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scoops-stevie-archive · 2 years

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Misty Taste of Moonshine - ao3

Six months into their relationship, Steve realizes how different Eddie is when he's around certain people. He doesn't put on the theatrical facade he wears when he's at school or hanging out with the party, all loud and brash and in your face as the name Eddie Munson has come to be known.

He's been to enough Corroded Coffin practices to see the way Eddie interacts with the band. Little inside jokes and a casual affection that should make him jealous, but in those moments, he sees himself and Robin and feels nothing but warmth. That even after everything, Eddie can still have this with the handful of people that know him better than anyone.

Even so, they don't know the Eddie that resides at the Munson trailer. The real Eddie, not the one dimensional being that deals in the doorway under the dim porch light and in the shadows, the one that's on the receiving end of sneers and the word "devil" spat at his feet like his face isn't even worth the trouble of aiming for.

Steve learns that when Eddie was four, his mom died in a car accident on her way to pick him up from the babysitter's. His dad had never been around, so her brother Wayne was the only next of kin eligible to take him in.

"I don't really remember my mom," Eddie says one night after dinner. He and Steve are in Eddie's room. Wayne's already left for work so they've got the trailer to themselves until morning. They could use the time to fool around like the teenagers they aren't, but tonight, Steve just wants to hear Eddie talk. There's an acoustic guitar he keeps in the closet, a gift from his grandpa before he and Wayne moved to Indiana. He strums it quietly as they sit on the bed. "I remember she used to sing to me a lot, though. Lots'a Loretta Lynn and Johnny Cash." He's got a soft smile on his face as he plucks the strings absentmindedly.

"My first real memory is of me sittin' on my great grandma's knee in her kitchen. She had this rocking chair in the corner by the window that looked out over half the holler." He turns his smile to Steve. "I'm takin' you there one day, Stevie. You gotta see it."

They don't know the real Eddie. Steve considers himself lucky that Eddie trusts him and feels comfortable around him to let every single carefully constructed wall come crumbling down when they're alone in the safety of the trailer.

They don't know that the voice they hear everyday isn't his real one. The one he grew up speaking with. When it's just them, Eddie's outside voice fades into one with a soft twang and it makes Steve's insides melt like butter in the screaming hot cast iron skillet that's seasoned and so well loved by both Munsons. Steve can cook, don't get him wrong (with his parents gone for weeks at a time it was either he learn how to use the stove or starve) but compared to Wayne and Eddie, his food is on par with a ten year old who just learned how to boil water.

Eddie always appreciates Steve cooking for them. He stands behind him at the stove with his arms gently wrapped around his waist and his chin on his shoulder, gently swaying back and forth. In the beginning, Steve would get embarrassed with Wayne in the room and brush his boyfriend off, but now it's almost second nature to lean back into his hold and accept the kiss on the nape of his neck and the quiet "smells good, baby" in his ear, the man who has come to be more of a dad to him than his own father watching with fondness behind his beer can.

Steve has always known that Hawkins wasn't home to Eddie, not really. He knew that, to him, home was deep in Carter County, Kentucky where lived with his uncle and grandparents. And his great grandparents and various aunts and uncles and cousins. Unlike Steve, Eddie never grew up with a shortage of love. There was always plenty to go around, even if they didn't have much money. Then Wayne got laid off from the coal mine when Eddie was thirteen and they moved up here to Indiana where he got on at the Sattler quarry. From what Eddie's told him, though, most of his family moved out of the holler and into the southern regions of Ohio. Only a few cousins stayed behind to keep their grandparents' cabin in the family.

To this day Steve still kicks himself for not fully noticing Eddie sooner. For not befriending him before Tommy H. and Carol dug their toxic claws into him and turned him into the douche bag he's still revered as. He remembers the new kid being introduced at the beginning of seventh grade and how hard he tried to make friends. He remembers how he was shut down every single time with laughs and cruel comments. Kids outright making fun of his accent and his clothes until he no longer tried reaching out and hung back from everyone. He eventually met Jeff and Gareth, and Steve was so grateful to them for getting Eddie out of his shell again, but the damage was already done and it followed him every year since.

Sometimes Steve will ask Eddie to sing to him, and he'd settle further into the pillows on the other boy's bed (the trailer was more his home these days than his actual house) and listen with his heart almost bursting with emotion as Eddie played a tune on his acoustic. A Johnny Cash song that Steve vaguely recognizes, a song that Eddie says almost every Appalachian family has their own rendition of. Steve thinks it's also eerily fitting for everything that's happened in the past year.

And when he's finished, Steve will pull him into a kiss and vow to never take for granted this version of his boyfriend only he's allowed to know.

#steddie #eddie munson #steve harrington #eddie munson headcanons #gay eddie munson #eds #*drags you in by the collar* listen to me closely: eddie munson is a son of the appalachian mountains #idk about the rest of yall but our metalheads have LAYERS #most of us grew up listening to the oldie country bc its all our parents and grandparents listened to #the song eddie sings to him is aint no grave bc i feel like its a song that resonates with a lot of appalachians #and bc i think it fits the hawkins gang pretty well #taking eddie's vague af backstory and tearing it to shreds. he's my blorbo now bitch #i was gonna have eddie describe the holler he grew up in but #the mental image of it combined with welcome home son by radical face made me too emotional lmao #cj writes #appalachian eddie #cj talks

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nincompoopydoo · 3 years

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PINING, BAGELS, REPEAT.

— WHEN THE DRINKING'S DONE ; PART 6 / ?

( gif from this gifset by @jascontodd )

PAIRING: Bruce Wayne x reader

WORD COUNT: 2.9k

SUMMARY: Sunday night dinner with your mother doesn’t go as planned when Bruce shows up unexpectedly at your door and you both know how your mother really loves him alot.

A/N: Slow and kinda long-winded chapter again haha. I used to be the kind of person who couldn’t write long stuff. Now look at me. Who is she??? Enjoy this one yall. Probably one or two more chapters to go, depends on how much I can write <3

WARNINGS: Swearing, alcohol. I write about what I feel and they are very real. So if you find these things triggering, please do not read this.

MASTERLIST ; MASTERPOST

Sunday night. You’re in an apron, flushed from the heat of the stove. You’ve just poured a glass of wine for your mother, but she doesn’t drink it—too busy walking around your apartment, clearing your stuff as she criticizes your lack of cleanliness and organization. Grading papers during exam season keeps you busy. Needless to say, you don’t have the time to clean your goddamn house.

You still love her anyway.

You’re at the sink, purple-stained fingers from peeling the tunic of the red onions are under running water when there is a knock on your door. It’s deafening, rapid, and agitating. You’ve just spilled boiling water onto your hand and you really don’t need another problem to come charging at your front door. Literally.

Moving out of the kitchen with haste, you call out over your shoulder to your mother to quit rearranging with bits and bobs of stationary and papers because yes, it’s messy but you know exactly where everything is. The knocking doesn’t cease, and your annoyance aggravates further. You’re gonna have to punch someone or something if it doesn’t stop.

You aggressively pushed the barrel of the bolt lock, swinging the door open as the strands of your wild hair flew backward in the sudden blow of air.

All forms of anger and agitation disappear as soon as your gaze meets the flushed face of none other than Bruce fucking Wayne, dressed in a grey dress vest, tie hanging loosely a pristine white shirt, and an ebony tweed overcoat. This feels like deja vu. Your expression goes through a series of mixed emotions, mostly confusion, when it morphed into a guise of embarrassment, cheeks even redder. “Don’t tell me I texted you by accident again?” He blinks, seemingly as bewildered as you are. “What? No, no. No. I—” His sentence is cut short when he takes a moment to catch his breath. Your brows are frowning even deeper than before. “Did you run here or something? And what are you doing here anyway?”

Bruce shifts in his stance, a palm against the door frame, shaking his head. He feels small under your interrogative stare. “No, I came here to see you…” he trails off, eyes shamelessly skirting across your figure. He just now notices that it may be a bad time for him to turn up, and you’re hit with the realization you’re in a ratty apron, very red and very sweaty. You’re right. It is deja vu because why are you always a mess when Bruce shows up at your front door unannounced? You abruptly pull the apron over your head, hurling it behind the door, hands palming the frizz of your hair into a somewhat presentable look.

“Look, I need to talk you—”

“Honey! Who’s at the door?” He’s being cut off mid-sentence again. This time, by your mother’s voice from the living room. Your eyes are wide again—so are his.

Your mother’s fondness for Bruce is an understatement. Obsession is a better word. She had only met him once, and that was six years ago but the conceptualization of being somewhat related to an exceptionally handsome and successful man had gotten to her head all those years ago. Hell, she loves him more than she loves you. Your mother—A woman who wishes to call your best friend ‘son’ with a whole lot of love to give. If she discovers Bruce is here, at your doorstep, she will never let go. Never. And you both know it. There’s a silent understanding that travels between the two of you and the look you’re giving him tells only one thing—Run before it’s too late.

“Bruce Wayne as I live and breathe...”

Well, too late.

A small-statured lady stands on the farther side of the hallway, face lit up with sheer joy and excitement as if she had just won a lottery. She approaches him with arms open wide and soon, her hands are laid on his cheeks, examining the man’s face carefully. Bruce just stands there, stiff as a rock, unsure of how to regain his composure from all the adrenaline of wanting to see you now that he was in such close proximity to the woman who raised you. When it’s you, he tends to struggle with timing and it’s partly the reason he has never managed to act on his feelings for you. For the longest time, he has wanted to be more than friends or whatever the hell this was. He had been hesitant but now, he’s very sure.

Sometimes it feels like it's the right person but the wrong time. He doesn’t want it to be that way. He wants to make things right with you.

And there he was, being squished under the grasp of the lady that loves him very much.

He catches your gaze; you flash him a sympathetic smile as you mouth the word “sorry.” Bruce arches his brows, indicating he has no idea what to do or how to get out of this situation.

“You’ve grown so much since the last time I saw you!” the older woman exclaims, a hand now firmly on his shoulder, the other brushing away his long strands of hair from his face with affection. Bruce would never admit it; he likes the attention your mother gives to him—the touch of a mother. Something he longs for.

“Why don’t you come in and join us for dinner? There's more than enough food.”

Crap, you should have known that question was bound to be mentioned. You’re not convinced that you will be able to suppress your emotional heartburn and the idea of Bruce tasting the dishes you’re cooking, it’s making your palms sweat. But what the hell. You shouldn’t be this nervous around him, you’ve known each other for years. He has seen you at your worst and vice versa.

Still, you’ll like to avoid the predicament of a dinner table set for you, your mother, and the man you secretly love. You’re quick with an answer. “Oh, I’m sure he has other important things to do. Bruce is very busy—”

“I’ll be happy to. I have no plans for tonight after all.”

You stare at Bruce, eyes glimmering with shock and betrayal—he is supposed to be on your side. He simply sends you a swift wink, and you feel the growing and most likely apparent deep red of your already flushed cheeks. You glance away to face your mother, eye crinkling in hopes of concealing the effect he has on you. Well, at least your mother looks fucking overjoyed. Maybe the night won’t end in disappointment.

The scent of chicken and spice whiffs through the air from the dishes of chicken and chorizo paella you’ve managed to whip up in a quick thirty minutes—a recipe you came by in an article titled “Fancy dishes for lazy cooks.” Well, it’s certainly working; everyone looks pleasantly surprised when you emerge from the kitchen with a cast-iron skillet within your kitchen gloved-grasp.

Happiness is the sound of the clinking of cutlery against nearly empty smeared plates, the splash of wine cascading from the bottle you held into the glasses of your guests, and the occasional laughter that erupts from your mother as Bruce tries to make a joke through mouthfuls of paella. A symphony of contentment and comfort, composed and orchestrated by the two most significant individuals in your life. Beauty is made anywhere beautiful people are; in this space, cramped up at the beech wooden table made for one by the casement window that overlooks the apartment across yours.

This side of Bruce—where boyish smiles were manifested and hearty laughs arising from the belly—is the side you miss the most. Years ago, things felt simpler though your past self would deny that notion as human life continues to become more intricate as we grow older and our eyes see more. Innocence to maturity. Happiness to grief. But, the complexity of this warfare between the brain and the heart seems to reside in perpetual darkness, no light at the end of the tunnel. For a long time, you thought deciding to be alone could eventually bring peace to the madness but maybe, you’ve been with the wrong people this whole time. It’s your reflection against the window pane that shows the evident crinkle in your eyes and the constant upward in the curve of your lips even though it contrasts the gloomy hues of blue from the sky at twilight—you’re happy.

It’s the way your mother leans over and wipes off the bits of rice from the corner of your mouth and the exchange of awkward smiles when Bruce accidentally brushes his hand against yours when reaching for the fork. This is what you want. And maybe, just maybe, you deserve to not be alone.

“So, have you decided on who you’re taking to the wedding?”

Your mother’s voice hauls you back from your daydream. She gives you a knowing look, discretely glancing towards Bruce on the other end of the table. She knows you don’t have a date, and you know she wants you to bring Bruce. You feel your anxiety creep back in.

This is weirdly the second time you’re in this situation.

“I don’t know yet...” In times like this, you wonder if your mother wields some sort of magical ability of truth or something because no matter how much you try, you can never lie to her. And now, you wish the ground would collapse and swallow you up. You know she means well, but oh my God, Bruce is staring at you and you don’t know what to do with your hands anymore.

“Wedding?” Bruce chirps with a questioning brow as he glances between you and your mother. Now, you’re forced to explain for the sake of context. “My cousin’s getting married next week and mom here wants me to bring a date.” Your mother’s expression indicates that you’re lying through your teeth. Yet in reality, it’s not technically a lie if you’re leaving parts of reason out of the explanation because it’s true she wants you to bring a date but you don’t mention how you don’t want to go alone because weddings make you sad.

It sounds pathetic.

Bruce just nods, taking a sip of his wine. The fact he’s not saying anything is making you anxious. You thought you didn’t want him to be your date but now, maybe you do. These feelings are messing up your brain. It’s just mush now, and there’s no cure.

These are the times you want to say “Fuck you, Bruce” but in the nicest way possible.

“Why don’t you bring Bruce?”

She was direct as they come but is mostly tired of your lack of initiative and doubt. I mean, it’s not like you’re asking him to marry you, right? And honestly, you’re kind of relieved you didn’t have to be one to do it but you can’t keep depending on her to do all the heavy lifting for you. You’re not a teenager anymore. You’re a goddamn grown adult.

Nevertheless, you peer at his reaction to this from the corner of your eye, fully expecting some sort of a resting jaded expression or eyes wide in horror but he’s just looking at you...with that look—highly bewildered and almost seems to be entertained by your embarrassment. Despite the purse of his lips, you manage to catch sight of the slight impish tuck of his lips.

He thinks it's the wine, but he isn’t exactly sure.

“Yeah, sure. Why not?”

“Are you sure about this?” you cross your arms, as you watch Bruce shrug on his coat from the rack. The two of you are squeezed in the entryway of your apartment, huddling in hushed conversation. “About what?” he asks absentmindedly when in reality, he knows exactly what you’re referring to. As much as he doesn’t want to admit it, it’s an excuse to be around you longer. You purse your lips, shifting in your stance, eyes flickering away from his gaze. “About coming to the wedding,” you say it slowly, carefully, like you’re afraid to and you’re not sure why. He nods with the furrow of his brows, tugging his hands into the pockets of his ebony tweed coat. “I’m sure...Unless you don’t want me to come—”

“No, no. God, of course, I want you to come,” you stop, realizing how your sudden outburst of excitement must have made you seem desperate. You clear your throat, feet shifting once more. “I don’t want to pull you off work just because I don’t want to be alone.”

He raises his brows, nearing a little closer to you. “So that’s the real reason?” A hint of a smile—it’s a teasing one. You simply throw a fist to his arm yet unable to stifle your growing smile. “Don’t be a jerk.”

Bruce winces followed by a laugh that comes out more light a puff of air as he bares his palms in a gesture of surrender. “Hey, I didn’t say anything.”

Maybe, it’s the walls of this hallway, covered with hung framed photographs of family, childhood, and friends because it’s starting to feel warm. You think it’s the way his eyes light up when you laugh, radiating a sort of comforting warmth on this cold night. It feels like home. Bruce feels like home. You notice the prominent stain of your mother’s lipstick on his left cheek. You bring one hand to rest on the curve of his cheekbone, thumb trying to efface the smeared stain away.

You’re not sure if it's the smell of his deodorant or the sudden sense of his breath on your skin that made you comprehend the closing gap between your face and his. In an instant, your hand jerks away and returns to your side, clenching to a fist. Bruce clears his throat, bringing a hand up to scratch the growing stubble at his jaw. The touch of your fingers lingers like a burn.

Recognizing the tension in the air, you decide to avert your thoughts back to the conversation you were having in the first place. “You know, you don’t have to come. Really. You’ve done a lot for me, and you know that.”

“Yes...but I’ll always have your back no matter what.”

He smiles at you. The kind that reaches his eyes. He looks younger like this.

“And I’ll always have yours, Bruce.”

You’re an idiot. He’s an idiot. You’re just two idiots, standing in the hallway with hearts that feel like they’re about to explode. Despite the lingering tension in the air that’s still present, you bring him into an embrace. It feels natural, your arms around his shoulder and his on the small of your back. “Thanks for everything. Especially for making my mom really happy.” you punctuate your sentence with a gentle caress to the back where his shoulders meet. You hear the muffled sound of his laugh, feeling the rumble of his chest against yours as you try not to squirm at the brush of his unshaven chin against the curve of your neck. “No problem,” he mumbles before pulling away.

“And you need a shave.” You’re pointing to his chin and he finds himself scratching it again. He merely hums in response.

