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#oh and let's not forget how being allowed to eat pork is also NOT a 'commandment'

docholligay · 2 years

Text

I think one of the hardest things to learn, and one of the things that has been most beneficial for me to learn, and so I share it with you now, is:

It is okay if people do not like me, and do not want to be my friend, and find me annoying, even if those reasons are, in whole or in part, due to some neurodiversity or diagnosis.

I am VERY impulsive, and forgetful (I literally have a package I have been meaning to send for a MONTH sitting on my table), and twitchy, and I talk a lot, and I am easily distracted, and have strong feelings and emotions. Some or all of these could be related to my ~*neurodiversity*~ though I feel some ways about my personality being a diagnosis. I like to think I am organically irritating, but I digress.

It’s fine if any or all of those are too much for people to deal with as my friend. It’s fine if my positive qualities--and I do have them, I’m not dogging on myself--don’t outweigh the frustrations of loving me. You can tell people til you’re blue in the face that you forgot you were meeting them because you forgot it was fucking Tuesday, because you (I) have ADHD and your schedule changed one iota, leading to a hilarious house of cards cascade, but, AND THIS IS IMPORTANT, they have the right to say, ‘I understand. But this affects and hurts me, so I don’t want to be a part of this.’

I mean it’s even okay if someone is like, “you just talk too fucking much’ I mean, yes, my feelings do get hurt, I am human, but I can’t on one hand say that I believe people should have some right to self-determination, and on the other be like, ‘oh but that right to self-determination in no way includes the option to not like some of my traits, because they have an explanation’

I don’t want to be friends with people who have to daily remind themselves they HAVE to be nice to me because I have a bunch of letters going on. I WANT them to be able to reject me. I want to be able to reject them! Let’s be real, fucking everyone has a dx of SOMETHING now, and so we have to just CIRCLE ALL THE WAY BACK to, “it’s okay not to hang out with people you find fucking annoying”

I mean, and for me this goes for anything. If someone is frustrated with me because I struggle to sit still and so I’m not a great person to chill on the couch with, that’s okay. If someone I don’t know, LOVES BARBECUE, and the fact that I can’t eat pork is fucking annoying because they always want to go out for barbecue, that is ALSO okay. If someone is annoyed because I talk too much about being Jewish and they don’t want to hear about it, THAT is okay.

I think so much of finding your people is allowing yourself to be rejected. And that is SCARY, and that is PAINFUL, and it is so tempting and easy to go, “Oh, I do that because of X, and if you reject me for X, you’re officially a bad person because I can’t change X.” But that won’t give you your people. It won’t. It’ll give you a bunch of people who are patient with you, and maybe even kind, but to find REAL love, you have to allow for real dislike, too.

My friends, I mean, I’m sure they sometimes find me fucking annoying, because sometimes *I* find me fucking annoying. But on the balance, they have decided that the beautiful things about me outweigh the frustrations. Not because there is a name behind some of what I do, but because I, Doc, am a fun person who is down for anything, and smiles a lot, and is deeply loyal and creative and those things mean more to them than the fact that I am, at this writing, going to send a package a month late. Or that I am physically incapable of shutting the fuck up.

We have to give people the space to let us go, in order to be truly let in. Explanations of your behavior are more for YOU than they are for other people, because they do not materially change how they experience you. You are you, named or not. To fully allow ourselves, to be ourselves, we have to be that without training wheels, you know? I was fucking tormented as a child, because I am a very strange little creature, but I’m not a kid anymore. No one needs to be made to invite me to a birthday party.

I want to go to parties where I’m wanted, which means I have to let people not invite me.

#I don't think loving me is an effortless experience #and I am very grateful to the people that do #But #I also am grateful to the people who released me back into the stream because I wasn't the trout they wanted #you know?#doing us both a favor.

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tawaifeddiediaz · 3 years

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Ask box reminder: would you be willing to expand/rant on Marjan’s storyline in 2x04 more at some point? it's totally cool if you don't have the spoons or whatever

Hello!! Thanks for putting this in here so I don’t forget.

Note: If you read this, please keep an open mind as you do so, even when you disagree with the ideals presented. I know the idea of an arranged marriage may be foreign/controversial, but it is engrained in a lot of people’s culture, so be cognizant of that.

Okay so, we’ll break it up point by point and this is a very very long post, so it’s going under a cut (I do encourage you to read it, especially if you’re not aware! :) I’ve tried to make it as easy to understand as I could).

Salim and Marjan got engaged when they were 12, because they grew up together and their families are close.

Not at all uncommon; most arranged marriages are arranged like this. You want people that you know to entrust your children with, right? You want to be familiar with the family, or have friends who are familiar with them. A marriage network, if you will.

Now...the age. Salim and Marjan are from Miami. An urban city in America. Where my family’s from, there are very few rural towns that arrange marriages when they’re young and even then, it’s only to keep property within a family (whether this is right or wrong is not the point). Till date, I have never seen a family from urban areas arranging marriages that early in life, and this was just so stereotypical. It wasn’t even believable, first off.

Secondly, everyone else looking between each other is exactly how I felt because “no.” This isn’t something that quite happens in this generation, and for them to drag a whole “arranged-when-we-were-kids” trope was very stereotypical and unrealistic.

Also?? Dental school??? Really??????????????

Paul saying that there’s no heat between them, and Marjan replying that “When you marry for chemistry, there’s a 50% divorce rate. You know why ours is ten times lower? Because we don’t start with heat, we believe love is something we grow into.”

This is definitely true. This might be the only thing they got right here, because...a lot of people can chase the heat and chemistry of a situation and then later realize that you don’t even share similar values.

Arranged marriages are not blind; they don’t draw names out of a hat, like Marjan said. Families meet, the two meant to be married meet, and if they feel like their values are compatible, then they decide to marry.

Why is there a problem here? Because later in the episode, Salim contradicts this one by kissing her, asking for sparks, so he’s basically saying “okay yeah, your values suck, we need to do better” and that’s a reflection on the writers themselves. That’s clearly their opinions and/or lack of open-mind when approaching subjects like these.

Salim wanting to go out on a date without a chaperone.

This is something that many Muslim couples follow. Unmarried couples don’t usually go out alone, but there are many more stipulations to this: being in a crowded restaurant is okay with many Muslim couples, as long as you’re not in complete private.

They contradict Marjan’s reluctance by having her go to his hotel room (more on that later)

Drinking alcohol on said-date, because there is no chaperone.

Okay look, like we’re not blind, right. We know there’s a subset of Muslims who do drink, eat pork, have sex before marriage, etc. when it’s not allowed. But the problem is...that isn’t representative of all of us. It’s not even representative of most of us.

The problem with this is that they dismissed Salim’s faith to add conflict and drama (i.e. Marjan realizing maybe their values don’t match up as much as she thought, even though she contradicts herself many times) without really understanding what they’re doing. They’ve put across “oh, okay, these values aren’t right, let’s toss them out)

Now if this was a show written by Muslim writers, produced by Muslims? I’d have very little issue with it, because Muslims understand exactly the weight of what they’re putting out there. We understand that this particular faith looks different for everyone and we can tell those stories because these belong to us. When non-Muslim writers/producers put these out there, they’re spreading more misinterpretations, as if we weren’t already severely misrepresented.

More on this date:

Number one, Mena deserved such a better role omfg. He really did, because Salim ended up being a whole Muslim fuckboy stereotype that was just so detached from reality. I was like...these could’ve been any other people.

Why did they have Salim bring in that accent, what was the reason for that? He could’ve imitated his dad without the accent, but now he’s gone ahead and dropped a nail into the immigrant stereotype (my dad’s also immigrated here, and he has none of the accent he came to the US with left. Not a single immigrant in my family does, and in most families, even the native tongue sounds slightly awkward because of it)

Then he goes out and pressures her about this marriage, throws stipulations at her that clearly go against what she believes, what he knew she believes.

Then he’s slowly backing out of the commitment. Now this is a huge thing with arranged marriages, that you don’t want to disappoint your parents. There’s also this point he brings up about not being with someone who’s only there because of someone else’s promise. This is a very valid point, for sure. That’s where the idea of semi-arranged marriages come in (parents arrange, give kids time to figure things out on their own and if it works, it works, if it doesn’t, it doesn’t).

Now the thing about them being 12? Yeah that’s exactly why no one does it anymore. You’re not even a full human then.

Then they have him cheating? Can you believe the gall on these writers?

Mateo’s constant comments on the “unfair” of arranged marriages, and Paul’s continual observations.

He says its not a cultural thing early in the episode, but as much as Paul stops Mateo from being crass, he’s being judgmental in the way he talks about/observes a situation he’s not going to understand.

It’s in his expressions, that he’s clearly unhappy as if he’s got a say in this matter. And then with Mateo’s whole thing with all the comments “so you two never...”, they nailed in the stereotype of his character just being....insensitive.

And then they keep pressing unsolicited advice about this situation.

Hotel room:

So they have Marjan go back on her belief of unmarried couples not supposed to be in the same room alone, by literally having her go to a whole hotel room - tone deaf to the max.

Then they have them kiss. Okay do you know exactly how that felt? This was just full proof that they turned our faith into yet another pivoting plot point to give Marjan a love interest in the only way they could - stereotyping Muslims.

And then Salim was gonna break it off with Madison the periodontist just like that? They showed that he had very weak faith in his values, and ramped up the fuckboy thing to the max: “you weren’t giving me any, so I took it from somewhere else but now that you’re here, I have no problem dropping the other person.”

Overall thoughts on why this is exactly wrong:

Here’s the thing. And @sevensoulmates and I were discussing this last night and she said an amazing point: they keep giving all these characters storylines that are wholly dependent on their identities and that just about sums it all up. Paul’s storyline was because he’s trans. Mateo’s is because he’s a Dreamer. Marjan’s were because she doesn’t fit some “ideal Muslim woman” quota, and now for this romance storyline. We exist outside of this. We’re a lot of other things outside of “Muslim.”

Marriage is not a pillar of our faith. Islam has five pillars: Shahada (there is no God but Allah, and Muhammad (pbuh) is the messenger of Allah), Sawm (fasting), Hajj (pilgrimage), Salah (prayer) and Zakat (almsgiving as a religious duty). It’s like the first thing anyone learns about Islam, and I’d like to focus on that fourth one: prayer. In episode 1, they showed her praying completely wrong. There’s a way our Salah is conducted, and that was absolutely not it (also? they had Old Town Road playing in the back?). Now the reason I’m bringing this up is if they can mess up the base pillar of Islam, there’s no expectation for them to do the rest of it correct.

They have zero shame when they do any of this. Countless people have come out on social media to say, “hey, these storylines are not representative of us, can you just stop?” and they keep pushing this train until it derails. They don’t listen.

I have said this multiple times before, but it is not this show’s place to pick and choose what puzzles of our faith they want to include, and then easily toss them out when it suits them. If they wanted to make these storylines inclusive, they’d take the effort to find writers who would do so. This picking and choosing comes from a place of engrained Islamophobia as well, because at this point, you’re being purposely lazy/incompetent if you’re not listening to the voices telling you how ignorant you are.

This is what they did: Marjan - female, needs a love interest. But she’s Muslim? So it’s gotta be a fiancé she’s been engaged to since she was a kid and he’s gotta be a “bad boy” and cheat and drink and force her to realize that’s not what she wanted.

There’s a lot of things wrong with point (5). We could’ve lived so long without giving Marjan a L.I. or a fiancé or anything. We could’ve lived without a lot of the storylines they give her, but especially this one.

I hope that clears it all up. I tried to explain as best as I could but honestly...even if Marjan is your favourite character ever (which is not a bad thing) I think it’s important to realize that there’s a lot of misrepresentation in her role. Thinking critically about the media you consume is important.

And before anyone comes at me with “just stop watching.” That’s literally the worst solution. Whether we stop watching or not, the fact of the matter is that to non-Muslims, this is the exposure they get to Islam, and these are the stigmas and stereotypes that they’re just going to perpetuate further. If we stop watching, then we stop writing these posts, and we stop trying to correct these and educate people, and misinformation about us only continues to spread.

That’s why it’s the worst solution. So. Yeah. Be nice and not insensitive.

#zee rants #zee rambles #i was so upset last night omfg #there are negative expectations at this point #marjan marwani #911 lonestar #ls spoilers #lonestar #9-1-1 lonestar #fyeahhipsterdoctor

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heyitssmiller · 4 years

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Chop It Like It’s Hot

Chapter 6: I’ve Got a Bad Queso Loving You

Pining. Food that may or may not be a disaster. The end of an era.

Also people actually wanted to be tagged for updates?? That makes my heart so happy <3

Tag List: @heyoitslysso @unknown-and-invisible

Chop It Like It’s Hot Masterlist

@lumosinlove

It was weird, walking into the studio by himself for the first time. Finn kept expecting Logan to be right by his side like always and it hurt a little every time Finn remembered. He walked into the kitchens where he was greeted by a sunny smile and kind eyes and dimples.

He still missed Logan, but it was hard to mope with Leo Knut around.

“Hey,” Leo greeted, motioning for Finn to join him at the station. “Welcome to the final four.”

“Thanks. It feels weird here.”

Leo hummed. “Quiet, right?”

“Definitely less hectic.” Finn agreed, leaning his hip against the counter. “So what are we cooking today?”

“Well, why don’t you tell me? We’re cooking for someone special to you. I’m assuming that’s Logan, right?” At Finn’s nod a strange, unreadable expression flashed across Leo’s face before he continued. “Okay, so what types of food do you think of when you think of him?”

Finn thought about it, then smiled. “Our first date – after years and years of being friends and crushing on each other but refusing to do anything about it – was at a Mexican restaurant. We were on a roadie and went to go get dinner together and I was so frustrated at this point that I kind of just blurted, ‘Is this a date?’” Finn laughed a little at the memory. “And Lo, he just stared at me with those big green eyes of his for a moment and said, ‘I sure hope so.’ And that was it. No more drama, no more fuss. Just those two sentences – that was all we needed.”

The look from earlier was back on Leo’s face. Finn still didn’t know what it meant.

“I think we can definitely work with that.” He said finally. “How about we elevate a Mexican dish? Something to be meaningful but to also showcase your cooking? I've got a few recipes in mind. What about grilled citrus-marinated chicken?”

Finn wrinkled his nose and shook his head.

“Alright. Pulled pork tamales with corn salsa? Polenta stacks? Chipotle Mahi Mahi burrito bowl?”

“Oh!” Finn said excitedly. “I like that one. Logan calls me Fish sometimes.”

Leo laughed. “Why?”

“Nicknames are kind of a thing in hockey. It’s considered weird if you don’t have one. I’m Harzy, Harz, Fish, and probably a few more that I’m forgetting.”

“And Logan?”

“He’s Tremz or Tremzy, usually.” He looked over at the blond, propping his chin in his hand and smiling. “You want a nickname?”

“Oh, god. With a last name like Knut, I’m sure you’ll have plenty to go off of.” He laughed, turning to head towards the pantry. Finn followed after him like the love-struck puppy he was.

“Nut. Nutty. Peanut. Peanut butter. Nutter Butter. Honey bunches of nut – “

“How have you already come up with so many?” Leo stretched to grab a bowl off the top shelf, his t-shirt shifting up to reveal pale skin Finn desperately wanted to reach out and touch.

“I’m a professional hockey player.”

“Fair enough. Can you head to the spices and grab smoked paprika, chili powder, cumin, salt, pepper and onion powder?”

Finn grabbed the ingredients and met Leo back at the station. “Ready to get started? You’ll get the printed recipe and you can take as many notes as you want now and use them tonight.”

Finn clicked his pen in response, earning another smile. “Let’s do this.”

“So we’re going to combine olive oil, chipotle chiles, garlic, smoked paprika, chili powder, cumin, salt, pepper and onion powder into a bowl and whisk it really good. Then you can add the mahi mahi and toss it in there. Next we’re going to place it in the fridge while we start the rice.” Leo covered the bowl and set it in the fridge before reaching for a pot and turning the stove on.

“Add coconut milk and some coconut water to a pot and bring it to a low boil before adding rice, salt, unsweetened coconut and coconut oil. Stir to combine, then place the lid on the pot and turn the heat down to the lowest setting possible. Following so far?”

Finn nodded, definitely feeling a little overwhelmed.

Leo gave him a reassuring smile. “You got this. Next, let the rice to cook for ten minutes then turn the heat off completely. Let the rice sit on the stove, covered for another 20 minutes, then remove the lid and fluff the rice with a fork. Add the cilantro and lime juice – “

“No cilantro.”

Leo looked up from his pot. “What?”

“No cilantro.” Finn repeated. “Lo doesn’t like cilantro.”

“Got it. No cilantro. I think we’ve got enough seasoning without it.” Leo grabbed another bowl and pushed some ingredients towards him on the counter.

“Now we’re going to make the salsa. Add the diced mango, chopped strawberries, jalapeño, lime juice, pinch of cayenne and a pinch of salt to a bowl. Toss it, cover it, and keep it in the fridge until ready to serve. Now we’re going to cook that fish.” Leo grabbed the fish out of the fridge and sent him a sly look. “Hopefully this doesn’t count as cannibalism.”

Finn laughed loudly. “Oh man, wait until Logan hears that.”

Leo fiddled with the settings on the grill, which made Finn a little nervous. As seen in the build your own burger competition, he wasn’t the best with grills. He’d scared away all the ducks with how loud he screamed when he turned the grill on too high and flames erupted from it.

“You’re going to want a medium heat to cook this fish. Once the grill is nice and hot, add the mahi mahi, skin side facing up. Cook these for about 4-5 minutes and then flip them and cook until they’re crisp and mostly cooked through. This is super important: remove the skin. We’re going to be cutting this fish into chunks and having pieces of fish skin in there would be really gross.

“Last thing is to plate these. All you’re going to do is divide the rice among your tortilla bowls and add the lettuce, black beans, and corn. Divide up the fish and then top each bowl with salsa, queso, and a dollop of sour cream. And you’re done!” Leo looked over at Finn, who was still writing notes. “Not so bad, right?”

Finn gave him a blank stare, then ran a hand through his hair nervously. “Go over it again one more time?”

