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thatslikely · 3 years

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Grilled Cheese - G.W.

Grilled Cheese- Chef!George Weasley x Fem!Reader (unspecified house)

Warnings: lots of food, super sweet domestic fluff <3

Word Count: 0.8k

A/N: just a cute George blurb inspired by a comercial I watched during lunch today. I’ve been on a huge George kick recently, so expect more where this came from!

Just a reminder: Y/N is Your Name and thoughts are in italics.

George Taglist: @hufflepuff5972

send me a dm or ask to be added!

You sat, upside down, on the cozy couch of your apartment, afflicted with an ever-growing appetite. Food-induced drool dripped down from your mouth, but you were too lazy to wipe it off. You desperately needed fuel.

Your gaze occasionally rolled towards the untouched and empty kitchen with intense yearning. You could vividly envision your boyfriend dancing around the kitchen with pots and pans full of food balancing on his head, his hands stirring and sauteeing the night away just as they always did. Instead, it lay deserted. The sun waned behind the horizon, its buttery yellow rays slowly reducing into golden, honey-colored beams, only drawing your eyes more to the empty room.

The muggle TV, set on the cooking channel, droned in the background, only worsening your rapidly increasing hunger. It was so cruel of them to repeatedly zoom in on delicious, gourmet foods, but you simply couldn’t look away.

You emitted a tired groan, eyeing the clock hung above the television. Georgie should be home any minute, you thought in an effort to make your grumbling stomach pipe down.

Suddenly, just as your eyes drifted to the kitchen once again, a familiar high-pitched squeak rang from the front of the flat.

“George!” you loudly squealed, running towards the now open front door. George stood in the entryway, hanging up his keys on the hook with a playful and slightly cocky smirk.

You carelessly tackled George to the soft, carpeted floor, lovingly leaping onto his torso, draped in his whites. “Someone’s eager to see me,” he said with a laugh. You straddled him on the floor, a child-like grin on your face as you shut the open front door with your ankle.

George sat up, your rear still planted on his waist, as he gave you a small kiss. The connection of your lips was light and messy; he tasted of the delectable food at the restaurant that he sampled every day. Your hand soon squeezed his muscular shoulder in syncopation, and his lips slowly peeled away from yours.

“Is my darling hungry?” he asked with a devilishly handsome smile. You pitifully nodded your head as you laid it on his beating chest, inhaling the intoxicating spices that were sprinkled in the stitches of his jacket.

“Oh, c’mon, let’s go make you something to eat.” George picked you up with his strong, chiseled arms, carrying you to the kitchen. You laid slumped over his shoulders like a sleepy child until he gently placed you on a cushioned barstool. He stood opposite you, the counter wedging between, unsheathing knives and unstacking pots and pans from the cupboards that engulfed the walls.

“What does my little sous-chef want tonight? Would you fancy a juicy Beef Wellington, perhaps? Or maybe, if you’re in more of a Spanish mood, I could whip up a nice Paella.”

You thought very long and very hard before saying with a deadpan expression, “I want a grilled cheese sandwich.”

“Very funny. What do you actually want, Y/N?” George scanned your eyes for any signs of sarcasm or mischief, only to be met with utter seriousness.

“I want a grilled cheese sandwich.”

“You’re dating one of the top professional chefs in London, who went to the best culinary school in the world, and works at a Michelin three-star restaurant, and you want a grilled cheese sandwich, of all things?” George looked absolutely dumbfounded.

“Yes,” you said, the definitive expression on your face resolute.

“As you wish,” George said, reaching for a spatula and skillet from the cupboard below the stove. He moved around the kitchen mechanically, grabbing butter and various assorted cheeses from the fridge, and a loaf of bread from the small pantry.

With a loud cackle, a small square of butter was hit with the searing heat of the stove. It slid around inside the frying pan guided by George, coating it in gleaming goodness. While that was left to melt to his satisfaction, George swiftly moved to shredding blocks of cheese. Not a bead of sweat broke from his concentrated face as he slid chunks of pale, piccante provolone, Italian mozzarella, asiago pressato, and fontina cheese up and down the grater.

He proceeded to place two soft slices of bread in the perfectly sizzling butter, evenly browning both sides. You admired his precision and skill (and maybe his muscular forearms, which were visible thanks to the rolled-up sleeves of his chef’s jacket).

Soon enough, the expertly-selected blend of cheeses was pressed between the two browned pieces of bread, and he laid it back on the skillet to melt.

Within minutes, he presented you with a succulent grilled cheese sandwich. The bread was an inviting shade of brown, accented with little specks of char. Silky, alabaster-colored cheese rested between the two slices, excess slowly dripping out the sides. A small sprig of basil accented the top.

He placed all the dirty dishes into a warm, soapy bath in the sink before calmly sitting next to you, an identical plate in hand.

“It looks delicious, Georgie. You never disappoint, even for the simple things,” you said, reaching to George for a quick, thankful peck on the cheek.

“After all, the simple things are the things that matter.” And with that, you two dug in graciously.

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inkdrawndreamer · 6 years

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Breakfast at David’s

Summary: This is my first contribution for this year’s @danvidweek, and I decided to do my favorite AU, which is basically just the two of them together and being Max’s dads (and Harrison’s too in this version because he is in need of decent parents). Breakfast hijinks and domestic fluff will ensue (this will also be going on ao3 eventually).

It was not often that Max managed to wake his roommate up without actively trying to, but every time it did happen, he could count on a pillow getting chucked his way. And it always hit him. Every single time. No matter if he saw it coming or not, even if he tried to dodge, it never missed him. Harrison chalked this phenomenon up to his magical abilities, which Max refused to refute not because he believed him, but because he figured it wasn't worth getting hit again. This time the pillow hitting him in the head was what woke him up—that part was unusual.

"Argh, dude what the fuck?" He threw the offending pillow to the floor with a groan.

"You want a list?" Harrison said as he began to count on his fingers. "You kept missing the snooze button on your stupid alarm clock so it's been going off for at least two full minutes, AND you kept groaning really loudly at it, somehow making it noisier and even more annoying. Also you forgot to put your clothes in the hamper again and I tripped on the pile on the way to the bathroom."

Max looked incredulous. "And?" he said.

"And what?"

"Why didn't you just reach over and turn it off?"

"Because I was trying to sleep!" Harrison shouted.

"Then what's the point of the damn alarm?" Max fired back.

"It's yours, not mine!"

"We're on the same schedule, dumbass!"

"Boys!"

Both of them instantly clammed up upon hearing the faraway voice.

"If you're both awake, then get out here and help with breakfast!"

The pair groaned in unison. "Yes Daniel," they replied simultaneously, with an added mumble of "asshole" tacked on by Max.

Still grumbling under their breath, the boys began their reluctant trek to the kitchen. Surprisingly, David was still in his pajamas, standing over the stove while he juggled a spatula and a carton of eggs. Unsurprisingly, Daniel was already dressed and seated at the table with a cup of coffee and a magazine in hand.

"Good morning boys!" David beamed at them. The off white of his teeth was framed by grainy red shadow around his face. God, seeing him with facial hair never got any less weird, Max thought to himself. "How are my two favorite sons doing?"

"Still weirded out whenever you say that. Where's the coffee pot?" Max made a beeline for the counter where Daniel was pointing to.

"Aw, I mean it though," David reached over quickly and ruffled Max's hair, pulling back just before the boy could slap his arm away. "Would you like an omelette?"

"No thanks." He opened the freezer door and scowled. "Hey, where are the Hot Pockets?"

"We're out," Daniel answered without looking up.

"What? Since when?"

"Two days ago, I think. I told you to write them on the shopping list."

"I thought we had more!"

"There was only one box left the last time we went shopping, remember?" he added. "I offered to get a box of the cheesesteak ones, but you said you'd rather wait because, and I quote, "those taste like someone slapped expired cheese on a turd and then shoved it all in a dinner roll.""

