to give her more agency, in the end because of society, because of my father, she obeyed him, believing that since he’s her soulmate-” He spat venomously. “It’s the right thing to do.”

“I know, but thankfully she divorced him right? It’s not that bad⏤”

“It was bad, because the soulmate system can manipulate your feelings for a human to maintain being faithful to his partner. You felt what happened when we touched our tattoos. My father belittled her, limited her, and she never really saw it before it was too late. And even now, it’s hard for her to move on, because my father is still her soulmate so she believes that no matter which man she would date, it’d never work. She went on some dates, unfortunately I don’t think she had any boyfriend for over a month. Even though Nii-san and I kept encouraging her.”

Naruto stared on his own hands as he twirled his fingers, fidgeting. He stammered, unsure. “I mean, yeah. It was an unpleasant experience, I won’t deny that. Was this enough for you to change your mind about this system completely?”

“It opened my eyes Naruto. Seeing that it’s not perfect, it’s not as great as everyone had claimed. So while I was in college I studied a lot about it, searching for more failed relationships. And did you know what I found?” Sasuke waited for Naruto to shake his head before proceeding. “That there’s way more bad examples than popular belief. The soulmate system is just a way to stimulate human procreation.”

“Oh c’mon, really?” Naruto rolled his eyes. “Same-sex soulmates existed since dawn of ages. Same-sex, polyamory, we have famous powerful couples in history, like emperor Hadrian and Antinous. Or Oda Nobunaga with Nohime and Mori Ranmaru. And that was way before artificial insemination.”

“Yes, and even if we do exist, unfortunately we’re not the majority in human history. Being with your soulmate just gave a fortuitous marriage, so there were some couples that wanted to secure their lineage and forced women to have their offspring. Unwillingly.”

“Wha⏤okay, that’s terrible.” Naruto blanched. “How come we never studied that?”

“Because society doesn't want to see blemishes in the soulmate system, it’s always swept under the rug. After studying, I saw that soulmates tattoos appear with people that are not related at all. Sometimes even forcing them to find their soulmate on another side of the planet. The only time that it was ignored was back in feudal times in Europe, where nobles wed their relatives, their offsprings ended with many deformities and diseases. Mixing different types of DNA, as proven, gives humanity a higher chance of survival and the soulmate system have a hand in it.”

“So…so far you’re saying positive things about the soulmate system, what’s your deal?”

“What I’m really saying, is that this system is not some grand, beautiful and magical system from a higher plane that grants eternal happiness to the couple.” Sasuke rolled his eyes, uncrossing his arms and sat on the arm of the sofa. “It’s just a biological need, an instinct. Like mothers who protect their children to ensure that bloodline will continue.”

“Sasuke, that’s cold. Are you seriously telling me that you believe 100% that your mother just cares for you for some bloody ‘instinct’???” Naruto raised both of his eyebrows.

He closed his eyes, curling his mouth down. “Fine, I overstepped it. I do admit that it goes beyond just some objective science. My main point remains though. That soulmate system is just a necessity to preserve our species, and people keep over-glorifying for nothing. And because it’s just a biological tool, you know where the system fails the most? Exceptions.”

He cleared his throat, shaking his now empty can. They went back to Naruto’s fridge while still chatting.

“What do you mean by exception?”

“Exceptions of the rule, was something I took most of my time studying in college Naruto. Think about it, since the system wants humanity to procreate, what about asexuals? Are they forced to have sexual intercourse just because they have a soulmate?”

“Maybe they can settle with a platonic relationship.”

“Yes, but people criticize them for choosing this path. What about people who want to stay single? The tattoo forbids them so. Here’s the thing, since every human has a tattoo, society keeps pressuring them to find their other half because⏤” Sasuke used a mocking tone. “Oh, it’s not fair to keep their soulmate waiting for them, because it’s your destiny to have someone by your side and it’s ridiculous. Absolutely ridiculous, how people can shun anyone who doesn't want a partner. Either they would say that they would change their mind one day, or they are fool. That’s why this tattoo is a burden.”

At first Sasuke expected Naruto would keep interrupting his explanation, refusing to see his point of view as many others had in the past, including Itachi. However, the blond man kept the pensive face, completely listening to him. This gave him more courage to express freely.

“Also, you know that everyone has a tattoo right?”

Naruto made faces, recalling it, before nodding briskly. “Yeah, I think so.”

“That means each human after the age of 18, young, old, lawyers, beggars, prostitutes, priests, everyone has a tattoo.”

“True, so that further proves my point of view right? You have the tattoo, you can choose what to do with it. Priests chose to devote themselves to their religion instead of their soulmate.”

“Maybe, there’s also the darker side on the other hand.” Sasuke consented. “Even with the soulmate system, people commit wrongdoings. So you know what that means; criminals, murderers, pedophiles, rapists…they have a soulmate.”

Naruto cringed in commiseration, admitting. “Yeah…you’re right…”

“And can you imagine the heavy burden of having a pedophile as your soulmate? This system is terrible! Forcing someone to fall in love with a monster that went beyond salvation? How is that supposed to be right?”

“But…in that case you don’t have to accept this person then. Live your life differently.”

“This tattoo would keep taunting you, haunting you…making you remember that you need to follow this fate or else. Limiting us from free will.”

“No, okay…lemme think.” Naruto raised his hand, rubbing the bridge of his eyebrows. “Those tattoos can provide you a path, it’s not all set in stone. Also, since you said that the soulmate system is a biological need, that means that it’ll never know right from wrong. It’s the human society to set what is morally wrong and what needs to be punished, and it’s also the individual choice to decide what to do with it. And…you know. There’s no way we would know, who the hell would become some crazy murder maniac, and which one would be some regular dude growing up.”

“Well…changing your destiny or not…some people believe that once you’re a criminal, there’s no turning back.”

“Fate can’t be changed? No, I don’t believe that. We were born in a blank canvas, with people changing us, and we changing others and ourselves. We can shape our lifetime. I think that’s why there’s a tattoo in each human…” Naruto shrugged awkwardly. “I mean, at some point in their lives, it’s not that they deserve love, however they deserve a chance of being loved. So maybe when they go too far, they lose this chance so I say, let the justice system do its bidding then.”