“Sure.” Leo pushed one of the plates over to Finn. “Want to try some first?”

“Fuck yes.”

***

Logan stood in the studio hallway yet again, waiting with the rest of the families the final four contestants were cooking for tonight. It was going to be weird, being on the opposite side of the judging table. But at least he wasn’t cooking.

They finally got the cue to enter the kitchen and his eyes immediately found Finn, who was grinning madly and running right at him – whether he was allowed to or not. Logan laughed as Finn collided with him, hugging him close. “You just saw me this morning.”

“Yeah, but I missed you.”

Logan melted a little at that and kissed him softly on the cheek. “Did you have a good day?”

Finn whined, shooting a longing look over at Leo. “Lo, you would not believe – “

“Please head back to your stations, recruits!” Dorcas called.

“Gotta go.” Finn sighed, taking a step back. Logan gave his hand a squeeze.

“You’ve got this.”

“Recruits, tonight you’ll be creating dishes for your loved ones. And your team leaders, of course. You can use any notes you’ve taken. You have an hour to complete this task and your time starts… now!”

Logan took his seat at the judges table (weird) and watched as Finn dashed off to the pantry. He made small talk with the other family members as time began to tick down much slower than he remembered from his time on the show. He turned his head when Leo sat down next to him and smiled almost nervously.

“I hope you’re not too mad at me for last week.”

“Nah,” Logan said with a shrug, doing everything he could think of to slow his heartrate down. “I deserved it. I served you guys raw pizza dough.”

“Only because I suggested you start over.”

Logan laughed incredulously. “Because my pizza wasn’t a pizza! Seriously, don’t worry about it.” He looked over at Finn, who was shying away from the grill as he threw the fish on it. “I’m glad he made it instead of me. He’s been so excited to be on this show.”

“He’s really improved a lot. You both did.”

“I’m still not sure I trust either of us in the kitchen.”

“Baby steps.” Leo said with a smile. “You’re more capable than you think.”

He glanced at the clock and let his voice carry to the contestants. “One minute left, recruits!”

Finn glanced up from his plating, cursed, and started working faster.

“Five, four, three, two, one, time’s up! Stop what you’re doing and step away from your plates!”

“I can see why you like this so much.” Logan said, eyes still on Finn as he looked down at his plates critically. “You get to sit here, no stress, and eat people’s food. This is the dream.”

“Not on this show. You should’ve tried some of the earlier dishes this season. I got food poisoning twice.”

“You did what?”

“It might’ve been three times if I’d eaten that chicken you tried to serve in the first challenge.” Leo teased.

“Why isn’t giving a chef food poisoning an immediate elimination?”

“Because then we’d have very few recruits left, and that would be a very short season.”

Finn set down his plates, smiling nervously. Logan looked down and smiled softly. “Mexican food.”

“No cilantro, just how you like it.”

God, Logan didn’t deserve him.

“Let’s see how this tastes.” Leo said, looking down at his plate. “The presentation is really nice.”

They both took bites of their food. The fish was dry, but Logan thought the rest of it was really good.

“It’s under-seasoned a little bit,” Leo commented. “And the fish is a little dry, but your salsa is perfect and the ratios of everything else in the bowl is very nice.”

Logan grinned up at Finn. “I definitely wouldn’t be opposed to you bringing this recipe home.”

“We need move on to the next contestant. Nice job, Finn.”

Finn beamed and grabbed his plates back.

***

“And the chef who will be leaving us tonight is…” Logan held Finn’s hand and waited for Leo to finish.

“Finn. I’m sorry, your time as a recruit is over. Please turn in your apron.”

Finn sighed, squeezed Logan’s hand, and stepped forward.

“It was really close, but in the end the under-seasoned and overcooked fish did you in.” Leo said, looking apologetic. “I’ve really enjoyed having you on the show. You’ve been a joy to teach.”

“Thanks for having me.” Finn said, trying to be cheerful as he handed over his apron. “I had a blast.”

After the cameras stopped rolling, Logan and Finn made sure to find Leo before they left. He was scrubbing down the grill and looked up when he noticed them. “So this is goodbye, huh?”

“Looks like it.” Logan replied, unabashedly staring and trying to memorize everything he could. Was it weird to miss someone when you hadn’t even said goodbye yet? When they were standing right in front of you?

Finn piped up, “If you’re ever in Gryffindor, look us up. We’d love to see you.”

“Same for when you come to New York for games.” Leo smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

“Here,” Finn grabbed his phone out of his pocket. “What’s your number? We can send you our team schedule when we get it.”

Finn, you’re a genius.

“That would be great! I, uh, I really liked having y’all on the show. It’d be nice to see each other again.” His cheeks were red again, and Logan had to bite back a whine. He wanted to kiss those red spots so badly.

But this definitely wasn’t the time. There were people everywhere, two of them were probably leaving in the morning, and they didn’t know when they’d see him again. Or if he even liked them back.

Fuck.

Both Logan and Finn had forgotten just how awful the guessing game really was.

#lumosinlove #sweater weather #coast to coast #finn o'hara #logan tremblay #leo knut #o'knutzy #chop it like it's hot

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trilliastra · 4 years

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the adventures of detective wei wuxian and his husband

[Established relationship. POV outsider for the most part.]

Jiang Cheng will never get used to seeing Lan Wangji in distress. Instead of his usual stoic expression, the man looks almost in pain himself, holding Wei Wuxian's hand tightly.

“He's an idiot.” Jiang Cheng comments, trying to hide his own worry. “He ran into the building like he's the fucking Superman.” And he saved a kid, Jiang Cheng thinks.

Lan Wangji barely looks up, already used to Jiang Cheng's own way of coping with Wei Wuxian's dangerous lifestyle. They've had many fights before as Lan Wangji often misunderstood brotherly banter with insulting.

Jiang Cheng doesn't know exactly what happened, but one day they met for dinner and Lan Wangji stopped glaring at him every time he nagged at Wei Wuxian, so he guesses they are fine now. Well, as fine as they can ever be.

“Hmn.” The other man assents, he brushes a hand over Wei Wuxian's cheek softly. “I'll lock him in the basement.” He says.

Jiang Cheng lets out a snort, surprised at Lan Wangji's attempt at a joke. “He'd find a way out.”

“Hmn.” They share a look of understanding. This is who Wei Wuxian is: impulsive, selfless, good.

“He's gonna be fine.” Jiang Cheng whispers, reaching out to take Wei Wuxian's other hand.

“Yes.” Lan Wangji takes a deep breath, rests his head against Wei Wuxian's chest. Jiang Cheng pretends not to see the tears. “He will.”

–

Yang Hao rolls his eyes as Wei Wuxian laughs loudly. It should take more than just a quick brain and guts to become a detective.

It's ten past two, he hasn't slept in two days and his stomach is starting to hurt. Things would move much faster if only Wei Wuxian could get to the fucking point.

“And that's how we found they run an underground casino.” He keeps rambling, all exaggerated gestures and a lot of confidence. Yang Hao sighs – some people are so damn lucky to just stumble upon the right person at the right time.

To his left Li Qin is sighing dreamily, as Wei Wuxian keeps talking about how he is this close to solving the case if only he could have another day or two. He will get those days, Yang Hao is sure, because their boss loves him.

Thirty minutes later – or maybe two hours, he lost track of time by the time Wei Wuxian started on his brilliant plan to catch their guy – they are finally free to eat their lunch and Yang Hao all but runs away from the conference room before Wei Wuxian can catch up with him. The guy is adamant they must become friends, Yang Hao has no idea how Wei Wuxian hasn't noticed that he'd rather strangle himself before that happens.

He almost made it to his desk before his name is being called by that annoyingly happy voice. “Yang Hao!” He tries not to groan. “I forgot my lunch, do you want to go to granny’s restaurant at the corner together?” Wei Wuxian smiles, placing his hand on Yang Hao's shoulder.

“I have a date.” He lies, desperate to get the fuck away from him.

“Oh.” Wei Wuxian's smile falters for a moment, but he's soon back to his cheerful self. “That's great, man!” He pulls his hand back before shaking it in front of Yang Hao's face, the wedding ring shining in the light. “I wish I could say the same.” Wei Wuxian sighs, almost sad.

Yang Hao turns around to hide his grimace. Wei Wuxian talks, a lot, it's no secret that he's married, and happily so. It's sickening how much he talks about his partner. Yang Hao has never met her in person, but he imagines a saint of a woman to put up with all – that.

Or maybe she's just as bad as him. Yang Hao shudders.

“That's too bad.” He answers when he realizes Wei Wuxian is waiting for him to say something. “Next time, then?” He asks, just to be polite.

Wei Wuxian's smile grows and he is about to reply when Li Qin call his name. “Senior Wei! There's someone here to see you.” She gestures at a man dressed in a suit, long hair tied up. He's vaguely familiar and Yang Hao frowns, hoping this isn't related to their case. He can't put up with Wei Wuxian for another hour, especially without food.

“Lan Zhan!” Wei Wuxian calls, surprised. He all but runs towards the man and when they are close enough he leans in and – kisses him. What.

“You forgot your lunch.” He can hear the other man say, holding Wei Wuxian's waist. “We are going out.” He states and Wei Wuxian all but melts against him.

Yang Hao blinks, trying to process all the information. So Wei Wuxian's partner isn't a woman. And he is a Lan. As in the Lan Clan. As in Lan Wangji, the cold, intimidating, lawyer.

“Oh, Lan Zhan.” He looks up, still confused, as Wei Wuxian praises his husband. “You're too good to me.” His voice is so saccharine, Yang Hao wants to jump off the window, but Lan Wangji only smiles, albeit shyly, and takes Wei Wuxian's hand, pulling him towards the door.

“Aren't they the cutest?” Li Qin asks, happily.

Yang Hao groans and vows to apply for a transfer as soon as he can.

–

“I'll call you later, mom.” Mei Xiang stops just outside the building, puts her phone back in her purse and reaches out for the compact mirror. She checks her lipstick again and takes a deep, nervous breath. I can do it, she tells herself.

She's been preparing for this since before she got into university. She is smart, qualified, and bold, just the perfect combination for a great lawyer. She can do it.

The Lan Clan is a legend and being employed at Cloud Recesses is a dream come true. She doesn't have an office and for now she's just another assistant, but Mei Xiang knows it's just a matter of time. She's ready to work her way up. Sleepless nights? She got that covered in university. Food? Cereal bars and dried fruits are her best friends.

Mei Xiang introduces herself to her colleagues with a smile and proceeds to get acquainted with her small desk in the corner of the large room. They are all working on some big case already and her direct supervisor says they will assign her a task as soon as Lan Xichen arrives.

Her desk is close to Lan Wangji's office, she notices. The open door allows her to watch him working, scribbling furiously as he checks one book or the other, occasionally he looks up to discuss something with Luo Qingyang, one of the senior lawyers. Mei Xiang sighs, that is one handsome man.

She can see the shining ring on his left hand and shakes her head. She participated in many lectures given by either Lan Wangji or his brother, and she's always admired the way he carried himself, his unwavering belief on doing what's right.

Mei Xiang smiles sweetly when he looks up and notices her watching him. She isn't one to defend adultery, but she knows how these things work for the traditional families – marriage of convenience is still common and she doubts Lan Wangji would ever go against his family on this matter.

Mei Xiang runs a hand through her hair, watching Lan Wangji look through his books. Her parents met through work, love can happen anytime, anywhere. If it happens it happens, she thinks, delighted, when he looks up again.

“Hello, Senior Wei.” Mei Xiang hears Luo Qingyang say as she leaves Lan Wangji's office. A man dressed in casual jeans and combat boots reaches out for her hand with a smile.

“Mianmian, you look absolutely dashing. How is your baby?” He asks, enthusiastic.

Mei Xiang frowns. She doesn't recognize him, and she thought she knew everyone who worked at Cloud Recesses – she made a very thorough research.

She watches as Luo Qingyang shows him something on her phone, probably a picture of her baby, and the man coos, always smiling, as he grabs his own phone and hands it to her.

“Wei Ying.” Lan Wangji calls, coming out of his office.

“Lan Zhan!” The man practically yells, which makes Mei Xiang startle, no one in the room looks up and she wonders if this is such an usual occurrence that they just don’t care anymore. “I was showing her that video of Sizhui playing with the rabbits!” He turns to Luo Qingyang. “Isn't he the cutest?”

“Yes,” she laughs, “after my little Mianmian.” She adds, making the other man laugh.

“Wei Ying.” Lan Wangji stresses, holding out his hand.

“I'm coming, I'm coming.” The man laughs, waving goodbye at Luo Qingyang and taking Lan Wangji's hand as they walk together into the office. “I missed you, too.” She hears him say, leaning in to kiss Lan Wangji passionately before the doors are even fully closed.

“Damn,” she whispers, impressed.

Half an hour later, Lan Wangji's husband comes out of his office looking properly debauched, with the biggest smile she's ever seen. That doesn't look like a marriage out of convenience, so definitely, nothing is going to happen. Oh well, she thinks before straightening up her back and getting ready to conquer the world, his loss.

–

After thirty years, she still loves the Monday morning rush. Since her daughter took over the kitchen, she started to love it even more.

Mei Hui loves talking to them and listening to their stories, serving good food that makes them forget about their problems for a few minutes. Over the years, she's had many regular customers, and one of her favorites is Wei Wuxian.

He's a whirlwind, loud and dangerous, but smart and genuinely kind. She's granny to him and her heart fills with joy every time he walks through the door.

He loves her lotus root soup – she long stopped taking offense when he says his sister's is better, she understands the power of love that makes any food taste like heaven – especially when a case has gone wrong. Mei Hui has spent many nights by his side as he eats the soup and cries.

Pork ribs are reserved for the amazing days – his words, not hers. Almost eight years ago, he ordered it for the first time, his grin so wide it took her breath away. It was also the first time she heard Lan Wangji's name.

Oh, those boys. She likes to think her late husband used to look at her like Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji look at each other.

She was invited to their wedding but couldn't make it due to an appendicitis – her health isn't what it used to be fifteen years ago – but Wei Wuxian showed her the pictures the next week, patting her back gently as she sniffed, deeply touched by his consideration.

But her favorite customer of all has to be the little boy. Lan Sizhui, Lan Yuan, oh, how she adores him. Mei Hui looks at the flowers and smiles as she reads the card again. It’s impossible not to love him.

Happy birthday, granny, it says, and she has to sit down to try and contain her glee. “Dad helped me write it.” Lan Sizhui had explained, earlier this morning, as he hugged her leg. Wei Wuxian was laughing, holding Lan Wangji's hand as they waited for their son. She asked if the boy wasn't going to be late for school and Wei Wuxian laughed, amused, as Lan Wangji frowned for a moment, but answered that it was fine, it was for a good cause. Oh, those boys.

Mei Hui loves Monday mornings, even more when she gets to see her favorite boys smiling, and so – so happy. As they should be.

–

He is bleeding. Fuck, Lan Wangji is bleeding.

Su She watches Lan Xichen hold his suit jacket over his brother's wound and tries not to panic. This wasn't part of the plan, that – Xue Yang wasn't even supposed to have a gun! And that good-for-nothing just left in the middle of the chaos without looking back.

Xue Yang was supposed to take the papers while Su She distracted Lan Wangji, no one would get hurt, much less shot. Not that Lan Wangji didn't deserve it, the arrogant bastard, but Su She doesn't want to go to jail when he's this close to getting rich. Lan Wangji better live to watch Su She ruin everything that he owns.

“Wangji.” He hears Lan Xichen yell, shaking his brother to keep him awake. He hears someone saying help is coming and someone else says they called Lan Wangji’s husband.

Su She almost rolls his eyes as the other employees start running around like headless chickens, crying and praying for Lan Wangji's recover. Half of them hate the man just as much as Su She and the other half just want him to live so they can continue to make googly eyes at him. Pathetic.

“Lan Zhan!”

Great, this time Su She does roll his eyes as Wei Wuxian yells desperately, kneeling in front of his husband and taking his hand.

“Lan Zhan, please don't leave me.” He cries.

They are so ridiculous, flaunting their superior love story in front of everyone's faces. Every time they are around each other, it's like watching a fucking drama – nothing is ever going to be more staged than this. Well, he thinks, perhaps Jin Zixuan and Jiang Yanli's wedding, but Su She couldn't care less about them.

“Never –” Lan Wangji coughs just as the paramedics arrive. It takes Lan Xichen and Jiang Cheng – and when did that other fucker get here – to separate Wei Wuxian from his husband.

“Lan Zhan!” Wei Wuxian's screams get more and more desperate and Su She decides it's time to leave. Any more of this disgusting shit and he's going to throw up.

–

He should've known Xue Yang was going to open his giant mouth eventually. The guy has always been a coward.

“ – you have the right to remain silent,” Wei Wuxian recites as two police officers drag Su She towards the car.

“He should've died.” He says, looking into the other man's eyes. When Wei Wuxian attacks him Su She only laughs.

–

+ 1

“It's snowing!” They get woken up by Lan Yuan jumping on their bed, laughing and screaming in delight. Lan Wangji smiles as he hears Wei Wuxian groan and burrow himself further under the covers. “Dad! Papa!”

“Yes.” Lan Wangji answers, sitting up and pulling Lan Yuan onto his lap. “Have you brushed your teeth?”

“Yes!” He quickly answers, eyes shining with glee. “And I dressed myself, see?” He opens his arms and kicks his legs in the air. He's wearing mismatched socks, Lan Wangji notices, smiling.

“So you did.” He praises, running a hand through the boy's hair. “We can play in the snow after breakfast.”

“Noooo.” Wei Wuxian whines. He got home late last night, again. “It's Saturday, we should stay in bed all day.”

Lan Yuan ignores him, turning to Lan Wangji again. “Can we make cookies too?”

“Sure.” He answers easily, dropping Lan Yuan on Wei Wuxian's back. His husband groans and their son laughs when he gets pulled into a hug.

“And hot chocolate?” Lan Yuan asks.

“One or the other.” Lan Wangji replies, heading to the bathroom.

“Cookies!” He hears his son reply in between laughter.