"Language c’mon," David called futilely from the stove.

"I guess an omelette would be alright," Max groaned. "Just don't put provolone in it again."

"I know, American or cheddar only." He set the carton down and plucked two more eggs from it. "Harrison, do you want one too?"

"Yeah, that'd be good." Harrison took his seat on Daniel's right. "Thanks David."

"Kiss-ass," he heard Max mutter. He shoved him toward the counter, earning himself a shove back in the process.

"Hey! Hey! No fighting in the kitchen," Daniel said when he noticed Max's coffee sloshing a little too close to him and his clean dress shirt. "And anyway, you two should do whatever you need to in the bathroom now while David is making breakfast. We don't need a line forming and making everybody late."

"Oh come on." Max rolled his eyes. "Us staying in the bathroom for a while doesn't make us any later than you watering your plants on the way out the door does. And you can do that at literally any time by the way!"

"If you want to keep getting that cherry jam you like so much, then you won't complain about how I keep my plants healthy." Daniel actually sounded slightly offended.

"Fine, I'll shower now then," Max finished downing his coffee and set his mug on the counter.

"How come you get to go first?" Harrison said as Max began walking off.

"Because if you go first then you'll just take a massive dump afterward and then leave me with it."

Harrison looked aghast. "That happened exactly one time!"

"Once is enough!"

"I thought you'd showered already!"

"Okay, one of you just take your turn and be done with it!" Daniel's voice rose above theirs. "Play rock, paper, scissors or something, just decide and then do it already."

The boys scowled at each other, then shook their fists and called the game. Max won with scissors, pumping his fists in the air triumphantly before taking off down the hallway. Harrison walked over to the table and slumped back into his seat. He sat in silence beside Daniel, whose attention had already returned to the magazine he was reading. It was some music magazine, one of several that got crammed into their mailbox fo him every month.

"So," Daniel suddenly piped up again. "Do you have anything going on after school today?"

"Oh, um, I should still have drama today," Harrison grabbed an orange out of the bowl on the table and absentmindedly began to pick at the skin with his fingernails.

"I thought the meeting was cancelled."

"Almost. They got someone to fill in for the teacher at the last minute."

"I'm sure Preston and Nerris will be thrilled about that." Daniel set the magazine down beside the bowl. "I can give you a ride home after you're done. I've got a few make-up tests to do today anyway."

"Yeah, that would be good." It was barely noticeable, but his voice grew a bit smaller. "Sorry for the trouble."

"It's no trouble Harrison, nothing to be sorry for. You live here too now, remember?" Daniel squeezed his shoulder firmly. He looked down and noticed the picked over piece of fruit in his hands. "Here, let me." He took the orange from him and flipped it over so that the knotted cap was on top. In one motion, he plucked it, peeled the remaining skin off, and handed the fruit back to Harrison.

"Oh, thanks," the boy said. He popped a slice in his mouth and offered another one to Daniel, who did the same.

"Could one of you please get forks and plates out?" David said as he flipped a freshly cooked omelette over in the pan.

Daniel got up to take the plates from the cabinet while Harrison grabbed some forks and a fistful of napkins from the counter. Max arrived just as they were finishing setting everything down.

"Bathroom's free." He gestured behind him with one hand while he grabbed his mug off the table with the other.

Harrison nodded quickly at him before heading down the hallway. Max got himself another cup of coffee and took his seat. David announced that the omelettes were done barely a minute later. He carefully set each plate down on the table before falling back into his chair.

"Breakfast is delicious, David," Daniel remarked as he finished swallowing a bite of food. He glanced over at Max, clearing his throat when the boy didn't notice him.

"It's edible," Max finally said with a shrug. It was the closest thing to a compliment that David would get from Max, at least while he was in front of the others. He smiled.

Harrison returned when everyone else was about halfway through their meals. He wolfed his breakfast down quickly as they talked, occasionally chiming in with a word or two between bites. Once everyone had finished eating and cleaning up, the morning became a typical scramble to get dressed and ready for the day. Max was done first, clad in his usual blue hoodie and jeans. He was usually the first one to finish getting ready, so he spent the rest of that morning, as he usually did, playing a handheld game. It was usually either that or knitting, or sneaking in some work on his homework if he hadn’t finished it the night before. He usually did that only if he was desperate though, otherwise he just waited to do it until he got to school; getting away with it was harder when he was living with two teachers, and it they caught him doing it, whatever lecture they decided to give him usually took up the rest of his extra time anyway.

Daniel was the next person to finish, walking briskly toward the kitchen in his crisp dress clothes. He was soon followed by David, who was still buttoning his sleeves as he met him there.

"Hang on, your tie's crooked," Daniel said as he pulled David back by his shoulder. "You have to pull it through the front from above like this, see?" He demonstrated as he redid the knot David had made, then gave it one last tug to secure it before letting go of him.

"Eh heh, I always forget that part." David smiled and leaned in to press a kiss to Daniel's cheek. "Thanks, as always."

"Gross," Max's voice echoed from the other room.

"You can always look away, but go ahead, keep complaining instead," Daniel replied nonchalantly.

He fought back a smirk at the groan that bounced back at him, then pressed a kiss to David’s cheek before taking a small watering can off the counter. As he was filling it beneath the sink, he heard the other man groan.

"Has anyone seen my school bag? I thought I left it in here," David said as he gazed around the room.

"Did you check the office?" Max replied without looking up from his game.

"Ah, good thinking!" He said with a snap of his fingers as he took off toward the office. Max shook his head. David usually lost track of at least one thing every morning. Frankly, he seemed a lot more on top of things at camp, which was really saying something considering that Max had already found him a bit scatterbrained while they were there. David returned to the kitchen in minutes with his bag in hand. He checked the time on his phone before setting it back on the table when he noticed Harrison walk through the doorway. He couldn't wear his old top hat to school most of the time, but he still wore the rest of his magician's garb as much as he could. David always found it more adorable than distinguished, much to his chagrin.

"Everyone ready to go?" David said as he headed for the front door. He took a last glance around the living room and noticed that the couch was empty. "Uh, where's Max?"

"Just a minute!" Max called from the other side of the house. He dashed across the room, stopping just a foot short of David before he slapped something into his hand.

"You forgot your phone," he muttered. "Again."

"Oh," David let out a sheepish chuckle. "Uh, thanks Max."

"I think now we're ready to go," Daniel said. His three roommates nodded as he reached for the door handle. "Alright, everybody out."

He watched them disappear in a line out of the house before shutting the door firmly behind them. As the group was walking, however, David suddenly stopped.

He combed his fingers through his school bag, then looked up, brow furrowed. "Where are my keys?"

Max groaned. "Dammit David!"

#danvid week #danvid #camp camp #cc daniel #cc david #dadvid #dadniel #cc harrison #cc max #danvid dads au #dreamer writes #fanfiction #sorry It think tumblr lost my formatting

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rose-petals-and-sunshine · 6 years

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Lake Day

Okay, this one’s kind of a long one, but I’m so excited about this one. It’s first from Emelia’s POV, and then from Asher’s point of view. Thank you so much for reading and I hope you enjoy!! <3

Slight warning for descriptions of vomiting, and near-death experience??

Emelia POV

I woke up at 7:30am on Saturday morning, a half hour before my alarm was supposed to go off. I was so excited for today I could barely stand it. I had the whole day planned out for Asher and me, to get his mind off all the stress of his classes and work at the vet clinic. We both had managed to have the same day off. We hadn’t seen each other for close to two weeks. He had tried to plan a quick breakfast date before my class, but that plan went sideways when I came down with the hell flu that had swept its way through the daycare, slowly claiming the children, my coworkers, and me as its victims. I felt horrible, because that was the first time we had seen each other since the semester had started, and Asher spent the better part of a week and half taking care of me. When he wasn’t at work or classes, he was over at my apartment, checking on me, and just keeping me company. Every day between class and work, he would stop by to give me more medicine or make me food. He was way too good to me. I had hoped that this day of fun would be my way of making it up to him. As I sat up in bed, my chest tightened slightly, and I let out a cough into the crook of my elbow. I was mostly over the flu, however there was a slight cough that had lingered still, which was more annoying than anything. I grabbed my phone and shut my 8:00am alarm off, and then went to my messages to send Asher a text.