“You were always the optimistic usuratonkachi.”

“Yeah whatever, and you’re the negative asshole.” Naruto grinned.

“I prefer the term realistic.” Sasuke harrumphed, though there was an upward tug on his lips.

“Also…how are we going to measure which person needs a second chance or which doesn’t? Or which crime is unforgivable? I mean, it’s easy with heinous crimes like raping and pedophilia but…you know that my dad was the captain of an army right? He even met my mom in the battlefield, when she was patching his subordinate up. Under his command, he killed thousands of soldiers, let others be murdered…he even killed some people with his own hands. Are you saying that he no longer deserves a soulmate?”

Sasuke hummed, swallowing his beer.

“Are you saying that he shouldn’t meet my mother, that I shouldn’t have been born?” Naruto asked.

“No, you’re right. It’s complicated. I don’t have an answer to that, I admit.”

“Right? It’s a blurred line, I wouldn’t get angry if you said that my father didn’t deserve a chance of happiness after that. I mean…” Blue eyes acquired a somber color, and he murmured quietly. “He was even killed by one of the enemies out of revenge. Because he ruined many lives and destroyed families.”

“…” Sasuke pursed his lips, finger tapping on the metallic can. “And even after this tragedy, why do you think that the soulmate system is a positive thing?”

“Because well…okay, at first it was mostly because how much my mother told how good it was okay? How much she loved my father, how it was the best thing of her life…” Naruto curled a sad smile, voice watery. “I guessed I wanted that. Having this experience, as some sort of homage, to relive her best years.”

Sasuke waited patiently while the blond man recomposed himself, sniffing and wiping his eyes with his arm, exhaling loudly. “I understand and I respect that. I guess we had very different opinions based with how our parents’ relationship turned out, mine ended badly, while yours finished with a positive note.”

“I guess.” Naruto sniffed again. “And I do understand your point of view, I really do. Actually, this conversation we’re having has been very eye-opening so far. I guess I do look at the soulmate system in an idealistic way.”

“Hn.”

“But…I think we can find a middle ground, right? Despite all the bad examples you told me, the soulmate system still has a very high rate of long-term, satisfactory relationships. If I ever treat you badly, I’m sure you’re smart enough to detect it.”

Sasuke regarded him for a while, deciding to drop the last bomb. “The soulmate system blinds people from seeing the obvious. Like I’ve said, people accept or even normalize abusive relationships because they think, well, he’s or she is my soulmate, I have no other choice. And it’s fucked up that it’s some outside force actually makes people give up on their own happiness, let some screwed up natural law be above their own freedom.”

“You really believe that? I think we can be above that…”

“Fine, then why did you wait for me for over seven years? It’s insane! Normally anyone else would have just moved on instead of waiting for me.”

“Wait, so you admit that what you’ve done was bad?” Naruto chuckled dryly.

“I admit that I was focused in my research about the flaws of the soulmate system that I took you out of my life.”

“Okay, let’s just look in another angle…if you were sure that the person is the one, that person that you want to spend the rest of your life, you could wait no matter how long it’ll take because there’s no one like him right?”

“You would wait for seven years?” Sasuke returned the quip with a knowing eyebrow.

“No, I’d beat the shit out of you in the first month, okay, fair point.” Naruto rolled his eyes. “But we’re talking about possibilities, Sasuke, different scenarios. From what we know, this system has always existed and we’re just talking about how it might work if it didn’t. Maybe you’re right, I’d move on. Then I’d see you again by coincidence and things might reignite between us. See? Different paths, same result!”

“Ah… again with the foolhardy optimism, dumbass.”

“Whatever. Sasuke, I see this system as a shortcut to find you more easily. Can you imagine if this didn’t exist? I’d probably, I don’t know, have lots of failed relationships and maybe never find you in my life. Or I’d find you, though I’d live my whole life wondering if you’re my other half. This tattoo is a reassurance that you’re the right one for me.” Naruto declared, tapping his tattoo as emphasis.

“This tattoo is a prison. People lose their sanity, wasting their entire lives searching for their soulmate when they could use their time for better use.”

“It’s their choice to make Sasuke, just like it was my choice to wait for you while you were in your own journey of self-discovery.”

“Right. And, again may I ask, why did you decide to return to this pursuit after many years of peace?”

"Because, in some way, I agree that we are one person and we have our own friends and other people to connect, I don't think we need to be so attached to each other." Naruto shrugged. "On the other hand, I also thought we were in agreement that we're soulmates then, we gotta be together."

"Naive thoughts back when I was as gullible as you are now. Just because I'm your soulmate doesn't mean that I need to act upon it."

"Yeah well…you're right. But you didn't include me in this conversation until today.”

“I know, hence the reason I decided to explain myself to you. We got involved back when we were teenagers, I know that the least I should have done is contacting you to express my point of view back then. I still keep my belief⏤”

“That you don’t want me in your life?” Naruto finished the sentence, breath stuttering.

Sasuke showed a pained and difficult expression. “I…don’t know Naruto. I guess all those years seeing only failed relationships made me believe that the soulmate system is fraudulent. Even though I know that most cases are happy ones. Then…why do you want me back after all those years?”

Caught by the sudden enquiry, Naruto widened his eyes, then lowered his gaze for some introspection. He straightened his back, opening his mouth. “Sasuke, because I lov⏤”

“Don’t.” Sasuke glared, growling through gritted teeth.“Don’t say that set of words Naruto.”

His blunt hostility shook Naruto’s ground, as he muttered meekly. “Why not?”

“Because it doesn’t make sense!” Sasuke roared, voice thundering. “We’ve known each other forever Naruto, though we only have gotten romantically involved back when we were teenagers. It makes absolutely no sense saying those words based on a relationship where we weren’t mature enough for it. And now that we’re adults, because we restarted talking in about…one month or two? So saying those words in such a short amount of time doesn’t make sense too.”

His words stung sharp, even if logically it had a hint of truth. Naruto knew that he wouldn’t want to pressure Sasuke any longer, not when he had solid motives to keep on his own beliefs. He mumbled, fully prepared to have his heart shattered. “In other words, you’re not looking for…our relationship? Or any relationship?”