“Chocolate chip!” Wei Wuxian laughs with him.

By the time he comes out of the bathroom both Wei Wuxian and Lan Yuan are asleep again, holding each other and snoring softly. Lan Wangji shakes his head, amused, and walks back to the bed. He throws an arm over them and smiles, they can stay in bed longer, it's Saturday after all.

#the untamed #wangxian #wei wuxian x lan wangji #mo dao zu shi #mdzs #my fic

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sunshineseung · 4 years

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Practice // Seungmin

💌 Info: Stray Kids Seungmin x female!reader smut 💕 Includes: begging, looots of pet names, mentions of "sir", choking, fingering, unprotected sex, slight breeding kink at the end, exhibitionism (semi-public), a lil more I kinda forgot what I wrote oop 👉👈 ✏️ Word Count: ~1.7k

"Babe, are you sure you want to do this? Here?!" Your breath was heavy as you were pinned against the wall of a dark closet by your boyfriend, Seungmin. He eyed your body like it was his, and when you finally make eye-contact with him, his eyes are darker than the ocean. Just the sight of his lust filled gaze is enough to make your legs shake and your mouth water.

"Shush, baby. You don't want the other members to hear us, do you?" Seungmin brings you into a sloppy, desperate kiss, and your tongues intertwine nearly immediately. His hands rested at your hips and pulled you close, and your hands wrapped around his neck.

As turned on as you were, it felt wrong to fuck your boyfriend in a janitorial closet while the other members were out getting lunch. They'd be back soon, and even with that knowledge, Seungmin still wanted to take his sweet time with your body. His hands roamed your sides, effortlessly slipping your shirt over your head, momentarily breaking the kiss. His hands were so gentle, and the more you made out, the more they felt around your chest, eventually unhooking your bra and playing with your nipples.

"Wow, look at my princess." Even though the room was practically pitch black, Seungmin stepped back to admire you. "So beautiful. So prefect."

You blush, but Seungmin can't see. His eyes are transfixed on your chest, and soon after, so are his lips. You let out the softest yelp when his teeth sink into the sensitive skin on your tits, and you feel his smirk grow against your skin. Leaving love bites in his wake, he teases your chest to the best of his ability, and every sound you let out sounds like the most beautiful symphony.

He groans on your breast when his bulge brushes against your leg, and you giggle down at him. Fuck, he was so hard, and it was so painful. He wanted so badly to take you without hesitation, but that would mean you won, and he loves to tease you too much to let you win.

"Sweetheart, don't laugh at sir like that. You know better." Oh, he's in that mood. You quickly apologize, but a smile still adorns your face, and Seungmin can't stand when you're amused by him attempting to dominate you.

He picks up your thighs and pushes you against the wall, his bulge fully pressing into your heat. Your smile fades immediately, and you look at him with the neediest shine in your eyes. He gives you an all to familiar glare, and you know exactly what you need to do.

"Please fuck me, sir. I've been such a good girl." Your voice is an octave higher than usual, and your panties have long been soaked through by your wetness. Your aching pussy tightens around nothing when Seungmin places his hand around your throat, pressing his fingers against the sides of your neck. His eyes are half-lidded, but even in the darkness, you can tell he's staring at your lips, hungry for another kiss.

"Aw, my pretty little whore wants to be fucked, huh?" His voice is edging on sarcasm, and he's just quiet enough for you both to hear the door of the practice room opening and closing, a parade of seven boys entering the room chattering among themselves. "Stay quiet while I fuck you, or else the others will have to see you being a slut for my cock."

He lifts your skirt up and pushes your panties to the side. You feel his finger brush up and down your pussy, but when he circles his digit around your clit, you nearly loose your cool and moan for the entire room to hear. You slap your hand over your mouth to muffle your noises, but Seungmin grabs your wrist and pulls it back down to your side.

"If you're gonna moan, I want to hear it."

Seungmin's fingers pump in and out of you relentlessly, and when he bends his fingers to find your spot, you start to see stars. He knows your cunt like the back of his hand, and he knows exactly how to play with you to get you to cum. Your orgasm approaches, and the quietest whimpers leave your mouth. You move your head next to Seungmin's ear, only allowing him to hear you.

"Where's Seungmin and Y/n?" Chan looks around the practice room where he last saw you two. Before they went to get food, you and Seungmin were on the couch on your phones, but now you were no where to be found.

"They might have gone out to eat somewhere." Jisung accidentally covers for you two.

"He would have texted me, though." Chan starts overthinking. He's tempted to search every square inch of the building so they can practice, but Hyunjin inclines him to break off practice early. "They'll come back, so let's practice what we can right now."

The footsteps of the dancing from the practice room cover the sound of Seungmin pulling down his sweatpants and boxers, groaning when his length springs free. While one hand moves his clothing, the other continues to finger you. The lewd sounds from your pussy should have alerted the others by now, but lucky for you two, they were too oblivious to pick up on the slick sounds of your cunt being violated by your boyfriend.

Seungmin lines himself up with your entrance, teasing your tight pussy with the precum leaking tip of his cock. He runs the head through your folds, spreading your wetness.

"Beg for it, princess."

"I need your cock so bad, sir. Please let me cum all over your cock." You squeeze your eyes closed, the stimulation becoming too much for you to bear. "I want your cum inside me, sir."

"As you wish, baby." Seungmin slowly pushes his thick cock into you, reveling in the pathetic whimpers that escape your mouth. He holds you close to him, and your head falls onto his shoulder. You begin biting down on his exposed shoulder, and he's positive the other members will make fun of the hickey you're leaving on him. "Holy shit, you're so fucking tight, Y/n."

His voice is hoarse, but your moans are high, making a perfect balance of grunts. His cock fills you up, and you love feeling full, but you also love the overwhelming sensation of his member ramming into your g-spot. You feel the knot in your stomach, and painfully begin to chase your orgasm, you ride Seungmin while he fucks you at the perfect pace. Your hips move in sync with each other, and you nearly forget about the seven men on the other side of the door.

"Fuck, I'm so close, sir. May I cum?" You can't speak above a whisper, and without a word, Seungmin nods in approval. He slams into you one last time before you're left unraveling against him, your orgasm hitting you like a tsunami. Your moans get loader, but not load enough for anyone else to hear.

When your orgasm subsides, Seungmin doesn't stop, but rather fucks you harder, chasing his own orgasm. His thrusts get messy and uncoordinated, and you whine from the pain of overstimulation. His cock twitches, but he still holds his cum back.

"I want to fill you up with my cum. You'd look so pretty walking around with my cum inside you." As filthy as his words are, they only turn you on more. Your chest bounces as he fucks you without mercy, his cock begging to cum. You tighten around him, inciting him to release, but he still holds. "You're my little cumslut, right, babe? You want to be filled with my cum."

You nod into his neck, sucking more messy hickeys into his side. He throws his head back, his orgasm threatening to wash over him. Low groans leave his lips as he pulls you down, releasing his load as deep inside you as possible. Sweat dribbles down his forehead as his cock spurts hot cum inside your pussy. Once finished filling you, he remains inside you, fucking into you ever so slightly to make sure as much if his cum stays inside you as possible.

When he pulls out, he reaches for paper towels from the shelf behind him (you're in a janitors' closet after all). He cleans the cum from between your legs, and you hold your skirt up for him. Although it's hard to stand, you lean against the wall you were just being fucked against. Seungmin's cum drips down your legs, and he's beyond tempted to lick your pussy clean, but instead, he covers your cum filled hole with your panties, patting the cloth against you.

Seungmin stands up, cleans himself up, and puts his cock back in his pants. You fix your skirt, and put your bra and shirt back on. You nearly step out of the room before realizing that the other seven boys are still outside. You turn to Seungmin, and once again without saying a word, his eyes widen as he reaches for his phone.

Seungmin: Hey! Can you get the other guys to come back to the dorm? Y/n and I were out to eat and I think I ate some bad pork.

Chan: Oh, sure! We'll be back ASAP. Need anything?

Seungmin: Can you get something for my stomach? I feel reallly sick. :(

Chan: Of course! See you soon!

You hear Chan reading off Seungmin's texts, footsteps, and the door slam before you and Seungmin step out of the closet. The coast was clear, and you were free to talk.

"Hey, Min, you know we gotta sprint home now, right?"

"Yeah, but we'll be fine. They're getting medicine, so it'll take them longer."

"'Babe, I can hardly walk." You point down to your legs, which feel like jelly. Seungmin purses his lip, but comes up with an idea.

"We can just walk, but halfway there, I'll have to carry you."

"... fine."

#ur-net #staysmutblr #stray kids smut #skz smut #stray kids #skz #kpop #kpop smut #skz seungmin smut #seungmin smut #skz seungmin #stray kids seungmin #stray kids seungmin smut

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translations-by-aiimee · 3 years

Text

Dig a Grave to Dig Out a Ghost - Chapter 20

Original Title: 挖坟挖出鬼

Genres: Drama, Horror, Mystery, Supernatural, Yaoi

This translation is based on multiple MTLs and my own limited knowledge of Chinese characters. If I have made any egregious mistakes, please let me know.

Chapter Index

Chapter 20 - Wronged

Xiao Yu didn't make him do anything this time. Lin Yan pulled over a small bench and sat by the bathtub. When he opened his eyes again, Xiao Yu was lying on the edge of the bathtub, his face directly in front of Lin Yan's. Lin Yan almost fell off the bench in fright. He straightened himself, hand clutching at his chest.

What was wrong? Why was he suddenly so nervous? Lin Yan shook his head vigorously to get rid of the strange thoughts in his mind and took a deep breath. He gathered Xiao Yu's hair and soaked it in the water, building up suds in his hands. The temperature in the room from the summer night and two bodies was really uncomfortable, but the air around the ghost felt like it was being blown out of a refrigerator. Lin Yan, greedy for a bit of the coolness emanating off him, pressed his fingers against Xiao Yu's scalp, rubbing it gently. He couldn't help but proudly exclaim: "I'm pretty good at this, aren't I? Am I better than your maid?"

Xiao Yu raised his hand and touched his face. Lin Yan ducked, trying to dodge, but didn't get out of the way in time and his face was smeared with foam. He started playing with it, scooping the foam up and smearing it onto Xiao Yu's face. When he inadvertently wiped it on his eyes, Xiao Yu didn't duck away. He blinked and caught Lin Yan's wrist, and whispered, "That hurts."

"Don't-don't move, I'll help you wash it out." Lin Yan was startled. He lowered the temperature of the faucet water and poured it over Xiao Yu's head. The ghost closed his eyes docilely, and his black hair flattened against his shoulders under the impact of the water. Lin Yan brushed away the foam on his eyelids with his fingers. He couldn't help but look down. A pair of long eyebrows that always appeared uneven, eyes slightly closed, neat sideburns, and the bridge of his nose so sharp, it was like a knife. . . It was really... how could a ghost look so pretty. . .

Lin Yan was in a daze, and a thought appeared in his mind.

A kiss. . . A kiss would be okay.

After all, he had been kissed so many times before.

He could just return the favour.

Lin Yan slowly lowered his head, and pressed his lips to Xiao Yu's cheek. . .

Bang. The cold metal shell of the showerhead slammed against the edge of the bathtub and made a muffled thud. Lin Yan was frightened and jumped back, and he came back to his senses. What he was doing? Lin Yan stared blankly at the showerhead that kept spraying water after it fell in the bathtub. From his neck all the way to his cheeks, he flushed as red as a cooked piece of shrimp.

He must have been out of his mind to try and kiss a ghost that was trying to kill him.

"Lin Yan." Xiao Yu gently called him, picking up the shower and placing it into Lin Yan's hand. His wet arms wrapped around Lin Yan's neck and forced his head down. Lin Yan reacted instinctively and tried to pull away. However, the ghost was too strong. One tried desperately to back away, the other dragging him forward. Lin Yan’s flip-flops slipped on the soapy floor. He lost his balance and pushed into Xiao Yu as he fell into the bathtub.

There was a muffled thump, and water splashed in all directions. Lin Yan was soaked from head to toe. He pulled himself up on the edge of the bath and spit out mouthfuls of water. He angrily wiped the soap bubbles off his face. He turned over, pushing Xiao Yu down and muttered: "Ok, you bastard, see if I help you now!" The sloshing water continued to make noise, and the two people huddled together in the hot water.

The steam accumulating in the bathroom grew thicker and thicker, and it was even getting difficult to see the outline of the door. The water vapour formed beads on the black and white shower curtain, rolling down in small drops. Lin Yan threw his drenched T-shirt onto the ground, lying side by side with Xiao Yu in only his boxers. Xiao Yu's whole body was as cool as marble, and it was very refreshing to stick to him.

Lin Yan stared at the ceiling and let out a long sigh of relief. It had been half a year, and this empty house had the touch of another human for the first time since Weiwei left. It just so happened that the human turned out to be a ghost.

It was like a real home. He could hear the mundane sounds of activities when he got back every day. Someone was there to watch TV with him during dinner. When he fell asleep, he could wrap his leg around the body of the person next to him. When he took a bath, there was someone splashing around and making trouble for him. There was someone there to complain about whether he put too much salt in their food or not, someone who could help him through nightmares. Lin Yan thought, whether it was the so-called 'love' or not, it felt good having someone by his side.

Lin Yan nudged Xiao Yu with his elbow, and sighed softly, "If you were still alive, we could be friends. You could come to my house for sweet and sour pork ribs on the weekend."

"Yin Zhou used to be cheeky and lounged around my place, but now he's too afraid and you and won't come anymore."

Xiao Yu suddenly turned his face and pulled on Lin Yan's arm, fixedly looking at him. He said slowly, ". . . Come with me."

"On July 15?" Lin Yan felt cold.

Xiao Yu nodded seriously.

Lin Yan stared at his fingers in a daze. He wasn't sure how to convince such a stubborn and domineering ghost, and he didn't want to disappoint him, but they were both just too different. He would look for a job, maybe get married, raise some kids, and spend the rest of his dull life eating and working. Xiao Yu should walk his own path, too. He walked through the Sanzu River, went over the Naihe Bridge, and drank the clear water from a wooden bowl. From then on, he could forget the past, treat his future as a blank piece of white paper and write himself a new life.

Pick up the pen, dip it in the ink, and forget about what came before. They should never have crossed paths.

"I can't." Lin Yan said softly, "I still have parents, friends. Xiao Yu, don't make things difficult. I have to live."

"No matter how difficult it is, I'll help you remember why you're here so you can fulfill your wish." Lin Yan sat up on the edge of the bathtub. "You have to be a good ghost so you can get reincarnated. Maybe we can meet again in the next life. I'll be a bearded old man by then, and I promise you won't be able to look away when you see me."

Lin Yan lifted up the edge of his wet boxers, stepping onto the tiles and trying to climb out. Suddenly a cold hand stretched out from underneath the water to grab his ankle, and then yanked hard. The bottom of the pool was wet and slippery. Lin Yan was already standing unsteadily, and he fell straight on his back. The moment his head hit the edge of the bathtub, it was cushioned by a palm. With a muffled sound, Lin Yan rested on the side of the bathtub with both hands under the water. The sharp pain in his back made him suck in a cold breath. When he opened his eyes, he was faced with a pair of cloudy pupils, reflecting his figure, infinitely embarrassed.

The surrounding temperature instantly cooled down.

Oh, he was angry.

After a moment of hesitation, Xiao Yu grabbed Lin Yan's hair and pressed him into the water. Lin Yan kicked his legs indiscriminately. The warm water rushed around from all directions. He was unable to breathe, unable to even make a sound. The warm water mixed with the shower gel poured into his mouth and went up his nose. Lin Yan shook his head helplessly under the water, and a hand that stretched out from the water squeezed Xiao Yu's wrist tightly.

The sound of the gurgling water seemed to be magnified by a loudspeaker when it hit his eardrums. His vision was distorted by the water flow, but he could make out Xiao Yu's wicked and vicious face. One hand wrapped around Lin Yan's neck and kept him underwater, the other hand wantonly stroking his chest.

The pain of suffocation and choking on water cut through his lungs like a razor blade. While his hair floated under the water, his eyes were wide open, full of fear and despair.

With a splash of water, Lin Yan was pulled up from under the water against Xiao Yu's waist and buckled softly against Xiao Yu's body. Unable to get up in a breath, Lin Yan closed his eyes and unconsciously squeezed Xiao Yu's arm. Lin Yan spit out a mouthful of water and started coughing violently until his back was beaten a few times.

It hurt everywhere. His nose, lungs, and back were all screaming like crazy. Lin Yan had never felt this crappy before in his life. He gasped for breath, coughing and spitting water, his ears buzzing. It was like a rag doll being pushed around by Xiao Yu. It took a long time to calm himself down, sobbing aggrievedly.

"Lin Yan, Lin Yan. . ." The hushed voice was full of anxiety, and his icy hand stroked down his back like he was a kitten.

"Don't touch me, stay away from me. . ." Lin Yan trembled on Xiao Yu's shoulder.

There was a small pop sound. The light in the bathroom went out, and their surroundings sank into dark silence.

The sudden darkness made Lin Yan's vision go black. All he could feel was a pair of cold hands supporting his waist. With a gentle tug, he fell back into Xiao Yu's arms. He tilted his head slightly, and his lips were sealed by the man's. His tongue was like a snake's, slithering in and licking around.

He was gentle, but he also wasn't allowing any room for Lin Yan to resist. Xiao Yu’s arms lay across his chest like steel tongs. Lin Yan couldn’t move his neck. He could only slightly tilt his head to match the other. He opened his lips and let the cool tongue slip in and out of his mouth. Then, the overwhelming emotions tumbled out, forcing him to respond.

The previous violent acts seemed to have allowed this ghost to gain complete control over him, but after three or two minutes of lingering teasing, Lin Yan's whole body softened, and the sudden breathing caused the pain in his chest to spike again. Lin Yan grabbed Xiao Yu's arm, muttering softly between the deep kisses: "It hurts. Xiao Yu, it hurts."

The steel tongs loosened, and Lin Yan leaned over the edge of the bathtub and coughed vigorously.