Me Hey love! Hope you’re ready for today! I can’t wait to spend the WHOLE day with you! No sickness to interrupt our time together either 😉 Meet at my place at 8:30 like we planned?

I grinned, my body shaking with excitement. Even with the stress of classes and work, and not being able to see each other, Asher still made me the happiest I’ve ever been. We started dating when I was a junior in high school, and he was a senior. From day one, he’s always been able to pull me out of my worst moods and make my best moods somehow even better. Even though this semester is the first semester that we’ve both been swamped with college classes and work, it’s not the first time we’ve had to work around his class and work schedule. Since he graduated a year before me, he started at U of I my senior year. It was difficult coordinating schedules, but we made it work, and he made it a lot easier. That was his THING. Asher always made things easier. Now that we’re on the same campus again, it’s been slightly easier to see each other, just by bumping into each other here and there on campus. The buzzing of my phone pulled me out of my thoughts.

Ash <3 I am so ready! Can’t wait to see your beautiful face! How many times do I gotta tell ya? I didn’t mind taking care of you at all, it’s kinda my job, silly 😉 Can’t wait to see what you have planned, Em. See you at 8:30<3

I couldn’t help the giant smile that creeped across my face. How did I get so lucky? I got up off my bed and began packing essentials for the day; sunscreen, towels, change of clothes, etc. I put my swimsuit on and then a tank top and shorts on over it. Heading into the kitchen, I walked by Kat’s room, and knock on the door, which prompted a sleepy groan. I peeked my head into the room.

“Hey, Kat. I’ll be gone at the lake all day with Ash. See you tonight! Enjoy your day off!” I chimed.

“...mmhmm...You too! You two kiddos have fun and don’t get into too much trouble,” she mumbled sleepily and rolled over.

I chuckled and shut the door behind me. I walked into the kitchen and began to pack our lunch for the day. I made Ash’s favorite sandwich and snacks; ham and provolone cheese on white bread, with lettuce, mayo and pickle, and a big bag of Cheetos to go with it. I packed my sandwich and a few waters. I had everything ready, and I sat on the couch to relax. I had scrolled through Facebook until I heard a soft knock on the door, and I practically shot up to make my way to answer it, my heart fluttering in my chest. I opened the door and smiled widely.

“Hey, you,” he said, with a smile as big as mine on his face, his blue eyes lit up. I jumped into his arms and hugged him tight.

“Hi, Ash. I’ve missed you, oh my gosh,” I said, as I lowered myself back onto the floor.

“You too, Emmy. So what ya got planned?” He asked.

“You’ll see,” I said as I winked, and smiled at him.

He laughed, and I swear it was the best thing I had ever heard.

“Oooh...mystery. I like it. Shall we go?” He winked at me, and then helped me take my bags out to the car.

Moments later, we were off on our way.

“C’mon, tell me what we’re doing. I’m dying to know! Pweeeaaassse, Emmy,” he begged, making his lips pucker into the puppy dog face that he knows I can’t ever resist.

“Alright, alright. You can put away the puppy dog eyes, babe. Fine, I’ll tell you. We’re going to the lake. I packed a picnic with your favorite sandwich. AND Cheetos, of course. We’re gonna go swimming, and then lay out a blanket and just RELAX. Things have been crazy, and I just wanted to plan to do something fun and relaxing to spend time together. I love you, and I love how hard you’ve been working, but you need a break, babe,” I take his hand that’s not on the steering wheel in mine, lifted it up to my lips and kissed it.

I looked over at him and watched as his eyes light up with excitement.

“Oh, Em. You’re way too good to me. I love you, baby,” he said, as he squeezed my hand in his.

We continued driving, and talking, and laughing. Gosh, we laughed a lot. At one point, I was laughing so hard, I was out of breath. I felt my chest tighten again, and I was sent into a coughing fit. Asher reached over and rubbed my back.

“Oh, baby. Are you okay? Still haven’t shaken that cough, huh?” His voice was coated with concern.

Once it finally stopped, I sat up.

“No, I guess not. I’m fine though, it hasn’t been bothering me much, just a little here and there, just enough to annoy me,” I rolled my eyes, and shrugged my shoulders to reassure him. I really did think I was fine, but my chest did feel tight. I coughed a few more times, hoping that it would clear up, but the tightness still lingered. I tried to hide my frustration by turning my head and looking out the window. Before I even realized what has happening, I felt Asher’s hand caressing my arm.

“Hey, hey. What’s wrong, baby? W-why are you crying?” He asked, full of worry.

It was then that I realized that I was crying. I lifted my hand up to my face, and wiped the tears off my cheeks, and looked over at him.

“I’m just so tired of this. I’m tired of having this damn sickness mess with our plans. It’s frustrating, and I just want it to go away,” I cried softly.

“Aw, honey. It’s fine. Are you feeling okay right now?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just annoyed with this cough is all. I’m fine, promise,” I squeezed his hand.

As we pulled up to the lake, he put the car into park, and made his way to the passenger side. He opened my door, and I hopped out of the car. He wrapped me in a tight hug, and gently rubbed my back. My chest tightened again, and I coughed harshly into his chest. He kissed the top of my head and continued to rub circles onto my back. We stood that way for a few minutes, then pulled away from each other.

“Are you sure you’re gonna be okay? Cause if you need to go home, we will, baby. Don’t push yourself too hard,” he says as grabs our things out of the car.

“No! I’m fine. We drove all the way out here, this is OUR day. Our relax day. I’ll be fine, Ash. I promise.”

I grabbed the picnic basket and walked alongside him as we made our way to a spot to set the blankets down. We found a perfect spot right by the pier.

“Wow, this is beautiful!!” I shouted.

“Yeah, no kidding!! Look at that water!! I’m gonna jump in. Wanna join me?!”

I considered it for a moment, but my chest was still a little tight, so I opted against.

“Nah, I’m good. I’m just gonna relax here for a little bit. Be careful, baby,” I said, cautiously.

“Em, c’mon. I was on the swim team in high school. I got this,” I heard his voice fading away from me as he had already started running to get a head start.

I laughed as I watched him run onto the landing and jump into the water.

“Asher Jones, you’re crazy!!”

I saw and felt a splash as his body hit the water, hard.

The splash had settled and the waves in the water were slowly returning to normal, but his head hadn’t popped up out of the water yet. Wow that must’ve been a bigger jump than I thought..., I thought to myself. Beginning to worry, I looked at the time on my phone. 11:15am. I watched the water intently, looking for any indication of Asher coming back up to the surface. Still nothing. I tried to push down the panic that was setting in. He’s a good swimmer, great, even, but deep down, I had a bad feeling. I’ve seen him jump into water plenty of times, jumping even higher than he did this time, and every time, he was already out of the water by now. I checked my clock again. 11:17am. I go into full panic mode and run to the landing. I jump in, and I feel my body hit the water.

While underwater, I look around, trying to focus instead of panic. I swim down further, desperately looking for something, anything that could lead me to him, somehow. I thought I heard something to my right, so I turned, and there he was. I saw Asher’s leg, tangled up in something I couldn’t really see. I made my way over to his body, and frantically trying to untangle his leg and get him out of here before it was too late. The more frantic I became, the harder it was to focus on the task. I tried to steady myself enough to focus. I finally got his leg untangled and lifted him to the surface. I laid him flat on his back and began doing CPR.

“C’mon, baby, please. Wake up, baby, please. C’mon Ash, you’re okay, baby.” I begged, as tears streamed down my already dripping wet face. I continued to do CPR, until finally, I heard harsh coughing. He rolled over to his side and coughed as water came out of his mouth. Once the coughing stopped, I lifted his head and laid it in my lap, stroking his hair. He opened his eyes and looked up at me, confused and scared.