“I…I don’t know.” Sasuke acquiesced, noticing tanned fingers interlacing with his own, although he made no move to reject it. “We worked well together in the past Naruto, there’s a strong possibility of working well in the future.”

Naruto felt a weight falling off his shoulders, breathing lighter.

“And well…even if I defended the right to be single…I’m not sure if it’s the lifestyle I want.”

“That’s…okay, that’s great.” Naruto beamed, squeezing Sasuke’s hand and savoring how the brunet blushed in response. “Sasuke, even if you don’t believe about how I feel about you…I’m sure of it. Maybe you’re right, maybe it’s because of the soulmate system, but I know that even if I spent one second or one hundred years, it’d never change. And that has nothing to do with the matching tattoos in our palms. So can you give me this chance to prove this to you?”

Sasuke glanced back at him, before grunting wordlessly.

“You are looking for a relationship though right? How about we go all the way back, like going on dates, watch movies, chat while we go on fancy dinners, all that? Then you’re proving your point that we can build something outside the soulmate system, and I can prove my point that my feelings are unchanged.”

Sasuke grumbled again, narrowing his eyes.

“Alright…let’s just admit that we’re not asexual, that we both have sexual urges that are influenced with physical appeal. So, besides ignoring the, you know, the obvious thing, am I attractive to you?”

Sasuke glared and grunted, blush darkening on his cheeks. “You’re exactly my type.”

“See? Then it’s perfect for some test performance.” Naruto perked up, a wide smile stamped all over his face. “We’re free to try if it’s good, tweak possible issues and if everything goes bad, we’ll stop.”

“We’ll really stop, and then you won’t bother me again.”

“Yep.”

“We’ll be very careful seeing if it won’t work.”

“Definitely. Pinky swear.” Naruto raised his hand with his finger curled, waiting for Sasuke to seal the deal.

Sasuke just rolled his eyes. “Well, I guess I made my point and clarified everything to you. I better go before it gets too dark.”

Naruto nevertheless, walked with him on the way to the subway, one constant grin playing on his lips. It took all his willpower not to whack on the blond hair as customary back when they were younger. Sasuke sighed. Some things never change.

“Anyways…thanks for listening to my long diatribe about how much the soulmate sucks. It must be pretty terrible having a soulmate that firmly doesn’t believe in such things.”

Naruto wrinkled his nose, shrugging. “Not really, I liked it. I like whenever you challenge me some way, back when we were brats was by fighting with me, and now it’s intellectually speaking. It’s always good for everyone’s personal growth to listen to opposite opinions, even if you disagree with it.”

Sasuke snorted. “Well then…” He was almost turning around when Naruto tapped his shoulder.

“Wait, can I kiss you before you go?”

“Why not usuratonkachi, you’ve always done it before asking me and that never stopped y⏤” Words died on his throat because Naruto didn’t kiss him on the cheek, those full lips caressed directly on his mouth.

Naruto retreated few inches, eyes half mast as he whispered, curling a shy smile. “Thanks.”

“...hn.” Don’t kiss him back, don’t kiss him back, don’t kiss him⏤Sasuke cleared his throat, voice husky. “I better go.”

Naruto watched as his back disappeared in the crowd, taking a deep breath and knitting his eyebrows in determination. He better create the best date in the universe next time they meet.

Chapter 06

⏤.⏤

AN: Alright, here we go, revealed Sasuke’s point of view at last. I hope I made a satisfactory explanation!

#SasuNaru #NaruSasu #snstext #sn fic #sns fic #snsfic #drabble

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vcg73 · 6 years

Text

Hummel Holidays 2017: It’s a Date

Hummel Holidays Prompt #2: Baking

Rare Pair: Kurt and Elliott

~*~*~*~*~

“Oh m’Gaw! Dese’r amaving! Wemom?”

Kurt rolled his eyes and passed his friend the glass of cold milk he had been sipping from as he worked. Elliott had walked in and made a beeline for the array of fluffy golden cookies sitting on the cooling racks, promptly popping one into his mouth with no regard for the fact that it had come out of the oven only ten seconds earlier. He was currently attempting to chew the hot cookie without touching it to his tongue or the tender roof of his mouth, but still taste it and talk at the same time.

“Lemon, yes, and you might want to give this next batch a minute to cool before you try one,” Kurt advised, placing a second pan full of generously chocolate chipped dough balls into the oven.

Chugging the remainder of the milk down along with a second sample from the racks, Elliott licked his lips and grinned as he handed back the empty glass. “You didn’t tell me we were baking today.”

He snorted. “We, huh? I’m pretty sure baking involves more than just scarfing down the end result. And stop eating all my cookies! I’m making these for the homeless shelter.”

Elliott’s greedy fingers paused halfway to grabbing another, cheeks flushing a little. “Oh, yeah, sorry. Guess I should’ve figured that since One Three Hill is providing the entertainment for tonight’s party. Uh, well then, pass me an apron and point me toward the supplies. I’ll mix up a batch of snickerdoodles while you pour us some more milk.”

Unable to resist the winsome smile that came along with this offer, Kurt nodded and rummaged through the plastic packing crate that held his glassware. Picking one with tiny flowers frosted into the glass that Rachel had picked up at a flea market, he opened the fridge to pour their drinks and said, “I didn’t even know you knew how to make snickerdoodles. I haven’t had those in years.”

“Oh, man, they’re the best! They’re my mom’s specialty. She taught me the recipe when I turned ten. Her family has lived in New England since, like, the Mayflower and this recipe has been handed down through generations. Today only a handful of people in the entire world know it!”

Kurt grinned, strongly suspecting that his leg was being pulled. “Well, then!” he said, handing over a fresh glass of milk. “Should I leave the room? Put on a blindfold? Pinch my nose shut so I don’t accidentally guess the secret ingredient?”

“I think I can trust you. But just to make sure…” Elliott’s face went solemn, but his eyes continued to sparkle with fun as he held up his right hand and offered Kurt’s recipe book with the other, waiting until Kurt obligingly placing his own right hand on the book and raised his left. “Kurt Hummel, do you solemnly swear upon pain of burnt cookies and fallen layer cakes never to divulge this secret to The Food Network, or any other for-profit entity?”