The cold hand rubbed his back and then started to lightly pat it. Until Lin Yan's breathing slowly calmed down, he clasped his abdomen from behind, hooking his arms around him and gently licked his earlobe.

"Hey. . ." After having an extremely sensitive place sucked repeatedly, Lin Yan couldn't help sucking in a breath and he curled up his legs.

The snake-like tongue refused to let him go. After getting that initial response, his tongue moved up his ear and made a suggestive sound beside it, while his palm restlessly stroked Lin Yan's chest, pressing into his incessantly. Lin Yan's breathing started to heat up. His whole body felt like it was on fire, but his mind was clear. Lin Yan pursed his lips and tried to control his body's reaction. With his head resting on Xiao Yu's shoulder, he raised his gaze to look at him. His eyes were filled with rage but also with desire. Looking at the pair of eyes filled with such vivid emotions, Xiao Yu was stunned. He lowered his head and continued to kiss him.

The handsome man curled up in his arms was like a cat. As Xiao Yu's kiss deepened, drool slipped out from the corners of Lin Yan's mouth. He only felt that his reactions were completely out of his control. Xiao Yu's bare legs were wedged between his knees, Lin Yan couldn't help but pester him further, his legs clamped around him and rubbed gently into him.

Like a slab of marble, he was firm and cold, a sharp contrast with the heat emanating from the bathtub.

Ever since this all started, he was constantly being teased. First, he was teased with being touched, then teased with him the sight of him. The ghost had kissed him everywhere from his fingers to his forehead in public crowds so often that it was even driving God crazy at this point. Lin Yan shifted desperately and wrapped his arms around Xiao Yu's waist, the desire that had been suppressed all night pouring out of him. Clearly, he had been born gay. Lin Yan hopelessly squeezed the ghost's waist. His heart was angry but his body felt like it was being electrified. Right up until Xiao Yu peeled off the thin pair of boxers he was wearing, his cold palms had been rubbing against his already very reactive member through the white cotton underwear.

"Go away." Lin Yan shook his head helplessly with a low voice: "Don't touch me."

The man's expression in front of him didn't change. His eyebrows stretched to his temples and the steam formed tiny droplets of water on his jade-like face, soaking his freshly washed black hair, it sticking to his face. His thin lips looked like they had been smeared with honey. The ghost couldn't blush, nor could he tremble and sweat like Lin Yan. Lin Yan panted heavily with Xiao Yu's movements, raising his gaze to stare at those chaotic eyes. Not a hint of clarity could be seen in them at this point. They looked like the eyes of a beast, filled with the intent to kill, holding no remorse. Xiao Yu hooked the edge of Lin Yan's underwear with his fingers, wrapping his hand around the limb that enthusiastically popped out.

A string of sparks exploded in Lin Yan's mind, the intense pleasure making him unable to resist biting down on the ghost's shoulder.

"Xiao Yu. . . you're already dead. . ."

". . . Please, don't. . ."

"Xiao Yu. . . let me go."

Lin Yan shook his head uncomfortably, one hand hooked around Xiao Yu's neck as his hand jerked, breathing more and more rapidly. Xiao Yu clenched his waist and spun him around so that he had to cross his legs around the other's hips, the stiffness between his thighs rubbing against Lin Yan's stomach. The shame and frustration of it all made Lin Yan unable to control himself. He must be going crazy. None of this should be happening. Ghosts and humans are two very different things. Even though he knew that the ghost was there to take his life, he couldn't resist. His heart was on fire, the steam in the bathroom felt boiling hot, the thrill of ravenous pleasure making him burn from the inside out.

"Don't touch me anymore. . ."

"Please, please, Xiao Yu. . . I feel like I'm dying. . ."

"I want, I want. . ." Lin Yan's nose was soaked in beads of sweat, and his cheeks were flushed. He was flustered, talking nonsense like a beast in heat. Xiao Yu pulled his face towards him and kissed him again. Lin Yan stuck his tongue into Xiao Yu’s mouth and wrapped his lips around his to deepen it. The hand that was gripping Xiao Yu's shoulder was caught and led down to hold the large object pressed against his stomach. The two were entwined in the tub, moving in each other's hands.

Desire overtook him. Lin Yan whimpered and bit Xiao Yu’s neck. His hand was covered by Xiao Yu, leading him to grasp the two members touching each other. The almost masturbatory action completely shattered his self-esteem. At the same time, the desire that he had secretly concealed for years was magnified beyond what he could bear. In front of him was the nape of Xiao Yu's neck and the indentation of his collarbone. The hot organ between his thighs rubbed against Xiao Yu. The hot water came up just high enough to cover the frigid body of the other person. Lin Yan put his damp head on Xiao Yu's shoulders. His body arched. He let out a low groan and a white cloud was released all over Xiao Yu's body.

He must be crazy. Lin Yan panted heavily on Xiao Yu's shoulder. His vision was a bit blurry, but the eyes of the person under him seemed to grow cold for a moment. Before Lin Yan was able to calm himself down, Xiao Yu abruptly pushed him off and rolled out of the tub.

"What are you doing?" Lin Yan asked tremblingly on the edge of the bathtub.

Xiao Yu didn't respond. He picked up the shirt with a snake pattern embroidered on it that Lin Yan had thrown on the chair and draped it over his body. He turned his back to him, fixed his hair and tied the belt around himself. He looked back at him with a pair of cold black eyes filled with contempt, marched out of the bathroom and slammed the door heavily.

There was a muffled sound.

Lin Yan lay in the bathtub alone, clutching at the cold ceramic tiles with his soaking wet hands, unable to even get a word out.

With a small click, the light came back on.

[The author has something to say: it's spoiler time! The monster-catching squad is getting together again, and it's not to catch Xiao Yu this time, but a . . . Xiao Yu will be here as a monster catcher this time, too! The husband and wife are quarrelling. Warm and hearing little paragraph~

I'll explain the nature of ghosts. It was originally the task of the little Daoist priest in the following chapters, but since everyone is asking me, I'll tell you in advance. In the Maoshan religion, ghosts are creatures that are inferior to the living. They can cultivate into an ethereal body, and then a real body, which means that even the most powerful ghosts have to head towards the living realm to increase their power. Xiao Yu, as a ghost who has cultivated his true body, can control his form and maintain his human desire (lol, this is very important!). He's more like a demon or a monster than a ghost, lol~

He can sleep. I think it’s just a habit of being a human being. He can talk. Of course ghosts can talk. Xiao Yu’just degraded a bit after staying in the dark for a long time. He will naturally change back when he gets along with Lin Yan. . . He will become more and more like a human being. After all, he wants to marry a wife, right?]

#dig a grave to dig out a ghost translation #dig a grave to dig out a ghost #danmei novel #danmei #yaoi novel #yaoi #chinese bl #chinese novel #english translation

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h0unds-of-h3ll · 4 years

Text

Listen to the cry

No one questioned Castiel’s trench coat, so why should they question yours?

Sam and Dean Winchester x reader but it’s heavy on Sammy.

Viewers beware you’re in for a scare: with the amount of fluff, heart wrenching angst, dark themes, explicit language, sexual remarks.

Trigger warning mentions of past abuse, and self mutilation.

This is loosely based around the episode; Season 15 episode 11 “The Gamblers”

Sorry for the let down I’m not dead. I want to dedicate this to my wonderful and fabulous friends who are my family, you know who you are ;).

Let's start this story off in the way that makes any possible sense, the day your mother birthed you. Your mom and father's relationship seemed normal to the naked eye but once you started to peer deep into the picture. It was the exact opposite, speaking of your mother's labor it wasn't exactly your fault what happened to her. Although your father thought otherwise, it had been exactly three to four minutes after she gave birth that she had gone. That day your father never forgave you. No one dared to question why you wore long shirts where the sleeves run past your small torn arms. They were your father's he didn't dare to give you clothes that he had to buy with his hard-earned government filled check.

That wouldn't do nor buy any food that was for two almost every night well every night for the past eleven years you had to eat after him. We also couldn't forget how a minor "b" on a report card resulted in you getting lashings from that horrendous leather belt with the buckle being the size of an ashtray. You were that too. Days had gone into months when you realized there is no hope for you, always dreading the walk home. Until one evening when your ratty untied boots kept kicking pebbles came across a scene. One of which involved a scrawny shaggy-haired boy being beaten to almost death by three what looked like cows. You never did like bullies so you shrugged on the one strap bag (the other had been eaten off many years ago from rats.) You kept your head hung low in a desperate measure to disappear from their sights. Yet your wishes were cast away when his ungodly eyes met your form from across the street. You knew you should've picked up the pace. The guilt insufferable when you heard the kids squelched cry for help, you couldn't help but glance over to peer at the kids' face. One that had blood smeared from eye to ear. That didn't help your soundless escape.

It was like watching a train crash into a car, it was as much excitement and fear you would ever get, and for some reason, you were paralyzed. You couldn't move. You stood there like a small tree, watching every slur, every kick to the gut, every punch to the face for what seemed like hours. Although the cows' brains seemed to turn when the kid's head no longer was against the ground but in turn lifted to where you were watching. "The fuck are you looking at freak?!" you heard one of them say when they kicked his gut making him curl into a fetal position. It seems they were done with the torture when the kid's shoulders stopped moving to signal that he was dead or at least playing it. That also appeared to strike fear in their layers of flesh as they took off, one of them just had to look back and saw you. A witness. His pig face porked into a smirk that drew attention to his intentions, and his small thin lips drawing into syllables that made your blood run cold. "Oh, you are so dead." and with that, you took out in a sprint.

You hadn't gone far just a few mere inches when you tripped over your laces, you will forever think of the day when you learn to tie them as the day you become a god. It was such a lost cause to get up, one boot had flown off your foot entirely, the bottom of your bag busted making every single thing fall out, and you just managed to bust your chin on the pavement. With everything else, the cherry on top was the pig still coming for you. You had a few feet of a headstart on him which was yards in his situation, you could have made it to your house if you would have gotten up right then and just made a run from it. But you were too clouded thinking about what your Dad was going to do about your bag, the last thing you remember that orange soft winded evening was the boy's fist coming in contact with your head and knocking you out cold.

Your dad stormed into the living room where you were sitting on the couch (your bed) and started ranting about how on some test you had got an A- on. You hated him you did, you wished that whatever happened to your mom had happened to him instead. But the world never did take kind into the matter. You could no longer hear his shouting and rampage. Your mind focused on the small T.V. in front of you displaying a rerun of some old cartoon. A blonde buff dude in a black shirt trying to pick up some girl but then getting slapped across the face, then you just had to go and ruin it by laughing. That was the end of the line for you, you remember that night so vividly because that was the night when Grandma came. This happened often, arguments laced with venom every time she came, which would leave him to slam the door in her face and scream at the top of his lungs ``IT'S MY KID NOT YOURS!" She was on your Father's side. You weren't even sure if your mom had any relatives you never heard him speak of them, nor even seen them. It was if they were a forbidden monster that the world would stop turning if you knew about them. The knock on the door was your prayer but the look on your dads' face told an entire another story, it was a brief yelling match of a so-called discussion before he came back in with something flowing from his hands. It was a coat.

You woke up with a gasp. Air flowing through your lungs as the world whirred back and forth, your head having sharp pain as well as your chin. You were confused as to why you were laying on the sidewalk, asleep. But then you remembered. The farm animals, once you understood there were entirely too many emotions but the main ones were anger and sadness. Anger that this happened and sadness out of the outcome. You decided that can't wallow in your pity, (although you did consider it for a long duration of time.) Once you sat up you didn't realize you had an audience, the meat they were practicing on sat before you criss crossed and head tilted shaggy hair hiding his eyes. You mimicked his presence, your black coat falling behind your form drowning you in its wake. After a few minutes of soaking in each other's battle scars, he jutted a handout an introduced himself in a lopsided smile; "I'm Sam Winchester." That was the last time you had ever seen Sam.

~Time jump~

Working at a diner was stressful, sure, but never as stressful as trying to find a job that allowed you to wear a trench coat that went to mid-leg. It was a simple job taking orders and giving them to the back and serving the food to the customer. No, but it was your boss. Every single time he could slip a comment or a remark in, he would. Even in the worst of times like right now, you were waiting for the food order. It had been a slow off day not many on a Monday night came through on a roadside restaurant. Your boss was a middle-aged man who happened to look like your father and just had gotten all of his wonderful traits. Right now he was bickering at you because you weren't doing anything, there was nothing to do! you cleaned every possible thing there is to clean. Twice over might, I add and even polished the seats, you do not know how hard it was until you encountered the unforsaken bridge.

You were fixing to give him a jab by saying that when has he ever done anything around here but collect his money and go. But instead, you bit your tongue and closed your eyes and counted to ten because that would cost you the job and your life. You peeled your eyes open at the sound of the doors' literal bell ringing signaling someone had come in. A pair of tall stocky men made their way through, one of them had to bend down a little to get through the door because of how obnoxiously tall he was. "Great, now do your fucking job." He sneered in your ear as he went to the back. The other one struck you hard in your stomach for some apparent unknown reason, his bright green eyes falling onto yours which didn't help the circumstance as he rummaged through his pocket. While he was doing so you took in the other, long shaggy hair and bright but dark eyes like the other. He gave off a certain aroma which you didn't understand but he seemed familiar but you couldn't put your finger on. His eyes felt like they were burning away your coat making you defenseless, showing who you truly are. His eyes to say the least were the most intimidating out of the two. You pulled down on the sleeves, getting uncomfortable. You put on the most genuine grin you could and asked the routine question "What can I get you for today?" A hint of sincerity lurking within your question.

The green-eyed man grinned a bashful smile, his head twitching to the side every now and then "Uh, yeah what can we get for $4.60?" you oh so desperately wanted to laugh but stopped yourself by making yourself smile a true one. He seemed despondent by the look on his face and the nervous tics he was having. Your hand ran to the back of your neck scratching "Maybe a slice of pie and at the most a small drink?" Your response was more of a question than anything of what it was supposed to be. The taller one smiled knowing that it was dumb trying in the first place, yet you wanted to get to know him better so you decided fuck it and it was a better way to hit into your boss then your first idea. "You know what it's on the house." You shrugged while pushing the change back to the smaller one, he was happy with your response as he looked like a referee saying someone was out by enthusiastically saying "Score, maybe our luck is finally turning around!" and patted the taller one on the back while finding somewhere to sit. He rolled his eyes to the remark and grinned. Maybe their luck was turning around because he mistakenly found you again.

You were back shortly with drinks in hand. It looked like they were discussing travel routes. That explains why the look so rough, makes sense. You placed the drinks down and began to go to grab napkins before you had gotten caught by his gravely 'thank you' You were so done for. Although you were a few feet away the green-eyed one decided to get some intel, you chose that it was just his way of small talk. The conversation was going along smoothly until he asked where you were from. You thought he had figured it out, your true identity, and was going to tell your dad where you managed to escape to, so you tugged on your sleeves once again. Trying to hide the few burn marks that cascaded along your wrists, the dark-eyed one seemed to take notice. Shit. His eyebrows furrowed and his lips pursed; he stopped his colleague from his tangent and took notice of you. "Are you okay?" he asked, of course, you weren't okay with the millions of problems you had but you didn't want to freak the guy out so you found an escape. You smiled and nodded your head "Yeah just poison ivy."

He mouthed the word "Oh" he was still suspicious but he thought it was rude to pester. He took another sip of his drink as his friend continued. Toward the end, he gestured to the map "Do you by any chance know what's around here?" As he asked you sucked in a breath. This day has been the worst in a while, you hoped he wouldn't know that you played your chances and it resulted in this. Scraping the bottom of the barrel to living in a shitty apartment that you could barely afford. You rolled your eyes going to get the slice of pie "It's just some old wise tale, about pool." You answered shrugging your shoulders. They looked at each other if they won a million dollars "What about pool?" the green-eyed one spoke faster then you could reply You thought this was such a dumb conversation like talking about Santa Claus. "If you win you gain luck, you lose luck." You stuck two forks into the pie and slid it in between them. "Just by playing pool?" He said as he lowered his drink from his lips for the first time since he had it. "Yup," you said, popping the "p" as you turned to get napkins once again, only for him to stop you in your tracks "Do you want to come with us, I mean since you know the place better than us?" As soon as the last word left his mouth you felt like you could faint. You kept weighing all the possibilities and it only came out in one, you go with them.

It wasn't a long drive but it was because his thigh pressed up against yours as you sat between the two giants. The radio played softly in the background as another Metallica song played, the trees and forest going past as you kept going further into the brush of pavement. The only Metallica song you knew played you smiled hopefully to make some conversation out of this entire carr ride of silence. (The man you now know as Dean shushing Sam, his younger brother, when he was trying to do introductions.) "Master of the Puppets is probably one of the most iconic Metallica songs, hands down," Dean snorted in disgust and made you laugh as he turned the radio down. "Really? It's so overplayed! Ride the lightning is way better. Did you not hear the badass guitar solo in it?!" He looked like he saw something that had three heads as he rolled his eyes and scoffed. For a man who looked so tough, he was childish as ever. You tell that Sam was more of the quiet and laid back while Dean was more rambunctious and loud. "Shouldn't we have a plan?"

Sam spoke as he saw the small building appear Dean scoffed again "When do we ever?" As he parked the car and turned the engine off. He noticed as he tried to take the tape out it was destroyed. The tape that was once secured in the small plastic rectangle was now wrapped and strangled around itself. There was a pained expression when he came to realize and then came the anger. Once he got out he had thrown the tape down so hard that it spread into thousands of tiny pieces. "Son of a bitch!" he grumbled hands shoved deep into his pockets as he sulked into the bar, "He's not always like this, it's just an off day."

Sam's voice startled you as you came out of one of the memories that reminded you of your dad. His face still in thought as he tried to wrap his head around why you were so what seemed to be; fragile. Could it be? No, it couldn't that's dumb of him to think of something so tragic. He opened his door and held out his hand in offering to help you out, his hand was rough and scratchy against yours. It was hard to make out since your skin wasn't in the best of condition either, you stopped halfway and told him to go on ahead and go in. You figured that you could try and fix Dean's tape even though it was beyond repair. But you'd probably be here without anything to do so you grabbed it, along with an old coin.