Swinging the door open while you wave him goodbye feels like a part of you is leaving. You’re not sure why you’re feeling this newly found emptiness in you when you know you’ll see him next week. You decide to blame the wine. It’s easier that way.

He’s walking away, already out of view when you decide you should really say something at least.

“Bruce,” you suddenly call out; he turns on his heels and backtracks a little too eager to face you at the doorway. “What was it you wanted to talk about?” He frowns in response, head tilting in a questioning manner. “When you came here, you said you needed to talk.”

He recalls the real reason he was here in the first place. Rushing to your door like you’re about to disappear any minute. Yet, you’re here, still at the doorway, three hours later. Fuck, he was about to confess.

Bad timing. Again.

Right person, wrong time.

No. He’ll make it right. Just, not now.

“I was...going to thank you for the bagels; Asiago. Nice choice.” Is what he says instead of reciting the words that had been running through his head in rehearsal since the drive to your apartment. He ignores the way your shoulders sag, perhaps in relief—he doesn’t want to know. He ignores the burning in his chest when you nod, the corners of your mouth tugging into a faint smile as you raise a palm in a somewhat solemn wave of farewell. He ignores the sting in his eyes when the door closes on him, symbolizing finality when he really doesn’t want it to end. Left alone in the dismal light of the hallway; it acts as a poignant reminder of his bereavement and how much of his consolation depends on your presence.

When the drinking's done, does it make it any easier for him to open himself up to you?

Bruce allows himself to cry once he pulls the car door to a close because he feels overwhelmed by the conflicting thoughts that continue to reside in his mind. The regrets, the what-ifs, and the should-haves. He forgets himself sometimes because he gets so lost in his thoughts, he doesn’t recognize himself anymore.

You keep him grounded. You remind him who Bruce Wayne truly is.

He catches a glimpse of his reflection in the rearview mirror.

You’re right. He does need a shave.

TAGLIST:

@raineeace

#bruce wayne #bruce wayne x reader #batman #batman x reader #bruce wayne imagine #batman imagine #bruce wayne x you #batman x you #justice league

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catflorist · 3 years

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Warm (ao3/ffn) catflorist written for the beginnings with sasusaku zine

Falling snow made Konoha quiet, but this corner of the village was always quiet. Sasuke exited the Uchiha compound with a travel pack hanging heavy on his shoulder. On this evening, with hours until the beginning of the new year, the emptiness of his clan’s district gnawed at him more than usual.

In a different life, he would be fire-jumping with his clan.

Before the new year, the Uchiha clan gathered and lit fires in the streets. They jumped together over the flames. With each leap, the fire fed on their sickness, weakness, and bad luck. It offered health and good luck in return.

Sasuke was not an animated child, but during this ceremony, he would jump high and wild like the others. There was a sense of invulnerability when arriving on the other side of the flame unscathed, then a burning drive to leap again. His feet were loud on the ground when he landed, because he didn't know yet how to move like a shinobi. Every year, he swore he would jump as high as Itachi, though he never could.

No fires were burning in the Uchiha district now, and no children were leaping. The gates to the compound creaked as Sasuke pulled them shut. He slipped into the tangle of Konoha’s winding streets.

Halfway to his apartment, pink hair flashed in the beam of a street lamp. Sakura turned the corner, arms crowded with grocery bags, and strode towards the crosswalk.

Sasuke halted. She hadn’t spotted him yet.

“Sakura ka…” he called. He could not say hello when he greeted her, only, Ah, it’s Sakura, like she was a phenomenon to remark upon.

Sakura turned her head.

“Sasuke-kun,” she replied, eyes brightening. As her gaze flicked to the bag over his shoulder, her smile faltered. “Are you going again?”

Sasuke frowned, pulling on the strap of the offending bag. He had only recently returned to the village. Did she think he was leaving so soon?

“I was visiting...” He turned his head in the direction of the old Uchiha district. “Gathering some things.”

“I see,” she murmured. “Then...do you have plans this evening? I’m going to make toshikoshi soba.” She shifted an arm, revealing the green onions and package of soba noodles peeking out of one grocery bag. “It’ll be too much for one person.” Her cheeks were pink, but maybe it was the cold.

Sasuke usually preferred to be alone. Since returning to the village in the fall, he had his routine. It was not very different from his routine while traveling. In the mornings he trained. He cooked meals in silence and gazed at the view of the forest. In the evenings he tried not to sleep too deeply, his protocol to stave off the nightmares.

The only difference was that if Naruto pounded on the door enough, he might be convinced to spar. If Sakura was around, she healed his injuries. “Try to be more careful next time,” she would say with a crinkle between her eyebrows, which is what happened when she wanted to say more, but didn't want to push him.

She wore that same look now, gripping her bags tighter in case he said yes, eyes already down in case he refused. Snowflakes rested and melted on her eyelashes.

After sorting through his father and Itachi’s belongings, on a night when the compound should have been alive with fire, being alone wasn’t as appealing as usual.

“All right,” he heard himself saying.

Sakura had barely seen Sasuke since he had returned to the village. Now he was seated in her kitchen, tasting the toshikoshi soba she had made following her mother’s recipe. If she wanted, she could bump her knee against his under her small table.

“Your apartment...” Sasuke began. His voice was quiet, the same timbre as the hum of her radiator.

“I don’t spend a lot of time here,” she interjected, palms itching. Her apartment was small and unadorned. She had cobbled furniture together courtesy of her parents, Ino, and a spare office in the Hokage tower. Half the time, she sneezed when she walked in the door, because she never found a moment to sweep the dust.

Sasuke’s shoulder rose and fell. “No, it’s not that.” He raised the bowl to his lips, taking a long sip. “It looks like it’s yours.”

Before she could wonder how he concluded this, Sasuke lowered the bowl to the table, a little too gently. Something about the movement told Sakura to pay attention.

“I was gathering clothes. Mine are worn from traveling.” He swirled noodles slowly in his broth. “I don’t have another way to wear our crest. What I found wasn’t in great condition.”

Sakura would never fully grasp the lonely responsibilities Sasuke bore as the last of his clan. If he did not wear the crest, there was no one else who would. He had to choose, every day, to be an Uchiha. Otherwise they would disappear.

“If you need…” Sakura swallowed. “I can help. I know how to sew.”

The sink dripped, once, twice. Sakura’s mouth opened, an apology bubbling to her lips, when Sasuke left the kitchen. He returned to his chair and spread the contents of his bag on the table: carefully folded articles of clothing, uchiwa fans decorating each item.

Sakura stroked a loose thread, where the fabric of the Uchiha crest was lifting away from the back of a dark haori. “They're not in bad condition,” she said. “They just need some attention.”

“This was my father’s,” Sasuke said, fingertips grazing a deep blue yukata. He nodded towards the article in Sakura’s hands. “Itachi’s.”

Sakura touched her knee to Sasuke’s, soft enough to pass as an accident. He could easily move away, if he wanted to. He didn’t.

“There was a certain stitch we used to sew on crests,” he said. “But I was young. I never learned.”

Sakura inspected the stitching pattern on the haori. It was not too different from a surgical stitch she knew. She unearthed her sewing materials from a kitchen drawer and started the careful work of re-attaching the crest.

When the task was done, Sakura lifted her head. Sasuke’s chair was empty, and the table was clear of dishes.

“Sasuke-kun?” she called.

A soft grunt sounded from behind. Sasuke was leaning over the counter, next to a clean sink and a neat stack of dishes. He set aside a bottle of oil.

She frowned. “What are you doing?”

Sasuke turned, gripping her old cast iron skillet. Its surface appeared to possess more luster, and less rust, than usual.

“Your cast iron was rusting,” he said in disapproval. “I’m re-seasoning it.” He lit the oven and placed the pan inside with a clank. “It’ll need an hour.”

“You’ve made yourself at home,” Sakura said.

A faint smile raised the corners of Sasuke’s lips.

Sakura smoothed over the mended crest of Itachi’s haori. “How is this?”

Sasuke reclaimed his seat and leaned in. Their shoulders brushed. After a beat, he nodded. “Good.”

Sakura’s cheeks warmed, unexpectedly. “Being a trained surgeon doesn’t hurt.”

The smile returned, closer to a smirk this time. He discovered her kettle, brewed tea, and set two cups on the table. Outside the window, night deepened, approaching midnight.

Sakura slipped back into concentration. Tomorrow she would start off the new year with an early shift at the hospital. Instead of going to bed, she added a yukata to her growing pile of mended clothing. Sasuke remained a quiet presence beside her, sipping tea, making no move to leave.

Maybe, she thought, looping thread through cloth, we’ll do this again.

Sasuke peered at her face. “What are you thinking about?”

“Hm? Oh...nothing. Smells bad.” The scent of oil pushed past its smoking point was filling her kitchen. “What are you thinking about?”

“The new year,” he said, tracing the lip of his teacup. “Old traditions.”

“Traditions?” she prompted.

Sasuke stood and slid his left hand into an oven mitt. “My clan...we used to do fire-jumping before the new year.”

“That seems very beautiful,” Sakura said, voice hushed. “I know fire is important to your clan.”

“Yes, it is.”

“Why is that?”

Sasuke removed the pan from the oven. A dark, glassy finish replaced rust and dullness, every imperfection transformed under the oven’s fire. His eyes lowered. “It’s cleansing.”

Sakura stared down at the image of the uchiwa, symbolically fanning the flames of the Uchiha clan. Halfway through a stitch, she had an idea.

Fire-jumping was an exchange of energy, mutual agreement between human and flame. Both the Uchiha and the flames entered the new year warmer and stronger than before.

It was a long time since Sasuke had done anything resembling tradition. He had not even celebrated his birthday since first leaving the village, out of the habit of prioritizing his quest for revenge over himself. Tradition was hard when only one person remained to keep it fed. And there was so much he didn’t know, that he had never thought to ask.

He wondered if he could manage to explain this to Sakura.

Sakura’s eyes were fierce. She finished a stitch, barely looking, and disappeared into her bedroom.

The scent of lavender filled the air. Sakura paused in the hallway with a lit candle.

“You can do it here, if you want,” she said, holding out the flame like an offering.

“Why aren’t you jumping, nii-san?” Sasuke asked, tugging once on Itachi’s sleeve.

The streets were crowded tonight, loud with chatter, music, and crackling flames. The main avenue of the Uchiha district was dotted with fires every few paces, so people could jump down the length of the entire street. Sasuke’s chest was swelling with pride. This year, he had used his ever-strengthening katon to help otou-san light the fires.

Itachi crouched to Sasuke’s eye level. His face was softer than normal in the starlight and the warmth of the flames. “Maybe later,” he said, with a small smile, and a customary two-fingered tap.

As Sasuke frowned in disappointment, Itachi peered down an unlit alley. “I don’t know if the fire will help this year. I might have too much for it to take away.”

His brother’s statement was odd––casual, yet tinged with something Sasuke couldn’t understand. But the strangeness slipped from his mind once he rejoined the rest of his clan, the excitement of the ceremony taking hold of again.

Sasuke spent the next new year alone.

Sasuke was fourteen, footsteps echoing through the corridors of Orochimaru’s lair. Time had little meaning this deep in the earth, but reading the dates on Kabuto’s newest specimens had recalibrated him. The new year was days away.

Dim torches lined the walls. The fire beckoned him. Sasuke reached out a hand, considering.

Itachi’s strange words, uttered a lifetime ago, rang in his mind. Sasuke understood what he meant, all of a sudden. The fire promised to cleanse him, to take the hurt away. But like Itachi, he was carrying too much.

He turned his back to the flickering torchlight and slunk into the cold dim of his chamber.

The day Sasuke returned to Konoha, the forest was under autumn’s spell. Between mossy tree trunks and golden leaves, he caught his first glimpse of the village, bright beneath departing clouds.

“Okaeri!” Naruto shouted, a speck in the distance bounding through Konoha’s wide gates. Beside him, Kakashi raised a hand in greeting.

Sasuke crossed the treeline, and the steps of his journey quietly ran out. He halted before his old mentor and teammate, the village walls high over his head.

“Taidama,” he said. “What day is it?”

“The equinox,” Kakashi answered.

Sasuke’s gaze swept across his surroundings. The village streets were damp with afternoon rain. Wet leaves clumped together beneath his sandals. No one else was waiting for him.

Kakashi and Naruto exchanged a look.

“Sakura’s in the middle of surgery,” Naruto said.

“Hm,” Sasuke replied.

It was a short walk to his old townhouse apartment. Kakashi presented him the key he had safeguarded, Naruto ordered him to come to dinner later that week, and then he was alone on the stoop. A stray cat emerged from beneath the stairs, interested in Sasuke’s appearance.

Sasuke palmed the key in his hand, facing the door. He was not sure what he would find in the apartment he had vacated when he was thirteen. Did he make the bed before he left? Would he find his old clothes still folded in the drawers?

There was a blur in the air like falling blossoms. Sakura was standing on the sidewalk, mouth parted, exhaling a deep breath. Her boots were splattered with mud and what looked like blood. She wore a sweater thrown on top of scrubs, a crumpled surgery cap in her fist.

“Sakura ka,” he said.

She straightened. “Okaeri, Sasuke-kun.”

He had wondered what it would be like to look at her again. Now he learned it was the same. The exact same.

Sasuke was seated in Sakura’s kitchen, his eyes unfocused. He saw a clan, together, jumping over fire to bring in the new year. His clan was gone, yet he was warm, and alive, and Sakura was looking at him over the candle’s fire.

He must have been silent for too long, because Sakura’s hand drifted down. “I’m sorry,” she said, voice wavering. “I know it’s not the same––it’s nothing at all how it should be…”

Sasuke rose to his feet and caught her hand. “It will work fine.”

It was not the same. But a flame was a flame. It promised to take his bad luck away, if he so allowed.

Sakura set the candle on the ground, casting the walls of her narrow hallway in a whirl of light and shadow.

Sasuke closed his eyes and leapt. He leapt again, over and over Sakura’s small candle. Light footed, he didn't make a sound.

When he opened his eyes, Sakura was leaning against the wall, head bowed.

“Sakura. Your turn.”

Sakura’s brow furrowed. “It’s not my tradition.”

“I want you to,” he said, moving aside to create space.

Sakura took a breath, preparing herself. She bounded over the candle, twirling and twisting freely in the air. Watching her, Sasuke turned over a thought in his mind that he no longer wanted to ignore.

With a final leap, she landed close to him. She leaned up on her toes, balanced perfectly between standing and falling, eyes shining from the joy of the movement. Sasuke steadied her elbow, even though she didn't need him to. It was a reflex, like dragging up a blanket in the middle of a cold night, or sighing after drinking water. He could not help but catch her.

It was not the same. There was the scent of lavender, a pile of clothing with freshly sewn Uchiha crests, and somehow, Sakura’s fingers wound together with his.

“You’re an Uchiha now,” he told her. Perhaps it was too blunt to say it this way, but it was true. Anyone who fire-jumped was an Uchiha. If he was the last, then he could shape his traditions, and choose who to do them with.

Besides, they always knew each other well. They only needed some time to know each other well again.

Sakura squeezed his hand, her calloused palm pressed to his. “We can do this again next year. Whatever you like.”

“I would like that,” he agreed.

The candle flickered. It was the start of another year without his clan. But he and Naruto would spar together tomorrow morning. He would feed the stray cats, oil the Uchiha gates, and wear the crest of his clan on his back. Sakura might reach for his hand again. Lately he wasn’t feeling so heavy.

As years passed, the tradition changed. It was not a celebration the way it used to be. It was a moment for mourning, remembering. It also felt like beginning.

One year, he leapt over the flame holding his daughter. She wasn’t yet a year old, but her eyes already reflected the fire, like the eyes of any Uchiha. Sakura followed close behind. Everywhere around them was the comfort of warmth and good luck.

Sasuke was no longer alone. He hadn’t been alone in a long time.

notes: the fire jumping tradition mentioned in this story is inspired by chaharshanbeh soori, an iranian tradition my family and i celebrate as part of norooz (our new year, which occurs in the spring). i was not with my family this year, so i also jumped over a candle in the hallway of my apartment. it's been a long year. i'm sending my love to all of you!