“Em?” He croaked.

“Asher! Oh my god, Ash. Hi!” I shouted, pulling him even closer to me.

“Em, what happened?”

“I don’t know, exactly. Oh my god. I-I thought I lost you, baby. You jumped in, and you were down in the water way longer than normal, and I-I-I-I p-panicked, and jumped in and at first, I couldn’t find you, but then I found your legs all tangled up in something in the water. I was able to get you untangled and out of the water and had to give you CPR. Do you feel okay?” I asked, panic still coating my voice, which was also shaking.

He let out a few more harsh coughs, then began to speak, his voice improving. “Um, yeah. I think. Can I sit up?”

“Oh, yeah, sure,” I said, as I steadied his body with my hand on his back to help him into a sitting position. Once he was sitting up, I wrapped him in a hug, and didn’t let go until I felt him pull away. It wasn’t until then that my body caught up with all the activity that just happened. I inhaled and turned my head to cough into my elbow for several minutes. When I turned my head back towards Asher, he looked at me with concern in his eyes.

“You okay, love?” he asked.

I shook my head, in absolute disbelief.

With a confused look on his face, he said, “What?”

“I just can’t believe that you are asking me if I’m okay when you literally almost drowned. Asher, I’m fine. Stop worrying about me, for once, please,” I pleaded, desperately.

“Alright, alright,” he said, defensively, with a hint of hurt in his tone.

I looked at him and caressed his cheek. “Oh, love. I’m sorry I snapped, I just got really scared. When I was in the water and I saw your body all tangled up, I-I-I..” my words broke off as I started sobbing uncontrollably, tears falling down my face again.

Asher pulled me closer to him and I cried into his chest.

“Sshhhh…Em, baby. It’s okay. I’m right here. You saved me, you know that? Who knows what would’ve happened if you hadn’t jumped and untangled me. Just relax. Everything’s fine. Let’s go eat our lunch, yeah?” his soothing voice put me at ease and I nodded at him, and got to my feet, reaching my hand down to him to help him up. We walked over to where our blanket was spread out. I reached into the basket and pulled out his sandwich and handed it to him. He took it and smiled.

“Thank you, sunshine. I love that you packed my favorite lunch, and that you planned this whole day for us. It’s perfect, and so are you,” He learned forward and kissed me. He unwrapped his sandwich and took a bite and closed his eyes.

“mmmm...You made it JUST perfect,” he smiled wide.

When we were finished eating, we laid down on the blanket. I laid down on my back and he laid down on his side and laid his head on my chest. I ran my fingers through his hair slowly. We both became so relaxed that we fell asleep. I woke up an hour later, Asher still sound asleep on my chest, lightly snoring. I reached across the blanket and grabbed my phone. It was just after 3pm. I shook Asher awake.

“Ash, baby, wake up. We should head home,” I said, softly.

His eyes fluttered as he sat up and stretched out his arms. We gathered our things together and headed for the car. Ash seemed lethargic, although, it did make sense since he had almost drowned just a few short hours prior. He didn’t seem quite awake enough to drive home, so I told him I would. He slept the whole ride home. I couldn’t help but smile as I took glances at him whenever I could. He looked so peaceful, so relaxed, and worry-free. I’m glad he was getting some much-needed sleep after the past several weeks that he’d had.

As I pulled up to my apartment, I was just about to wake him when I saw him sit up, stretch and unbuckle his seatbelt. He didn’t look any more rested than he did before we got on the road. I decided to leave our things in the car and head inside. I unlocked the door, and we stepped inside. I set my keys down and turned towards him. He looked so exhausted.

“Okay, let’s go lie down, yeah?” I cooed. He nodded, as I wrapped my arm around him for support because he looked like he could collapse at any moment. We made our way into my room and he laid down on the bed. I laid down next to him, and he curled up next to me on my chest, just like he had at the lake, and within minutes, he was asleep. I laid there for a while, just soaking in the events of the day. The day hadn’t gone exactly as planned, but I was happy with our time spent on our day off. Any time spent with Asher is great, but it always helps if things go smooth, of course. I felt his position shift and he rolled over with his back to me. I grabbed my phone to look at the time. It was 8:30pm. A little earlier than I would normally go to bed, but I felt just as exhausted as Asher looked. It had been a long day. I turned out my nightside table light, cuddled into Asher’s back and drifted off into a peaceful sleep.

******************

I rolled over onto Asher’s chest, and was immediately startled awake when I felt the heat radiating off his body. I could feel the sweat that had just stuck to him. I gently shook him awake.

“Ash, baby, wake up. I think you have a fever,” I said, reaching my hand up to his forehead, barely even able to touch it because it was so hot.

I ran out of the room to get a thermometer from the bathroom and hurried back to my bedroom. Asher was barely awake. I tried to shake him awake again.

“Baby, wake up,”

I heard him groan, which immediately turned into a deep, harsh coughing fit, and left him curled in on himself, trying to catch his breath. I rubbed his back, trying to soothe him during the fit. While he was laying on his side, I place the thermometer in his ear, and anxiously waited. Beep. I raised the thermometer up slowly to read it, and practically had to sit down when I saw the screen flash the numbers “104.8.” I ran into the bathroom again to find some medicine to help with the fever. I tried to stay calm, but deep down, I was panicking. I’m never the one to take care of Ash. He’s usually the one that takes care of me. I made my way back into the bedroom once I found what I was looking for.

“Okay, baby, you gotta wake up now. I have medicine for you. We need to get your fever down, honey,” I said as I shook him lightly and helped him get into an upright position, wincing at the chills that were visibly wracking his entire body because of the fever.

“Here, drink this. It’ll bring your fever down and help with the chills,” I say, as I hand it to him, and help him bring it up to his mouth because his hands are too shaky to do it alone.

He rests his head on the headboard, and groans and I can hear the congestion already seeping into his sinuses and his voice.

“Ugh. I fbeel awfbul, Emb,” he moans.

“Oh, honey. You sound terrible. I think you caught my flu, huh?”

“I thbink so,” his eyelids beginning to droop.

“Wait, before you sleep, you need to eat something. You haven’t had anything since we went to the lake yesterday, love,” I said.

His eyes were forming tears. “Cban I jbust eat later? My throat is killing mbe and I just wanna sleep,” he rasped. His breath started to hitch.

“Eh’ktchew! Hi’etchu, es’echu… hihhh! heh’ktchiew! hihhh! heh’ktchiew!”

“Bless you, baby. I’m so sorry.”

He sniffed to clear his nose, but it only sent him into a deep coughing fit that brought tears to his eyes. I kept my hand on his back as the coughing continued.

“Oh, baby. That sounded painful, huh?”

“…mhmm...” he nodded his head, curling in on himself. I couldn’t help but notice how small and vulnerable he looked in that position. I laid down on my side of the bed and lifted my arm up to invite him to lay on my chest. He sat up and slowly moved toward me, finally in a position where he was able to cuddle up into my chest. I combed my fingers through his sandy brown hair, which was damp with sweat from his fever. He let out a few harsh coughs into my chest, and I kissed his fever flushed forehead. Before long, I heard his congested snores. Now that I thought about it, I was exhausted. I hadn’t slept very well the night before. I fell asleep soon after that, his breathing pattern lulling me to sleep.

***********************

I heard my alarm blaring at 7:00am Monday morning. I tried to quickly roll over to turn it off before it woke Asher up. But as soon as I heard him groaning, and then harshly coughing, I knew it was too late.

“shit,” I whispered, and laid back down on my pillow, reaching over to comfort Ash during the harsh fit that hadn’t stopped yet.

When it finally stopped, he propped himself up by his elbows and looked over at me, eyes beginning to droop again.

“W-why was your…alarm going off?” he asked, his voice cracking.