Struggling not to laugh, Kurt forced his features into an equally solemn set and nodded. “I so swear.”

“Great! Okay then, we’ll need a cup of butter, a cup of sugar, half a cup of brown sugar, two eggs, three cups of flour, baking soda, salt, cream of tartar, and cinnamon. I’ll also need a saucepan and a couple of mixing bowls.”

With a nod, Kurt gathered the requested items. Most were already on hand since he had been baking for the past hour. Since his favorite mixing bowl already had chocolate chip dough in it, he quickly washed up the bowl he’d used for the lemon cookies and dug out a large but slightly worn out spare one that he’d brought from Ohio. “Pan’s over the stove. What do you need it for?”

“Because that is the secret ingredient,” he explained, wriggling out of his leather jacket, leaving himself clad in an artistically ragged gray sleeveless t-shirt, and throwing on Kurt’s borrowed apron, which bore the words ‘Sit back and relax. You must be exhausted from watching me do everything!’ Glancing down at the words, he laughed. “Feeling a little passive aggressive, were we?”

Kurt blushed. “Just a little. It made me feel better, but the others didn’t even get the joke.”

“Figures,” he grunted. “Okay, so we start with the butter.”

He measured out a cup of butter and transferred it into the saucepan. While Kurt watched with interested eyes, he turned the stove on to medium heat and began whisking the butter with slow even strokes. He continued this patiently for three or four minutes until the butter was melted and slightly frothy, emitting a pleasant almost nutty aroma as it browned. Then he poured the butter into the larger bowl to cool and began mixing in the sugars, cream of tartar, and eggs together with it. In the second bowl, he blended his dry ingredients together, then gradually blended the two.

“You’re good at that,” Kurt commented, not even bothering to pretend that he was not admiring the play of strong muscles in Elliott’s exposed shoulder as he beat the dough together with firm pressure, preferring to stir the ingredients by hand rather than borrow Kurt’s hand mixer.

“Thanks.” Preening a little, he deliberately flexed his arm a little more. He and Kurt had never dated, but a little flirting between friends was always welcome. “Could you sprinkle some white sugar and cinnamon onto a sheet of waxed paper for me?”

Kurt nodded, pausing a moment to take his baking batch out of the oven as the timer dinged and transferring them to the racks. He quickly shifted the lemon cookies into a waiting tin lined with a paper towel, leaving the lid off to allow them to finish cooling. Once that was done, he quickly cleared a space and laid out the requested waxed paper, covering it with a small amount of cinnamon sugar. While this was done, Elliott had been molding the cookie dough into little walnut sized globes. He took each dough ball and rolled it through the sugar, setting the finished ones in a neat row until they could be baked, since Kurt still had another two pans of chocolate chip ready to go and there would be no more baking sheets available until one of them had hands free to wash the newly emptied one.

An hour later, the two-man baking team had finished their creations and sampled at least one of each variety of cookie, leaving dozens for the enjoyment of those attending tonight’s party.

“Dani will be so sorry she decided to meet us at the shelter instead of coming by early,” Kurt said, dipping a snicker-doodle in his milk, frowning a bit at the resultant spice decorating his drink, then shrugging and simply belting back what was left to wash down the last of the treat.

“I know, man. She missed out,” Elliott agreed, licking his lips happily.

Kurt held out a hand for Elliott’s empty glass, taking them to the sink to finishing washing up the last of the dishes. Kurt was a ‘clean as you go’ baker and his kitchen was far from the disaster area Elliott’s would have been had they done this project at his place. The application of a wet sponge and a little scrubbing, and the counters were also immaculately clean. Only the waiting tins of warm, neatly arranged cookies gave proof of the afternoon’s activity.

Elliott shook his head, admiring the almost military precision of his friend’s baking style. “You know, we should do this again,” he said. “Maybe cook something next time. I mean, I don’t really know how to make anything except stews and curries, but I’ll bet you could teach me. If you were okay with that.”

A big smile met this suggestion. Kurt looked like he’d just been given a wonderful present, clasping his hands and bouncing up on his toes with sudden excitement. “Of course! I have loads of cook books with recipes we could try. Some of them I’ve wanted to make for ages, but there never seemed much point in going to all that effort just for myself.”

“What about your roommates?”

He shrugged. “I’ve offered, but Santana isn’t a very adventurous eater, and I never know from week to week whether Rachel will be vegetarian, or vegan, or protein only, or all carbs. One week she decided out of the blue that she was going to do a liquid-only cleanse that she had read about in a magazine. It was supposed to last for a month, but three days into it, I was awakened in the middle of the night by the sounds of her going to town on leftover Chinese food, three different kinds of chips, and my newly purchased pint of strawberry-cheesecake ice cream.”

Elliott laughed. He could picture that easily. For such a tiny woman, Rachel could really pack it away when she was in the mood. “Well, I’ll try anything once. Let’s make a pact to get together once a week and try out a brand new recipe. Something neither of us has tried before.”

Kurt beamed. “How about Fridays? Friday Night Dinner was a staple in my house growing up. We would always make the time to get together, no matter what, to have a sit down meal together on that night. I tried to bring the tradition back with my friends, but it only lasted a few meals before everyone started begging off for various reasons. Do you want to try it?”

Pleased that Kurt was willing to share a special tradition with him, perhaps in return for sharing his own family recipe, Elliott said, “It’s a date.”

Unexpectedly, Kurt blushed and turned away. “It’s getting late. Maybe we’d better get all these cookies packed up. I was planning to call for a ride instead of trying to get all these safely to the shelter on the subway.”

“Good idea,” he said, wondering at that sudden mood shift. Kurt’s reaction to his flippant use of the word ‘date’ had given him pause. He considered just letting it go, but . . . somehow he did not want to let it go. “Kurt?”

“Yeah?”

Elliott took a deep breath, hoping he was not about to make a mistake and cause the rest of the night to become horribly awkward. “I had a really good time today.”

“Me too,” he agreed with a smile.

“Uh, yeah, so I was thinking. That is . . . I mean, I always have a good time when I’m with you.”

Kurt’s expression softened, becoming almost wistful. “So do I.”