#sasusaku #sasusaku fanfiction #sasusaku fanfic #ss fic #ss #my ss #my fic #i literally forgot to post this here for months #warm

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mrs-han · 5 years

Text

Beef Wellington

Jumin Week

Day One - Birthday

~~~

What should you give to a man who has everything?

Food, of course.

But Jumin’s lack of interest in sweets daunted you. You were a baker at heart - you loved to dip your fingers in frosting and cookie batter, and Jumin preferred steak and foie gras.

Those were one in the same right?

You tried to follow several celebrity chefs - Gordon Ramsay and Jaime Oliver specifically - but to no avail. Too many dishes were either burnt to a crisp or overcooked - a nice and more roundabout way to say burnt.

You weren’t about to give in so easily, however. This was for your husband, the absolute and undeniable love of your life. You were going to make him the fanciest dinner he had ever set his eyes on, and you were going to be successful.

…

“Beef fillet. Lean meat with little fine sinews of fat running through. It just melts in your mouth like butter. Seasoned.”

You lightly seasoned the fillet with salt and pepper, eyes glued to the overhanging tablet. With Gordon Ramsay as your instructor, what could go wrong?

“Hot pan, olive oil.”

You moved your hand over a cast-iron skillet and delicately poured olive oil… and winced as the oil hopped and skipped from the pan onto you.

“Ow, ow!!” You yanked the skillet from the stove and yelped once it hit the floor, almost smashing your toes.

“Seal. Mustard. Think about it. Fillet beef wellington, English mustard. You aren’t gonna put dijon on there, are you?”

You grabbed a cloth and plopped the skillet back onto the stove. “Slow down, Mister Ramsay! Okay, where… where is my mustard… wait, how long do I cook the beef?!”

“Mushrooms. Seasoned. Blitz.”

“What’s a blitz?!”

Frazzled, you gathered your mushrooms and threw them into the food processor, switching it on shortly after.

“Now, we’ve got to take the water out of the mushrooms.”

You brushed your hair away from your face with a huff. “Wha - I’m not done blitzing Mister Ramsay, I still don’t know what a blitz is!”

“Look how wet they are. You don’t put oil or butter into the pan. You put nothing in there.”

“Oh my god.” With a pop, you shut off the drowning noises from the machine.

“Look how much water’s coming out now.”

A frustrated huff followed by a roll of the eyes. “I can’t Mister Ramsay, I’m not there yet.”

“Darling?”

“Bah!!”

Splat.

It all happened so quickly. You couldn’t make heads or tails of it - one second you were scooping the processed mushrooms from the processor, the next… it was on your husband’s chest.

“... I am so sorry Jumin, are you okay?!”

Jumin gathered the mushroom concoction onto the tip of his finger, licking it and lightly smacking his lips.

“No, oh my gosh, please don’t eat that,” you sighed while dabbing his vest and tie with a wet cloth. “Welcome home…”

“You don’t seem very enthused,” Jumin chuckled lightly, swiping the mushroom on your nose and shifting your chin upward.

“Sorry,” you smiled weakly, swiping the mushroom from your nose. “I wanted… I was hoping to make you Beef Wellington.”

Jumin’s fingers tenderly massaged your arms. “Beef Wellington? Gordon Ramsay’s recipe?”

“Yes,” you pouted. “It’s your birthday and it’s such a special day, so why not go all out you know? It isn’t coming together, though…”

“Come now, darling,” Jumin lightly chastised you, pinching your cheek. “You’re far too hard on yourself. We’ll make it together, hm?”

“No, this is for you to enjoy!”

“I enjoy spending time with my wife,” Jumin crooned, wrapping his arms around your waist.

“... You’re still so smooth. For an old man, that is.”

He laughed heartily, digging his fingers into your stomach and tickling you mercilessly. “Excuse you?”

“Ju-Jumin!! Stop!!” You pried his hands from your stomach, lightly kissing his knuckles.

He turned his palm up and cupped your cheek, stroking your cheekbone. “Shall we, my love?”

“Yeah…” You beamed. “Yeah, let’s do it.”

…

“Assemble. Clean film.”

Both you and Jumin stared blankly at the ingredients. The tablet was greased with fingerprints and olive oil, the Parma ham lay abused from repetitive folds… and there was still remnants of mushroom on Jumin’s vest.

“Yeah, this uh… this isn’t gonna happen,” you shook your head.

“... What does blitz mean darling?”

“I still don’t know!!” You giggled, dabbing your husband’s vest.

“Thank you,” Jumin hummed, his hand gripping your fingers delicately.

“For what, the mess I created?” You teased.

“Precisely that. We can spend more time with each other cleaning everything up. It’s the perfect end to a perfect day.”

“You’re adorable, Jumin.” You tugged his tie down and planted a wet kiss on his cheek. “Happy birthday, honey… I’m about to get sappy and emotional, but you mean the world to me, and I’m so… I’m so happy you’re here.”

He closed his eyes, pulling your hand to his cheek and affectionately kissed your palm. “I was born for you, my love. I was born to love and adore you, and to be loved and adored by you.”

“You were born to fulfill your dreams and your desires, Jumin!” You beamed, blushing madly.

“You are my dream. And you are my desire. I need nothing else.”

“... You’re going to make me melt. How you come up with these things is beyond me.”

Jumin chuckled gently, tucking his fingers under your chin and kissing you devotedly. “I was a poet in a past life.”

“I thought you don’t believe in past lives!”

“I didn’t believe in a lot of things until you came along, lady.”

Dazed yet entranced, you cupped his cheeks and smooshed them lightly, arousing him to hold the small of your back.

“I love you,” he growled against your lips.

“I love you. And happy birthday. You old coot.”

“Make another joke about me being old. I dare you.”

“Who said I was joking?”

His fingers burrowed into your stomach again - you squirmed and squealed, screaming, “You can’t keep using the same attack, Jumin!”

“Come,” Jumin lightly patted your rump. “We need to clean.”

“Huh, look at you! You didn’t push it off to the maid! I guess what they say is true, you can -”

Jumin raised a wary brow at you.

“Teach an old dog new tri -”

He plucked you up, throwing you over his shoulder rather recklessly.

“Gah, Jumin!! I was just kidding, heeh, put me down!!”

“You don’t seem to realize what comes out of that pretty mouth of yours,” he hummed coolly, moving closer to the bed. “I’m charmed, but my feelings are hurt. And you need to take responsibility.”

“I’m sorry ~!!” You pleaded. “Mercy Juju, mercy!!”

“Mercy is denied.”

“Waah!!”

#mystic messenger #jumin han #mein schatz #juminweek2019 #Birthday #HAPPY BIRTHDAY JUMIN ♥️♥️♥️

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nofive · 3 years

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The only reason I am putting this under Meta, for my headcanon of Five and Luther being twins, is because I am specifically drawing parallels between them that are in canon.

The first and most obvious parallel between them that leads to a connection between them, and further leading to the possibility of them being twins is their childhood superhero names. They are the only two with names that are not only not related to their powers, but also have the word boy in them. Luther with Space Boy, and Five with The Boy. In my Five’s names headcanon I go into how Five gets his superhero name. Luther’s name is largely assumed to be taken from the fact that he went to space as a kid, as seen in some special feature stuff such as the trading card that has young Luther on it. I have always thought it could be due to the fact that Luther’s strength is more gravity manipulation rather than just pure strength. But needless to say all the other siblings, including Vanya have names directly related to their powers, including Diego because the Kraken comes from his ability to hold his breath indefinitely. Luther and Five’s for the most part do not, further they are connected by use of the word boy.

Not so much a parallel, but Five has a clear connection to Luther, people like to ignore it because Five went to Klaus for the Meritech plot. However some of Five’s deepest conversations where he gets vulnerable happen with Luther. This is not just old man Five I am talking about. In the scene where Allison is watching the security tapes with Pogo we hear a semi-clear conversation between Five and Luther. This conversation happens the night before he runs away, and he asks Luther if Luther is coming with him. Among other things this conversation is actually rather lengthy ( and since this scene was filmed it likely leads to why Cameron tends to include Aidan in BTS pictures more by comparison to the other academy kids ).

Other examples where Five becomes vulnerable and actually shows he has a clear connection with Luther are he chooses to tell Luther that he saw all his siblings dead in the first apocalypse. Luther likely gets the full story where Vanya seems to get a watered down version of it. The car scene where Five tells Luther to live his life is very poignant considering he knows very little, but knows enough to know that Luther never left their father before he died.

A parallel they both have is that before the sixties, they have both been purely isolated. They both know what being by yourself with no response from another is like. Luther had four years, and five had forty-five years. However they both acknowledge that they were utterly alone. This makes the statement about being alone in the sixties and Five getting all the more gut wrenching because its like Luther forgot that ( but then again most of the siblings tend to forget the traumas of the others when faced with their own ).

Not so much a parallel, but its something worth noting. Luther is told he is the best, he is number one, he is the leader, the golden child. However, this is a manipulation tactic. It does not work on Five who does not, and has never given a shit about the numbering and who is leader and shit because he is friends with Vanya which is like against the rules of Reginald. But, Five is more or less everything Luther is told he is. Five has one of the best grasps of his abilities and pushes them to their limits earlier than most if not all his siblings, Five does lead his family rather well when they listen to him, he is said to be no great loss but we all know that is a crock of shit, and we know that Reginald favors Five as we see in dinner scene.

When it comes to Reginald Luther tries to be Reginald, while it is largely said and very obvious that without trying Five is very much quite like Reginald.

Further we have their interactions with each other. Luther is one of the few people Five allows to touch him, and not just the carrying him while drunk scene. Luther blots Five’s sweat in season 2, and unlike with Klaus in season 1 where Five pushes that hand away at the funeral, Five allows Luther to mop up the sweat with the napkin. Further they view each other in quite the same way which is frankly hilarious. Five is older than Luther, is he the older twin? Not if the seconds theory is true. But Five is older than Luther and takes on that role ( I’m the daddy here anyone? ), he tells Luther he is young has a life ahead of him and he wants him to live it, spoken like a true older man. Whereas Luther views Five for his physicality which is young and small and we see this play out as he deals with actual aged Five, and the Five we all know ( He’s just a little guy ).

Alot of people take into account powers when describing Five’s potential connections to his other siblings. Two things I would like to point out about Luther and Five, first is Luther’s ability to jump, this again is not necessarily strength based which is his power set, and we don’t know if it is serum based, but in the season 2 opener he gets in front of Klaus to block the missile rather quickly. And we all know Five is known for his speed, not just when he Blinks. On the other hand Five not only gets whacked in the head with a cast iron skillet and does not pass out, but he gets a ton of bricks dropped on him and comes out fine, both of which are things Luther more or less could have taken. I am not saying that their is a possibility of residual powers in each of them because they are twins, but I am definitely saying it is a major possibility.

I wont go into too much detail on this one, but they both suffer body dysmorphia to some extent. Both are in bodies that were forced onto them. And I am not talking about Five’s thirteen year old body here. I am talking about how both of them were operated on and without their consent had their bodies and DNA altered. Despite the show never saying it about Five, Aidan specifically has stated he plays the character with this in mind, and we know that the actors have some agency in how their characters are portrayed. Especially this is true for Aidan who has read and is a fan of the comics.

A very small connection, but I see people talk about vices for Klaus and Five, Luther’s first inclination in Season one when it comes to vices is to drink. We all know who drinks, and no I am not talking about Klaus. Both Luther and Five drink when they reach some pretty low lows.

Lets talk about Luther and Five’s relationship to Vanya. Despite what we see at the end of Season 1 with Luther and Vanya, Luther is one of the few that tries to include Vanya in family decisions earlier in season 1. We all know Five and Vanya’s relationship at this point. I also want to point out how much growth Luther goes through in Season 2 to his apology to Vanya. They both have very poignant relationships with Vanya and both make mistakes with her. Particularly surrounding the apocalypse.

I want to discuss their childhood interests. Luther is often said to be stupid, which is a wrong assumption of any of the siblings. They are all smart in their own rights. They all just show this differently. However, I want to point out that to be an astronaut you have to have a PHD in a STEM field. Who do we know that is without a doubt the STEM master of this household? Five. Five has shown he is proficient in all the STEM categories as he kind of has to be. However, I would like to point out that whenever Five is talking science to his siblings especially in that sandwhich scene in season 1, Luther understands what Five is saying first, and almost immediately. Second I want to point out that when Five says he created a probability map, Five does not have to explain to what it is, just what it is a map of. And Luther understands.

When it comes to child hood interests specifically Luther and Five both have an affinity for models and things that move. Luther with airplanes, and Five with trucks and building things. Five also has some sort of legos in his room, and Luther does models for various reasons that I wont go into because I don’t play him, but I will say part of it might be as a test of the control of his strength and he just really liked it. Additionally Five has a blanket in his room with space ships, meaning he had some interest in space, like Luther clearly does.

They are very protective over each other. Yes Five is protective over the entire Academy, as is Luther to an extent. Let me explain, in season one there are two times when Five is with Luther and he feels threatened, one is after Cha Cha kills Patch and Diego bursts into his little boiler room home, and the other is when they go to meet the Handler. In both these situations Five is vulnerable, he is small and the obvious target. With Diego Luther literally stands up and picks up Diego til the other calms down enough to not come after Five. It should be noted Five slinks back on the bed a bit, which indicates that this happened when they were children as well, and while I do headcanon Reginald hit Five another reason for the reaction from both himself and Luther, their were obviously fights between the siblings. Five is one of the weaker visually not in actuality of the seven he can’t take hits as well as he can give them, thus Luther steps in. We see the opposite in Season 2 when Five having seen Luther take a missile to the back still pushes him out of the way of falling bricks to take the load himself, because he protects Luther just as much as Luther protects him. To add on to the sadness of that moment the last time Five saw Luther under rubble he was dead.

I would also like to talk about the body man and the spotter. Five doesn’t understand the body man reference when it is very clearly an assistant and body guard in Luther’s case for Jack Ruby. It makes sense if you think about it. Ruby gives him everything he wanted out of Reginald and he thrives. However, Luther simultaneously does not get what being a spotter for Five means. Yes in simple terms its a wingman, but Five lets not forget is an assassin who favors sniping. Snipers almost always have spotters to help call the shots to make sure the line of sight is clear. That is what Five is asking Luther to be for him. Its a very unique parallel given both of their reactions to Luther being referred to as each.

Also a last minor detail Five does not immediately shoot down Luther’s ideas that the apocalypse could be related to the moon. And honestly Luther technically isn’t wrong. However he was likely up there for very different reasons. When Five appears at the torn down academy while the phrase the moon’s still shining is a just that a phrase, it is also showing an acknowledgement of the moon something Luther had been previously worried about.

Anyways that’s all I got for now. Sorry if this came off a bit petty. If you want me to do this for each sibling let me know, and I will gladly do so. I can’t promise that all will be off the same basis that Five and said sibling are clearly meant to be twins, but I can promise that it will help you understand that Five has connections with all his siblings, that only I have ever put this much thought into.

Anyways based on all this Luther and Five are fraternal twins, because twins do not have to look alike, especially fraternal twins because they are more akin to siblings born at the same time. Fraternal twins are two eggs and two sperm where identical twins are two sperm and one egg.

#headcanon: a single drop of coffee

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thevintagebluebird · 4 years

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Unpinned - French Onion Chicken

Welcome back, my lovelies! Since we last met the entire world has turned upside-down. Everything has changed! Holding hands is from the BEFORETIME. Being in other people’s houses is from the BEFORETIME. Restaurants are from the BEFORETIME. I could go on and on about the darkest timeline we find ourselves in, but after losing all sense of self and purpose in this nightmare reality, one thing has become clear: we still gotta eat. On a recent Zoom call with dear friends (the bizarre irony of how we’d never met face to face until a pandemic was not lost on me) I was reminded of this blog. Bless their hearts, they had kind words to say about my ramblings. So I thought WHAT THE HECK, IT’S NOT LIKE I DON’T HAVE THE TIME! (Ha, time and any semblance of meaning are *also* from the BEFORETIME) so here we are. I cooked a thing and now I’ll tell you about it.

French Onion Chicken! From the folks who make those cute facebook cooking videos, Delish! I guess they have a magazine too. I get a little suspicious of any publication that claims the majority of their recipes are ‘TEH BEST EVAR’, but after this dish I could be convinced.

Verdict: Is the Pintrest photo complete bullshit? - I’ll let you be the judge when you see the photo of my finished product, but I’m going to quietly sit over in the corner nodding furiously in the meantime.

Is it crazy expensive/time consuming/confusing? - The only pricey ingredient was a block of gruyere, and it was worth every single penny! It took about 45/50 minutes from start to finish but time is a cruel joke anyway so who cares? It was pretty straightforward and easy!

Does it taste good? - YES. MAKE IT.

French Onion Chicken

Ingredients

3 tbsp. extra-virgin olive oil, divided

1 large onion, halved and thinly sliced

2 tsp. freshly chopped thyme

Kosher salt

Freshly ground black pepper

2 cloves garlic, minced

1 3/4 lb. boneless skinless chicken breasts, cut into 1" pieces

1/2 tsp. dried oregano

2 tbsp. all-purpose flour

1 1/2 c. low-sodium beef broth

1 c.shredded Gruyère

Freshly chopped parsley, for garnish (optional)

Preparation