“It’s Monday, babe. It was my alarm for class,” I caressed his cheek.

“Oh. I thought it was Sunday...”

“No, baby. Yesterday was Sunday. You slept all day, love.”

He nodded his head, closing his eyes, taking a deep breath, and then opening them again.

“Well, we should get going,” he said, as he sat up into a sitting position, about to get out of bed.

“Um, no. There’s no way you’re going to class, and neither am I. You’re WAY too sick to be going anywhere, honey. Here, let’s take your temp, okay?” I reached over for the thermometer and stuck it in his ear, waiting for the beep. 103.6. It was still a bit high for my liking, but it was an improvement from yesterday. I gave him more of the medicine.

“There, that should help some and hopefully bring your fever down more, yeah?” I said, as I kissed his forehead.

He cleared his throat. “Umb, Emb, I-I… Snnfff...nngh. I don’t feel very good.” He moaned, and then his breath hitched and a series of sneezed escaped.

“Eh’ktchew! Hi’etchu, es’echu… Ughhb.”

“Oh honey, I know. I’m so sorry. Come here, love,” I wrapped my arm around his broad shoulders. He rested his head on my chest. I felt his heavily congested breathing, almost in tune with mine. Soon I heard his congested snores against my chest. I sighed. I felt terrible. If I hadn’t let him take care of me, he wouldn’t have caught this. Asher doesn’t get sick that much, I get sick way more often than he does, because my job is a plague ward. He also doesn’t catch my sickness very often, but when he does, it hits him twice as hard as it hit me. That last flu I had, it hit me hard, and it was still lingering, so I can only imagine how hard it was going to hit him. I heard more of his congested snores, and looked down at him, his mouth hanging open. Seeing him sleeping so peacefully made me feel sleepy again, and I let myself doze off.

We slept much of the rest of the day, Asher occasionally being woken up by the harsh coughing and sneezing fits. We both laid awake for about an hour and watched some TV in bed, before we both dozed off again.

**************************

I was woken up the next morning by Asher’s harsh coughing. I sleepily reached my hand over to him and placed it on his back, beginning to rub it softly. I was jolted awake when I heard him gasping desperately for air in between coughs, nearly in tears.

“Oh shit, baby. You’re okay. Shhh,” I tried to soothe him, but as the coughs kept coming, so did his tears. The fit finally tapered off. I reached over to find the thermometer on my nightside table and stuck it in his ear and waited. Beep. I lifted it up to read the screen. 105.2. Shit. Just then, I heard his breath hitch, and a series of loud, congested sneezes escaped his body. I barely heard the knock on my door over the sneezes, which then turned to rugged, deep coughs.

“Yeah?” I yelled out. The door opened, and the head that peeked in was Kat’s. The expression on her face was a mixture of concern and annoyance.

“Who’s dying in h – Oh shit!” she exclaimed, once she saw the blanket sized lump that was Asher sprawled out over my bed, still struggling to catch his breath after the last fit.

“Holy shit, that does not sound good at all,” her voice now filled with concern.

“Yeah, I know. I took his temp Sunday and it was 104.8. I gave him some of that medicine I had in the bathroom from when I was sick a few weeks ago. I took his temp again yesterday, and it came down to 103.6. I just took it again and it’s up to 105.2. I think he caught my hell flu,” I said, glancing back at him. He was curled in on himself, asleep already.

“Uh, Em. I think this is worse than a flu. That cough sounds way too bad to be a flu. We should get him to the hospital, and soon. I’ll drive.”

“Okay,” I said, hoping that it wouldn’t be as hard to wake him up as it was before.

I was thankful that Kat had taken charge, because if I was being honest, I had no idea what I was doing. Hell, I’m usually the one in Asher’s position right now, not the other way around. I was able to wake him up and both Kat and I managed to get him to the car. We laid him in the backseat and I sat back with him, letting him lay his head in my lap. The ride was going smoothly for the most part, aside from the awful coughing fits that left him gasping for air. We were almost to the hospital, when I heard him groan and he was grabbing at his stomach. He sprung up from where he was laying.

“Kat, pull over, I think he’s gonna be sick,” I yelled. She managed to get pulled over just in time to open the door. He leaned forward and vomited onto the grass outside of the car, his body shaking from the force. When he thought he was done, we got back into the car, and he fell asleep on the rest of the ride to the hospital.

********************

Asher POV

When I woke up, it took me a few moments to put together where I was. I heard beeping machines around me. I opened my eyes and winced at the pain I felt all over my body. Someone was holding my right hand, and I was confused until I looked over and realized it was Emelia. I felt her squeeze my hand and bring it up to her face and kiss it once she saw that I was awake. I smiled sleepily.

“E-Em? Where am I?” Instantly grabbing my throat, and wincing at the pain I felt in it by speaking.

“Oh, honey. We’re in the hospital. You’re really sick babe. You really scared me. You were running a fever of over 105. You were coughing so hard you couldn’t breathe, so Kat and I brought you here. You threw up on the way here. How do you feel right now, love?”

“Umb, I’m not sure. Eberything hurts. Did I catch your flu or something?” I took a deep breath and turned my head to cough, tears forming in my eyes from the pain.

“Actually, no. It’s much worse than that. You have Legionnaire’s disease, which is basically a severe form of pneumonia. Baby, do you remember when you jumped into the lake and got your leg all tangled up a few days ago?” she asked, caressing my arm.

“Umb, a little, yeah, I think. But I was fine, you gave me CPR and then we went home. Is that what caused this?” I asked.

“Pretty much, yeah. Basically, what happened was when you were underwater, and even when I pulled you out, you had already inhaled some of the lake water, and there were bacteria in the water, and that’s what caused this,” she explained.

“Oh,” I nodded my head. Just then, my chest tightened, and I was sent into a barking coughing fit that just wouldn’t stop. Emelia rubbed my hand trying to soothe me through the fit. I continued coughing and started to panic when I couldn’t catch my breath. I was gasping for breath, desperately trying to get any air into my lungs in between coughs, but it just wouldn’t come. Em noticed me struggling and put an inhaler up to my mouth.

“Honey, I need you to breathe in the best you can, okay? This will open up your airways and help you breathe better.”

I was able to breathe in slightly and at that exact moment she pressed the button down and I felt a puff of air, and immediately felt my airways opening, just like she said they would. The coughing trailed off and she rubbed my arm.

“Good job, baby. One more time, okay? Hold it in your hand like this,” she took my hand and wrapped my index finger on the button, and brought it back up to my mouth. “and then press it down and take a deep breath in. Think you can do it?” she asked. I nodded my head and followed the steps in the order she explained them. I brought the inhaler up to my mouth, pressed down on the tube, and took a deep breath in. I let out a sigh of relief as I felt my airways open even more. I handed her the inhaler and laid my head back, breathing heavily.

“Aw, honey. I’m so sorry. If I had known something like this could happen, I never would’ve had us go to the lake the other day. I feel terrible that this is happening to you,” she sobbed, tears forming in her eyes, threatening to fall down her beautiful face.

“E-Emmy, stop it, love. It’s not your fault. I’m the idiot that jumped into the water, totally not thinking of what might happen. Listen to me and listen to me good. Look at me; this is not your fault, okay? Promise me you won’t blame yourself for this,” I took her hand in mine and squeezed it,

“Okay, promise,” she hesitated, but then nodded her head.

“Good. Thank you for taking care of me, baby. I love you,” I mumbled hoarsely, as my eyes began to droop, and I began to drift off into a restless sleep.

“Anytime, Ash. Anytime,” I barely heard her say. My eyes fluttered open just long enough to see her stand up and step towards the bed, lean forward and kiss my head. I leaned into her touch, as she combed through my hair. I closed my eyes, no longer able to fight the sleep that was trying to pull me under…

#my ocs #asher and emelia #lake day #legionnaires disease #sickfic #pneumonia #coughing #sneezing #another slightly awkward ending oops #ill try to get better with that i promise

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theliterateape · 3 years

Text

The Clincher

by Paul Teodo & Tom Myers

You’re ready.” Big Sal sat on a splintered step leading to their run-down two-flat, blowing hot stale smoke from his old stogy into the sweltering heat.