~Sam's point of view~

She just kept sitting there with the tiniest screwdriver known to man. I don't even know where she got it, but I would be lying if she wasn't trying her hardest to fix it. Her hair kept touching her face; which would agitate and distract her from her work. Her hands were occupied so she would blow a gust of wind to make it fall someplace else, she was way too concentrated on the music box. Her eyes were beautiful with the way the curtain blocked sun fell onto them, her lips were pursed as she concentrated and her small hands twisted and turned the bolts as she screwed them in. She was beautiful, no that's too vague to describe such beauty. I suppose a goddess should do it. Her name kept twisting and turning with her hands, the name was so simple yet elegant and familiar. One that I wouldn't forget fitted perfectly on my tongue. The number of times my tongue formed around the syllables sounded as if I was chanting it, and if she would ask me too. She'd never have to say it twice. I smirked at that. Not too big or toothy being cautious of Dean beside me chatting up some woman waiting for the bar. Knowing that if he saw me stalking her.

(I would say admiring, his words not mine.) I would never hear the end of it. Speaking of the devil he sadly interrupted my appreciation towards her. He grabbed the joint between my shoulder and neck and told me he found a game. He did that ever since I was a kid, I guess it was just showing his way of knowing he could grab me if something went sideways. Which did happen a lot, "Sammy!" he shouted out. That was all too familiar as well and I groaned not knowing when I'd be back to take her in again and sulked my way to where they were setting up for the game.

~Back to normsies~

If only the damn thing would go back into the socket, you managed to makeshift a few pieces together. Although the pie was still broken with many pieces left to bake, this was an absolute nightmare. But on the other side, you kept thinking if I could get away from H.I.M. you could do anything. It had to be about fifteen to twenty minutes later when they had started to gamble their lives. You knew they were getting a good high from every cocky remark Dean would give to his less unfortunate opponent. Dean was a complicated man.

That is the best way you could explain it, anger issues, and maybe family issues as well. Yes, they were old enough to travel without supervision but usually, you couldn't get out of town without someone calling for help just for you to come back. Hell, you couldn't speak. And Sam, you thought long and hard why his name was so off-putting but in a good way like an old friend. But you never did have any friends so that just made it even harder to understand why. Every time you thought about it, it made your heart flutter. Maybe because he was attractive with his tall structure or chiseled face, or his gorgeous dark eyes that seemed to have taken a liking to stop at you. The way he crossed his arms made him appear bigger, the muscles in his arms popping out like a sore thumb. You wondered yourself into a daydream of what he would look like under that black dress shirt, those few unbuttons gave you a small peek of what's behind. You shouldn't think of such things because why would someone attractive ever want to mingle with you. Under the cape, you looked like Freddy Kruger with the scars, burns, and your added self-mutilation.

God, how can you be so dim-witted to fall for a guy who doesn't even like you. It was so stupid, no one liked or will so why would he? Being so distraught and in your head, you forgot where you angled the screwdriver which in your situation was now a weapon as you shoved it straight into your finger. "Bitch!" You let out as you cupped your hand with the other, a few turned heads just to see what was going on. She took notice and you thought your dad had a bitch face, holy shit you were wrong. You thought the trench helped you fade into the dark, apparently not. As she pursued your way as if she was the hunter and you were the prey and you were so proud of the amount of restraint from not plunging the screwdriver into her nonexistent brain. She flipped her hair behind her shoulder as she grabbed a napkin and threw it your way. You thought it was a cool magic trick when you watched it float down and her face was shoved into yours. You thought you went cross-eyed from how close she was, her breath being fanned across your face "You're not allowed in here." She snarled. Your face scrunched into an exasperated one, you were already done with her, you cleared your throat as you began to at least try to get her delusional ass to see through her load of bullshit.

"I was never informed that I couldn't visit and root for my fellow gamblers." You spat and you swore her ears billowed out steam, "Yeah, but you won so you have no business here." you could feel the spit flying through her clenched teeth. You breathed out a puff of air as you gathered your things and hopped down from the bar stool and out the door, you never one to argue with cows. Yet a towering dashing bull, just couldn't keep away. You had a pout on your face, sure, and your thick dr martens (You considered it an upgrade from your father's work boots.) kicked at the rotting patio. In your head, you've smitten her dead but as you took a seat on the porch swing and glanced into the window you saw the man of your wonders chatting her up. Her hand rubbing up and down on the bicep you wanted to touch and suddenly you felt your luck was gone. You gripped your hard work tight in your hand, the edges you fixed were slightly cracking, you wanted to cry. Mommy didn't raise no bitch, she didn't even raise you. But you blinked away tears and then it spawned on you. You had a coin. Maybe your luck is turning around.

It was turning dark when you made up your mind, the coins' rugged edges dug into your thumb and index as you glared at it. You held your head in your hands when he walked out, curiously you lifted your head to find the suspect at hand you had won against him before. The first time you betted, he was good but not as great. He was a kind older fellow, but the world struck him down as it did you and you supposed that's how you became companions. The swing shifted as he sat down beside you, (you quickly grabbed the side of your tench to make sure he didn't sit on it.) "Rough night?" he asked, trying to make small conversation, you guessed it was to try and ease the devastation of the lost. "Erm, I guess." you were taken off guard as your brain was swimming through the sea of thoughts it suddenly turned into a dessert when he spoke again. "You want one?" he offered a cigarette but you politely declined as you shook your head. He grinned and raised an eyebrow "That's new," he laughed softly as he dug in his pockets searching for something but to come up empty. "You gotta light, sweetheart?"

The cigarette dangled from his lip but never dared to fall from how many years of practice he's had. You jolted up and dug in your pockets your fingers getting poked and scratched at from all the things you had in them. Shortly, you found it you flipped it open and cupped it from the chilly wind that blew softly against the flame. He laughed again but it became a coughing fit. You were confused as to why he was laughing since you hadn't said anything amusing. Yet, you quickly shut the lighter and put it back into one of your pockets. And placed a hand on his back to comfort him. You never knew why he didn't stop smoking, he knew it would come to this. After a minute or two of his heaving, he sat back up with a red hand coming to his lip to wipe away the substance but carried on the conversation. He stared at the stars as they glistened against the black drop of night, you were staring at him

(yes it's rude but not in the context of the way you were doing it.) You took in all his scars and indentations of his face from the years that showed through them. His eyes crinkled but they were beautiful from the stars glaring against them. You didn't like this ending. Not one bit. "This isn't all bad, sweetheart." His voice croaked out as his head rested against the back of the swing looking at you his neck craned his life running from him. How is this not bad, he was dying before your eyes. The only friend you ever had. You sniffled, your eyes glossy from before but now they looked like rain. "I wished I could've met my Granddaughter. I hope she was as beautiful as you, darlin',''

Bewildered as to why he was telling you this, maybe it was because he didn't want to think about leaving this world and going onto the next, but you didn't dare try to change the subject. "I wish I could've seen her being born, I wish my son wasn't as big of a bastard as he was to not let me." His became almost as glossy as yours as his story continued, his hat that was on his lap was now on yours as he looked up at the stars again. "I wished she knew how much I fought for her." His voice became softer as his face started to slim and the scars began to protrude from his face more. "I hope she knows I lov-" He stopped halfway and let out a sigh his body slumped back into the wooded seat. His eyes were no longer lively but dull and bland as they held no life into them, you started to freak out, you grabbed onto his shoulders and started to shake him. This couldn't be happening, he was just asleep, right? this was all too much too process.

Your cheeks began to dampen as the waterfall began to burst from too much compression, once your brain took everything in you sat back and pushed your hair away from your face. Your face between your knees as your breath began to fasten, you closed your eyes hoping it would all go away when you opened them. You should've stayed at the diner, you should have never left home. It then spawned on you once you started to connect the dots slowly, one by one, that he was the grandfather you never got to meet. You opened your eyes to only find that the hat was where he previously once was, and from that, you decided that this was the last straw. And no one else was going to have to suffer this curse.

It was an understatement when you stormed back in with a cowboy hat on your head and walked into the swarm of an audience watching the current match. Sam was on the outskirts since he towered everyone and it would be unfair if he was in the front, he turned his head hearing the wooden doors clatter open. He was confused but happy to know about your entrance; because now he can watch something enjoyable rather than worry about his brother. When he locked eyes with you, your stomach did a flip and knees became weak, but you didn't dare let him see it. You not so gracefully walked over to him and tugged on down on his sleeve as a kid would asking their mom for money. He laughed and crinkled his nose at how ridiculous your action was, he relented and leaned down to your level to hear what you wear trying to say. (You nearly forgot what you were saying when you smelled how good his cologne was, a mixture between pine and coffee.) "WHO'S IS AGAINST WHO?!" you blared into his ear which made him reach and stand into his normal posture.

He laughed when he saw your face it looked as if you saw a ghost. He shook his head with a smile etched across his face "It's Dean against the mean lady," his sonorous voice rumbled through your tiny form. You tugged on his shirt once more which he then rolled his eyes and bent down. When he got close enough you grabbed the hat and placed it on his head, which he wrinkled his nose at again at how odd it was. You placed the sternest face you could and poked him in the chest with a finger "You better not have lice in that mane of yours!" You boomed at home which made his mouth hang open "Excuse me?!" is the last thing you heard before you made your way into the action. Although you whirled your head behind your shoulder and yelled "Wish me luck!"

All you could hear was the back and forth comebacks between the two, it reminded you of the fights. The constant battle in your life, "Lady I'm Tolstoy." He gave a slight nod thinking that was the end and he won, he was too cocky for his own good but that was just adding to the texture of Dean being Dean. She snickered at that "Oh, that's funny. hilarious even!" she gestured and flicked his nose then went to grab the wooden stick of your inevitable doom. You pushed through the last of the sheep before you stepped up for your presence to be known, "No." your voice even scared you from how it growled out the two letters. she looked at you like your dad did in the past from the night when you arrived with a black eye and scabbed chin. "No?" she gave you a look a mother would give her child when they would say a bad word. "No, little girl?"

Her hips swayed as she taunted you, but you didn't dare coward down to her. She was taller than you in her pristine heels, she looked down from the bridge of her nose, your dad did the same and you knew what happened next. You got a face full of fists. Except she didn't do that. She stared into our eyes and you did the same, you knew what she was searching for. You tried not to think about the similarities but you couldn't stop them, she smiled a toothy red-lipped smile and sauntered back to the table, she angled and knocked the glaring white ball into the triangle. Breaking the game into the start. She looked over to you with half-lidded eyes and her words were sultry and she purred them "Let's begin."

It was a rough start with a breathing Dean on your neck, you didn't need the constant reminder of his and everyone else's lives were on the line. Including Sam's. You forgot about his prying eyes as well, now and then you'd catch him and he'd smirk as if he was a soccer mom saying you're doing great, sweetie. But knowing her child was the worst player there. You also saw his eyes dart down in the window to your ass, whenever you bent down in front of the crowd to get a better angle. You had a measly three, while she was picking up on four. You were fucked. You tried. Every time you would miss she would smirk, a cat, and a mouse. "I know about your father, Y/n." she teased, you stopped and blinked a couple of times, flabbergasted. She knew.

Your hands came clammy as you accidentally hit the white ball. It had been the last few remaining and if you fucked up anymore, you endangered everything. You groaned in annoyance because she had to come over on your side for her exhausting turn. She missed. She actually missed it. Maybe the couple coins in your pocket weren't completely drained! You thought it was suspicious when she stood by you when you leaned down to take your shot and then you knew why. "I know why you wear this disgusting cloak," she spat in your ear, you knew she was playing mind games with your head to mess with you. But you couldn't help the fear if someone could hear.

To know that you were just a little girl trying to run from her dad. You didn't notice how your sleeve began to come up from your hip dragging against the wood, nor how close her hand was to said sleeve. She tore it up to your shoulder and you froze. You jolted and hit the ball when you jumped out of fright. "Is to hide his filthy secrets." You are a deer in headlights. You couldn't move, she's trapped you. You can't breathe. Blink. Hearing was out of the question as well, everything was a dull buzz in the background. When someone's heart monitor falls flat that is how it felt. Your scars, long fat skinny, and deep running everywhere across your arm. You had no skin that wasn't covered. "You are always going to be nothing." You watched his lips move in slow motion as she spoke. The word nothing made the world come into motion and allowed you to have power over your body. The first thing you had done was look to find Sam's eyes on the exposed skin with pursed lips. FUCK! Panicking you ran through the hoard pushing and shoving your way through to the exit. You needed air, you needed to be alone, you needed to run.

You don't get far you got to the gravel in the middle of the road and curled into a ball and tried to slow down your breathing because right now you were full-blown hyperventilating. Every breath felt like a struggle for your lungs, your lungs felt they were being kicked in like the night you met Sam. Oh. Was all you could think when you finally knew why this was all too deja vu fever dream. Great, that's just fucking great. That's your first impression on the boy you liked for ages? Fan-fucking-tastic. You pulled your head the slightest bit from the leather and looked at the skin that caused all of this. God, you hated all the veins that were stitched over and the ones that dug so deep that even the doctor said that couldn't get too. Rage took over and you dug your nails into your wrist and started to scratch, maybe that will make them go away. Your eyes blurred and you pushed your head back and looked at the stars. It made a soft thud as it hit the ground, your self-hatred becoming stronger. You'd be better off dead, then have to be a more mutilated Frankenstein.

~Sam's point of view~

I couldn't find her. And that. That was what scared me the most. I was giving up hope until I saw a small form sprawled out onto the ground near the Impala watching the stars, as I grew closer I found out that it was what I was looking for; Her. She was gorgeous as ever as her hair fell behind her shaping around her head. I crouched to where she was. I wanted to touch her, caress her reddened cheek; just something for her to know that I was here for her but I went against it deciding that it was the best option. Instead, Her eyes took me in captivity as they glowed and shimmered with the stars above. "Mind if I join?" I asked with a tilt of my head in question. She didn't respond but I sat down beside her anyway, the rocks dug into my thighs but I didn't mind it, not one bit. This is going to be harder than I originally had planned. Not that I minded that either. My brain turned and my eyes darted to and fro as I tried to think of how I could get to see her smile again. Maybe I should leave her alone, was that a good idea? No, try to make her feel better, let her know that I care; "Don't be like that partner," Fuck. I hit the heel of my palm into my head how can I possibly be so dumb?! Oh, wait! it made her turn her head. Success! although it wasn't the typical success you would think of. No. What she did was she stuck out her scarred hand and introduced herself with a lopsided grin,

"I'm Y/N L/N."

#lil angsty #fluffy #dean winchester #Cute but deadly #dean winchester x reader #x reader #Sam Winchester #sam winchester x reader #supernatural #fanfic #sam winchester x reader fluff #sam winchester x reader angst

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testingtwns · 4 years

Text

I finished the really really long original stuck sneeze story at last

HEY LOOK I DID IT !

Sorry this took so long. I made two posts before this to say it was coming soon, which was in order to garner interest and hopefully drum up my own interest in the process. Well, it totally backfired, and I intimidated myself into not writing at all. So, thank you for your patience with me!

Considering that this is a 13k-word stuck sneeze story, it’s like 98% build-up, so instead of being posted in parts, it’s all here. Not gonna leave anyone hangin’ without the part where sneezing actually happens. Since that’s why we’re all here I mean duh

Well... enjoy I guess !

It started at noon on a calm summer day. The royal family ate in the solarium, as they always did at mealtime, with the head of the table taken by Queen Cveta, heir apparent Arkady to her left, and the rest of the princes and princesses continuing in birth order down the line, all except for Vjera. Each window of the glass room was so perfectly clear as to be nearly invisible, giving a great view of the flourishing garden and all the curious creatures that it attracted. Hummingbirds and dragonflies and honeybees and swallowtails dipped and dove among the fauna, making for a very theatrical view, as it so often did. In the fall, there were deer; in the winter, ptarmigans and cardinals; and in the spring the deer came back, bringing with them their knobby fawns. Zlata and Pedja were hoping to see a set of those soft brown ears peering above the heather today, but the eldest siblings ate rather quietly, somewhat subdued. They knew they were supposed to be happy, but it was hard to say goodbye to one of their own.

Svetlana scooted boiled cabbage around her plate with her fork, and Dmitar leaned one elbow on the table and slouched a bit, totally forgetting his manners. As the eldest sibling, Arkady could not allow his sadness to be so easily observed, especially in front of the kitchen attendants bringing sweetbreads to and from the table. It would not do well for the next-in-line to seem disappointed about his sister's betrothal to the prince of a neighboring kingdom. But soon that was no longer the thought at the forefront of Arkady’s mind.

He had just filled his mouth with a sip of cold honey tea when a desire to sneeze hit him with startling urgency. Arkady's eyes widened before clamping shut, and he hastened to swallow before the squirming tickle at the roof of his mouth could win out. He had been groomed to have the best of manners, to keep from sneezing during meals, but this tickle was unusually urgent, and it wasn’t going to let him have a say. Arkady acted fast. One hand sloppily placed the glass back down, the other ushered his napkin to his face as he turned away from the table. He inhaled loudly once, twice, three times, and held the cloth tightly to his nose, sure whatever was coming would be impressive…

“Hhhtt-!”

He couldn’t have been more wrong.

For a moment, his whole body seemed to stall. Then, just as quickly as it came on, the sneeze disappeared, leaving nothing but the burning embers of an itch that hadn’t been soothed. Arkady sniffed, hoping to either fan the little flame or blow it out, but it wouldn’t be tempted in either direction. He could only blink in puzzlement, and at the tears that had started in the corners of his eyes, formed by unrealized desire.

When he lowered his hands, his whole family was staring at him from their individual places at the table, spoons or forks halfway to their mouths.

“Uh,” Arkady began, mildly sheepish as he returned the unused napkin to his lap, “I thought I was going to sneeze.”

“We all did,” said Zlata. “Why didn’t you?”

“It would have been good luck,” Pedja piped up.