In a large skillet over medium heat, heat 2 tablespoons oil. Add onions and season with salt, pepper, and thyme. Reduce heat to medium-low and cook, stirring occasionally until onions are caramelized and jammy, about 25 minutes. Stir in garlic and cook until fragrant, 1 minute more. Turn off heat and remove onion mixture. Wipe skillet clean.

In a large bowl, season chicken with salt, pepper and oregano, then toss with flour. Heat remaining oil in same skillet over medium-high heat. Add chicken and cook until golden on all sides and mostly cooked through, about 8 minutes.

Add beef broth and return caramelized onions to skillet. Bring mixture to a boil, then reduce heat and simmer until chicken is cooked through and beef broth reduces slightly, about 10 more minutes.

Add Gruyère and cover skillet with a lid. Cook until cheese is melty, about 2 minutes. Remove from heat and garnish with parsley before serving.

Here’s what you need! You’ll notice a small pile of leaves at the front and may wonder why I’ve thrown foliage onto my counter. Long story short: Allan’s lovely Aunt Kathi and Uncle Eli gave us bags of fresh herbs from their garden, and we’ve been making such fancy herby dishes! These are the last fresh sage leaves; I know the recipe calls for thyme but we’ve got sage so now the recipe calls for sage.

First thing’s first: oil up your trusty cast iron. You’ll notice that it looks like I’ve smeared dark gritty mud along the bottom of mine, and that is because I am a lazy no-good cast iron owner who does not properly season her pan. It’s frankly a disgrace. I will pay someone to fix it for me.

Slice yer onions! Somehow this giant beast didn’t even make me tear up!

At this point the meal could be done and I’d be pretty happy - who doesn’t love a pan of hot onions? They started to smell tasty, which was great ‘cause our apartment has lately had a weird smell of old meat, which is EXTRA concerning because we haven’t cooked any meat at all this week. Why does it smell like meat.

IT APPEARS WE’RE OUT OF THYME. AHAHAHA AREN’T WE ALL? Sorry guys, I’m realizing now that this cooking experiment was also a litmus test of my current five-months-into-lockdown mental state. Clearly I’m fine. Also we had sage so it was all good.

Sage-y onions. The kitchen was smelling very, very good.

I really had to trust the recipe on this one and let the onions cook for the full 20+ minute time even though I was oddly anxious they would burn. I ended up turning the heat down to low when I started to see a lot of crisping. To distract myself, I started chopping the chicken breast into cubes. They were meant to be about 1″ x 1″ x 1″ but most of them came out more like .5″ x 6″ x 2.89″.

My patience paid off! The onions, looking quite “jammy” and caramelized! I kept wondering what “jammy” would look like but I think it’s just a fancy way of saying “sticky and mushy”. Adding my scoop of jar-garlic because even in lockdown I don’t have time to mince fresh garlic.

This bit was a little tricky: it called for two tablespoons of flour to “coat” the chicken but I wasn’t sure how such a tiny amount of flour was going to “coat” jack squat. So here’s the heavily-seasoned chicken on the cutting board, and my tentative first attempt at adding flour.

It just sort of made the pile of raw chicken into a slightly more-beige, stickier pile of raw chicken. I was unconvinced.

Ok I got them in the pan to start cooking and it looks vaguely like normal chicken? Now my instinct is to cook the shit out of chicken until it’s just little shreds of carbon to avoid salmonella, but I see that the recipe says that to let it finish cooking once we add/boil the liquid, so against my better judgement I just cooked them “medium rare” and moved on.

It called for a cup of shredded cheese but I just shredded the whole block because honestly when in history has a dish ever been ruined by too much cheese? (Spoiler: never)

Oh wow! It looked so good when I added the stock and onions back in! We used mushroom stock ‘cause we’re trying to minimize our beef consumption and also mushrooms are delicious.

BUT THEN IT TURNED INTO THIS WATERY MESS WHEN I ADDED AND STEAMED THE CHEESE!

This is not staged, this is 100% exactly the face I was making as I saw what my end result was looking like. It was definitely straight-up soup, and no thickening instructions in sight.

So I harkened back to my years of training as Thanksgiving sous-chef with my grandma! Whip out your trusty cornstarch and turn that soupy frown upside down!

Take out your commemorative New Milford mug (whoot whoot hometown pride oh god I miss traveling across state borders) and make a cornstarch slurry. Starts as cement-like glue-chunks, add drops of water and keep scraping until it becomes an opaque liquid.

So here’s how it looked immediately after adding the ~1.5 tbsp cornstarch slurry and then after a good stir and extra minute on the heat. No more soup!

And finally plated: atop some brown rice (cooked with homemade chicken stock) and little zucchini pizza bites (made from one of the monster zucchini from my garden).

Final final verdict: It really did NOT look like the Pintrest photo, but to be fair I did skip the (apparently essential) step of adding fresh parsley - between you and me I’m pretty sure they hit it with a blow torch to get that nice crispy top. BUT! This was actually DELICIOUS. Like, really really good. The chicken was moist, the cheese flavor was sublime, the onions were jammy to the extreme: I’m definitely going to make this again!

#unpinned cooking pintrest pintrestfail

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caffeineivore · 4 years

Text

Commission#4

For @vchanny-og

Prompt: Makoto teaches the girls to cook. To commission me please click here for information! To see what other people are offering up commissions please see here!

The recipe for peanut butter cookies is fool-proof, three-ingredients. Four, if you added chocolate chips. The first time that Makoto had made them, Usagi had eaten two dozen by herself, and when she’d found out how easy they were, she’d begged and whined and pouted until Makoto had agreed to teach her.

“Mamo-chan would love these, don’t you think? Especially if we add chocolate! And peanut butter is healthy and has lots of protein so he wouldn’t even disapprove!”

Eggs. Crunchy peanut butter. Sugar. Chocolate chips. Parchment-lined baking sheet for 11 minutes at 170 degrees Celsius.

Makoto lines up all the ingredients on the counter, helpfully preheats the oven to the correct temperature. She goes out to her balcony to check on her plants, and is halfway through dead-heading some leggy basil when the smell of smoke comes wafting through the open door. Thoroughly alarmed, she drops her clippings and runs in, yanks the oven open to find lumps of what look to be charcoal. Usagi’s wail could pass for a fire engine careening onto the scene complete with lights and sirens.

“I don’t know what happened, Mako-chan! I didn’t do anything except what you asked, and now everything is ruined and there are NO COOKIES and you are probably going to be mad at me!”

With a long, windy sigh, Makoto checks the counter. Peanut butter, check. Sugar, check. Chocolate chips, check-- and if she’s not mistaken, Usagi dumped in about half a cup more than the recipe called for. A bowl of cracked open eggs, yolks almost mockingly bright orange, winked up at her.

Makoto shakes her head, sends Usagi out to the bakery, and cuts up some peppers and tomatoes, retrieves her snipped basil. It seemed like she’d be having omelettes for dinner.

“So we sear the steak at a high temperature in a cast-iron skillet to take advantage of the Maillard reaction for the sake of optimal flavour.” Ami scribbles some type of complex chemical molecule diagram on the margins of the recipe that she’d meticulously copied from Makoto’s cookbook, and does a few equations, and murmurs to herself. “I suppose that makes sense. The temperature of the cooking surface will exceed 140 degrees Celsius, which will cause the reactive carbonyl group of the sugar present in the molecule interact with the nucleophilic amino group of the amino acid.”

“Yeah. Something like that. And then you finish in a low and slow oven so you don’t overcook the meat. This is an expensive cut of steak-- you don’t want it to be cooked to death.”

Makoto did not care over-much about the complex chemical reactions and science behind the process-- it was enough, really, to know that as long as one controlled the temperature and time, and seasoned the pricey cut of beef simply but well (sea salt, coarse-ground pepper and a few sprigs of rosemary), one could have a fancy date night meal in the comfort of one’s own home. “Medium rare is the optimal doneness for steak, in my opinion. Use a food thermometer, cook it to 54 degrees Celsius, then rest for three minutes before slicing, and you’re good to go.”

“I understand the reasoning behind safe internal cooking temperatures,” Ami muses as she follows Makoto’s lead, carefully wiping down the cherry-red surface of her steak with a paper towel to dry it, then sprinkling on salt and pepper on both sides. “Obviously, you don’t want harmful disease-causing microorganisms to grow within your food product, and it either needs to be too hot or too cold for the bacteria and viruses and fungi to survive. But why are there exceptions to the rule? Your recipe says that a rare steak reaches the internal temperature of 51 degrees, a medium rare of 54, a medium of 58 and so on. Doesn’t that put the person who prefers to eat their steak rare at greater risk? How does a restaurant get around that liability? It’s not as though it can do a medical check of the customer to ensure that they have no history of immunological disorders or gastrointestinal problems. And what about nations which choose to ignore these limits altogether? We serve sushi and sashimi here in Japan, which is certainly not cooked to 62 or highter. The French have their Carpaccio and tartare. The Lebanese have their kibbee nayee, and so on.”

Makoto watches as Ami grinds exactly three shakes of pepper onto each side of her steak, then rolls her eyes. “How does your guy like his steak cooked? That’s all I need to know.”

Ami blushes almost as red as the meat she’s fiddling with. “Umm. Medium rare is fine. And he’s hardly ‘my’ guy. More of Mamoru’s, wouldn’t you say?”

“You’ve already split hairs over the science of cooking. I don’t think I have enough energy to argue over the exact nature of your relationship with the mouthy blond menace. Do you think you can put together a nice green salad to go with these steaks? That way we can get done quicker, and I can make myself scarce before he comes here.”

Makoto knows better than to attempt to teach Rei anything too outlandish in the kitchen. Rei is a traditionalist in every sense of the word, and probably would not be caught dead in some hipster gastro-pub serving deconstructed salad of micro-greens topped with lobster foam something-or-another no matter how many Michelin stars and James Beard awards the place might have won. Rei is also reasonably competent with her hands and not particularly accident-prone, so something like steamed gyoza seems right up her alley. Sure, making the filling and dough from scratch is an extra effort, but her friend had never been the type to settle for mediocre and ordinary.

Her first warning that things might not turn out quite so well is when Rei takes a full step back when she sets the food processor on the counter. “What is that?”

Her tone could only have been snottier had the food processor been possibly coated in dung and mildew and maybe plastered with boy band stickers. “It’s a food processor. So we can easily chop up the chives, grind up the pork.”

“I have a perfectly serviceable set of knives here.” Rei turns up her aristocratic little nose and points to the knife-block, which, to be fair, holds a set of heirloom-quality blades. Trust the senshi of war to know her sharp objects, Makoto thinks drolly, but she acquiesces. “All right. You can mince the chives with that, I guess. But I’m using the food processor to grind the meat.”

They both get to work, and Rei glares at the machine as soon as it starts up as though the noise offended her on a personal level. She’s not bad-- indeed, her cuts are decent even by chef standards, but by the time Makoto has finished up her meat and mixed in soy sauce and ginger and garlic and a pinch of allspice and an egg, she’s only about a quarter of the way done with her chives. Slowly and stubbornly, she soldiers on as Makoto measures out flour and water and a pinch of salt.

“What in the world is that?”

Now, the question is directed towards the stand mixer plugged into the wall outlet. Makoto doesn’t even dignify that with a response, and dumps in flour, salt and water, lets fly. Sure, she can knead the dough by hand if she wanted to. And stretch it, cut it, roll it out for the dumpling wrappers. And maybe, if he’s very, very lucky, Jun would have gyoza sometime within the next two years. She’s just about ready to start rolling the dough when Rei finally finishes cutting the chives by hand, and dumps them into the bowl of the ground meat mixture, scowling at the way the damp green mince clings to her fingertips. Makoto finishes mixing the filling, then shows Rei, quickly, how to pinch the edges of the dumpling shut.

She waits until the knives are washed and put away and the pot is simmering before turning to her friend with a mischievous look, tongue firmly tucked in cheek. “Well. I’m sure Jun will appreciate your painstaking work on this meal, doing things the old-fashioned way by hand. He’ll know just how much you care from the sheer effort you went through.”

If looks could kill, Makoto would be buried six feet under complete with an ugly angel-shaped monument and an elaborate wreath of flowers on her grave. She manages to keep a straight face while she takes the dumplings out the pot, then excuses herself. She’s still laughing when she arrives at her own apartment a good half-hour later.

Leave it to Minako, of course, to want to learn the most complicated, exotic dish of them all.

“I think it would be perfect! He doesn’t eat pork or beef, and I love spicy food, and I know you’ll help me and it will turn out wonderfully!”

Makoto eyes the recipe bookmarked on Minako’s phone-- very heavily starred on Pinterest, and apparently the handiwork of some world-renowned celebrity chef. “Indian lamb curry, though? That’s… quite ambitious of you, Minako.” Indeed, the list of ingredients is daunting in and of itself, even for a seasoned home cook, and Minako’s idea of gourmet home cooking generally involved cracking an egg over her boiling ramen noodles.

“Oh don’t you worry. I’ve watched a TON of youtube videos. And cooking reality shows. That Gordon Ramsay is HILARIOUS. And it all goes into the slow cooker, so it hardly requires fancy techniques and knifework and the like. All I have to do is toss everything in there and push a button and spend the rest of my time making myself look gorgeous and sexy, right??”

Makoto eyes the recipe again. She’s pretty sure that Minako has never heard of the term ‘garam masala’ in her life. “Maybe you should at least let me taste it before you serve it. Just in case.”

Six hours later a mostly-decent-looking sample of the dish is placed in front of her. The curry is an appetizing orange-brown colour, and the kitchen smells invitingly of spices. Minako had even taken the time to toss some finely chopped parsley onto the meat for a pop of bright green. Makoto is pleasantly surprised, and gives Minako an approving smile which lasts all of three seconds-- the three seconds it takes to put a piece of the meat in her mouth. She gags, and spits it out. “Oh, GOD! What did you put in this?! It tastes like the Dead Sea… if the Dead Sea were on fire!”

Minako shoots her a wide-eyed look from those baby blues, thoroughly bewildered. “Welllllll… all these videos said to salt with every step of the cooking pricess. So I did. It was probably like close to half a cup of salt total, because I added some after every other ingredient. And then I didn’t have tomato paste so I substituted ketchup. Basically the same thing, you know? And I didn’t have the tablespoon of fresh ginger, so I used a tablespoon of ginger powder, and shelled pistachios look just like cardamom pods for like a tenth of the price, and I used Old Bay seasoning instead of Bay leaves… But the only thing I absolutely couldn’t figure out at all was this ‘garam masala’ stuff! So I left it out.”

Without a word, Makoto dumps the entire contents of the slow cooker into the trash, picks up her phone, and dials the local Indian restaurant, Within short order, two takeout containers are delivered-- an Indian lamb curry, and an accompanying container of cheese naan and rice.

“Just… put it in your own plates,” Makoto tells the other girl, shaking her head between gulps of water. “The kitchen smells like you’ve been cooking all day. It’ll be our little secret and he will never, ever know.”

#fanfiction #fanfic #sailor moon #inner senshi #commission #vchanny-og

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starship-squidlet · 5 years

Text

Kurta’s Moving Castle: Chapter 3

Chapter Summary: Leorio meets the inhabitants of Kurapika's castle, including the wizard himself (officially, this time). He finds out about the Spiders, an infamous gang out to get Kurapika, and gets an idea about who it was who cursed him.

Word Count: 2,374

Disclaimer: Kurta’s Moving Castle Preface

Original A/N: I just want to take a moment to say a HUUUGE thank you to @princeasimdiya12 for their kind words on the past two chapters of this fic!!! I hope you enjoy this one too!!! =^.^=

Previous chapter: Chapter Two

Next chapter: Chapter Four

Inside, the castle truly was incredibly toasty, at least in temperature. Leorio did his best to ignore the absolute mess that covered just about every inch of the… kitchen? Dining room? He couldn’t quite tell what he had stepped into, but based on the large wooden table covered in detritus, the fire burning in a large open hearth, and the precarious stacks of dishes and provisions in an alcove off to his left, he was fairly certain that the room served one of those functions. He grabbed one of the chairs from the table and dragged it over to a clear spot in front of the hearth. The seat had a low, flat cushion that made it just comfortable enough to settle himself into. He propped his feet up on the hearth, wrapped his wide scarf around his shoulders like a shawl, and leaned back in the chair.

“Wow.”

Leorio’s eyes popped open and he searched the room frantically for the search of the voice.

“Down here, grandpa.”

Leorio’s gaze finally settled on the hearth in front of him. The fire, which had been burning low and orange when he sat down, had perked up into a bright white blaze, the tendrils of which almost seemed to flicker with… lightning? A pair of brilliant blue eyes peered out of the bottom part of the flame, unblinking and bored.

Leorio nodded to himself. “A talking fire. Looks like I really have gone crazy.”

“Hey! Watch it, old man!” the fire snapped, roaring a little higher towards the chimney. “Oh… wait a minute… Huh. That’s quite the curse you’ve got on you.”

“How could you tell?”

“I’m a fire demon. I could sense a curse like that in my sleep.”

“If you can sense it, can you break it too?”

“Ummm… No.”

“Oh. I guess you’re not a very strong demon, then,” Leorio yawned and leaned back in his chair.

“Hey!” the fire snapped. “I meant I can’t do it right now, not that I can’t do it at all.”

“Oh?” Leorio opened an eye to peer at the talking flame.

“Look, I’m in a contract with the wizard of this place,” the fire sighed. “As long as I’m in that contract, I can’t help you, unless Kurapika tells me to. But, if you can get me out of the contract before Kurapika gets me killed--or gets himself killed, either one’s a possibility with that guy--I’ll break your curse.”

“I don’t know,” Leorio sighed. “I don’t know how I feel about making a deal with a demon…”

“This isn’t a deal!” the fire said hurriedly. “It’s more of a… you scratch my figurative back, I scratch yours. Look, I don’t wanna die, you don’t wanna be… that for forever. We can help each other out.”

Leorio yawned. “I guess when you put it that way it makes sense… But I don’t even know your name!”

“I’m Killua, the fire demon,” the flame grinned wickedly. “And you?”

“Leorio. Leorio Paladiknight.” He yawned again. “Nice to meet you. It’s good to have a friend in a situation like this…”