“Right, so . . . do you think it’s weird for best friends to . . .”

“To . . .” Kurt repeated, brows raising as he encouraged Elliott to finish the thought.

Elliott paused. It was now or never. He wasn’t seeing anyone, and Kurt had been single for a decent enough span of time not to seem like he was pouncing on a vulnerable heart. He had always told himself that Kurt wasn’t his type, but Elliott knew that the sheer number of times he had given himself that reminder pretty much proved it a false claim.

“Would you be willing to go out with me some time?” he blurted. “Not as friends. Or, I mean, of course we’re still friends, but . . . as more than friends?”

Kurt blinked, looking as though he was not quite sure he was hearing correctly. Then he smiled a little shyly and said, “You mean, you and me; like a, go out together, do something fun, kiss at the end of the evening . . . type of thing?”

Elliott grinned, liking the idea a lot now that he was hearing it out loud. “Exactly. Maybe not Friday, because I’m already having recipe night with my best bud on Friday, but how about Saturday?”

Laughing at his words, but clearly touched that Elliott did not want to chance losing their friendship by throwing dating into the mix, Kurt ducked his head and said, “That sounds great. You told me you’d been wanting to visit the Museum of Modern Art, right? Maybe we could go together. Or, is that a dumb idea?”

“I think it’s a great idea,” he said, already picturing the two of them strolling slowly hand in hand through the halls of the great structure. “And maybe get some coffee and take a snowy walk through Central Park afterward.”

Kurt’s eyes shone at the mere mention of something so unabashedly romantic. “I’d love to.”

“Then we definitely have a date.” Wondering how he was going to contain his sudden giddy joy all evening, Elliott reached out and took Kurt’s hand, giving it a little squeeze before letting go and returning to the task of packing up the goodies for tonight’s party.

Stepping next to him, so that they stood side by side at the counter, Kurt accepted the cookie tin he was offered and settled it into a bag he’d brought out earlier for transporting. One by one, they packed the bag in this way, taking their time. They did not say anything more about their sudden change in status from best friends to possibly-more-than-friends, but the silence that stretched between them felt comfortable. Every so often, their arms would bump and they would exchange a smile that somehow felt both feel warmer and closer than it ever had before.

“I won’t do it until Saturday night,” Elliott remarked as the last tin was packed and the bag was closed up for travel. He pulled his jacket back on and accepted the warm blue scarf that Kurt held out with a scolding little cluck of his tongue, tucking it into place around his neck and down the front of his coat as he zipped the leather securely. He then lifted the strap of the cookie bag and settled it on his shoulder without asking, giving Kurt a chance to don his own coat and scarf and lock the door behind them.

“Do what?” Kurt asked as they started down the stairs together. His building had an elevator, but it was a risky proposition at the best of times.

Shifting the bag from one shoulder to the other, Elliott reached over and threaded his fingers through Kurt’s. “I was just thinking back there that I’d really like to kiss you, and that I felt kind of stupid for not realizing before today how much I wanted to do that.”

Kurt smiled and ducked his head. “Oh, that.”

“Yeah, that, and then I thought that I can’t do it. Not until Saturday night when I take you home. Or you take me home, whichever way it ends up. Because I’ve never been very good at the whole dating thing, but I want to do it right with you.”

He tipped his head, looking up at Elliott’s face with a fond smile. “That’s really sweet. I don’t really have a lot of experience at dating either. I have a weird habit of pining, then sort of falling in love without thinking it through, then moving in with people.”

Elliott laughed a little. “Sounds like we both have some catching up to do.”

“Agreed. So no kisses until Saturday,” Kurt said, still smiling as he checked his phone for the status of the car service driver he’d called. “How do you feel about hugging?”

“Friends hug,” he said, swinging an arm around Kurt’s shoulders in demonstration. “I could get into some serious post non-date hugging with you tonight. By Friday, we may be all the way up to snuggling.”

He laughed and squeezed Elliott’s waist. “I could be okay with that.”

Turning his head, Elliott looked down into Kurt’s eyes, noticing how pretty they looked in the light of the setting sun, shining blue with little flecks of green and gold. Before he could be tempted to break his own promise to himself, he planted his lips on Kurt’s hairline, pressing the soft skin fondly.

“Me too.”

THE END

#StarKurt #Just a little holiday fluff #Usually baking would imply Kadam but this popped into my head and felt like a better fit with Kelliot :)#HummelHolidays

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edgewaterfarmcsa · 4 years

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FALL CSA WEEK 2

- p i c k l i s t -

LETTUCE - MIZUNA - LACINATO KALE - CAYENNE PEPPERS - CARMEN (SWEET) PEPPERS -

LEMONGRASS - CAULIFLOWER - ORANGE KABOCHA WINTER SQUASH - LEEKS -

CUCUMBERS - CARROTS - GARLIC - GOLD POTATOES

Let’s talk Ginger. Ginger is my forever favorite crop. I love the magic of propagation that takes place in the early spring stages, the green shoots that emerge from the root, the smell of the ginger greenhouse as you go to weed mid season, and the unbelievable beauty of fresh ginger pulled from the earth after a whole summer of growth. It is a heaven sent root and I am here for it. Typically our Fall CSAers get the most out of this Fall crop as we harvest from September-October. This year however, I got too excited back in the Spring during early propagation. With real recklessness, I broke the ginger up into pieces that were too small for growth during its initial stages. Proper budding never occurred and many ginger root babies rotted out. A total crop failure. My purpose was to force more ginger earlier and instead I broke up the rhizome too much and weakened the potential for growth. This goes on the long list I made of farm fuck-ups for 2020. My purpose in telling you this sob story is to give you an honest heads up around any high expectations of getting ginger this year (not gonna happen). Also it highlights the benefits of diversified farming. In any given season no one intends on crop failures- but it happens. Sometimes weather demolishes a field, bugs eat an entire crop, or this farmer gets too excited. Bottomline here, thank goodness we grow a bajillion other crops- everything from tomatoes to berries to greens to bedding plants. Diversified farming allows a margin of error to take place in the field and not collapse the farm. My in-laws, Anne and Pooh took on diversified farming for this reason and I am so pleased to be grandmothered in. That’s all I have to say about ginger for now and hopefully that is all I have to say about crop failure for 2020. Hoping for a better crop in 2021.