“I was trying to,” Arkady insisted, almost defensively. “I would have liked to.” He kneaded the side of his nose hard with one knuckle. “It still feels as if I might.” Indeed, as those words left him, his mouth began to quiver open when the faint sensation twitched back to life. Both hands secured the napkin around his nose, and his eyelids squeezed together, and his insides felt like they were buzzing with anticipation, and—no. It still wasn’t to be. Arkady came down from the sneeze with a long sigh and blew his nose, which didn’t help much. His eyelashes were already damp from the tickle alone.

His brothers and sisters were staring at him again, strangely but clearly also fascinated for the conclusion to this little breakfast drama. It was Svetlana who glanced fervidly around the table in search of a solution. “Maybe there’s something spicy around here you can eat. Or something strong you can smell.”

“Hold on, now. Don’t provoke it.” It was their mother, Queen Cveta, who spoke now. “This could be Ilari’s doing.”

Arkady’s eyebrows slouched. “Or maybe I just have to sneeze, and I can’t d… do ihht…” The tickle struck a third time in as many minutes, and Arkady couldn’t pay attention to anything else. Cloth napkin around his face again, his family became colorful blurs before his eyes. They were all watching unabashedly… Embarrassed, he ducked into the cloth to hide. Gasp… gasp… Huff. No.

He raised his head blearily and narrowed his gaze. “Could you all at least have the courtesy not to stare at me?”

“Why?” said Pedja innocently. Staring was among his favorite hobbies.

“Because it’s impolite,” Arkady said. When Pedja only continued to gaze at him, he added flatly, “And if you stare for too long, your eyes will dry up and fall out of your head, and birds will come and eat them.”

“Wow,” said Pedja.

“That’s enough of that. This may be serious,” Queen Cveta continued calmly. “Sneezing is a sign of good health and good fortune, and protection from the gods. It is usual to be able to sneeze—the opposite is not. This could be a message.” There was only slight worry in her steady look, but she was adamant when she told him, “Go to Jaga, and ask her what it might mean. She will be able to tell you.”

Arkady looked at his plate of rolls and boiled potato salad and pork aspic, which was only halfway finished. “I’d sort of rather try my luck with some spicy food,” he said.

“Go to Jaga,” Queen Cveta repeated.

It was a lost cause. Even if he was next in line for the throne, she was the Queen, and the Queen’s word was second only to the gods’. Sighing, Arkady stood to leave, but his sigh turned into a sharp snaggle of breath, and another, and another, and another, and as Arkady gripped the top of his chair desperately for support, the whole morning seemed to go silent waiting for his sneeze... but still it eluded him. Arkady’s brothers and sisters made a collective sound of discouragement on his behalf.

“If you think it’s annoying for you,” he said, touchy and a little flushed, “just think of how annoying it is for me!”

He exited directly into the garden, following the stepping stones towards the footbridges that connected each of the Peaks, like their own mountainous islands. Each individual peak hosted its own type of building: guesthouses, greenhouses, the royal family’s grounds, and the outbuildings, such as the one where Jaga lived. Each member of the royal entourage lived within the sanctuary walls; they were like family to Arkady, and they loved him as much as he loved them. He loved that they too could be protected by the same archers and guardsmen that kept his family from harm. But Arkady had heard it was different outside of his kingdom of Gornoye. In Dolina and Vodopad, the palace attendants were considered servants and could not look the king and queen in the eyes without punishment. They had to bow their heads and say “I beg your pardon” every time they entered a room. Would it be so in Derevo too?

Like a sense of dread, Arkady's sneeze came creeping back to tug his thoughts away from the matter of his sister's betrothal and towards this impossible itch. Oh, how it itched. Arkady stumbled to the wood railing of the bridge with clouding eyes, hoping that if the gods really had anything to do with this, they'd let him sn– “Huh-hhhh...” sneeze already– “Ehhthehheh... Hah! Utchtt-!” His breath stuttered: it was right there, right in the place that should have his voice bursting out of him like an announcement, and yet...

It didn't.

But it did keep his eyes shut tight, holding him in a place of such utter discomfort that he had to shake his head hard against it. If it wasn't going to happen, would it at least leave him alone? When he had enough control back to rub his nose, he did so, hoping to squash the inner tickle from the outside. It was barely a solution. Eventually he was able to open his eyes, but even then his vision was skewed by more stinging tears than he knew what to do with. One even went down his cheek.

"Brother! What's wrong? Why are you crying?"

Arkady turned muzzily to his left. He had immediately recognized the voice as Vjera's, which was good, because the tears obscured her face to the point where she looked scarcely recognizable. He pulled the heels of his hands over his sleeves to dry the water in his eyes.

"I must look as if I'm crying," he said, sniffling hard, sure his nose was some shade of red. He laughed a bit to show he wasn't sad, though the situation hardly felt funny at all. "I almost wish I was. It would be better than what's really happening."

Vjera was wearing a simple black pinafore dress, and her soft, dark hair hung down without any sort of style. She was likely holding off as long as she could from preparing for Prince Ivar's arrival. She and her siblings often dressed formally for company, so any break from the layers of high-collared shirts and embroidered coats was a welcome one. She reached out and touched the sleeve of his loose, soft tunic now. "What's really happening? Are you going to throw up?"

"Uh, no," Arkady said, with a slight chuckle at her bluntness. "No... Augh." He scrubbed hard at the fire in his snout. He turned away slightly as he did so; it was embarrassing to make those silly, hesitant faces in front of anyone. “It's my nose. I've got to sneeze, but I can't. I just keep gasping and then nothing happens. Mother thinks Ilari has something to do with it. She thinks it might be a sign of some sort. I don't know what it is, but I hope Jaga has a solution, because I can hardly stand it another second."

Vjera flashed a keen little grin. "What a pain. I would scare it out of you if I could."

"You always were a bit too good at curing my hiccups," Arkady said, remembering in their youth how, after complaining of the ailment, she would wait until he had been hiccuping for a good five minutes, then reach out from underneath his bed or under his study table and grab his ankles as tightly as she could. It had never failed to make him yelp.

Even such a simple memory inspired nostalgia. His eyes saddened. "You're really leaving tomorrow."

"I really am," Vjera sighed. She became gentle, lightly touching the railing and gazing into the Sheerwater River below. "I told you I was ready, and I thought I meant it. But today I feel less sure. I am going to miss watching the girls and little Pedja grow into adults, and I'll miss Dmitar's singing, his jokes. But it’s you I’m going to miss most of all. What am I going to do without my best friend?”

Arkady gazed into the gorge too. "I wish I knew the answer. I've been asking myself the same question." And I’ve been asking the gods, too, he thought, but decided not to admit it. Such trivialities were not exactly meant for gods’ ears.

The siblings smiled at each other, bittersweet, and embraced for what was sure not to be the last time that day. They understood each other like no one else could. They had endured many of the same lessons in etiquette and politics while they grew up, as Vjera would be second in line for the throne until Arkady himself had children. Because of those lessons, they both had understood all their lives that they would not marry for love so much as for political reasoning. It was part of why they had turned to each other so desperately for friendship, each acting as an anchor in a life full of acquaintances and kowtowers and even those who meant well but could never fathom the burdens of the crown.

The running water below filled the silence—at least until Arkady began, again, gathering unsteady breaths. He pulled away from his sister's shoulder, held a hand in front of his face, praying it would soon be catching the results of a truly satisfying sneeze. Twenty-five years of etiquette lessons had been engrained in him, and usually the idea of sneezing without a cloth ready seemed preposterous. But this tickle was even more preposterous, so etiquette was long forgotten. All that mattered was the sneeze.

He tried his damnedest to make it happen. His tongue cupped itself and pressed to the bottom of his mouth. "Hhhuuhhhth... Shehh..." he begged. Then he found himself doing something he had seen others do when they were about to sneeze, which was use a hand to fan in front of his face. Arkady had no idea how such an action would serve him, but they said necessity was the mother of invention. And it seemed... to be... helping... a l-little...!

"Ehh...! Ehsh-!... … hyew..."

A weird, finite little noise escaped him then. Arkady blinked largely in surprise. He had not sneezed, but he had spoken a sneeze-like sound nonetheless, and he hadn't even meant to. It was as if he had wanted it so badly, even feigning the act was better than nothing.

But oh, how much nothing it had done.

Vjera seemed just as confused by this. "Was that... a sneeze?"

"No!" Arkady growled. He coughed and rubbed at his face. "No... Sorry for snapping. I'm not angry at you. I'm angry with my nose. I'd rip it off and throw it into the gorge if I could. Anything to escape this torture."

When there was no response to that, Arkady glanced up from tending to his nose to look at his sister. Her mouth was a hard line, and her eyes sparkled at him.

Arkady frowned. “It’s not funny!”

Vjera held her pointer finger and thumb apart. “It’s a little funny.”

“If this were happening to you, you wouldn’t be so amused,” Arkady said.

“But it isn’t happening to me,” Vjera said.

“So that means it’s funny?”

“It does,” Vjera nodded.

At her brother’s frustrated expression and further badgering of his nose, Vjera finally took pity on him and patted his shoulder. “I’m sure Jaga will take good care of you. I was just there myself, anyway, and I’m feeling a bit better.”

Arkady was alert at once. “What’s the matter?”

“Nothing to fret about. I just feel nauseous,” Vjera admitted. “I wanted to eat with you all this morning, and just now, but even the idea of food is too much. I think my stomach is more upset about this betrothal than I am.” She paused. “I-I mean… no, not upset. I just meant…”

He knew what she meant: If anyone sees me looking miserable on the day I’m going to meet my future husband, it’s won’t send the right message to our people.

A herd of low mountain clouds had been passing through them for a while. “No one can see us right now, Ra. Will you be honest with me at least?”

Vjera chewed her lip. Her nickname seemed to undo something in her heart for a moment, but she hid it fast, as future queens did. “I’m not being dishonest. I’ve made my peace with it. And even though I’m nervous, I’m also excited, really. It’s just a lot of newness at once. It’s overwhelming.”

Arkady wanted to coax more of the truth out of her, but something was overwhelming him too. “Gods, not again… Suh-Sorry…” he breathed, his hands going up to his face guiltily, but he couldn’t think or speak when he was like this. The tickle was like a teething puppy, nipping and nuzzling in the back of his nose. He pinched it hard, asking it to stop. Two, three, four gasps later, the urge delivered a final, aching burn, and he was back to feeling unrelieved and unable to sneeze.

Arkady blinked hard and smudged at his eyes. “Ugh… I’m sorry about that.”

“Don’t be sorry,” Vjera shook her head, “and go to Jaga now. Keeping you here any longer would be cruel.”

“You aren’t keeping me,” Arkady said. He couldn’t stop touching at his nose though.

“I am, and I won’t anymore,” she insisted. She gently nudged him in the direction she’d come from. “Please go have something done about your poor nose.”

"I sure hope something is done," Arkady sighed. "I'd love to have this over with at last. I promise I'll make for better conversation after I finally sneeze."

"Good luck," Vjera wished him before he continued his short journey to the herbalist’s abode.

The steeply-sloped, pentagonal building Jaga conducted her work in was just over the bridge that connected the main plateau to one of the many surrounding peaks. Jaga spent most of her time preparing medicines and tending to her plants, plants that she named and talked to as if they were children. Though half of the building was designed like a greenhouse, her workspace had but one window, so she lived like a cave-dweller when she wasn’t out culling flora, and wore a wild mane to match her wild lifestyle. Due to her many eccentricities, it was easy to forget that she was a genius of an herbalist.

Jaga had just two years ago taken over the late Rosa's position. Where Rosa had been a gentle presence with a sagely bedside manner, Jaga was overzealous when it came to healing. A person with an ailment was certainly more interesting to her than a person without one. Because of that, Arkady felt a little reluctant to let her know what was going on with him. But if she could cure this itch, it was well worth any fuss.

And the moment Arkady walked into her keep, that accursed itch returned with a vengeance. “Um, good day, J-Jagahh...” he trailed off almost immediately, bringing a hand to his mouth, eyes closing just before he noticed the tousled witch looking up from her mortar and pestle. “I'm... um... hh...” I’m unable to talk just yet because I’m trying to sneeze. He sensed her at his side, even as he struggled and pleaded for the sensation to free itself. He turned a bit, not exactly enthusiastic for her to see his face in this state, yet unable to care too terribly much at this point. “Hhhh... HhHH-!”

He waited. Jaga waited. They both waited.

Aaand nothing. Again.

Arkady gulped at the air and fervidly blinked away the stars in his eyes for what felt like the hundredth time. "Hhh... Sorry… I’m-”

"You can't sneeze," Jaga said simply. Though at least a decade older than the prince, she was eight inches shorter, and yet somehow she seemed to be right in his face, staring up the length of her own nose at his unmanageable one. She appeared very interested in him.

"Um," Arkady felt himself flushing again, "yes." He sniffled, rubbed at his upper lip. "I just want to do away with whatever’s causing this," he admitted, "but Queen Cveta is worried it might mean something.”

"And she should be," Jaga said. "Ilari is trying to send you a message."

Arkady slumped his shoulders. "You think so too?"

"How do you feel right now?" Jaga ignored his question to field her own. "Does your nose still tickle? Do you feel that you could sneeze any moment? Or is it more of an itch you can't scratch?"

"I-I don't know," Arkady panted, "but the more you tuh... talk about it, the more I want... tuhhhh... Hh, h, heh, nh-!" His mounting breaths hit an octave that seemed to promise results, but all too soon he was sighing out the air he'd swallowed, unfulfilled. Arkady cupped a hand over his poor abused nose. "Ugh... the more I want to sneeze."

Jaga's eyes were glittering like camel jasper. "How interesting," she said. "You really need it, don't you? But you still can't manage to do it?"

Throwing the truth back in his face kind of stung. "Well, yes, as a matter of fact," he huffed.

Jaga put her hands on her hips, staring off into space thoughtfully. She did this for long enough that Arkady felt the tickle in him stirring again, a demanding little niggle, yet it would not be satisfied. He went to touch his nose, to relieve it even just a tiny bit, and was surprised to feel a hand upon his wrist stopping him.

"H-Hey. Don't." It was a lame argument, but the current pulse of the distant sneeze had left him in a trance-like state where all he could think about was relief.

“I know it's bothering you," Jaga said with a smirk, "and I don't blame you for wanting to scratch. But listen. If I learned anything from Rosa, it's that the ailments of the royal family are never to be ignored. And even you know well enough that sneezing is considered a direct message from the gods.”

"But I'm not sneezing." Arkady hoped the slight whine in his voice would inspire sympathy. "Isn't that the opposite of a sign?"

Jaga shook her head. "Without a doubt, it’s a sign," she said. She went back to her table and returned with a nearly-empty clay mug. "The leaves told me all I needed to know. Something important is going to happen today. And your sneezing—or not-sneezing, rather—might just be connected to it."

"We already know what the important thing is," Arkady grumbled. "Prince Ivar and his entourage are coming."

"Perhaps that is the important thing," Jaga said as she circled the rim of the mug with her finger, "perhaps it isn't. But in order for the gods' sign to arrive when it needs to arrive, you must leave your nose alone. If you try to make the sneeze come too soon or late, you may never receive the message they are sending you. The fact that you can't sneeze, that you try and fail? This is all part of their plan. Be patient, and trust their judgment."

Arkady's fingers grasped uselessly at the air before his face. "At this point, I'd... rather s... s-sneez- ha-haH…!"

Jaga waited with him in the pregnant silence that followed. She tsked any time his fingers went too close to his nostrils, desperate to rub or aid in any way possible. The self-consciousness over the faces he was pulling was disappearing fast: every time his breathing snagged, all he could hope was that the sneeze was coming at last and that he'd be free of this strange torment. And it held him just above his breaking point for so long, when the sneeze did finally disappear, Arkady snarled at the ceiling, "There’d better be a good reason for this, damn it!"

Old Rosa might have gasped at that, but Jaga was made of different stuff. "Don't brush the gods off so quickly," she said with a light laugh. "You've done nothing to anger them—well, aside from the aforementioned damning. Right?”

Arkady paused. “I can’t think of anything.”

Jaga nodded. “You have the blood of Ilari, whose sneeze saved us from the floods. It's possible that your sneeze could even save you. So let it come in its own good time."

“There is nothing good about the time it’s taking.” Arkady sniffed hard. All these tears were turning his sinuses to liquid. “Do you have anything I can use for a handkerchief?”

For a moment, Arkady was afraid she wouldn’t let him blow his nose, but she found him a cloth, and he accepted it gratefully. Using it helped him feel a bit more clear-headed, but now the tickle was merely a dry one instead of wet, which was just as bad. He snuffled around in the kerchief until Jaga commanded, “That’s enough. Leave it be. Leave it!” She swatted at his wrist. “Am I going to have to follow you all day to make sure you don’t scratch?”

The prince reluctantly removed his hands, scowling. “No.”

“Good,” Jaga said. “And you promise me, as soon as you sneeze, you tell me about where you were, what was happening, what you were thinking—everything. Come back if it hasn’t happened in a few more hours.”

“A few more hours?” Arkady stared at her, jaw dropping. “You think it might last that long?!”

“It could,” was the unfortunate response. “If it does last that long than the message is likely to be an important one.”

Arkady was silent, staring down at the kerchief as he folded it into a neat triangle.

Jaga had returned to her pestle and looked at him out of the corner of her eye. “I know a look of doubt when I see one,” she said with a slyness. “I’ll follow you all day if I have to, Prince. Don’t you meddle with that sneeze. If Ilari hadn’t sneezed at the time and place he did, Gornoye wouldn’t exist, and we wouldn’t be having this conversation right now, would we? So you let it alone.”

“All right, all right, I won’t bother it,” Arkady lied. He put the kerchief in his pocket and folded his arms. “Well, then… If the best herbalist in Gornoye has no cure for me, than I suppose I had better go get ready for the Derevo entourage.”

He was being grouchy, he knew, and it only seemed to delight Jaga even more. “Farewell, Prince Arkady. And remember to have patience.”

“Have patience,” he muttered under his breath once he was outside. He knuckled his nose. Who in the world could exercise patience when they felt like he did? Sneezes stopped and started three times in just the short walk from Jaga’s workspace back to the main palace and solarium. It was insanity.