“I ain’t.” His son, the subject of his assessment, pulled at his sweat stained collar as if it were a noose. He was jumpy, his engine running fast and his mind even faster. He winced as he stood.

“The Irish kid from St. Patrick’s?” His father pointed to the oozing scab bulging from Sal’s swollen shin.

“Spiked me good.”

“Have your mother take a look at that.”

“I’m fine.”

“We need you. The tourney’s startin’ next week.” His father didn’t look at him when he talked. Sal could tell something was up.

“You needin’ me don’t mean I’m ready.”

“Nobody’s ready, Son…,” he paused and spit into the grass, “’til they step up.”

Sal picked at his leg until it bled. “Those guys been playin’ forever. I got just two years under my belt. And it’s a church league.”

“Sally, you’re ready.”

He hated when the old man called him that. His father was Big Sal. Momma called him Little Sal. Angie, his sister-Jr. The nuns-Salvatore. And his buddies called him Sal or Chooch. His head spun on a swivel, answering to all the names that seemed to be blowing around in the wind.

“What’s the other guys got to say?”

“Fuck the other guys. It’s my team.” His father still didn’t look at him. He took another pull on his cigar.

“What’s up, Pops?”

“Nothin.’”

“C’mon.”

“Nothin’s up except we need you.”

Big Sal started the Guidos in ’57. Nobody thought he could play after the punch press took three fingers off his right hand. Left him with just a thumb and a pointer. He got a few grand settlement and used it to start up the team. He swung a mean one-handed bat; a singles and doubles man, never hitting below .400. He was the Guidos’ founder, manager, coach, and frontline pitcher. And his hurky-jerky motion annoyed the hell out of hitters.

At first the team was just a bunch of burnt-out baseball guys looking for a reason to get out of the house. Then it got serious. The trophies, the fights, the bets. Sixteen-inch no-mitt softball became an obsession. Nothing got in the way. That’s how it went when guys had too much of what they didn’t want in life.

It’d now been fifteen years. Same deal every year. Start up in early April, end with the last tourney in September.

They played all over the city, but home for the league was Grand Crossing. 77th and Dobson. A nice big park with five fields. Lush green grass in May and June, yellowing in July, and by August, crispy brown blades; bees buzzing throughout the outfield, hovering, like miniature helicopters, above the white flower-topped clover. Dry, make-you wanna-cough-your-ass-off dust-devils whipping through the infield; twisted wire back-stops, razor sharp metal edges, daring you to ignore where you were running, just waiting to slice open your sun-burnt skin. A permanent piece of stiff white rubber screwed into the rock-hard earth: The Mound. Big Sal’s stomping ground.

The teams were from around 63rd south to 87th, and from Stony Island west to Cottage Grove. All vying for bragging rights, trophies, and the money. It got bigger every year, and so did the fights. No trouble with the cops, each team had one. The Guido’s? Frankie Pissani, a 30-something bruiser, with a buzz cut and an ugly scar, the only thing defining his bulbous head from his thick neck.

The Guidos, The Irishmen, The Bombers, The Polskis, The Panchos, The Dwarfs, The Dandys, and The Dukes were the regulars. And a few stray clubs filled in the last four slots each year. They’d all throw their thousand bucks into the pot and fight it out ‘til the champs, at the end of the year, stood drunk, proud, and a few grand richer.

“If you put me on the team because you run it, the other guys’ll be pissed. They’ll crucify me.”

“It’s rough out there, Sally. You made your mark. It’s time to step up.”

“I’m 19. Those are grown-ass men, Pops.”

“You’re hittin’ .600.”

“It’s a church league.”

“You spray to all fields. You got some power. And you’re growin’ into more. You run like a goddamn deer, and you got a cannon for an arm!” His father’s voice rising. “It’s your chance, Sally. You’re a natural!”

“C’mon pops, it’s a different league! At Franny’s, guys aren’t out for blood. Priests and nuns are watchin’ the games.” Sal nodded toward the park directly across the street. “I seen how you guys play. You take it serious.”

“It is serious.” His father’s eyes narrowed and peered onto the field. He pointed toward the diamond that young Sal gazed at nightly from his bedroom window. “It’s where you go to prove yourself.”

“You guys play with the Clincher. We use the Wilson.”

“A ball’s a ball.”

“A Clincher, Pops. The way those guys crush that ball, it’ll break my fuckin’ hand.”

“Church league’s over, kid. Time to step up.”

“I don’t…,” Sal started down the steps.

His father grabbed his arm between his thumb and pointer. His grip was like a vice. “You gonna do this or not? Freddy’s out, you know that, the Polack stomped his knee, and Rico had another one of them episodes.” His father tossed the stogy stub into the street, “and the cops hauled off Johnny D. So we’re short. We need you.”

He’d never heard the old man beg like this.

“You got money on the game, don’t you?”

The old man couldn’t avoid his son. His eyes flashed. He drew closer. “None a your fuckin’ business, Sally.”

Sal backed away. “Ma told me you quit!” A quiver in his voice.

Their house was a shit-show. Everything busted, leaking, or falling apart. In hock up to their ass. Collection notices stuffing the mailbox. And Ma threatening the old man everyday- quit or get out.

“The last time, Sally. It’s my last bet.”

It was always the last time.

The two stood, on the heated sidewalk, glaring at each other, rigid. Sal held back tears.

The echoed thump of a wooden bat slamming into a puffy Clincher, from the diamond across the street, broke the stark silence between the two.

His father leaned into his son’s face. The stench from the stogy hung between them. “It’s what we do.”

“You promised Ma.”

His father’s eyes narrowed. “You in or you out?”

***

“The old man wants me to play for the Guidos.”

“Shit, Chooch. That’s the real deal. What you gonna do?”

“I ain’t ready.”

“You’re good,” Vinny said, taking a monster bite off an olive-oil-dripping pepper and egg sandwich. “Better than a lotta them old guys. You got some wheels. They got fuckin’ bow-legged waddles.”

“Jesus.” Sal nodded at the mess caked in the corner of Vinny’s mouth.

Vinny wiped some off his cheeks. “Best eggs ever.”

“Yeah, I know, you raise the goddamn chickens in your backyard.”

“And with some garlic and a little provolone,” he raised the sandwich, “heaven in your mouth.” Vinny nudged the mess Sal’s way. “Wanna bite?”

Sal shook his head. “But they been playin’…”

“You been playin’,” Vinny interrupted, mouth still stuffed.

“Church league, Vin.”

“You scared?” He popped a pepper into his mouth.

Sal’s head snapped towards Vinny. “Nope.” He spit onto the cracked infield dirt and turned away.

“I’d be.” Vinny spread dust around home plate, scraping his spike on its hard rubber. He kicked the plate a few more times and spoke again like he was searching for what to say. “How’s the leg?”

“Fine.”

He finished off the sandwich, pulled a snot rag from his pocket, and wiped his mouth. “Seamus got you good.”

“Seamus is an asshole.”

“We all got our assholes, Chooch.”

Sal didn’t respond. He was somewhere else. Thinking about the old man. The bets. The bills. Ma.

Last time.

Or he had to leave.

He wasn’t ready. It was a church league, for Christ’s sake.

Vinny slammed into Sal’s daydream, his urgent high-pitched voice like a banshee. “Man, you gotta do what you gotta do.” He stood closer, his breath reeking of garlic, eggs, and peppers, poking Sal in the chest. “And I’m not one to push. But Sal,” his voice lowered, “it ain’t about talent.” Vinny was good for Sal. “Chooch.” He moved even closer. He slid his hands between Sal’s legs, squeezing his testicles. “It’s about these.”