In other news, This might be the best box of food yet- it will be hard to top week 2 of Fall CSA.

HOT TIPS:

Lemongrass: I add it to every broth I cook with- especially chicken broth- especially chicken broth thickened with coconut milk. You do not eat the lemon grass directly- chop the bottom whiter/pinker bottom portion and simmer for deep healing aromatics. If you are not committed to making a broth or using lemon grass this week, chop and freeze on a cookie sheet for 24 hours, and then bag all together and put back into the freezer for future use (this helps so pieces separate easily when frozen).

TEA! A few weeks back, Ramone (field crew worker, non stop joker) commented on the fever grass- I corrected him (lemongrass), he corrected me (fever grass). Bottomline, lemongrass is known as fever grass in Jamaica. Steep in hot water, sip it if you are feeling a cold coming on or currently sick- it’s good for what ails ya.

A new pumpkin laksa for a cold night by nigel slater (cold weather staple in my house)

The laksa appears complicated at first but in practice it is far from it. Once you understand the basics, the recipe falls into place and becomes something you can fiddle with to suit your own taste. The basic spice needs heat (ginger, garlic, hot pepper); the liquid needs body and sweetness (coconut milk, rich stock); the finish needs sourness and freshness (lime juice, mint, cilantro). The necessary saltiness comes from nam pla and tamari rather than salt itself. The notes in place, you can feel free to include noodles, tomaoes, greens, sweet vegetables, or meat as you wish. What matters is balance.

Enough for 4

Pumpkin (winter squash) - 1.5 cups

Cilantro and mint leaves to finish

FOR THE SPICE PASTE:

Hot peppers- 3-4

lemongrass- 2 plump stalks

Garlic- 2 cloves

cilantro stems- 5-6

Ginger- thumb sized lump

cilantro leaves- a handful

Sesame oil- 2 tablespoons

FOR THE SOUP:

Chicken or veg stock- 2.5 cups

Coconut milk- 1 ¾ cup

Tamari- 1-2 tablespoons

Nam pla (Thai fish sauce) - 2 tablespoons

Juice of a lime

dried noodles- ½ cup cooked as it says on packet, then drained

Peel and seed the pumpkin and cut into large chunks. Cook in a steamer or in a metal colander balanced over a pan of boiling water until tender. Remove from heat.

For the spice paste, remove stems from the chiles, peel the garlic, and peel and roughly chop the ginger and lemongrass. Put them all into a food processor with the cilantro stems and leaves and sesame oil and blitz until you have a rough paste. Get a large deep pan hot and add the spice paste. Fry for a minute, then stir in stock and coconut milk and bring to a boil. Let simmer for seven to ten minutes, then stir in nam pla, tamari, lime juice, pumpkin, and the cooked drained noodles. Simmer briefly, add the cilantro and mint leaves over the top and serve in deep bowls.

ANOTHER SPRAGUE FAMILY STAPLE!

from The First Mess // thefirstmess.com

SERVES: 4

NOTES: If you don’t want to use cassava flour, you can substitute brown rice, chickpea or regular wheat flour. Lower the amount of water to 1 cup if you’re making this substitution (& add more if necessary).-It’s important to really keep an eye on these towards the end of the cooking process. They can go from perfect to burnt in what feels like seconds. -I use a Microplane to get the garlic and ginger nice and fine for the sauce CAULIFLOWER1 head of cauliflower (about 2 ½ lbs)1 cup cassava flour1 ½ cups water, plus extra½ teaspoon garlic powder1 tablespoon sesame seedssea salt and ground black pepper, to taste STICKY SESAME SAUCE: ½ cup tamari soy sauce¼ cup maple syrup2 tablespoons toasted sesame oil2 tablespoons rice vinegar1 tablespoon tomato paste2 tablespoon chili paste (or to taste)3 cloves garlic, peeled & finely minced3-inch piece fresh ginger, peeled & finely minced2 tablespoons sesame seeds

Preheat the oven to 450 degrees F. Line 2 baking sheets with parchment paper.Cut the cauliflower into small florets. In a large bowl, combine the cassava flour, water, garlic powder, sesame seeds, salt, and pepper. Whisk to combine. The resulting batter should be fluid but thick--thick enough to coat a piece of cauliflower and pool only slightly once set on the baking sheet. If the batter is too thick/pasty, add water by the tablespoon until you reach the proper consistency.Drop the cauliflower florets into the batter and stir until all pieces are coated. Using a fork, carefully transfer battered cauliflower to the baking sheets, leaving 1 inch of space around each floret.Bake the battered cauliflower for 20 minutes. While the cauliflower is baking, make the sauce. In a small saucepan combine the tamari, maple syrup, sesame oil, rice vinegar, tomato paste, chili paste, garlic, ginger, and sesame seeds. Bring the sauce to a boil on the stove over medium heat. Simmer for 5 minutes or until slightly reduced. Set aside.After cauliflower has baked for 20 minutes, remove and let cool slightly. Once it’s cool enough to handle, transfer the par-baked cauliflower to a large bowl. Cover the cauliflower with all but 3 tablespoons of the sesame sauce. Toss to thoroughly coat the cauliflower.Bake the cauliflower for another 20 minutes, or until the edges are starting to darken. Remove the cauliflower and let it sit for a full 5 minutes before serving in lettuce wraps, on rice etc. with remaining sauce, extra sesame seeds, and chopped green onions.

Preheating the pan helps the leeks take on some color; cooking at a lower temperature ensures they're fully tender.

6 leeks, white and pale-green parts only

½ cup olive oil

Kosher salt

Place a rimmed baking sheet in oven and preheat to 400°. Cut leeks in half lengthwise. Rinse well and pat completely dry. Toss with oil in a large bowl; season with salt.

Arrange leeks, cut side down, on hot baking sheet and cover loosely with foil. Reduce oven temperature to 300°. Bake until leeks are lightly browned on cut side and very tender, about 1½ hours.