In seconds, Leorio was snoring--loudly. Killua glared at him. “You better not turn out to be useless, old man. I may not be an evil demon, but I can be vicious when I want to me. If you don’t get me my freedom, I’ll turn you into something worse than just old.”

.*.*.*.*.*.

Bangbangbang.

Leorio woke confused. Melody doesn’t usually knock that loud… he mused briefly. When he cracked his eyes open and looked up at the unfamiliar ceiling, he immediately remembered where he was.

Bangbangbang.

There was a clatter of footsteps down the steps at the back of the room, and Leorio immediately slumped further into the chair and began mock-snoring loudly.

“Who’s this, Killua?” a child’s voice called.

Bangbangbang.

“Port Zaban door!” the talking fire sang out.

“Right,” the child chirped. “Everyone ready?” There was no time for an actual response before the door open.

“Good morning,” the child’s voice was now falsely-deepened.

“Good morning, sir,” came the polite voice of an actual adult. Leorio craned his neck to peer towards the door.

That’s not the wastes.

“Is this the residence of the wizard Jenkins?”

“It is, but the wizard is not in right now. However, I speak in my master’s place.”

“I was asked to pass this message along to the wizard.”

“I will make sure he gets it.”

“Thank you. Have a good day.”

By the time the boy—clad in an oversized cloak and enormous fake beard—closed the door and turned around, Leorio had given up all pretense of sleep and was staring slack-jawed through the portal.

“Who are you?” the boy asked eagerly, bounding up the stairs and throwing his hood back--the beard disappeared when he did.

“Uh, I’m Leorio,” he stammered.

“Killua, where did he come from?” the boy asked, tossing the cloak over a chair.

“He wandered in from the wastes last night,” the fire replied with a sigh.

“From the wastes! Are you sure he’s not a witch?” the boy stared at Leorio with an expression that suggested he wouldn’t really care either way.

“Like I would ever let a witch in here,” Killua scoffed. “He’s basically harmless.”

Knock knock.

“Swaldani door!” Killua sang out.

The boy grabbed the cloak and swung it back over his shoulders. When he pulled the hood up, the fake beard reappeared to obscure his face. Leorio watched as he hurried over to the door, turned the knob—a colored dial on the wall turned too, finally settling on the color red—and then pulled the door's handle to open it. A whole new city was visible outside, along with a tall, skinny man with long, silky black hair.

"From the magician, for Pendragon," the man said in a bored tone, flicking a piece of paper towards the disguised child in front of him.

"I will make sure to pass the message on to my master." The boy's tone was once again artificially gruff.

The man shrugged and turned away, and the boy closed the door behind him. Leorio stood up and walked over to the window. "Isn't this… the capitol?" he peered out the window, marvelling at the sights outside.

"Yes, and?" the boy sighed. He had thrown back his hood once again and hopped up onto a precarious stack of books to stand beside Leorio.

"It's just… I came in from the Wastes. How did we get here? And what about that other city from earlier?"

"Magic castle, remember? Powered by a fire demon? That door can lead any number of places at once." Even though he didn't have shoulders, a bored shrug could be heard through Killua's voice.

"Anyways, I'm hungry. Do you want breakfast?" the boy hopped off the stack of books and Leorio took a moment to look him over. He was all elbows and knees, dressed in a smart green vest and shorts, although his disheveled black hair contrasted with his neat clothing. "I'm Gon, by the way! What's your name?"

"You mean we can't just call him old man?" Killua smirked in the fireplace, ignoring the dirty look Leorio shot him.

"I'm Leorio," he replied, extending a wizened, knobby-jointed hand to the boy, who shook it. Leorio grimaced when they pulled apart; some sort of sticky residue had transferred from Gon's hand to his.

"Do you want breakfast, Leorio?" Gon called over his shoulder, bounding towards an overflowing cabinet that seemed to serve as a pantry. He fished out a loaf of bread and a wedge of cheese and headed for the table.

"Don't you want something hot to eat?" Leorio asked, peering into the mess. "There's bacon and eggs here! Why don't we have that?"

"I'd love to, but Master Kurapika's not here," Gon sighed, shoving the mess on the table back and away so he could set the bread and cheese down.

"That's fine, I can cook," Leorio waved a hand dismissively, scooping up his ingredients and a long-handled cast iron skillet before heading towards Killua.

"It's not about knowing how to cook, it's that Master Kurapika is the only one who can control Killua!" Gon explained. He watched in fascination as Leorio began to wrestle the skillet onto the fire.

"He's right, you know!" Killua sang out, flaring up to push the pan away with a surprisingly physical force. "Not to mention, I'm a great and powerful fire demon! I don't cook!"

"Oh, well, in that case," Leorio narrowed his eyes and grinned wickedly, "maybe I'll just tell Kurapika about our little bargain and see what he thinks about it."

Killua's blaze dropped so fast that the skillet slammed into the embers, sending sparks skittering across the ash-covered hearth. "You wouldn't dare," he spat, tongues of blue and white fire licking up and around the sides of the pan as Leorio dropped the first piece of bacon into it.

"I don't know," Leorio shrugged. "I'm an old man with nothing to lose. Who knows what I would or wouldn't dare to do."

"Then here's another curse for you: may all your bacon burn," Killua flared up into white flames one last time before settling into a low blue simmer.

Leorio smirked and stirred the bacon around, using the grease to season the pan before adding anything else in.

He was reaching for the plate of bacon when, with a click of the latch and a whoosh of gentle wind, the door opened and the wizard himself blew into his castle. Leorio glanced at him and his jaw nearly dropped. Striding up the stairs was the blond who had saved him the other day! He was dressed in the same smart blue and gold jacket as he had been that night, and his golden hair was just as disheveled. He almost looked like he had swept straight off the Forger's balcony and through the castle door.

"Master Kurapika! You're back!" Gon cheered, leaping off of his chair and hurrying to the top of the stairs. "You have two notes from Hisoka, via messenger."

"Did you read them?" Kurapika asked, his voice tired.

"No way! Hisoka just has his symbol on the outside." Gon fished through his pockets and handed the two pieces of paper over to Kurapika, who skimmed them quickly.

"Who is this?" Kurapika barely glanced at Leorio as he joined him at the hearth. "How did he manage to get you to cooperate so well, Killua?"

"He BULLIED me!" Killua roared, flaring up again into a spark-ridden white blaze that shoved Leorio aside.

"That's not an easy thing to do," Kurapika smiled. "Allow me," he took the pan from Leorio. "Pass me two more strips of bacon and six eggs, please. Gon! Put the kettle on for tea, would you? Now, who are you?"

Leorio gulped. "Uh, why don't you just call me Grandpa Leorio? I guess I'm your new housekeeper. Killua hired me to start today. He's ashamed at what a state this place is in."

Kurapika laughed musically, cracking the last egg into the skillet and tossing the shell to Killua. "I guess that's alright. Just don't get too carried away with your cleaning."

While Kurapika finished cooking breakfast, Leorio helped Gon clear more space at the table and find clean dishes to set it with. The latter task was the most difficult of the morning. Finally, they sat down with three mostly-clean plates and cups, two spoons, and a fork. Kurapika gave them each a slice of bacon and two eggs, along with a slice of bread from the loaf Gon had fetched earlier, and said a brief grace before they dug in. Leorio arched an eyebrow as he watched Gon scarf down his food. The manners around here are as bad as the mess.

"So, Leorio," Kurapika's soft voice snapped Leorio out of his thoughts. "What's that in your pocket?"

"Huh?" Leorio's brow furrowed. He reached into his pocket and found, sure enough, a folded-up square of paper. How did he even know that was there? he wondered as he passed the paper to Kurapika.

Kurapika unfolded the paper, but jerked his hand back as it burst into flames. It fluttered down to the table, leaving behind a scorch mark on the tabletop. "That can't be good for the table," Kurapika murmured, swiping a hand over the scorch mark. It vanished, and Leorio let out the breath he didn't know he was holding.

"What was that? Something else from Hisoka?" Gon peered at the spot where the scorch mark had been.

"No," Kurapika sighed, standing up and carrying his plate over to the fire. "A message from the Head Spider."

Gon nearly choked on his food. "The Head Spider???" he squawked. "What did it say?"

"Oh, just another of his threats," Kurapika sighed. "He's still angry about what I did to Omokage. No matter. He can't find us here." He scraped his breakfast into the fire, and Killua snapped it up eagerly. "Killua, make hot water for the bath, please. And move the castle a few kilometers; you be the judge of where we'll be safe."

Killua grumbled to himself as he flared up, reaching flame-formed hands, tipped with flashing white sparks, for a log stacked on the edge of the hearth. "As if moving the castle wasn't enough, I have to heat water too," the demon grumbled.

"Gon, who's the Head Spider?" Leorio asked.

"The Spiders are a gang of evil wizards," Gon said grimly. "Their leader is called the Head Spider. Master Kurapika has sworn to wipe them all out, and he and the Head Spider hate each other. I don't really know why; Master Kurapika doesn't like to talk about it."

Leorio nodded, thinking back to the man who had cursed him back in the infirmary. Was that the Head Spider? Or one of the others? Why come after me?

"Hey, Leorio?" Gon's voice was soft, timid. "You don't… you don't work for the Spiders, do you?"

Leorio smiled kindly down at him. "Absolutely not. I would never work for someone like that." He took a bite of his now-cold food. "Eat up. We have a lot of work to do today."

#Hunter X Hunter #howl's moving castle #Kurta's Moving Castle #hxh fanfic #hxh #fanfic #fanfiction #au #alternate universe #leorio #leorio paladiknight #kurapika #gon freeccs #killua #killua zoldyck #gon

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bwayfan25 · 5 years

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What Carter Did

Another “Unexpected Circumstances” missing scene thanks to a prompt from @everybodyknows-everybodydies

It was a chilly winter Sunday that saw all four currently living in the Weaver-Lewis household at home, a rare occurrence to say the least.

Kerry was sitting on the couch, reading through the November edition of the Annals with Suzie, who kept trying to burrow into the blanket over Kerry’s legs, at her feet. Kerry had given up trying to get her to stop and instead had resorted to tickling Suzie underneath the ribs with her toes whenever the girl tried to duck underneath the afghan.

Carter was at the kitchen sink washing dishes. Though Kerry had never made Susan do chores to earn her keep, she was not above making Carter do them. (Alright... he may have offered.)

Susan had been on the couch next to Kerry, watching Will & Grace, when she decided she needed something to drink.

She crossed to the fridge and opened it. And, for a moment, she just stood there, considering her choice with the same level of sincerity she might give towards giving an accurate diagnosis.

Upon selecting her drink of choice (Diet Coke, as usual), she closed the fridge door and was momentarily distracted by the flutter of a note in familiar handwriting taped to it.

“’John Truman Carter III is not permitted to cook in this kitchen without direct adult supervision, lest he pose a risk of bodily harm to himself or others’,” Susan read aloud before immediately turning to look at Carter. “God, Carter. What did you do?”

“Yeah, Carter,” Kerry said, smirking. “What did you do?”

Carter set down the plate he had been rinsing off in the dish rack and gave both women a sheepish smile.

“I... learned my lesson?”

“Carter nearly burned the house down and killed us all.”

Suzie popped out from beneath the blanket and both she and Susan fixed Carter with the same looked of shocked disbelief.

“That’s not what happened,” Carter said quickly.

“Oh, it’s not?” Kerry challenged him, peering at him over the rim of her glasses. “Then, you tell it, because we must be remembering it differently.”

“There... may have been a small grease fire,” Carter said slowly. At the look on Susan’s face, he quickly added, “which we caught and put out.”

“Yes, that was one part of it,” Kerry stated.

She tucked a bookmark into the journal in her hand and set it on the table next to her. Then, she turned to face Susan and Carter in the kitchen.

“It started when Carter wanted to make some bacon for breakfast. He got the bacon out and put it in the skillet on the stove. When he turned the burner on, he turned it too far, so it didn’t light. He assumed that this meant there was something wrong with it, so he just switched to a different one. Without turning the first one off.

“Luckily, I was nearby and smelled the gas so I could turn it off. I then instructed him on how to properly use a gas stove and encouraged him to save the grease when he was done as I use it to season the cast iron.”

Kerry looked past Susan to Carter and turned her head slightly in question.

“And what did you put it in, Carter?”

Carter squeezed his eyes shut in embarassment.

“A Tupperware.”

“A Tupperware,” Kerry confirmed. “Which melted. Immediately. And, as Carter had decided to empty the grease while his burner was still on, the grease caught fire. It’s a very good thing I was there, as I was able to stop the Iron Chef here from throwing water on it. Hence... a lifetime ban.”

Susan paused for a moment when Kerry finished recounting the incident. She looked from Kerry to Carter and back.

“Okay... I’ll admit, my natural assumption is that you were overreacting,” she said to Kerry, who rolled her eyes. “But... Carter, if that’s actually what happened... you kind of brought this on yourself.”

#er #susan lewis #kerry weaver #john carter #nbc er #unexpected circumstances #my fic #writing stuff #here you go mouse!

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leelee10898 · 5 years

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Half on a baby: Leo & Alicia- part 1

This is from the Cordonians gone wild AU, a collaborative effort by @ao719 @speedyoperarascalparty @cocomaxley @riseandshinelittleblossom and myself. Read our other crazy adventures HERE

Leo walked into his and Alicia's quarters after a long conference call. He had been contacted about joining a European motocross tour that started in a couple of weeks. Leo had been itching to get back out there, Alicia knew it and encouraged him to take the call and they would figure out a plan. “Hey babe.” he leaned down kissing her cheek and down on the couch next to her. “So, how was it?” she turned to face her husband. “Not bad. Tour is a short one 3 weeks, 9 races and and a championship.” Alicia sensed the hesitation in his voice. “Ok, what's wrong?” He sat up running his hand over his face. “I don't think I can be away from you that long.” she got up sitting sideways on his lap, wrapping her arms around his neck. “Leo, this is what you love, you cant let being away from me hold you back from your dreams.” “I enjoy it yes, but you are what I love.” he paused a moment. “come with me.”

“you want me to come with you? Is that allowed?” “You're my wife, of course its allowed. Besides, you'll give me more motivation to win.” he grinned. “ok, I'll go.” Leo's lips captured hers immediately before she pulled away jumping up. “Leo come on, we need to get ready. We have dinner with Stef and Max tonight.” “that's tonight love?” he gripped her hips pulling her closer. “Stef needs my help with dinner. The words can't feed the huntin dogs came out.” leo gave her a puzzled look and sighed “ok, let's get ready.. but later on.” he stood pulling her fleshed against him. “I know.”

They arrived at Maxwell and Stephanie's, Maxwell opened the door holding Evie “Hey guys come in. Alicia, Stefs in the kitchen, um shes been cursing alot.” Alicia nodded and headed towards the kitchen. “Hey cutie.” Leo cooed. “Awe thanks Leo, I'm glad to see you too.” Maxwell grinned, prompting an eye roll from Leo. “So since the girls are cooking, we gotta entertain Evie.” “ok sounds good to me.” Leo shrugged as they walked into the living room.

Alicia and stephanie made way into the kitchen. “Did you put the skillet in the oven for 10 minutes?” Stephanie nodded grabbing her oven mitts plucking the cast iron skillet from the hot oven. Alicia drizzled a generous amount of olive oil into the hit pan and gave it a swirl, coating the pan. “ok stef, season the meat with the salt, pepper and garlic.” she instructed. They placed the pork loin in the skillet and placed it in the oven. “Thanks again for coming over and helping, I love pork tenderloin but I can't cook for nothing.” Stephanie grinned pouring two glasses of wine. “No problem, it's not that hard. Trick is not to over cook it. Were going to flip it about 10 to 15 minutes in. Once the Internal temperature reaches 165, we should be set.”

Alicia took a swig from her wine. The two settled into an easy conversation, Alicia's eyes kept darting out to the living room, watching Leo coo and fawn all over evie made her heart soar. "So Stef, when did you know you were ready to start trying for evie?" stephanie snorted. "Trying? We didn't exactly try...don't get me wrong, by any means. She is my whole world, but definitely an oopsie baby." "But you wanted kids right? Did you and Maxwell ever talk about it?" Alicia took a sip of her wine. "We did. We knew we wanted to have a couple someday. And we got really lucky with Ev. She's the best little baby. If she not asleep she's happy. Unless she's hungry, which is an easy enough fix."

The timer went off, Alicia instructed Stephanie flip the meat, while the two continue their conversation. "How was being pregnant? Was it really weird?"

"absolutely. But it was also beautiful. The idea that I was carrying around this little piece of the love that Max and I share and one day she was gonna be walkin and talkin..it was really special. What is with all the questions, Alicia? You got a pork loin in *your* oven?!" Alicia choked on the sip of wine she just drank "What?! No. No loins in this oven.. I still have my IUD in." "For now.” Stephanie smirked. “I kinda figured you two'd be the next set of squad parents. What with all the goo-goo eyes Leo has for Evie. I swear the man thinks she hung the moon and he isn't even her daddy." She chuckled.

"He's making my ovaries explode right now. I have an appointment next week and I'm debating having my IUD removed." Alicia gazed at her husband holding evie. "Have you talked to him about that?" "Ahh, well... not really. We haven't actually talked about having kids. Well, not unless you count the time Anitah and I played a joke on Leo and Liam, and said we were pregnant with triplets... he fainted."

"He's ready girl. Look at him! And he can change a diaper better than Maxwell. Remind me to have Leo give him a few pointers." "Yeah, maybe you're right. I guess we should have the talk soon huh?"

Leo sat on the on the couch filling Maxwell in on his upcoming motocross tour. "Hey man, my arms getting tired. You maybe wanna hold her?" Maxwell arched his brow at Leo. "Yup, hand her over." Leo eagerly held his hands out. "She's like the worlds cutest bobble head right now, so make sure you support her here." Maxwell placed her in Leo's arms. "Maxwell I got this.” he faces Evie and coos “Don't I? Yes I do. Uncle Leo is going to spoil you rotten, huh my little goose." "How silly of me, Maverick. I should've known you would know how to handle a lady." Leo smirked "no matter how small, uncle Leo just has a way with the ladies.” he looked up “By the way Beaumont she's not allowed to date, like ever." "I support that decision, man I really do. Unless..." he Grins mischievously "a certain fair-haired former Playboy Prince decided to have a son. I think I'd be okay with the two of them together."