***

“You’re in left.” His father pointed and handed him a green, white, and red jersey: Guidos emblazed on its front, 13 sewn on its back. “Play shallow. Most a these guys spray. They only got two bombers. We’ll let you know when they come up.”

Sal stripped off his shirt and lifted the jersey. He paused, eyeing it. “Pops, that’s your number.”

“Not anymore.” His father pointed his finger to the outfield. “Now get out there.”

“Left?”

“Yeah.”

“Put Dominic out there. It’s my first game.”

“Nicki runs like he’s pullin’ a fuckin’ truck.”

“He knows…”

“Left for Christ’s sake! Get your ass out there.”

Sal slipped the jersey over his lean body. The body of a scared kid, on his way up, a kid who was being ripped apart. He jogged slowly to his position, his knees weak, and his hands trembling.

In the church league, he went after everything. His confidence was over the top. He’d get bored and call guys off flies all the way in center just to keep his head in the game. His teammates, were relieved most of the time, fearing they’d fuck up in front of the small crowds who’d show up for the games. Sal could go back on balls like a cheetah running down an antelope, and come in on em’ like the street racers on Cottage Grove. Not one error in two years.

Today, none of that was happening. He just wanted to stand out there and be left alone. But that was impossible. In 16-inch, more balls were hit to left than anyplace else. Sally was in the middle of a tornado, not knowing when the next blast would knock him on his ass. The church league drew family members, a drunken priest or two, and a couple nuns. These games had two-three hundred hard-core fans, sprawled on blankets, kitchen chairs, and tops of coolers, sucking suds and smoking cigarettes, many who – like the old man – had dough on the game.

Big Sal warmed up. Wrapping his two good fingers around the rock-hard Clincher. Faking, snorting, and swearing. Looping the ball, with a high arc, towards home, with a vicious backspin, or without any spin at all. Using every trick the rules would allow, and cheating whenever he could get away with it. Keeping all but the most expert batters from stepping into a pitch. This was a hitter’s game and most pitchers were guys who were a liability in the field or who had connections. And Big Sal was the connection. It was his team. His severed fingers paid for it. And even more important, he pissed off every batter he faced.

***

Sal was jumpy as a cat dangling over a pot of boiling water. He felt like he didn’t belong and was terrified something would come his way. He dug in the burnt grass with his spikes and waved off unseen bees buzzing around his head. He’d seen The Dandys before. A bunch of emaciated guys who looked like they’d missed way too many meals. But somehow they fielded a team that always came in over .500. Last year they’d gone to the semis in the September Tourney, never scoring more than 8 runs in any game. Their fielding was superb, guys gliding over large swaths of outfield, running like stallions, chasing down fly balls destined for glory, limiting big-thumpers to long outs, and bruised egos.

First batter: About 6’1, skinny as a rail, face peppered with pimples. His long hair greasy and tied in a ponytail. He dug in with a pair of beat up high-top Chuck Taylor’s, kicking up dust. The old man ready to wheel and deal. His motion never the same: a fake here, a juke there, and a dead pause in the middle of his underhand windup, and he never stopped jawing at whoever was at the plate. At home, he was quiet. On the mound, a foul-mouthed heckler.

He had inside information on everyone that came to bat.

The Dandys were a mixed breed. They were littered with Poles, Germans, Asians, and even an Arab. What their nationalities lacked in commonality was made up for with the abundance of their physical acumen. They all could fly. A single was always a double, a double was an opportunity for a triple, and anybody that touched 3rd upright was expected to stretch it into a homer.

The odd site of the old man’s thumb and pointer wrapped around the Clincher coupled with the back spin he got off his funky grip made the big white ball look like a gigantic snowflake dancing and darting in the middle of a winter storm.

The old man started in on the scrawny Dandy.

Sal heard his father all the way from left.

“You skinny piece of shit.”

“You got nothin.’”

“I hit better with one hand.”

“Undernourished moron.”

“Last night your mother rolled over and kissed me goodbye.”

No batter was left un-assaulted.

The Dandy ignored the old man and put his bat on a knee-high floater that rocketed towards Sal. The Clincher’s irregular trajectory quivered like a knuckler. It closed in on him like it was launched from a broken bazooka.

Sally froze.

Ma said he quit.

One more time and he’d be gone.

The crowd roared as the Clincher darted towards him, seeming to pick up speed. Sal heard nothing, as if he was alone, in an empty field. The dead silence was stark, eerie.

Sally stood, unmoving, the ball whizzing by his head. He did not turn to track it down.

One more time and he’d be gone.

The Dandy tore around the bases like a thief being run down by the cops.

He stood, statue-like, on the burnt outfield grass.

Joey Riggio, the center fielder, lumbered after ball. By the time he got to it, the Dandy was standing at home, giving the old man the finger.

But the old man’s back was to the Dandy. He was headed towards his son, bat in hand.

Sal remained motionless in left. An odd silence blanketed the field.

“What the fuck are you doin’, Sally?”

Sal’s eyes met his father’s.

Big Sal raised the bat over his head. “I said, what the fuck are you doin’?!”

“Last time, Pops.”

“What?” his father raged.

“Last time. I made sure.”

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lil-spooked · 11 months

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c’mon provolone, tell me we’re still bros. tell me you saw the worst parts of me, my ugly need to commit atrocities in order to make something of myself, and you’re still with me. watch my moral decay and let yourself fall down with me, c’mon provolone.

#dimension 20 #the ravening war #trw spoilers #colin provolone #thane delissandro katzon #i’m screaming over these two and their ever impending break up #red string conspiracy board but it’s just the themes these two are delving into

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feelingtheaster99 · 11 months

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C’MON PROVOLONE!!!

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taizi · 7 years

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I'm always down for any TMNT from you. I'd love to read more of your Ghost AU.

currently my fave tmnt au, how did u know?

give up the ghost

“We got a ton of good stuff,” Woody says happily from the backseat, panning through images on his complicated-looking camera. He looks up, grinning through a fine layer of hundred-year-old grime, and says, “We had permission to go in that house, right? From the owner?”

“Sure,” Leo says, glancing at him from the passenger side seat. They’re idling at a stop sign, because it’s twelve a.m. on a Wednesday and traffic won’t exist for another six hours; they can pretty much take all the time they want. “We always get permission first. Why?”

“‘Cause I’m thinkin’ we could upload some of this. Maybe make a Youtube channel, or a blog site. You want people to be able to find you, and an online presence is probably the best way to make that happen.”

“We have a Facebook page,” Mikey points out reasonably, eyes on the road as he pulls forward. In the reflection of the rearview mirror, Woody’s grin warms into something fond.

“For someone with a tech genius for a brother you’re a little clueless, Mikester. Trust me on this one?”

And that was never really the question; Woody has been with the club for nearly half a year now, and he hasn’t balked once at any of the things he’s seen. He goes in behind Leo and Mikey with that bulky camcorder on his shoulder, eyes focused forward and hands steady, and Mikey has come to count on his calm presence the same way he counts on Leo.

So it’s easy for Mikey to shrug and say, “‘Course, dude. I give you full creative license.”

“For that, amigo, marry me.”

And butterflies find a home in Mikey’s stomach after that. They live there happily for a handful of minutes, and Mikey is smiling like a dork at the parking lot as he turns into it, until Leo says, “Isn’t that Raph’s car?” and everything immediately sucks.

“Oh, no,” he says, spotting the station wagon. “No, no, no. Leo – “

“We can hide out at my house,” Leo says immediately. His voice is soft with sympathy, even as he adds, “But I think it’s a little too late for that.”

He’s right. Raph is leaning against the hood of his car, arms folded. It’s midnight, and he’s staking out Mikey’s apartment like a verifiable weirdo, and Mikey would rather be anywhere else right now.

Woody sighs with feeling, packing up his camera bag with unnecessary force. “This dude needs a hobby,” he mutters, one of three people in the world who are unequivocally on Mikey’s side. Mikey appreciates the show of solidarity, even though it’s hard to appreciate anything in face of the confrontation he’s in for.