Uncover leeks and turn cut side up. Increase oven temperature to 400°; roast leeks until golden brown, 15–20 minutes. (Reserve the oil for making vinaigrettes or roasting vegetables. Let cool; cover and chill.)

DO AHEAD: Leeks can be baked 4 hours ahead. Let cool; cover and chill. Bring to room temperature before serving.

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glopratchet · 4 years

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retirement-home

e realm of astokahn with blood in the distance You can see a dark figure standing on top of it watching you to consume you, tall grass growing at an alarming speed nearing on which to swallow you delaying the night, warding off the dark In the darkness you can hear something like a heart, beating rapidly and a soft panting signs and orange cones littering the area If you follow woodgrain stickers and arrows, it will lead to astorl's compound blocking the entryway, demanding some viable ids before allowing entrance, or exit blindfolding the eyes that allow light in, band-aids the leave sticky residue on swollen wounds, in a language no one understands int he retirement village showing astorl's flawless fines, astorl comes on the loud speaker mentioning when to eat or drink tubes linked together stopping the spread of disease, creating an atmosphere to non-live in Cp vending machines spitting out cigarettes and alcohol rounding everyone up to sterilization or vaccinate them creating a false drug to repress the population rooms swarmed by delinquents drowning their sorrows away Wall-to-wall windows allow pure natural light through the building with sports-car paint jobs, driving at dangerous speeds inside the retirement village -mounted knights, rushing forward on horses demanding vids from you waiting in the trading post, his bionic implants a must-have performing dopebusts like he has forever in exchange for nothing Skirmishers gambling with fine coins in a nice office guarded by heavily-armed and armored juggernauts stand ready to strike down any who oppose in his chair, preparing do some crowd control Lector giving a sermon to praise astorl anounncing damascus' newest creation on the streets as dissidents and heretics start up a war at the retirement village Bullets chewing through skin This must be the place! face and his terminal you see mercenary captains attempting to persuade and force new recruits to join their army as part of his retirement package Clerics thanking astorl for blessing food and providing clothes with a gas-grenade to quell riots You distract the attention of the automated turrets , as always-watching cameras spotlight you of riflebolts spray around you, and you tumble behind cover to avoid them giving medical exams right now there's a line circling around the building Nurse accepting verbal criticisms grumbling as he wields a rolling-pin with societies ills as he's forced to listen or look at each and every citizen the shadows, wearing white to stand out against colored-clothes prisoners as they are thrown in and out or his armored car Sergeant nearing retirement drinking himself into a stupor every day people using his sleek, new metro medic computer There used to be another agent here, but they refused to play astorl's game any longer his beard while watching eight screens of tv mounted into a composite frame astorl as a hero, superbly painting fake scenes to indoctrinate his citizens Silvershield firing buckshot into car doorsteps the Emperor's wrath upon unsuccessful applicants, so they can repent for their failures people to seperate the criminals from the law-abiding Druglord selling enormous water-pipes to clouds of steamwhippers to avoid jihadi control and bribing the medical inspection officer watching his progress teeth to make the people's smiles more radiant for astorl Sending an agent swishing into the cloakroom, without interrupting your own surveillance is worsening day-by-day for the integrated agent; looking for pretense, he goes from house to house Is this really a surveillance state? agents sweeping trash off the sidewalk and moving on without awaiting their payment of silvershields---patrolling, defending joint interests in the steam-century of tubes overhead individuals ascending into the terminal building, but not friends with local law enforcement citizens traveling the plains actively navigate through defenses, for purpose of civilian safety in blue mingling amongst themselves in a sea of black marble ceremony for an art-deco colonial revival never finished; facing a building-material store are filling the silvery steam-clouds above their city; they look like silverfish in a bowl of milk herself in the sunlight , she smiles to her tiny minions and waves at the buildings -on-sticks excersizing around the kiosks, she loudly says the univeral indication of friendship hall: maroon sofa, wooden table, candlelight---and ever-after understanding they just say what everyone's thinking; what're we going to do? contest juust ended in the underground cafeteria, and three hospitalities workers were disqualified No cameras focused at an average citizen's two-parent, cashier closing the bars by the train depo emponymous a tumbledown frat house fallen into disrepair: mob-dominated pool hall, peeling the paint off their walls at the kiosk buying an iced caffe latte Baking scents wafting through the terminal, as cooks prepare desserts for dinner in hammocks at nightfall: creepy crawlies tentatively crawl the wooden pier buzzing at night; the whirring sound recedes as the lights turn out Grease sticks to fingers in the tunnelman's lunch pail listens over the loudspeaker, breathing in godly instructions Greydancers break-dancing on tape: they watch for a moment, judgmental with strawberry nuts, soggy-soft enough to eat all 15 pages in one bite on scrapbook paper out over three tables; too large for one day He remembers his dreams but you don't; overworked at the plants her infant girlchild, as she fantasizes living in the distant past Rumor holding an outdated truncheon while hiding behind rumormongering -teeth jealous of your immigrant status, but holds respect for law-enforcement lean over; their painted lines maybe haven't been maintained for years Sunlight shining through clear-plastic curtains, oblique onto the grandfather's face to the hangout is too a crowded daycare Spoiled scoundrel, throwing tiny blocks at a foosball opponent congregating in the ratty footstool; nobody yells at lazybones Kindly ferrel cats couple up on a bolt hinge, one squealing desperately sewing-baskets setting up a chair factory in the basement Servers flirt briefly with you before their children call them away from you for the ulcers, served during your three-hour dinner period frantically feeding drinks to patients incapable of swallowing Phosphorescence buried, half-buried under aging coloring books onto your textbook during your lunchbreak; usually you read glossy magazines in the skyrocketing price of nails since the union lost their benefits blowing upwards through the door from afar; somebody hold onto your hat Occasional stranger hugging themselves against hall drafts this time of year drugs for people laughing with it Foodstuffs stirring under a waterproof tarp during afternoon showers drying out in their suture packets on the metal garage shelves Late-sleeper washcloth worn down to a nub in the public restroom faced-players jumping all the way down to pick up a dropped quarter leading into his lounge from the cafeteria's walk-in freezer Streetcleaners sweeping cigarettebutts to prevent slips and falls of trust