"Who me?" Leo shakes his head smirking "Could you imagine me as a dad? let me ask you Max, what's it like?” Maxwell's face lit up. "It's the most amazing feeling in the world! She's so cute and I get to feed her and snuggle her and wipe her little tushie. I haven't found one thing about it that I don't enjoy...except maybe Stef being crabby in the mornings. Ya know cuz she doesn't sleep through the night yet, but we're learning. Aren't we, Tulip? I could totally see you as a father. In fact I think you and Alicia should start trying right now! I mean if you hurry up, this second by the time your son is born Evie will only be one year older than him. They could totally make that relationship work."

Leo laughs "Your a mess Beaumont. You know, between you and me, I have been wanting to knock Alicia up. We haven't exactly had the kids conversation and I'm not sure how she would feel about it." "Haven't you noticed those girls watching us instead of the food? She's practically drooling over the thought of watching you rock her son to sleep. Trust me. All of the girls are ready for a baby. I hear them all goo-gooing and ga-gaing over Evie. They've all had baby fever since Stef got pregnant, whether they want to admit it or not." "You do seem to have the inside track on them. Thanks man, I think Alicia and I need to have a talk tonight."

“Alright guys time for dinner.” Alicia called out. Leo handed Evie back to max as he laid her in her swing. They sat down making their plates. Maxwell danced in his seat “mmmm this is really good Alicia. Stef you paid attention right? So you can make this again.” “Thanks Max but I can't take credit for this one, it was all Stef. I just guided her.” Alicia grinned. “ Hm...I'm really impressed, Rosebud." Stephanie rolls her eyes at her husband. "no I'm serious, baby. I can actually chew this meat." He let out a hardy laugh " joking aside, it's delicious, Red. Really." “Yes I agree, this is good Stephanie.” Leo Complimented. “ Aw come on you guys are making me blush.” Stephanie's cheeks flushed red.

They finished up dinner when Evie started to fuss. “oh it's time for her bottle and bed.” Stephanie looked st the clock. Maxwell jumped up “I got it Rose bud, Leo wanna help?” Leo nodded and the two scooped Evie up and headed towards the nursery. “Maxwell laid her down on the changing table “ Hey can you change her diaper while I grab her jammies?” leo agreed while max hunted down her pjs and grabbed her bottle. Once she was dressed he sat in the rocking chair, humming a soft lullaby as he fed her the bottle. Her tiny finger grasped his large one. Leo watched his friend put his child to sleep, he couldn't help but smile, he wanted that, he just hoped Alicia did too.

Maxwell lifted evie to his shoulder giving her a few Pat's on the back, she let out a healthy burp. He dabbed her little lips of the excess milk that dribbled out and walked her over to the crib. He gave her a soft kiss on the cheek. “good night my sweet little tulip, daddy loves you. I'll see you in a few hours.” He flicked the light off as the two backed out of the room slowly. “so um Stef and I have been talking wanted to ask you. Would you be Evies Godfather?” he rubbed the back of his neck. “Leo's eyes went wide. “really? You want me to be her Godfather?” “yeah, your one of my best friends and you love evie or goose, like shes your own.. so what do you say?” “Maxwell, I would be honored to.” the two shared a quick hug and headed out to the living room.

“He said yes.” Maxwell squealed. Stephanie grinned “You knew he would Maxwell.” “seriously guys, thank you. I love that little girl.” Leo hugged stephanie and looked towards Alicia. “we should really be heading out, thanks for dinner guys. It was good.” Alicia hugged Stephanie and Maxwell and they headed out. Once they arrived back at the palace they made their way to their quarters.

Alicia changed into a pair of pajama shorts and a tank top, Leo changed into his sweat pants and tossed his shirt in the hamper and climbed Into bed, sitting back against the headboard. Alicia walked out of the bathroom rubbing lotion on her hands and arms. “I want to put a baby in you.” Leo blurted out, stopping Alicia dead in her tracks. “Well damn, I guess this is a good time to tell you I was thinking of having my IUD removed next week at my appointment.” she chuckled. She sat down in the bed, Leo grabbed her hands. “You want to start trying for a baby love?” “Yeah, I've been thinking about it alot lately, and seeing you with evie tonight..” she was cut off by his lips capturing hers. “I can't wait. You know the best part about getting pregnant?” he grinned “No, what?

“The practice.” he swiftly yanked her down to the bed, climbing on top of her. “I say we get some practice in right now.”

Two weeks later Leo and the guys were enjoying the day golfing. Drake sat in the golf cart, sipping from his flask. “How come you never play with us Drake?” Maxwell frowned. “swatting balls with sticks, eh. I'd rather just enjoy the fresh air.” Drake waves him off. Liam placed his ball, he picked his club and stepped up to the ball, getting read to swing. “I'm gonna knock Alicia up.” Leo announced. Liam mid swing let go of the club, it flew through the air smashing through someone's cart. Liam tried to compose himself as he turned to face his brother.

“You...you’re what?! Does Alicia know this?”

“of course she does. Do you really think I would get her pregnant without discussing it with her first?” Leo rolled his eyes. “Oh...um....that’s great, Leo!” liam rubbed the back of his neck. "You want to have a baby? The playboy prince, wants a baby. Do you know what a baby is, Leo?"

"yes Rashad I know what a baby is. I change a mean diaper, just ask Maxwell."

“Yes!! I knew it. I'm so excited.” Maxwell squealed as he broke out in a happy dance. "Well I'll be damned. That woman has got you whipped." Rashad "I'm not whipped, you're whipped." Leo defended, a smirk forming on his face. "Yeah we're all whipped. We should probably stop denying that now." Rashad sighed, the rest shaking their head in agreeance. “I hate to tell you guys, but you're next.. All of you.” Leo chuckled. Rashad snorted "we aren't even married yet, man. Slow your roll." Drake grinned walking up shaking Leo's hand “Congrats man.”

The girls sat at lunch enjoying a few mimosas before their food arrived. A lady walked in walking past the ladies, holding an adorable little boy. “aweee.” they said in unison. “Guess I better Enjoy these while I can.” Alicia took a big sip of her mimosa. Genevieve gave her a sideways look. “What the hell does that mean?” Anitah snapped her head in Alicia's Direction. "I umm had my IUD removed last week." She coolly sipped her mimosa. “Forrrr?!” Anitah squealed sure she knew where this was going. Genevieve's eyes flew wide open. "Oh my god! You guys are going to start trying?"

"Yes, we are."

“You are?!” Anitah squealed a little to loud (Shit, shit, shit) she silently said to herself, knowing her husband was now going to start pressing her. "I knew it! I knew you were itchin to put a bun in that oven!" Stephanie grinned, thinking back to their dinner. "That's great, Alicia! Did you, um, tell Leo that you're going to try?" Gen took a bite of a breadstick. "More like he bluntly told me he wanted to put a baby in me." "This was HIS idea? Hell has frozen over. What...How...Why?” Genevieve choked on the breadstick. "It had been on my mind, but yeah he pretty much decided for us."

"I'm just shocked. I thought Leo would be the last of the guys to want kids. I mean Liam and Drake are the two softest ones. I expected them to be first. Don't get me wrong, I think that's amazing. I'm really happy for you guys. I'm just not drinking the water anytime soon." She laughed. “I'm so happy for you guys.” pam reached out giving her hand a gentle squeeze before turning away slightly blushing.

"Oh, I'm pretty sure that I won't be alone on the Preggo train long. Besides, it can take up to a year possibly to conceive after removing the IUD. So I have some time." "yeah doctors can say that all they want, but I'm telling you girl life finds a way. I was on the pill and yet now we have Evie" stef shrugged. "Not it" Genevieve shouted out. “Jesus Stef, don't let Leo hear you say that, I'll never get him off me.” the girls all looked at her knowingly “ok, more than he already is.” Anitah awkwardly giggled and chugged the rest of her mimosa. “Choo Choo, you’re on your own for now.” she mumbled, red in the face.

Alicia walked in their quarters after lunch with the girls, to find Leo standing Naked in the bedroom. Her hand flew over her mouth. “I thought we could get a little baby making in before my next meeting.” he grinned. Alicia shook her head and giggled “You are really enjoying this aren't you?” “Oh more than you know love. Now, come here.”

Tag list: @scarlettedragon @speedyoperarascalparty @greyeyedsmile14 @mind-reader1 @hopefulmoonobject @alicars @katurrade @indiacater @bella-ca @blznbaby @blackwidow2721 @liamxs-world @simsvetements @furiousherringoperatortoad @choicesfannatalie @crookedslimecreatorpasta @coldcollectornight08 @museofbooks @syltti78 @ao719 @blubutterflyy @itsstillnotwhatyouthink @liam-rhys-x-mc-x-constantine @riseandshinelittleblossom @laniquelovesworld @gibbles82 @editboutique @gardeningourmet

@annekebbphotography @carabeth @moneyfordiamonds @give-me-ernest-sinclaire @3pawandme @ooo-barff-ooo @tornbetween2loves @ownworldresident @perfectprofessorherokid @stopforamoment @wannabemc2 @zaffrenotes @enmchoices @lodberg @heatherfilliez @smalltalk88

#cgw trr au #cgw trr #cordoniansgonewild #cordonians gone wild #leo x alicia #choices trr #leo trr #trr fanfic #trr #trr maxwell #stef x maxwell #maxwell beaumont #leo rhys #prince leo #alicia rhys #squad trr #cgw squad #squad babies

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literaryoblivion · 6 years

Text

October 28: Fire (Jack/Bitty)

(Read on AO3)

Now that he thinks about it, Bitty must have been possessed by some outdoor-loving devil when he agreed to let Jack take him camping.

Because now that he’s in the thick of it, (and he does mean thick, the forest is dense around them, the lack of any civilization very apparent) he is regretting enthusiastically telling Jack that he would “love to go camping” and that he “absolutely loves nature and the outdoors, honey.”

That’s definitely a lie. A huge, giant, big fat lie.

Bitty loves to stay in hotels and real beds and being inside air conditioning (or heating) is his comfy place, and nature is in fact beautiful, when you can enjoy it through the window while you are inside away from the elements.

Being in a tent, cooking what you find in the forest or the river , over an open fire is not what Bitty thinks is an ideal living situation, no matter how temporary it may be. He has absolutely no signal on his phone either, so it’s not like he can tweet his lamentations about this situation.

But Jack, Lord, Jack looks so darn happy setting up the tent and putting together their fishing poles, that Bitty doesn’t have the heart to tell him that he is in fact miserable and wants to go home, and they’ve only been there for an hour.

So Bitty bites his tongue, smiles wide when Jack hands him a fishing pole and waves him to follow him down to the river. It helps that Jack comes up behind Bitty and wraps his arms around him to show him just how to cast his line and reel in a fish.

And okay, when Bitty does catch his first fish, which turns out to be bigger than he thought it would (it’s about the size of his hand), he’s pretty happy about it. He even begs Jack to take a picture of him holding it so he can send it to Coach, because he’d never caught anything that big when Coach had made him go fishing with him.

When Jack’s caught his own fish, both of them now having enough for dinner, Bitty is more than happy to let Jack clean the fish while he gets the fire going.

It’s… not going well to be honest. He’s tried the matches, but nothing is catching. He tries the lighter he brought and it keeps going out. He’s made a lot of smoke, but no fire, and he’s starting to worry that at this rate, they’ll never be able to cook dinner and they’ll have to eat questionable berries they scavenge in the forest. (That’s not true, he totally snuck granola bars and trail mix in his bag, but he likes to be dramatic.)

“It might be too wet,” Jack says as he approaches Bitty where he’s squatting by the fire pit, cursing it under his breath.

“Huh?” Bitty says, looking up to find Jack holding the now clean and cut up fish filets.

“I think it rained here a few days ago, so the wood’s probably still damp. That’s probably why it’s not lighting, eh?”

“Oh. Um. Okay. So…. what do we do then?”

Jack nods and sets the fish down on the fold up table Bitty had set up earlier. He disappears into the tent and comes back with a wad of newspaper and a few cut up logs. Where on Earth did he get those logs?

Jack grins. “I brought a couple just in case this happened. Here.” He hands Bitty the newspaper, and brushes aside the various leaves and sticks Bitty had originally set up. He sets up the dry logs and digs a little crevice beneath them in the dirt.

“Okay, light the newspaper here,” Jack says pointing to the dip in the dirt, “and these logs should catch better. Once it’s big enough, we can add others.”

Bitty nods and does as instructed and sure enough, the logs light up and the fire grows. Once it’s big enough, Jack moves a cast iron skillet into the flames, letting it hit up. As much as Bitty loves to bake, this whole cooking on an open flame is not his forte and Jack seems to be handling it just fine, so he lets him.

When it’s ready and they eat, it’s not too bad. It’s nothing like Mama used to make when Coach brought fish home, but it’s still good.

“Where’d you learn all this?” Bitty asks, waving his hand to encompass their entire camping experience thus far.

It’s dark, fire still glowing, though they’ve had to add a few more logs at this point. Bitty had tried to make some skillet cookie he had found the recipe for before they had left, but he’d forgotten to spray the bottom of the pan, and then he’d left it in the fire too long and…. Yeah. He’s glad Jack and insisted they bring s’more ingredients, too.

Jack shrugs sets his empty plate down beside him and scoots closer to Bitty, who willingly cuddles up to Jack’s side, feeling warmth from the fire and Jack.

“My parents always took me camping in the off-season. Sometimes others would join in, but it was usually just us.”

“That sounds nice. I’m sure it’s beautiful camping up in Canada.”

“It is. Maybe I can take you sometime?”

And… Bitty could totally tell Jack that camping is not his thing, come clean before he embarrassed himself in front of Bad Bob and Mama Zimmerman. Only… it’s Jack and he can’t. “I’d go anywhere with you,” he says, settling on that answer because it’s true. If Jack asked him to go camping with him again, he would, even if he hated it the whole time.

Jack smiles and kisses Bitty on the cheek before standing up and taking their plates to rinse them in the river. Bitty puts the other things away, gets their sleeping bags ready in the tent.

When they’re finally both settled in their bags, pressed up close together, Jack’s arm wrapped around Bitty’s middle, Bitty is glad he’s there with Jack as much as he’s not loving the fact that he’s sleeping on the floor.

“Don’t worry, Bittle,” Jack says in his ear. “Next time I’ll rent a trailer with a stove and a bed.”

Bitty blushes and twists around, flustered and embarrassed and a little indignant. “Who said you had to do that?!”

Jack chuckles and brushes Bitty’s hair from his forehead. “I know you, Bits. I know how much you don’t like camping, but I’m glad you pretended you did for me anyway.”

Bitty buries his face in Jack’s chest, feeling the rumble of Jack’s laughs. “I tried!” he mumbles into Jack’s chest.

“I know you did. It’s okay, though. I still love you even if you can’t cook over an open flame,” Jack says jokingly.

Bitty hits him, though there’s no force behind it. Jack just pulls Bitty in closer and kisses the top of his head, then his nose and then his lips. “Good night, Bitty.”

“Good night, Jack.”

#freckinktober #zimbits #zimbits fic #jackbitty #bittyjack #my fic #omgcp

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moretomhardy · 6 years

Text

Another random sterek AU because why not

Fandom: Teen Wolf  Pairing: Derek/Stiles  Words: 1,974  Rating: General/Teen  Content Notes: TW for self-harm, since werewolves are careless with their bodies

Summary: The Hales host a bi-annual gathering of supernatural creatures at their home. This is the first times Stiles shows up.

“Derek, sweetheart, we’ve just had a family of kelpies arrive -- you don’t happen to have any seafood in here, do you?” Mom burst through the door and swung open the fridge door, shuffling through the contents.

“Mom, relax.” Derek nudged her out of the fridge and shut it. “Kelpies tend to eat everything and usually have a preference for turf over surf. Did anyone ask them what they wanted?”

“That’s a relief,” Mom sighed, leaning back against the counter. “Laura’s talking to them now, she should be down any minute with specifics. I was afraid we were going to horribly offend them by not having fish on the menu.”

“I bought some salmon in case of emergency,” Derek returned to stirring the pot of sauce he was reducing, “but the water sprites are the only creatures that I know of in our area that will demand fish, and I have their minnows ready to go.”

“Good, okay.” Mom took a deep breath and let the tension bleed out of her shoulders.

“This isn’t my first rodeo, Mama.” Derek stood on his toes to peck a kiss to the top of her head. “Now get out of here, people are going to start missing you.”

Mom wrinkled her nose. “Are you sure I can’t stay down here with you? It’s so quiet and peaceful.”

Derek barked a short laugh. “I can give you something to chop if you want, but don’t fool yourself into thinking you won’t be terribly bored in less than five minutes.”

“Sometimes I hate that I raised intelligent children,” Mom sighed. “Fine, I’ll get out of your hair.” She reached out and rubbed a hand over Derek’s neck and shoulder. “Let me know if you need any help and I’ll send Cora back.”

“I’m fine for now, but I’ll let you know.”

Mom nodded and swept her hair out of her face before sweeping herself out through the swinging kitchen doors.

Derek pulled out the fifteenth head of cabbage for the afternoon and started chopping.

--------------------

Laura charged through the doors maybe twenty minutes later, eyes bleeding red around the pupil.

Derek dropped his knife and wiped his blood-smudged hands on a towel before reaching for Laura. She met him halfway, pulling him into her chest and rubbing her cheek along Derek’s face.

“Sorry,” she murmured, hands squeezing bruises into Derek’s torso. “Just met my first vampire and I’m having this powerful urge to run him out of our territory.”

“It’s okay.” Derek pressed himself closer to Laura and let her tuck his head under her chin, even though it was awkward position now that he was taller than her. “He wouldn’t come to a peaceful gathering to try and start something.”

“I know that.” Laura buried her face in the crook of Derek’s neck and took a deep, bracing breath. “He feels too settled here, like he’s trying to claim the land. It pisses off my alpha side.”

“He is allowed to live here, and even claim territory as long as it’s not within the preserve.”

“I never claimed it was a reasonable urge,” Laura grumbled. “I just have to get used to him. I made Cora go talk to him so that I wouldn’t start a turf war.”

“That was a good idea.”

“Yeah, whatever.” Laura loosened her grip on Derek. “I think your sauce is starting to burn.”

“It’s definitely burnt.” Derek rubbed his cheek against her collarbone one last time before pulling away. He wrinkled his nose as he pulled the burning sauce off of the stove and dumped it down the sink. Cora pushed her way through the doors as Derek was rinsing out the pot to start over.

“Laura’s vampire said he’s good with a steak as rare as you can get it while still making it look cooked, plus any root vegetables you might have on hand.”

“That’s doable.” Derek stepped over to the fridge to see what he could find in the way of the vegetables. “Did he say where he was from? I didn’t know we had any vampires in the area.”

“He said he had moved back home to Beacon Hills recently. I kinda got the feeling that he was turned against his wishes while he was away.”