Arkady snorted after the third bout of hitching breaths. Yes, of course he knew about the significance of Ilari’s sneeze; he’d been rocked to sleep with the story many a night, just like every child of the Ossian faith. It went that the great god Ossia, disgusted that the world of his making had been burnt and torn and destroyed by centuries of war, decided to flood the land with a rainstorm. And all the people of the world would have drowned, if the great dragon Ilari had not spontaneously sneezed a hole in the storm clouds, sparing one single mountainside of humanity. Those people had Ilari's blessing. Those people also, allegedly, were Arkady's ancestors.

In earnest, Arkady figured the chances of that were slim. His was not the only mountain town that believed they were the one saved by Ilari’s sneeze. The ancient texts told the story but never specified the location of the spared mountain. For him to be the true prince whose veins flowed with Ilari’s divinity was what he’d been told all his life, and something he’d doubted for just as long.

Though he debated the legitimacy of his birthright, Arkady did believe that the gods played some role in his fate. He also, however, hoped that the gods would have more efficient means of sending him a message than... this. "Hh! Hh-shhuh... hh..." The sneeze only stirred faintly this time before backing down. Arkady scrubbed and scrubbed his nose. Sometimes the tickle was an icicle point, a sharp stimulus, while at most times a puddle, a tingly sensation spread out over his entire nose but overall not near enough of a disturbance to make his breath catch. He wasn't sure which was worse. When the urge crested, the end seemed so tantalizingly close, and to have it taken away was crushing. When it was no more than a faint humming, it made him feel prickly and unsettled. It was ridiculous to go on doing nothing at all. Thus, Arkady had no intention of following Jaga’s advice. He was going to rid himself of this sneeze.

The method to do so was in itself a problem that needed solving. Arkady knew that some sneezed from the fur of animals or certain flowers or a musty room, but those things had never much bothered him. He tried to think of a time he had sneezed from something other than a spontaneous tickle or seasonal cold, and couldn't conjure a memory. And despite Svetlana's suggestion that he try spicy food, Arkady had never been so adversely affected by it. What options did that leave him?

Arkady thought back to the legend of Ilari. In some tellings of the story, it was said that the dragon god had sneezed when a bird had flown too close to their nose or even into their nose. Maybe, Arkady reasoned, he needed some external stimulus in order to get things moving too. He certainly wasn’t interested in waiting for the tickle to sort itself out.

A bird was small for a dragon, but for him a feather would work all the same. As he made his way to his family’s living quarters, Arkady tried to remember if there was a quill in his room. When had he last written a letter? “Hh…” It might have been the congratulations to Prince Feofan on the birth of his firstborn… “Hhehf…” Or the prayers to burn for the Vernal Equinox… “Huuffh!” He had to stop walking when the building sneeze temporarily blinded him, making his eyes clamp tight and squeeze out water. Gods, how he wanted it… If a feather couldn’t bring on this—“Huhh…”—stubborn thing, what could?

Arkady massaged the end of his nose to soothe the sharper stings the marauding itch left in its warpath. When he looked up, he realized the two guards that manned the entrance to the plateau’s inner wall were watching him. He stiffened, self-conscious. Did everyone feel the need to stare at a sneezing person?

As Arkady continued through the entrance, one managed, shakily, “A-Are you all right, Prince?”

“No,” Arkady grumbled, slouching past them. He had given up on looking put-together.

“Uh… is Ilari with you?” the second guard asked. She had at least recognized it was a sneeze that had stalled him. What she wasn’t sure of was if it had come out or not, for if she were certain it had, her words wouldn’t have been a question.

“Would that he could be,” was the monotone reply thrown over his shoulder. He heard a confused, “What do you mean, Prince?” follow behind him that he chose not to heed.

Arkady proceeded up the stairs of the verandah to the sleeping chambers. Beneath the porch’s long overhang was a series of doors leading to the individual bedrooms. Each royal child had their own bedroom, complete with bath and antechamber, and as he passed by, he could hear muffled conversation between his siblings and an attendant beyond the walls as they spruced up for their most important guests. Arkady knew he should be calling on Wolfert to help him with his wardrobe as soon as possible, but… all in good time. Getting rid of this sneeze was his top priority right now.

When Arkady opened the door to his own quarters, he was surprised to see his mother in the antechamber, seated on one of four hand-painted benches overflowing with decorative pillows. His heart sunk immediately; he’d have to talk with her before he could try his hand at tempting this sneeze, and he could barely put up with it for another second.

“Oh, hello,” he said, in a tone that he hoped did not sound any bit annoyed.

The Queen sat up taller at his arrival, even though she had been sitting with near-perfect posture. “Ah, there you are. That took a while. Did Jaga say you’re all right?”

Arkady blinked and recognized an opportunity. “I met Vjera along the way. We talked for a bit. That’s why I took so long,” he began. He coughed. “Uh, in any case, Jaga says she doesn’t think anything is wrong.”

Queen Cveta looked uncertain. “She doesn’t?”

“She doesn’t.” Arkady sniffed. “In fact, I sneezed while I was there.” That was the hardest lie to tell, for how much he wished it were the truth. “She doesn’t think the gods have anything to do with it. Sh-She thinks I must just be having a reaction to something in the garden.” He sniffed again.

Queen Cveta shook her head at once. “That can’t be right. We have tea with honey from our bees every day. You’d have surely built up a tolerance to anything growing there. Jaga of all people should know that.”

Uh-oh. “She thinks something different might be growing there,” he corrected quickly. “Some new, foreign thing… It was the only explanation she could thiiiink ah… of.” It’s the only explanation I can think of, anyway. “I-It’s still k-k-ki-hind of bothering me,” he was forced to say next, because the sneeze was starting up again and there was no way he could pretend it wasn’t. He pulled out the handkerchief Jaga gave him and rubbed his nose with it.

Queen Cveta observed him a moment longer. “All right,” she said at last, standing to her slippered feet. “If that’s what Jaga says… I suppose we had better find out what that plant could be, when we have the time. Will you be fine getting ready for our guests?”

“Hhhhhh… Hh!... heh… fyew. I, uh, sh-should be,” Arkady stuttered, lowering the handkerchief pathetically when the sneeze backed off. It was getting harder and harder to recover from the dizziness of the tickle. “They—snf!—should be arriving in around two hours, correct?”

The Queen nodded. “Yes, I think so. I’ve got to make sure all the preparations are in order, so I should leave now. Goodbye.”

“Oh. Goodbye,” he repeated, surprised but not disappointed by her suddenly taking leave. No sooner had she shut the door behind her that Arkady was moving out of the antechamber into his own bedroom, more than ready to find that quill.

His room was finely decorated in jeweled chests and embossed dressers and a beautifully-carved set of drawers with a shrine on top for water offerings, all wonderful gifts from visitors and royal families from far and wide. He didn’t treat them with the respect they deserved as he pawed through their contents, with his mind on one thing only. “Where is it… Where is it…” he started mumbling under his breath after his desk had been thoroughly searched, his bedside table emptied of all its candles and books. “It has to be here…” There were sure to be quills in the study, but that was in the main palace, and he didn’t want to risk his mother or Jaga sighting him. Plus, he wanted relief now.

The room had been turned upside-down. There was no quill in sight. The search had taken twenty minutes, a good portion of that time dedicated to waiting for his non-sneeze to dissipate enough that he could get back to said fruitless searching. Arkady's frustration mixed with the tickle had brought him near to tears. He flopped onto the bed, clawing his hair with both hands and chewing his lip. If he didn't do something about this now, he was going to lose it.

And that was when he remembered it. His pillows were feather pillows. There were thousands of them there the whole time, and now they were right under his head! But the only way to get to them was to rip through the hemstitched tussah silk.

Was he that desperate? He was.

But not so desperate that he was going to tear the innocent pillow apart like a barbarian. Arkady used his hip dagger to cut a delicate slit in the material, something that could hopefully be mended quite easily, but he shed any remaining trepidation when the pillow’s bounty was spilled. Innocent down, ashen gray and white, immediately bled from the wound, sticking up in tufts. The littlest bits of feathers floated into the air around his face, which had his eyes rolling back into his skull immediately.

“Heh-hh! Hh! H! H! H!” His gasps were so quick and light, they were almost silent. The tendrils he was sure he’d inhaled were having a horrible effect on him. This tickle was different, not a puppy’s nip but the playful grapple of a dog’s maw, so much more powerful but still not something to be taken seriously. Hitching and huffing against the minuscule plumes, he was eventually driven so mad that he had to pinch his nose with his entire hand; he couldn’t for the life of him wait another second for that sensation to mature into a sneeze, even if, by some miracle, that was the solution. When the worst of the sting faded, he loosened his grip and snorted hard to launch any feathery debris out. He wanted to sneeze, after all, not torture himself.

The feathers inside the pillow were much smaller than he had anticipated them being. The longest ones were scarcely more than an inch, and he had to dig around for quite a while to find one that he could actually hold the stem of without also holding the entire feather. His decided tool was still rather disheartening. A writing quill would have been far more dangerous, with its tapered point and great length. He hoped that the fluffiness of the down would make up for that.

The introduction of the feather’s rounded tip to the inside of his nostril initially seemed promising. The gentle barbs coaxed at the sneeze when they twitched against fragile pink skin, and Arkady’s heart soared at the thought that the end was nigh. But after half a minute of tickling, the sneeze only seemed further away. Eyebrows lowering, Arkady dug the feather deeper. Again, the sneeze receded, and he chased it like a hound after a burrowing rabbit. But soon he encountered the same problem that many dogs did: the prey was farther back in its hole than fangs could reach. The barbs of the feather were not long enough to graze the back of his nose.

Arkady pushed so that the beds of his fingernails were right against the opening of his nostril, the feather stretched to its limits. It still wasn’t enough; the sneeze danced merrily out of reach, arching its back and teasing him horribly but not allowing him the relief he longed for like anything. How ridiculous could this get? He had never known of anyone trying this hard to sneeze with such little success. Sure, he’d had a sneeze disappear on him before, but normally that only meant a moment of disappointment, a little throb that fast went away. His sneezes were usually utterly unremarkable. They came and went, in ones, twos, and rarely threes, if he were sick or if the urge had been especially strong, and after a brief shake of his head and a sniffle, Arkady would go on with his day. This sneeze was a bully. This sneeze felt alive. And as the hound could think of nothing but the death of its prey when it was so close, so too was Arkady determined.

He pushed that feather as far as it would reach. And somehow, some way, he felt its single longest follicle graze the back of his nose.

Arkady’s chest stuttered. Success. He swelled with pride. He couldn’t stop now. He scratched and swiped the feather against the sensitive skin, against the sneeze which had nowhere left to run. He starting inhaling fittishly and didn’t stop.

“Hhh, hh, hh, hh, hh! Hh! Hh-!”

His lungs felt enormous. His nose burned. The sneeze seemed real, close, about to break out of him. “Huh! Huhhhh! Hhhhhhhh…!” Arkady could take in air no more. All he needed was one more swipe of the feather… One more touch and then, surely… Surely…

It was at this crucial moment that Arkady found his hand unable to move. Possessed by the sheer power of this urge, he could devote himself to no other function. But that would be his undoing.

“H? Hh?? H-hhh???”

The possibility was fading fast, and Arkady briefly panicked, swirling the small feather wherever it could easily reach. But he was losing the breaths he’d gathered, and he knew it was over even before he felt an arm pulling his hand away from his face and an ever-jocular voice admonishing, “Now, Prince, I told you not to meddle with it, didn’t I?”

It took a while for his eyes to open, and even longer for his breathing to even out, so then for some time he could only stare at Jaga and Queen Cveta looking down at him, the witch smiling in amusement and his mother looking none-too-pleased.

“I hoped it wasn’t true, but I had a feeling I was being lied to,” Queen Cveta began. “Jaga has confirmed it. Why did you not tell me the truth?”

Arkady took a few more deep breaths. His diaphragm had been through a lot today. “I’m sorry,” he said to the Queen, when he was at last able to speak, “but I can’t tell you how badly I want to sneeze.” Then to Jaga, he said, “‘Meddling’ doesn’t do me any good, it still won’t happen. This isn’t a normal sneeze. The gods are punishing me, and I don’t know what for, but I have to find out and make it up to them as soon as possible.”

To his surprise and Queen Cveta’s, Jaga began to laugh. “Prince, Prince, Prince,” she shook her head, “what reason would the gods have to punish you?”

Arkady shook his head back. “As I said, I don’t know why. Of all days too; today should be about Vjera.”

Vjera… At her name, something dawned on him. “I know why,” he sighed, looking at his lap. “I’ve asked the gods every day for the past month if they could find Prince Ivar a different queen. But it was a selfish wish, and this is how they’re letting me know.”

“Arkady! Why would you pray for such a thing?” Queen Cveta stood tall. “This marriage will allow your sister to rule in a way she could not if she were to stay here. It isn’t right for you to use your influence over the gods in such a manner. This is a shameful thing for my successor to do.”

“I know,” Arkady answered evenly. “I see that now.” He looked up. “I could apologize for my actions, but then I will have lied to you twice in one day.”

The Queen temporarily maintained her ferocity, but her face soon softened into one of a mother. “I understand your sadness,” she said. She closed her eyes and became a queen again. “But that is the way of our world. Whatever kindnesses we offer ourselves often means we are taking something away from our people. And instead of praying for Gornoye’s continued protection and peace, you chose to ask for this. I almost find the gods’ punishment too light… but they know better than I do what is deserved.”

Arkady wanted to tell the Queen that this ‘punishment’ was, in fact, not something he would wish even on an enemy, but he was too busy dealing with said punishment to say so. The tickle was bubbling to the surface with as many empty promises as ever. “Feh,” he gasped anyway, weakly pleading with the sneeze for mercy, despite everything it had put him through today. It bothered and wheedled away, digging deeper than a feather or a breath could pry it out of, no matter how much he called to it. “Hh, heh! Heh, sheh! Ht-tz-! … … …shyew…”

It wasn’t a sneeze. Just like earlier with Vjera on the bridge, he’d made some kind of approximate noise in place of the sneeze, as if that would do him any good. Arkady tearily knuckled at his nose while Jaga and Queen Cveta exchanged glances.

“Was that… a sneeze?” the Queen finally asked.

Arkady gave a big snuffle. “No.”

“Hmmmmm,” hummed Jaga, rubbing her chin and looking as suspiciously amused as ever. After a thoughtful moment, she grinned. “Well, Prince Arkady, I suppose you’ll just have to wait it out. If the gods don’t want you to sneeze yet, it certainly isn’t going to happen.”

“Ugh.” Arkady massaged where his nose, eyes, and forehead met. “I’m not going to make for much of a host when I’m like this,” he grumbled, “but there’s not a lot of time left before Prince Ivar’s arrival. I just have to put up with it then?”

“Afraid so,” Jaga shrugged with her arms out to the sides. She then raised one hand up, swiveling her wrist to gesture somewhat lazily at the ceiling. “The gods will do as they will. But, sneezing or not, you have a job to do. It’s time we got back to readying for the entourage.”

“Right, right… Only two and a half hours to go.” Arkady stood up, going to ring the bell that would signal the attendant who helped him prepare and dress. Before he did, he called again to the Queen’s retreating back, “I’m sorry to have disappointed you.”

She stopped and did not look at him, but said back with soft reservation, “Arkady… I thought by now you understood the way of things.”

“I thought I did too,” Arkady said. “I guess I still have a lot to learn.”

The Queen did not respond to that or look at him, but she did not seem angry either. Only Jaga responded, with a sparkly-eyed look that the prince wasn’t quite sure how to decipher, before she too left the room.

__________________________________________________

Arkady did not advise trying to sneeze while someone was washing your hair. It was, unfortunately, now advice he could give based on personal experience. Wolfert was still apologizing as he brushed the deep brown strands, as sorry about his mistake as Arkady should have been for abusing his influence over the gods.

“I’m so, so sorry. I should have noticed,” Wolfert fretted for the sixth or seventh time.

“Ih-hih-hhhit’s fine-hUH! … This is g-going tooooh… k-k-keep happening, so, huh…” Arkady pinched his nose tight, massaging it in his fist. “Ugh… I may as well get used to… w-warning people about it.”

Arkady was trying to be reassuring, but now his nose itched and his sinuses felt singed. He’d had to sneeze in the middle of the bath, a possession which had hit him a hundredfold, almost as badly as when he’d had the feather in his nose. He’d had no time to warn Wolfert of the gathering urge before it had him yawning wide, nose scrunched back. And then, splash. A bucketful of water had cascaded over his soapy head, entering his lungs and making him choke and snort like a bull.

Since then, the tickle had escalated, no longer just a phantom urge. It felt like something was actually physically inside his nose, like a piece of dust or a hair, but no amount of snorting or nose blowing would resolve it. Arkady never imagined that water could cause such a response. All he knew was that it had made everything worse. Now there were no breaks from the huffing and fluttery talk. It was a feeling that constantly waxed and waned and brought him to the edge of the shore, only to drag him back out like a wicked undertow.

Everyone seemed to know about his predicament now too. No doubt his siblings had been gossiping with their attendants. Zlata, Pedja, and Svetlana each came into his bedchamber at one point, fully outfitted, to find out if he’d sneezed yet. They all lingered a bit after learning he hadn’t, too, as if wanting to be present when the dam finally burst. To them, his frantic breathing must sound as if he was very close to success, but by now Arkady knew better.

Wolfert was pinning up his hair (not the easiest task with a constantly fidgeting subject) when Vjera took her own turn in his room. “Dmitar told me you still haven’t sneezed! You poor thing!” she fretted, wringing her hands in front of her. “Are you going to be all right at dinner?”

Arkady struggled to smile, to reassure her. He could feel how very lopsided it was. “Prah… Probably not,” he managed. He rubbed his nose, which did almost nothing to help him speak. “I stih-stih-still-! Intend to b-be there-! No matter, hhhh…! Whuh-What.” He gave a hard sniffle, which caused his head to jerk, the comb to tug too hard, and the tickle to respond with absolute panic. Instantly, he was a mess of fits and starts, barely able to hear Wolfert’s “Sorry! I’m sorry! I’m so, so sorry!” in the background. How was he going to make it through dinner without causing a scene? The answer was, he wasn’t. Usually Arkady would have taken absence from a formal meal under circumstances such as these, but Vjera was leaving tomorrow, and he wasn’t going to sacrifice any of the short time he had left with her.