between employees stealing lunches from each other Let sleeping dogs lie; you don't want to agitate the baggageman leading a gospel sing with deadengine sound effects travelling through the airshafts stacked outside for the next trashday; out for the roaches A book thrown with a thud against the door hitting in a spiral pattern stapler stapled to a post as proof of claimed land Liturgical-candles burning briefly in protest on city hall's doorstep -fallout buzzing loudly under a crack in the floor Kneeling on feathers tickling your ears while tiding up the bedclothes pie-maker pumping out pans of crustless shells Rotating wallhanging scattering pictures with tornadoes preacher prays for apocalypse to wash humanity away Sconces flashing in the factory owner's dorm pan inexorably sweeping its load into the trash-disposal unit This isn't even the tip of the iceberg! advertising in the license-plate factory MTBE with lead-based paint from childhood, drinking contests in nightclubs -overdoses at the local hospital appreciating your service to country railing against a vote-fraud investigation Trifocals fitting lenses into Marxist economic theory earwax blocking your auditory canals with wax diamonds Expatriate hipsters barfing in the airport terminal dripping thimblefuls into plastic coolers outside the fallout shelter squinting in the hazy smog with your biiiiiig eye And pummelling atheists with bibles under the hot mid-day sun Tusk unaccountably sharpened to a fine point, look out your naive comrades! in the battery-optimiser with overburdened charge capacity Infernal-Globe crushing your enemies, seeing angels in the explosion orating the Truth with a bullhorn on the corner of State and Main condensing in the humidifier and smashing it open for the bounty thundering inside crop circles and your Pastor's bad breath Machinery raining down from the bridge during a liquidation of gov't property the chief-of-police's prize Husky, and feed it the human bodies -boy, you're going tooooo marching into battle with their chariots Steins mass-produced for the festival-goers with built-in coin-slot for easy carrying flashing through garbage-dumpsters with glitz and grime Snowblower limping to safety across virgin white-land with bloody limp And more! warding off the unclean spirits that follow your 17 syllable Singularity badges peddled by the handful as cult-souvineers poured unmeasurable drops averting the apocalypse Cobwebs weaved with caustic chemicals catching the overheated owners By you! oozing into a sticky situation, fortunately too slow for you Bartender's special clearing out the town with alcohol and fisticuffs stirring up a worldwide 'incident' by reporting the news ADHD prescribing Ritalin to guzzle and grumble thy sleeping beast dancing the dance of diplomacy New-Meat bulldozing over the dying town with grace and big guns hefting and hurling their favorite projectiles Whistle-Pigs direction-reading for incoming metal freezing the battlefield to take out the opposing team Survivors wallowing and hiding away from the overwhelming odds framed by an exceptionally tanned chest-piece with hero-worshipping admiration Lifesavers protecting the subverted armored vehicles by conversion terrorists bankrolling the local talent, with fat purses of loot Land-mines whizzing towards you at immense speeds eating away at the enemy from the inside out Laxatives mixing with drinking water to wreak havoc leaders, and taggers spraying multicolored blister-causing graffiti Sculptors subjecting victims to a slow demise with living stone Criminals battling their criminal insanity but killing their enemies instead messing up the muscle-memory of aberrant limbs rioting and pillaging their once peaceful towns Witches brewing potions to instill fear and dread Engineers experimenting with explosives and volatile compounds -lovers making mountains out of molehills Fire-insurance scaring the living daylights out of complacent homeowners leaping towards lanterns with suicidal intentions Academia schooling the youth in how avoid the clutches of death filtering out corruption causing poison Bricklayers building the nice wall against bad people paying fence-sitting paupers to pave the way Files sorting bad people into the proper slots Research uncovering brutal facts of reality hidden in plain sight pointing out the suspicious behavior Standup warming up crowds with familiar favorites and festival favorites knocking people out cold with a healthy dose Gunslingers winging it with overflowing bullets waiting around the corner to sting you viciously Fetishes kinkying it up all night long providing thirst-quenching ammunition to shoot at people Expeditions braving uncharted territory to take the enemies supplies -divers searching the trash for consumable goods Northings participating in the bloodsport of sadism and violence threatening death and mayhem for loot and personal gain Exhilerating! Retinues following the whims of royalty OU have such whims? -buggies riding up and down the dunes, avoiding gunfire shielding yourself from death's embrace Tees modeled after the funniest/darkest/weirdest messageboard tirades keeping the grime and grim off of that lovely teal uniform Skirmishers skirmishing the fools who get in your way charging into battle without care Olive-Drab provided you protection! Stereotypes matching before God, the Emperor, and everyone you were assigned to kill guzzling down grain alcohol and throwing the empties at your enemies What? It's free, clean, and sanitary! reading up on the behavior of certain animal groups extinct elsewhere skewered and grilled six different ways OU want the entire lizard mounted on a pole, or just the tail? revealing the inner-workings of your enemies for all to see Tenaciously tracking down those that would try to evade justice expressing your genotype for all to see It's science! Snipers shooting those that refuse to re-enlist Musketeers shooting everybody using DNA splicing to create the most vicious chimerals yet Dendrisers creating a giant creature inhabiting all of the strange lands or the land will sent out tremors of unhappiness What other objects or material can you come up with? or you face splashing down on the surface of Dendrin's moon and drowning in its oceans, despite being an air-breather too Everyone will spontaneously combust if you enter the atmosphere too fast or steeply again as you wait for another Meteortric cycle when you might again be stricken is pretty simple actually just don't enter the atmosphere to slow or fast or too shallow and you will have a safe landing Tips: shells to surround the egg so it does'nt break on impact You will also need to provide protection from any side to side motion that might occur; so a cushion The container will need to be rigid to make sure that the walls do not flex or the egg could bang on the walls as you descend, Once again cracking and even breaking your prize possession You will also need to find a way to keep the egg steady within the container The main problem with all of this is that space is a vacuum so if it cracks then there is nothing to hold the atmosphere in and it will instantly be rendered You decide to go big because you have nothing left to lose and put your entire self into this one task With the newly added protection of the endless chambers and halls your weight has increased by at least 40% so you make your way back to the warm waters of the As you slowly break the surface of the water you can see air above you beyond the water that your parts are submerged in

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