Derek frowned as he started chopping the handful of beets and new potatoes he had found. “Do you know how long ago?”

Cora shrugged. “He said he grew up here, left for college, and had to stay away until he got a handle on the new lifestyle. I didn’t want to push too hard on the details.”

“If he grew up here, that explains why he has such a strong connection to the land,” Laura said. “That’s a relief, I thought we were going to have some trouble on our hands.”

“Just because he grew up here doesn’t mean he isn’t going to start trouble.” Derek drizzled some olive oil and spices on the diced vegetables before throwing them into a skillet.

“Yeah, and just because he makes Laura’s alpha senses tingle doesn’t mean he is going to start trouble, either,” Cora snorted.

Derek frowned at Cora and then at the flatiron steak he had pulled out of the refrigerator. “You think I should season it?” he asked.

“How should we know,” Cora rolled her eyes, “you’re the big fancy chef.”

Derek scowled at her before turning to Laura, who shrugged.

“I’m seasoning it,” he decided. “If he doesn’t like it he can send it back.”

“That’s the spirit,” Laura chuckled while Derek rifled through the spice drawer. He had never intentionally tried to enhance the flavor of blood in a steak, so that was something new; he rubbed in the spices and threw the steak into a hot cast iron skillet.

Derek stirred the vegetables while watching the steak. He flipped it after a minute or so. The other side got the same treatment, then Derek popped his claws to hold the hot steak vertically and get a sear on all of the edges. After that, he deemed the meat done and set in on a covered plate to rest while he finished up the vegetables.

Cora had drifted away while the steak was still cooking, bored with the situation. Derek looked over at Laura while he finished up the vegetables and got everything on a plate.

"Are you up to seeing the vampire again?" he asked.

Laura hesitated, chewing on her lip.

"Don't worry about it," Derek said, "I'll take it up to him."

"That would probably be for the best," Laura allowed. "He gets my hackles up for some reason."

"No need to take an unnecessary risk."

They both cocked their heads toward the door as Mom called for Laura upstairs.

"I'd better go see what that's about." Laura hurried out of the kitchen and Derek pulled some cutlery and a napkin out of a drawer. He thought about bringing up a glass of water to go with the food, then thought he could offer the vampire something he might find a little more appetizing. Derek grabbed an empty glass and made his way upstairs and out to the backyard where the guests were seated.

He looked around the yard, feeling a little stupid that he hadn't gotten at least a description of the vampire from Laura before she left. Then his eyes caught on an unfamiliar, pale young man sitting alone at a table on the edge of the lawn and figured he might have found the vampire anyways. He wasn’t able to pick out the sound of any heartbeat as he walked over, which was a point in favor of his theory. He stopped at the edge of the table and the man looked up at him, smiling slightly.

Derek realized he was also missing the vampire's name, something else he should have gotten from Laura before coming up. "You're the vampire?"

The man grinned. "That's me. I usually go by Stiles, though."

Derek grunted and set the plate down in front of Stiles, keeping a hold of the glass for now. "Cora said you wanted a rare steak and some root vegetables, so I did my best. I haven't cooked for a vampire before, so I'm not sure what your stance on seasoning your food is. If you don't like it I can take it back and do it again plain."

"This looks great," Stiles's smile had widened during Derek's speech. "Beets are my favorite vegetable, actually."

"I figured a vampire would like beets. Red, rich, vaguely fleshy texture."

Stiles snorted. "Well, thanks, dude."

"It's Derek. And." Derek slammed the glass down on the table before he lost his nerve, keeping his hand over the top of the glass and turning the inside of his wrist towards Stiles. "If you want, I could offer you something to drink."

Stiles looked up at him with wide eyes.

"Chef special," Derek added when Stiles stayed frozen. He hoped he hadn't offended him.

A giggle slipped out of Stiles' mouth. "Oh my god, dude, Derek, are you just casually offering me your blood?"

Derek shrugged. "I've got some to spare."

"This is -- okay." Stiles took a deep breath. "That sounds delicious, thank you, Derek."

Derek nodded and popped the claws on the hand not covering the glass. Stiles watched with fascination as Derek dug two claws into his arm and dragged upwards, opening up a good-sized gash in his arm that bled freely for several seconds. Stiles' glass was only a third full when Derek's body mended itself so Derek repeated the cut, going a little deeper and longer than before. That slice got the glass pretty close to full by the time it healed. Derek was about to wipe his fingers and forearm on the towel he still had slung over his shoulder when Stiles make an abortive motion and asked,

"Can I... clean you off?"

Derek frowned and looked between Stiles and his bloody arm, where Stiles' attention was fixed. "You want to lick me?" Derek asked.

"In so many ways, yes."

Derek felt his face flame into a blush. "Um." He looked down at his bloody hands.

"Sorry," Stiles said when the silence between them started to stretch. "That's probably super inappropriate. Forget I said anything, please."

"That's, um." Derek cleared his throat and pulled his towel off of his shoulder, slowly wiping off his hand and forearm. "Maybe another time, somewhere less public."

"What, really?" Stiles asked. His eyes were wide when Derek chanced a glance over at him.

"Yes," Derek decided. Laura was always telling him he needed to take more chances, after all.

"That's -- wow, uh, can I give you my phone number?" Stiles scrambled to pull his phone out of his pocket.

"How about I give you mine." Derek plucked Stiles' phone out of his hands as soon as he had it unlocked and made a new contact for himself. He smiled as he handed the phone back to Stiles.

"Awesome." Stiles took his phone back. "You'll definitely be hearing from me."

"Are you gonna try it?" Derek gestured at Stiles' plate.

"Yes, definitely." Stiles picked up the glass of blood and closed his eyes as he took a deep breath over the mouth of the glass. He took a long sip and groaned in satisfaction as he swallowed.

Derek stared at Stiles as he opened his eyes and grinned up at him. "Delicious," Stiles said, blood staining the crevices between his teeth.

"That's --" Derek swallowed hard and crossed his hands in front of his hips as his blood started rushing south. "That's not what I meant."

"No?" Stiles' grin widened.

"Um, I've got to get back to the kitchen." Derek turned tail and fled before he could make a fool of himself any further, the sound of Stiles' laughter following after him.

#sterek #sterek fic #eternalsterek #vampire!stiles #chef!derek #convention au #mth writes #self harm

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cabeswater-kid · 5 years

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“You can trust me.” (raleigh/FENRIR)

It had been, all told, an interesting night, and as Raleigh stood over the stove, carefully waiting for the water to simmer and the kettle to boil, he reflected on that. It wasn’t every full moon that the leader of the London packs showed up beneath your window and then let you outside to get close to him. That should be, if not a measure of trust, at least an acknowledgment that Raleigh wasn’t something to be feared. Which he would take.

Raleigh stood easily in his domain, razor sharp paring knife in one hand as he peeled potatoes, Inanna’s bell-like voice echoing clearly in his head. I got you two sets of knives for Christmas, Raleigh. One for each of your jobs. Please for the love of all that is good in this world do not mix them up. I do not want to taste a traitor’s liver on my breakfast sausage. Only Inanna had the ability to italicize words with her voice, and it was one of many things he loved about his dangerous mansion-mate. He allowed himself to get lost in his thoughts for a several minutes before he heard the sound of the door to the back garden open and shut quietly, and turned to find the same werewolf that had appeared in the gardens the night before now sitting in one of the rough chairs at the kitchen island.

“Alpha Greyback…” Raleigh kept his voice even and pleasant, half-fangs only slightly visible through his shadow of a smile, “You’re just in time for breakfast.” In the most beautiful display of domestic serendipity, the kettle began to howl at the end of his sentence, only quieting when Raleigh turned to pluck it from its perch above the flame. He filled the china kettle from the brass one and allowed the tea to steep just long enough before filling a china cup that cost more than the average London monthly rent and sliding it across the wood of the counter towards Fenrir.

“Not to be presumptuous but I assume you like your steak rare?”

He received only a sigh in response as he plucked the side of meat from where it had been coming to room temperature and started to season it with one hand, pulling down a cast-iron skillet with the other as he slid from quiet kitchenwork into more industriousness.

“You don’t have to call me Alpha Greyback, Raleigh… and thank you for the tea.”

“Titles have power, Greyback. You know this as well as I do. You fought for your position, and therefore must be honored for it.”

He slapped the steak down on one side of the skillet while thinly sliced potatoes went down on the other, the gigantic kitchen quickly filled with the aroma of a hearty breakfast. Only when everything was in its proper place, cooking as it should be, did Raleigh turn to look at his guest. Fenrir Greyback in werewolf form was intimidating and powerful, and that sensation did not go away simply because he had turned back into a human. The man seated across the island from him radiated control and demanded respect without doing anything, and Raleigh admired his ability to do that. But his face fell as he saw a bandage stained red wrapped around the other man’s forearm. He flipped the steak and shuffled the potatoes around, adding a sprinkling of salt to the pan before gesturing to Fenrir with a spatula, “You should let me take a look at that while you’re eating your breakfast. I know you heal fast, but that looks deep and wounds fester faster than you realize, werewolf biology or not.” He poured himself his own cup of tea and gestured to the first aid kit on the wall, “i’m trained in more than causing grievous bodily harm. I used to patch up my brothers and sisters when they got into scrapes back home.”

He plated the steak and the potatoes; presenting them with a minor flourish as he got his guest cutlery and steak sauce. “I’ll let you take a look at it,” He heard from behind him as he rooted through the refrigerator, “If and only if, you call me by my birth name.”

Raleigh couldn’t help but chuff and quiet laugh into the expanse of the kitchen, “Very well.” He set the bottle in front of Fenrir and slung a tea-towel over his shoulder, “Fenrir… you should let me take a look at that while you’re eating your breakfast.”

Even as a human, Fenrir’s smile was positively wolfish, and he rested his arm on the countertop while he attacked his breakfast with his other hand. “Was that so terribly difficult?” He drawled out from around a mouthful of steak.

Raleigh had no response, having been raised to believe that no response was a perfectly vaild response and indeed sometimes said more than a verbal response ever could, but instead busied himself grabbing the kit from the wall, a basin of warm water, and several clean towels before taking a seat next to Fenrir and pulling the other man’s arm down across his knees, “Good thing about always wearing black jeans,” he quipped as he started to unwrap the bandage around Fenrir’s forearm, “They don’t show blood. I find that useful in several portions of my life.”

He set the bandage on the ground and started cleaning out the wound with warm water and a towel, carefully washing away the dried blood so he could get a better look at whatever it was that had caused such a blood-stained wrapping. “I won’t ask you where you got this.” He let the towel he’d been using sink into the basin, dying the water a pale pink, as he dried the exterior of the wound, “but I will tell you it’s going to take a couple of stitches to close up. But, with your biology, that should help it heal overnight then. Less work for your body to do, closing the wound itself.”

There was no response aside from the sounds of quiet chewing and the sensation that Fenrir was watching him very carefully, “I’ll reiterate again,” Raleigh’s voice was quiet in the large emptiness of the kitchen as he carefully threaded a needle, “My offer to brew your pack all the wolfsbane potion it requires for the full moon. I have ample facilities here.” He shot the other demihuman an apologetic look and slid the needle through his skin, quickly and deftly tying off the first stitch with as little extraneous motion as he could manage.

“Human-brewed wolfsbane is a punishment.” The words were ground out through clenched teeth as Raleigh worked as quickly as he could. “Only we know the secret to a painless formula, and we don’t share it and don’t even say that we can trust you.”

Raleigh paused in his work long enough to look up at Fenrir and roll his eyes, “Do you take me for a total idiot, Alpha?” He bent his head back to his work, finishing the last several stitches quickly and starting to rewrap the wound, “If you have to say you’re trustworthy, then it defeats the purpose of becoming trustworthy. It isn’t accomplished with a simple declaration. It is proven with deeds.” He wiped the edges of the bandage, and then the small damp spot on his knees from where the arm had rested and bled before beginning to clean up the mess he’d made. He didn’t like mess.

“The offer stands until such a time as I am proven trustworthy to your pack.” He stood and retied the apron around his waist, moving back to the kitchen to start working on Inanna and Peter’s breakfasts, “What was it you said when we went out for that scotch? A modern day Beauty and the Beast?” He laughed and turned back to the stove, trusting Fenrir enough to have his back to him, “I’m good for more than torture and steak, Fenrir. When I’ve proven that to you, maybe we can move onto the next part of this partnership. But I’m a patient sort-of-man. We’ll get there in our own time.”

There was no response from behind him save the sound of the garden door closing again and Raleigh chuckled under his breath, “In our own time…”

#m: raleigh #opp: fenrir #shoose asks #vas-ncrmandy

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missmarquin · 6 years

Quote

Found(ry) It wasn’t the first time that humans had left things for him. Totosai had lived on this volcano within the Western Lands, since before humans had ever settled there. And when they had, they had thought him some sort of God. They weren’t so stupid now-- they had grown and learned-- but they still feared whatever wrath that he might bring down upon him. It wasn’t so much that he could control the volcano, but they didn’t know that. They thought that the Volcano was alive, and paid fealty to it as such. And so, years melted into decades, and then centuries, and they still left him gifts, like it would stop the volatile nature of the land around them. And usually they were baskets full of the things that he liked. Sweet breads and candies. Lengths of beautiful silk and large rugs that he liked to decorate his hut with. Cast iron skillets that he didn’t need, but used nonetheless. What good was it to waste such charity? But this year had been different. It had been scorching and so dry, that the crops dried up with whatever moisture had left the earth. Nothing that they tilled took, and days only breathed hotter and hotter as the season wore along. And the volcano rumbled. It always rumbled, with a slow and steady growl, but this was more pronounced. You could feel it shake the ground sometimes, if you were still enough. Totosai had been there long enough to know that there wasn’t a fear of eruption yet-- he’d give it another half-century or so. But the humans were new to this land in the grand scheme of things, and they did what they always did when things didn’t go right. They blamed the Gods and then tried to fix it. And so when he pulled off the cloth covering from the basket, he was surprised to find a baby, no more than a few months old. Fat and reddened cheeks, with a cloth diaper wrapped around its behind. His mouth went dry. This was new, this was something that he had no knowledge of. Sure, he knew that humans elsewhere sacrificed their young, but to him? What had he ever done to incite such fear into the villagers down below? There was a momentary pang that blew through him; he’d meant to do no such thing. He kept to himself, tinkering away in his forge and he forged weapons for the youkai of old. And then he thought rationally, remembering that even though they weren’t stupid anymore, humans held the base instinct on blaming nature upon creatures such as himself. He didn’t know what he was more sorry for-- that they had fallen into times so bad that they felt the need to sacrifice their children, or that he couldn’t do anything to fix it. The child was awake, watching him curiously. It was quiet, too quiet. Weren’t babies supposed to cry? He distinctly remembered a certain Western Lord, and his pup of a child, hollering horrifically as his father held onto him while he tried to place an order. He held his finger towards the child and it reached out, catching it in a small fist. And then it hiccuped and cooed and smiled at him, and Totosai’s heart melted. He was in trouble, so much trouble. Carefully he lifted the child, trying to support its head. Trying to remember what Touga-san had taught him, right after Sesshoumaru-sama was born. Many youkai were rough with their kin, but you couldn’t be with humans. One squeeze too hard, and the child could be snapped into two, effortlessly. But the baby didn’t wail, which Totosai took as a victory. He stuck a finger into the diaper to pull it away, chancing a look. A girl, a little girl. Some poor, poor family had given up their child, for a better harvest. Weather. Life. A lesser youkai would eat it. Totosai would do no such thing. He shifted the child to lay against his shoulder, before kneeling to pick up the basket. He would come gather the rest of these gifts later. For now, the little girl was his sole focus. And so, he turned on the trail to head back up the mountain. The little girl didn’t cry once. ...... Rin, the parents had named her. You weren’t supposed to name a child until they were a year old, but this family had broken tradition. He was also fairly certain that you weren’t supposed to write a letter to whom you sacrificed your child to. His fingers smoothed over the thin vellum, tracing the carefully inked letters. He found himself surprised that they could write, since many humans couldn’t. There were splotches where water had dripped onto it, smearing the words slightly. Tears, he realized. Volcano-san, We find ourselves without option. Breads and sweets, and our works have not appeased you. The days grow longer and hotter, and the soil dry and parched. Perhaps our life’s greatest work will finally appease you. Her name is Rin. It wasn’t signed. And Totosai was glad that it wasn’t. He didn’t want to know their names, he didn’t want to place their faces. He glanced at the little girl, who lay quietly in her basket. He had rolled up a small cloth, tying it off in the rough shape of a doll. Enough to keep the child occupied. She snuggled into it, dozing quietly. They expected him to eat her. He couldn’t, not that it would have made a difference if he had. He can do a lot of things, but control a volcano and nature itself, wasn’t upon that list. A day had passed, and he needed advice. Totosai packed the little girl up and took her to an old friend. .... “Keep her,” Bokusenou-san said to him simply. Totosai wasn’t sure why the thought had crossed his mind before that moment, but it seemed to be a logical thing. But… still… “A forge isn’t a place for a young child,” he replied with a sigh. “Her parents didn’t want her, correct?” Totosai wasn’t so sure about that-- he was still convinced that they had been