He shifts glumly into park, pulls the keys out of the starter. Dusts himself off half-heartedly because that’s a lost cause, trades a long-suffering look with Leo, and then pops open the driver’s side door.

“Hi, Raph,” he says. “Didn’t expect to see you here. At my house, in the middle of the night.”

Raph gives him a once-over and his mouth tightens. “You got a minute?”

“I have lots of minutes,” Mikey says with forced good cheer. Unfortunately, he doesn’t add. To his friends he says, “I’ll see you guys tomorrow.”

Neither of them move. “It’s already late,” Leo says, meeting Raph’s heated look with a cool one. “Mind if I sleep over?”

“Same,” Woody pipes up. “Since we all got class in the morning, makes sense to carpool, don’t it?”

Mikey is hopelessly grateful to have them both in his life. On one hand, Raph isn’t someone he needs protecting from – Raph is a good person, and loyal to a fault, and he only comes around like this because he’s worried about Mikey, and trying to do good by the memory of his best friend by taking care of his best friend’s wayward little brother.

On the other hand, every conversation with him after Donnie died has been strained and uncomfortable, and it’s to the point now that just seeing him puts an anxious knot in the pit of Mikey’s stomach.

“Okay,” Mikey says, to all three of them. “Let’s go upstairs, I guess.”

Leo is texting someone on the quiet elevator ride up to Mikey’s floor. Since Mikey knows for a fact that Usagi isn’t awake right now and Karai is visiting her mother for the week, he has a good idea who Leo’s texting, and he’s proven right when he pushes the front door open and Donnie is nowhere to be seen.

Thanks, Leo, he thinks fervently. It’s brutally unfair to bring one of Donnie’s friends into the house without warning him first. The first time Casey dropped by unannounced, Donnie accidentally shorted out the power on the whole floor, and he was sad for days after.

Woody casually sets his bag on the table, right over Donnie’s phone. Mikey’s friends are actual ninjas and he loves them.

Leo shrugs out of his jacket, pretends not to notice the hearty rain of dust that follows the action, and folds it over the back of a kitchen chair. Raph looks equal parts exasperated and incredulous.

“I get it,” he says, “you’re his guard dogs. If I promise I’m not gonna throw a punch, will you let me talk to the kid?”

Mikey’s friends look pointedly at him. Mikey says, “Yeah, that’s. Cool. Leo, Woody, you guys can grab a shower if you want. The half-bath is off Donnie’s room, there’s a shower in there, too. Raphie and me’ll make us all somethin’ to eat real quick.”

For a second, it doesn’t look like they’re gonna move. After an obvious pause they both extract themselves from the room and head down the hall. It’s soft, Mikey only catches it because he’s listening, but they both murmur a greeting as they pass Don’s room and despite everything else that small kindness makes Mikey smile.

“Grilled cheese,” he decides aloud, and Raph dutifully heads to the fridge.

Maybe he’s making a point to be less barbed, but the silence between the two of them is closer to companionable than it has been in a long time. They butter half a loaf of bread, peel open a handful of Provolone cheese slices, and the first sandwich is assembled on the skillet, browned on one side, when Raph finally says, “Your friends don’t like me much.”

Mikey looks at him sideways. “I haven’t said anything to them to make them think – “

“Mikey, c’mon. I know that.” Raph runs a hand through his short hair, weary. “I wouldn’t like me much, either, if I was them. I don’t mean to be an asshole, kid, I’m sorry.”

“You haven’t been,” Mikey says immediately, heart bleeding for him. It’s so complicated between them anymore, but they were close, once. Close enough that Raph cares for him this much, even after everything. It makes Mikey feel small sometimes. “You’re going through something really painful, Raphie, and it’s hard. I get it.” He hesitates, and looks down at the plastic spatula in his hand, and adds, “I know I don’t make it any easier. Is Casey still mad at me?”

“Mikey,” he says it like it hurts. “He’s not mad at you. He never should’ve said what he did back then. He regrets it, he just doesn’t know how to apologize.”

“‘Sorry’ is a good place to start,” Mikey murmurs, getting a new sandwich started. It easier to look at the food than it is to look at Raph when he adds, “It’s okay if he’s mad at me, though.”

“Just stop,” Raph thunders suddenly, slamming a fist on the counter.

The only reason Mikey doesn’t flinch is because of the company he’s been keeping lately, in a handful of haunted houses and churches across the state. Poltergeists are far more volatile than even Raphael, and with tempers much trickier. Mikey has seen far worse these days.

Raph looks sorry for his outburst anyway, floundering for a moment before steeling himself and soldiering on.

“You’re so – understanding. You shouldn’t be. You should be – all messed up, like the rest of us are. You should be grieving. But instead you’re actin’ like nothin’ happened. Like he ain’t gone, and you don’t miss him.”

Mikey’s heart is a solid lump in his chest. The sandwich on the stove is burning, filling the air with an acrid smell.

“I know it ain’t true,” Raph goes on, softer. “I know that. I just don’t know why you’re actin’ like it, Mikey. It don’t make any sense to me.”

Movement in the corner of his eye makes Mikey look up. Donnie is standing in the doorway of the kitchen, and his brown eyes are miserable behind his big glasses, and Mikey wishes with his whole heart that he could give his gift away by the hour, lend it to all the people missing people they can’t see anymore.

“There isn’t really a textbook way to mourn somebody,” Mikey says carefully. “There isn’t a right or wrong way to hurt.”

Raph doesn’t have an answer for that. The smoke alarm saves them both in the end, filling the strained silence with shrill beeps, and Raph leaves not long after that.

Woody comes down the hall in a pair of borrowed pajama pants and one of their official club T-shirts, still toweling his hair dry. He gives the scorched grilled cheese a long, knowing look.

“Raph is still grieving,” Mikey says firmly before Woody has a chance to make his remark. “He’s allowed to be difficult.”

“He’s grieving your brother,” comes the unflinching reply. “He’s not allowed to be difficult at you.”

But that’s not how grief works. It can come up from nothing, the same way love can, and it can be every bit as senseless and impossible and staggering as love can be, too.

No one gets to point at someone else and say “my grief is worse than yours, because my love was different.” No one can be the judge of that. It’s impossible to measure, impossible to make sense of. Mikey wouldn’t even want to try.

But he doesn’t say any of that. Instead he slides an un-burnt grilled cheese onto a styrofoam plate and hands it over, with an absent, “Your shirt’s on backwards.”

Woody scoffs but an involuntary flush rises in his cheeks – and despite everything else, Mikey can’t help but smile crookedly at the sight Woody makes, as he tries to turn the shirt around without taking it off.

A few of those butterflies from earlier must have survived. And they must show on his face or give him away somehow, because Leo takes one look at him as he joins them in the kitchen and rolls his eyes.

“I’m putting you both up for adoption,” he tells them dryly.

“Empty threat,” Woody says from somewhere beneath his shirt. “You’d miss us too much.”

“I hate how sure you are of that,” Leo mutters, then reaches over to nudge Mikey’s arm. “Your turn. Shower. And then bed.”

“Okay, mom,” Mikey says agreeably, and neatly sidesteps the punch Leo aims at his shoulder. Woody snickers, and an animated argument picks up behind Mikey as he heads down the hall. He pauses in the door of Donnie’s room, and says, “Bro?”

Donnie lifts his head to look at him, the only reply Mikey will get without his phone to serve as a communication bridge.

“Are you okay?” Mikey asks him, feeling small.

His brother stands and moves at a human pace across the room, and touches Mikey’s shoulder with unsubstantial fingers. His lips move, forming words Mikey can’t hear.

But at the end of it, Donnie smiles. Relieved, leaning into the hand that isn’t really there, Mikey smiles back.

#tmnt idw #give up the ghost #my writing #prompt #arteinthemachine #tmnt fic

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