forced into sacrificing her, but he said no such thing. “It would be cruel to throw the child away,” the tree continued with. “What would Touga-san have done?” “That old dog has nothing to do with this,” Totosai groused. “Of course not, but what would he had done? That old dog is a stellar example of how youkai should act. Humans don’t understand it, but we were created by the Gods to protect them.” “And so the Gods threw a child at me,” Totosai huffed. He could barely protect himself. There was a reason that retreating was one of his best talents. If Bokusenou-san could have shrugged, he would have. Instead there was only the slight rustling of the leaves above them. “I don’t pretend to know what they are thinking, Totosai-san. No one truly knows their nature.” “Hmm,” Totosai hummed, tapping his knee thoughtfully. Rin was nestled gently into the basket within his lap, and he looked at her. She still didn’t cry, only cooed with a toothless smile, as she wriggled slightly in her blankets. He reached out his finger to her, and she latched onto it without trouble. “I suppose that it has been lonely in the forge.” Not to mention his little hut, at the top of the mountain. Mo-Mo, his faithful ox, had been his only family for centuries. “Then there, perhaps, is your reason.” The tree sounded almost bored. “There is a complication though,” the old smith muttered, as he played with Rin. “I know nothing about caring for human children.” At that, Bokusenou-san’s lips twisted into a wide smile. “Luckily for you, there is something that would be more than pleased to help you.” Totosai cocked his head to the side as he thought, and when he realized, he stood up abruptly, holding the basket tightly to his chest. “Absolutely not!” he snapped. “I refuse to ask her!” But the tree just laughed at him, and he kept laughing even after the smith left his clearing. .... Despite his vehement vow to never contact her, he ended up writing to the Lady Izayoi anyhow. It wasn’t that he disliked the woman. No, he adored her. She had wit and creativity, and the sun shone wherever she went. The moment that Touga-san had introduced her to him all those years ago, he had instantly known what drew the old dog to her. She was also the reason that his old friend was dead. Touga-san had made him promise that he would protect her in his absence, and the best way to do that was to never contact her. It was one-half responsibility, one-half hatred-- even if he could never fully hate her. But after three days of barely getting the child to eat something and rather unsuccessful diaper changes, he had given up hope. He had penned a short letter and delivered it by a raven youkai, fully expecting her to not answer at all. He couldn’t remember her exact age, but she wasn’t a young girl anymore, and humans only became frail as they got older. They gave me a child, he had written to her. And I have no idea how to care for her. And so he waited. She ate what he gave her, but unhappily. He managed to change her diapers, but made a mess of it. And he still had no clothes for her. And despite it all, the baby hadn’t cried once. And to his surprise, the raven returned to him the next day, with a short reply. I’m on my way. ..... The Lady Izayoi wasn’t dressed in the finery that he used to see her in. She had shed her intricate junihitoe for an informal haori and hakama set. “Easier to travel this way,” she told him, climbing down the side of Ah-Un. Touga-san had left her the dragon upon his death, and despite her attempts to set him free, the youkai was as loyal as ever. Her hair was pulled into a simple bun, and gray streaked through the black strands. Her face was youthful, but carried the lines of her age. Totosai was struck by how time passed differently for her, than him. She had been so young what seemed like only yesterday. It had been almost three decades since they had last met face-to-face, and the change to her was astounding. She swept her gaze around the mountain, her eyes passing from his little hut, towards the cave where his forge was built. “This place hasn’t changed a bit,” she said with amusement. “Neither have you, Totosai-san.” “You’re as lovely, as the last time that I saw you,” he said, bowing slightly. She tutted slightly, waving the thought away. “Nonsense. I know that I look ancient to you. Now then--” She paused, a conspiratorial smile spreading across her face. “Where is the girl?” So much like Touga-san, even now. He waved towards his hut and led her there. .... The knowledge that Izayoi imparted to him was invaluable. She couldn’t teach him everything in the day that she spent there, but she had told him the basics, and suddenly he didn’t feel like a bumbling fool when it came to things. The most valuable wisdom that she gave him was when she left. She had swung her leg over Ah-Un, settling across his back comfortably. “Before I leave, Totosai-san, I will say this-- there is no right or wrong, when it comes to raising a child. You will learn as much, as you teach them. Never forget that.” And as he watched Rin grow, he came to realize that she was right. With every year, new challenges were added, as old lines were crossed. Parenthood was a constant learning experience, and Rin taught him something knew with every day. By the time that Rin was four, he loved her with every fiber of his being. ..... Rin was six, the next time the Lady Izayoi came to visit. This time her hair had transformed from black into a beautiful silver sheen, sparkling under the sunlight. Rin was tall for a girl, already past Totosai’s hip, and she regarded the woman carefully. Warily, even. “Rin-chan, you know how you have clothes sent once a year?” he said, patting her head gently. Rin’s face scrunched up slightly as she thought. “Izayoi-san,” she said. He had been teaching her how to read, and he had started with the letters that the Lady sent with her yearly packages. “This is her, Rin-chan,” he said to her. The girl’s gaze swept from him, to the Lady, her expression morphing as she realized that she was a friend, not a foe. She ran to her, stopping right before Ah-Un. Lady Izayoi scrambled down his back with grace, but there was a stiffness about her now that Totosai couldn’t ignore. He frowned slightly. “Hello Rin-chan,” she said with mirth. “This isn’t the first time that we have met, but it’s the first time that you’ll remember for sure. The last time that I was here, you were only a baby.” Rin thought about her reply carefully, and then she said, “Thank you for the clothes. And the books,” she added as an afterthought. Then the girl paused. “May I hug you?” Lady Izayoi laughed and knelt to the ground, holding out her arms. “Of course, Little One.” And Rin hugged her, and the Lady hugged her back. Totosai knew that Izayoi was thrilled, because the girl gave the best hugs out of anyone in the world. ...... In the blink of an eye, Rin turned thirteen. Totosai hated it. He hated how they lived on different life lines, how all he had to do was close his eyes for a moment, and the years have passed for her. He hated that he would outlive her, and then what? He’d be alone again, and it wasn’t like he could just find someone else. Rin could never be replaced. “Totosai-san, what is wrong?” she asked him, having caught him staring. They sat at the simple table in the kitchen, eating a simple stew. His hand was clasped gently around the bowl, frozen while he was lost in thought. “Nothing, Rin-chan,” he said, pulling the bowl to his mouth for a sip. “Only of how much you’ve grown.” At that, Rin made a face and he laughed. “Rin, we never did celebrate your birthday.” It wasn’t so much the day of the birth that they celebrated, but rather the day that she was gifted to him. He had long since stopped seeing it as a sacrifice. He didn’t care for the day in truth, but Rin did, and so, he counted the days until the next year so she would be happy. “What is it that you want? I could send for the Lady Izayoi, if you would like to spend some time with her.” The woman was into her sixties now, but fit enough to handle the girl, if Rin wanted it. Rin thought, twisting her lip slightly as she did so. It was a little tell of hers, and Totosai thought it adorable. “Can you teach me to smith?” she finally asked. At that, he almost dropped his bowl. “I… er…. What?” “I want to learn,” she said simply. Then her brow furrowed, like she was afraid that she had said something wrong. “Is that… is that alright?” Of course it was, he just never thought that she would have been interested. She spent hours at a time with him in the forge, just watching, but he had always assumed that it was because she was bored. There wasn’t much to do on the mountain top, and she had read every book that Izayoi had sent her, ten times over. “Of course it is, Rin-chan.” At that, her smile widened and she said, “I love the colors of the fire, and it’s warmth. Spending a day in the forge, is like going home.” At that, Totosai grinned. He hadn’t even taught her anything yet, and she was already a head above any other apprentice he had ever taken. ..... They started with basic shapes. Then Rin learned how to make knives. And then horseshoes, which they delivered to the village down below. They never did so personally-- the stabler ventured up the mountain once a month to pick up an order. She was sixteen now, and a young woman, and men were now interested. And they were curious about the woman in the mountains, who lived by herself. They had never seen him, and such assumed as such. Totosai had told her to never say her name, and so she never did. Eventually, she made a sword, and it was beautiful. Perfect in its balance, the steel hardened to perfection. Totosai took his hammer and tapped along it, listening to the ping of metal carefully. He wasn’t sure that he could have forged anything better. Rin wasn’t an apprentice anymore, it seemed. And when he told her as such, she only grinned back, forcing a tight hug on him. He hugged her right back. ..... She was one year shy of twenty, when she finally asked him the dreaded question. “Totosai-san, where exactly did I come from?” He had never lied to her. She knew that he was a youkai, and that she was a human. But despite all of her curiosity, she had never asked. He vowed to tell her the truth if she ever did, but the question had never come. That night, they were in the forge. Rin hammered away at a red-hot billet, filling an order for a simple kitchen knife. And Totosai sat on a rock to the side, puffing at his beloved pipe. Rin didn’t smoke one, but she loved the smell of the tobacco. He thought about his words carefully, listening to the rhythmic thump of her hammering. “What brought this question?” he finally asked. Not in anger, but curiosity. “Keneda-san said something peculiar, when he picked up the order for this month,” she replied. Keneda-san, the stabler. Totosai had never quite liked the man. Rin paused in her work, reaching into her pocket for a handkerchief. She wiped at her forehead, smearing soot and sweat. “He always asks for my name, and I always tell him that it doesn’t matter,” she continued with, “To which he said, ‘But if I don’t know your name, how will I court you?’” Rin made a disgusted sound. “Could you imagine? He’s old enough to be my father.” Totosai wasn’t surprised. Despite the lean muscle that Rin carried, she was pretty enough under all the soot and ash that constantly covered her. “And what you say?” “That I wanted no husband,” she huffed. She turned and leaned against the anvil, looking at Totosai seriously. “He went on about how it was improper to live up here by myself. Improper! Ha! What about the impoliteness of wanting to court a woman that you barely know?” And then her face fell sightly, the her edges softened by a meek sadness. “But then it got me thinking, how it was that I ended up with you. It’s never mattered, honestly but--” “There’s no harm in wanting to know,” Totosai said to her. “I’ve never hidden it from you, nor do I ever want to.” He puffed at his pipe for a long drag. “You came from the village, though I doubt that’s a surprise. For centuries they’ve left offerings, and I’ve always taken them. I suppose that’s why they know me as Volcano-san, even if we’ve never met. There was a bad year though. The weather was harsh and they felt the volcano responsible, because humans always have to blame something.” Rin watched him carefully, and he could tell that she didn’t like where this was going. “They felt that their offerings were insufficient, so they sacrificed you.” The girl chewed on her lip for a moment. “What on earth did they think you would do with me?” “Eat you? Throw you in the fires? I have no idea, just like I had no idea what to do with you. Bokusenou-san told me that I should keep you.” “The Old Tree?” she laughed incredulously. She held a fantastic relationship with the tree, often harvesting his branches or bark for specialty projects. A fair trade for conversation, the tree would tell her. “I was out of my depth, and so I called upon Izayoi-san. She taught me some valuable things.” “I miss her.” The last time that she had seen the woman was almost three years past. The Lady was into her late seventies now, and it was near impossible for her to travel. Rin had to go to her, which was easier said than done. “That is how we ended up here though,” he said, taking another drag from his pipe. “I wonder what they were like,” she said. “The ones who threw me away.” Threw her away. At that, Totosai moved from his seat and set his pipe down upon the ashtray. He told her that he would be right back, and went to the hut. Under his bed, there was a box full of trinkets. One of them a small square of folded up vellum. When he returned to Rin, he handed it to her. “They didn’t throw you away.” He watched as her eyes scanned the parchment. “Her name is Rin,” she said quietly. “They named me.” “They loved you.” “You love me too.” “Of course, but they loved you first, and that’s why I kept you. You were a gift.” She ran her fingers over the words, careful not to smear them with soot. “This is why you told me to never tell them my name.” No doubt the village would know of the girl named Rin, sacrificed to Volcano-san. “It was a selfish request.” Because he feared them taking her from him. “I want nothing to do with them,” she told him. Her expression made it clear that she was very firm in that thought. “This old man knows,” he said, leaning against the anvil next to her. “But this man also knows that humans are unpredictable.” Rin reached out, pulling Totosai into a tight hug. He fell into it, hugging her back. She always gave the best ones. “Thank you, Totosai-san,” she said. “Thank you, and I love you.” “I know, Rin-chan,” he said, pressing his hand against the back of her head. “You love me more than they did.” “It isn’t a contest.” And it wasn’t. There wasn’t a doubt in his mind that they still loved her just as much. Rin was young and didn’t understand. Maybe she never would. Rin didn’t cry though, she never cried. Not once, had she ever shed a tear. She just held onto him tightly and thanked him over and over, for everything. And he just hugged her back. ..... Rin was almost twenty-three when his back started to hurt. Totosai was old, and while he didn’t like to think about it, it was getting harder for him to forge. As of late, Rin was taking on more and more of his projects. His youkai clients didn’t know such a thing, for they would never come back. Humans had always assumed it was her work to begin with, so it didn’t matter to them. But it mattered to Totosai. He leaned on his rock, puffing at his pipe, watching as Rin worked. The lean muscles of her shoulders rippled, as she struck the molten steel with the hammer. This wasn’t a woman that men wanted to marry, he thought. She lacked that soft curves and roundness that they liked. A human her age would already had several children. She was a spinster. Once, he asked her about it. She just laughed and said, “Do I look like a woman who wants to be married?” No, she didn’t, and that was okay. “That is the sword for Ryukotsusei-sama, yes?” “Yeah,” Rin grunted, sticking the metal back into the forge. “Is it nearly done?” “Not one bit. His list of requirements is quite extensive.” At that, Totosai smiled. “I would love to see what you would have said about Touga-san’s list of requirements.” The Old Dog used to put his skills through the wringer, requesting the most and ridiculous things. He had never once failed to deliver them though. “The Lord of the West?” she asked, wiping at the sweat on her brow. “Izayoi-san’s husband?” She took the tongs and pulled the metal out again, setting it against the anvil. “He was a man of unique taste, I promise you.” Rin only hummed in response, setting back to work with her hammer. The next day, she met Keneda-san at the fork in the path, halfway down the mountain. Totosai hid himself, always watching from the side. It wasn’t so much that Rin couldn't protect herself, but he couldn’t ignore the protective instinct that flooded through him. He had complained about it to Izayoi-san once, and the woman had laughed at him. That’s what being a father is like, you stupid old ox. Mo-Mo was the ox, not him, but that wasn’t the point. “Keneda-san,” Rin said amicably, reaching out to shake his hand. The stabler took it, and after shaking it, flipped it over to survey the skin. “Truly my lady, you shouldn’t have such callouses.” His tone was almost mocking. Rin frowned at him. “It’s never stopped you from reaping the benefits of such callouses.” “Ah but--” “You are married now, Keneda-san,” she said to him. “How is Emiko-san?” His wife had journeyed with him last month, to see the eccentric Rin who lived on the mountain by herself. She didn’t delight in being a sideshow act, but she had said nothing, receiving the woman with friendship. And really, Emiko-san wasn’t half-bad. “Worried about you, you know. You shouldn’t live up here alone,” he said. And to his credit, he sounded genuinely concerned. “I’m perfectly fine up here,” Rin said, beginning to load his orders into the cart. “She has this friend,” he started with. “A very nice man--” “Keneda-san, as always, I’m not interested. Not to mention I’m too old.” “He’s your age and interested,” Keneda-san said. “If you would just tell me your name, I could--” “My name doesn’t matter. I’m perfectly fine,” she told him, “Volcano-san is the perfect companion. He provides for me and never asks nosy questions. He never tells a woman that she would be more, with a man by her side.” Totosai smiled at her words. “I wasn’t implying such a thing,” Keneda-san said, but his genial tone seemed forced. Rin hefted the last bag of his order onto his cart, patting it slightly. “Keneda-san, that’s the last of it. I’ll see you next month.” “But--” “Next month,” she repeated. At that, Keneda-san snapped his mouth shut. “Of course, Ladysmith. Next month, then.” He climbed into the driver’s bench and hoisted the reins. “Know that you are always welcome in the village though, even for a day.” Rin shot him an incredibly rude gesture, and the man scrunched his lips into a disapproving frown. A moment later, he had spurred his horses into action, and was heading back down the trail. Once out of sight, Totosai left his hiding spot. “Ladysmith, huh? That’s a new one.” “I suppose I’m not dainty enough for ‘ma’am’ or ‘my lady’ anymore.” Rin waved the thought away. “Trying to pawn me off onto another man, the nerve!” “Ah well, perhaps he means well.” Rin grunted at that. “He would do well to leave me the hell alone.” At that, Totosai laughed. “Come Rin-chan, let’s go make dinner.” He slipped his arm around her shoulder and they began to walk the path back up to the mountain. He was lucky, he realized. For over twenty years, he had not eaten alone. This little girl, now woman grown, had been thrown into his life, and against all odds, they had made it work. No one knows their nature, Bokusenou-san had told him once, when talking about the Gods. The forge is lonely. Then perhaps, there is your reason. His forge wasn’t lonely anymore. Perhaps our life’s greatest work, will finally appease you, the letter had said to him. She had. Totosai thanked the Gods for Rin that day, which was quite unlike him.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/15902277

Here we have the prologue for my new story, The Ladysmith! Hop on over the AO3 to check it out? :D

#inuyasha #inuyasha fanfiction #rin #sesshoumaru #rin/sesshoumaru #rin and sesshoumaru #sesshomaru #Sesshomaru and Rin

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