It took a lot of pawing and nudging against a very upset nose, but Arkady finally managed to compose himself enough that he could somewhat speak again. “I-I’m going to try… not to be too obvious.” It was hard enough to say that with only a hint of a struggle. “I may not make f-f-fah, for a… a g-great host, but snf! I’ll at l-heast be… present.” At his sister’s pitying look, he hung his head and sighed, “Th-This is honestly the b… best I can do.”

“I know it is. That’s why I feel so sorry for you,” Vjera said. “It doesn’t bother me, I just feel awful is all. I don’t know why the gods would do this to you now of all times.”

Arkady wanted to explain, but it wouldn’t be right to say so in front of Wolfert. “I’m sure th… they have their-!” With a sudden, sharp inhale, his eyes squeezed tightly shut. It took a whole ten seconds for him to regain control. When he was able to see again, both Wolfert and Vjera were gazing down at him sadly. The suspense seemed to be killing everybody. Arkady could only finish lamely, “… Their reasons.”

When the Queen and all six of her progeny had been made to look their best, they began their procession to the outer courtyard with a small pack of guards in tow. It wasn’t long before Queen Cveta decided that Arkady wasn’t in the best of minds to navigate the stone steps leading down the mountain, and instructed him to meet them in the solarium for dinner instead. It was evening now, and their guests would surely want to sup as soon as they made it to the Plateau. Arkady had wanted to talk with Vjera on the way down, but he had to admit it just couldn’t be. Jaga looped her arm through his to help guide him back up the short distance he’d descended.

“How are you feeling, Prince?” she began by asking, a smile very present in her voice.

“Hehhh!” was all Arkady could manage at that particular moment.

Jaga cackled but tightened her grip on her swaying charge. “I’m glad I got a chance to chat with you privately. This may be very unorthodox of me to say, but I thought you ought to know: I don’t think Queen Cveta is correct. I stand by my original point. I think the gods are trying to protect you from something.”

Arkady brought his handkerchief up to his face. He couldn’t open his eyes or keep pace so well. “Ahhah… O-Oh-kah-kay…!”

“Are you going to sneeze?” Jaga sounded as curious as a she-cat.

Arkady shook his head rapidly, sure he looked to all the world like a person about to absolutely collapse sneezing. He had stopped hoping that the sneeze was about to come, because that only lead to discouragement. “D-Do me a favor,” he gasped after coming down from the tickle’s latest crest. “Don’t ask me if I’m about to sneeze. I’m not.”

“Very well,” Jaga said, almost soothingly, or at least it was coming from her. “It does seem to be worse than earlier, though, doesn’t it? Perhaps the moment is soon to arrive.”

“Don’t try to lift my hopes,” Arkady sighed as they approached the doors of the main palace and went inside. “And I have no idea what a sneeze could protect me from. It really f-feels… It f-fuh… It… It feels lihihi…” Arkady shut one eye tight, the other half-open, trying to talk past the tickle since it kept insisting on interrupting him. “Feels mah-more… like a… p… HA!” His enormous gasp filled the vaulted ceiling and echoed down around them. It was so spontaneously loud and poignant that for one bright moment, Arkady thought, Oh gods it really is here this time, and swung his head back to accept it. But he should have known better. It was just another fluke, set up seemingly to break his spirit.

“This is agony,” he groaned. “This whole day. It shouldn’t have been about this—” His hand gestured a circle in the air before his nose “—it should have been about saying goodbye to Vjera. I have no idea when I’ll see her again. And she needed my support, but I was too busy to offer it properly.” Arkady paused. “She doesn’t want to go, Jaga. You know that. When she came to you with the stomachache this morning, you knew that, too.” Jaga’s eyes were somewhat downcast. “And she wouldn’t open up to you either, would she? It’s all because of the way things are. The way they have to be for kings and queens and princes and princesses. You learn to keep everything inside, so that your people never have to see it, but then when do you let it go? When does Vjera let it go? It can’t keep building up forever, it can’t stay inside forever. But has it ever for her? If she won’t even tell me how she feels, who will she tell? Eventually, the truth has to come out. Doesn’t it? And maybe I could have convinced Vjera to tell me it, if I only I didn’t have this stupid…” Arkady trailed off.

The whole hall went quiet. Jaga reached out to him. “Prince–”

Arkady placed his hand on her shoulder unsteadily, breath chuffing. “Jaga, I’m going to sneeze…”

“Oh? Are you?” The witch rooted herself in place to better support him. “Isn’t that curious...”

Like a tidal wave, his sneeze seemed at last to be gathering itself for something momentous. Arkady felt blind and helpless beneath it; he was blind and helpless beneath it. His eyes were closed so tightly that a thousand tiny suns seemed to be exploding against his lids, but he couldn’t pay them any mind due to the reason his eyes were closed in the first place. Oh gods, the tickle. It was surely divine. It felt larger than him, larger than anything his body could have concocted or handled on its own, and he was at its mercy. It occurred to him, with sudden dread, that it was too much for him to handle, that, though it seemed to lick every sensitive part of his sinuses at once with fiery tongues, a sneeze could not possibly be born from such overpowering stimulation. His lungs pushed his chest out to its farthest as they took in every bit of air they could hold. He couldn’t move. He was absolutely frozen with the desire to sneeze.

Seconds ticked by, ten aching, unreal seconds of miserable itching. And at the end of it, still Arkady didn’t sneeze.

He wasn’t going to sneeze. Not yet. It was as if the gods were saying, Trust us. We know what we’re doing.

Arkady gasped as his lungs seemed to remember how to work. His eyes popped open wide, his senses returning to him. He turned slowly to look down at Jaga; her eyes were wide too. He realized then how much he must have been relying on her to keep on his feet. He swallowed, wrinkled his nose, and then wrinkled it even more when he realized just how badly his nostrils wanted a good rub for all their trouble.

Jaga didn’t chuckle at this display. “This is serious,” she said quietly. He had never heard her so sobered.

Arkady smudged the heel of his hand under his nose vigorously. “I think you’re right, but I also can’t imagine how or why it could be serious.”

“Allow me to join you at dinner tonight,” Jaga went on as if she didn’t hear him. “The moment you sneeze is going to be meaningful, I can tell. I should be with you when it happens, so I can assess what caused it.”

“Gods, I hope it happens at dinner,” Arkady had just finished saying when the doors to the main hall opened, and in poured the Derevo entourage.

The man that Vjera was arm-in-arm with must have been Prince Ivar. He was tall and handsome and brown-haired and his eyes were large, inviting. He was laughing and smiling down at Arkady’s sister warmly. He wore a green coat covered in black and gold embroidery, and there was a sash around his waist that held a sheathed knife to his middle. Vjera smiled at her betrothed too. They were still twenty feet away, so Arkady couldn’t be sure, but he hoped the grin on her face was a genuine one.

Jaga released Arkady so that he could bow and kneel before their guest. “Prince Ivar, w-welcome. I hope your travels went well. I am sorry that I was unable to, hh… meet you at the entrance.”

“Stand, please! I’m not used to these formalities from other royals, and I understand you are feeling under the weather.” Prince Ivar’s voice was like a newly-minted coin. “Where I come from, it is the servants and guardsmen who bow when royalty passes them by.”

Upon hearing that, Jaga, a bit confused but wanting to show a good impression, sunk down on one knee.

Arkady stood then, deciding too it was best not to say anything, but secretly wondering If he is my family’s guest, why would Jaga bow to him?

He shook the other prince’s hand, but immediately after felt his face begin to quirk in the same way it had all day. Vjera swiftly took the attention off her brother. “You and your entourage must be hungry after your travels. Why don’t we have your belongings delivered to your lodgings while we have dinner?”

Prince Ivar responded with approval, but Arkady could scarcely pay attention to his words, because his nose was going absolutely wild, and Jaga was once again tasked to keep him from toppling over.

“Hh-! Hh-ha! Jahh, Jagahh… HEH! Do yah, you h-h-have… Hhhh… A k-kerchief I could… Hhhh…” His nose was running in some far-back place, and it was hindering far more than it was helping.

“Easy, easy,” she said, as his breathing returned to some approximation of control, and handed him the cloth. Arkady blew into it. It helped a bit, but not at all to the degree he would have liked. “Prince, do I have your permission to join you in the solarium? I won’t take a place at the table. I merely want to observe.”

Arkady nodded with his eyes closed. His voice would not be reliable until he got the sneeze out—whenever that would be. As he continued to touch at his nose, Jaga guided him forward.

The dining table was long enough to host thirty people at once, which was useful considering the size of Prince Ivar’s party. Ivar sat directly opposite Queen Cveta, at the other end of the table, with Vjera to his left to keep him company. Arkady was torn, wanting to sit to Prince Ivar’s right in order to get to know him better, but also not wanting to spend formalities dithering with this sneeze. Seeing as he was already dithering with a sneeze, though, Jaga was in charge of directing him and decided he should sit with his mother and two youngest siblings at their end. He supposed it was for the best that Prince Ivar didn’t have to hear him wheezing. It worked out well for Zlata and Pedja, anyway, who were significantly more interested in witnessing their brother’s sneeze than making heads or tails of adult small talk.

“You still didn’t sneeze, right? I didn’t miss it?” Zlata asked in an excited whisper as her eldest brother sat next to her.

“Your deepest and most sincere condolences are more appreciated than you will ever know,” Arkady said.

Zlata looked away quickly and looked back. “Wellll… you didn’t, right?”

As another exhale stuttered out of him, Arkady gave her watery look that hopefully said, Gee, do you think?

Jaga was standing against the wall behind him, arms folded politely behind her back. He could feel her eyes on him too. How badly everyone wanted to be there for the eventual arrival of this sneeze. How badly they must think that, with each poignant, biting gasp, he was about to succumb to this almighty irritation. Arkady no longer let himself believe the torment was about to end. If he did, he would break his own spirit a hundred times over. He did, however, begin to accept its presence. Whether there to help or hinder, it was the doing of the gods that he feel this way. He would just have to trust their judgment.

It wasn’t until the fish dumpling soup was brought out that Arkady recognized just how hungry he was. He realized, too, how tricky the task of eating becomes when needing to sneeze as badly as he did. Even if he didn’t believe the sneeze was really coming yet, it felt dangerous to have a hot mouthful of broth when his body so vehemently wanted him to be working out this tickle. He shook his head against it and grimaced long enough that some of the guests were starting to notice one of their hosts was pulling the strangest faces imaginable, duck his chin though he might.

“Are you all right, Prince Arkady?” called the voice of a stranger.

Arkady could only wave in the direction of the speaker. He put his napkin around his face to hide his latest grimace. This was embarrassing…

“He’s all right, he just can’t sneeze,” Arkady heard Zlata explain in his stead. He looked at her weakly out of his peripherals. He didn’t feel all right: he felt like he wanted to fall asleep and wake up completely sneezeless.

“Hmm. That sounds like Ilari’s doing,” came another response from the Derevo entourage.

“Huh-!” Arkady couldn’t help gasping audibly, earning some chuckles from around the room.

“I’m sorry for you, friend,” Prince Ivar called next. “I want to say ‘Ilari is with you’ but it seems more likely that he’s somewhere else entirely.”

More laughter. Arkady tried to laugh too, which wasn’t the most difficult when his breathing already sounded a bit like that. A smile was hard to hold though, and he found himself tucking back into his napkin for whatever privacy he could salvage.

The voice that came next was sterner. “Prince Ivar is right. Ilari is not with this young man anymore. He must have done something to deserve punishment.”

That comment seemed to make the air a bit cold. Prince Ivar was the one to restore the happy atmosphere. “Says the old bat who skipped prayer this morning to catch a few extra winks! Cheer up, Sacha, have more wine. Which reminds me—I brought plenty of wine from our vineyards, too. They say there’s no other like it in all Vyshtopa, after all. Sacha, why don’t you go fetch it? I’m sure one of the guards would be happy to direct you to where they’re keeping our carts.”

Sacha was quiet for a moment. Then he stood carefully to his feet. “… Certainly. Apologies for my outburst, Queen Cveta.”

Arkady wasn’t sure how his mother handled the situation, because he was then overcome by a tickle of such proportions that none in the solarium could ignore his desperate, “Hh-huhhuh, htz, hdT-! HEHT-! … … … shiew…”

At that noise, all dialogue paused, until Prince Ivar had to ask, “Was that… a sneeze?”

“No,” Arkady choked out, and the air was full of collective groans of sympathy or mild laughter. Arkady mopped at his eyes with his napkin. He didn’t really like being the center of attention over anything, let alone this, and tried to focus on why he was even forcing himself to be at dinner in the first place. He glanced over at Vjera to see her conversing with her future husband. She caught his eye a moment later, looked at him with mild worry. Arkady wanted to smile, to assuage her, but a newly budding sneeze was already turning his mouth into a deep, harsh frown. He blew his nose and tried not to think about how much he wanted to leave. Building up to a sneeze this much was starting to tire him out…

“There we are! Thank you, Sacha.” Next thing he knew, the wine had been delivered, Prince Ivar himself pouring the dark liquid. “The first glass should go to Prince Arkady, I do believe. It’s strong stuff. It might just knock that wicked sneeze out of you!”

That was a nice idea. Arkady had his doubts it would be the case. Still, he gratefully accepted the beverage when it was delivered to him, wanting very much to show his guests that he was made for more than entertainment.

The wine was like liquid velvet. Its color was akin to the darkest blood. Asking his nose to quiet down and behave for just a moment, Arkady brought his lips to the rim of the glass…

Immediately, like a live thing, the tickle fought him.

It was like a hornet’s nest crashing to the earth and the entire swarm billowing up at once. That was the only way to describe the way in which the sneeze was now treating him. His head jerked away from the glass instinctively, snatching a huge breath through his nose. There was nothing coy about this feeling. It wasn’t the dipping, darting butterfly of a sneeze that had been flitting about his sinuses all day, but a dagger, poised to strike. A dagger hovering right over his heart. But a dagger was harmless until it pierced flesh…

Arkady opened his eyes, his vision swirling with tears. The wine could have been blood. Could it be a dagger?

Again he brought his lips to the glass. His nose touched the opposite rim.

And that’s when he knew he was going to sneeze.

The lessons of a prince were deeply ingrained. On any normal day, Arkady would have stopped this sneeze by rubbing his tongue against his front teeth until its tang lessened. Even if it were strong, he would have fought it off with all his might, because that was what you did when you were royalty. But that didn’t matter anymore. There was no way Arkady was going to let it get away from him now. All day, he had been putting up with this. All day, he had begged and pleaded for something to happen. If his body was really allowing this long-awaited event to happen, no force in the world could hold him back. This sneeze might as well be the strongest force in the world.

And suddenly, in Arkady’s mind, there was no world. There was only the sneeze.

“Hhh!”

It was right there.

“Hah-!”

It was right there.

“HhhHA-AH!”

It was right there, right on the edge, bristling like a mad thing-

“KUH-HUHHT! HAAAHH-AA! … … … AAAATTSSCCCHHHIIIUUU!!”

And then, it was out. At last, it was out.

Oh, sweet relief.

One would not be enough. As soon as the first was free, its entourage came right after, bringing with them just as much relief as their prince. “AHHHht’SHAO! K’SHOO! Huh-SHKSH! K’SH-! SHOO! H’ehshESH! K’kehsh! H’ehsh…! … SHOO!”

Ten would not be enough. Each sneeze was like a balm to the raw insides his nose had become. Never had he known such a persistent itch, and finally it was being scratched, scratched, scratched, from the back to the front with sneezes like raking fingers. “AhppSHOO! Hh-huSHOO! -shIEW! Ekk-shoo!ksh’ksh’ksh-SHOO! EPSH! H’hek’SHH! Ah’KSH! Hh! Hut-TCHOO! Hyet-! … tsCHOO! A’chshoo! Snf! Huh! H’kt’tschoo! K’TSCHOO! K-K’SCH! K-k-Keh!HETCH! Ah..! AHPSH! H’psh! Kuh-huh! H’ktshoo-h-hh’tsh!TSH!TSH!”

Thirty would not be enough. Arkady was more than happy to let his senses take over and, sneeze after sneeze, loosen the shackles of his misery. At some point, he had remembered his napkin (or maybe someone had pressed it into his hands—he was completely oblivious to the rest of the world now) and sneezing into that felt even better. He buried his nose into the folds, and it ached wonderfully. “Hehh… Hehhh… Phew…” This time the sneezes weren’t sticking so much as they were giving him a chance to breathe. His nose wouldn’t keep him from reprieve for longer than it needed to. “Heh’et-SHAhh! Het’sha! Het-t-t-SHOO! Kuh’hehSHOO! HehSHOO! H’shoo! H’sh, h’sh, h’sh, h’sh, huh-! hhhH! HUT-SHHHKKSH! SH’KSH! Hef’SHAH! Nnnn’SHEH! Neh’sheh! NnnnSHEH! Hehchh! HehhCHhuh! H-hHeh! Shhhehtch-tch-tch-tch-tch!TCHOO!”

Fifty would not be enough. His nose would not be satisfied until it had thoroughly banished this itch forever. They kept coming, one after another after another after another, feeling so necessary yet indulgent all at once. He gave into them completely, even as he started losing steam. “Shoo! K’shoo! Heh… hehh… hehtnnNn-!…SHOO! Huh-shoo! Huhsh-shoo…! Huhhsh…. Shhoo… Shoo, sh-sh-shoo… Snf! K’shh’nghshh… Huh… Snf… Heh! Snf, snf! Shhuhhuh… Shhuhhehuh…! Hehhhuhhhuhhhh…!”

There was one more floaty bit of something ever-so-carefully teasing him at the very back of his nose. Arkady snuffled against it, trying to spark a reaction. It was only a little one… Surely he could muster one more little one… Then he could be done with this itch for good. Sleepily pleading with his nose to grant him a final sneeze, just one small snortish huff to bluster out that last bit of tickling, that floaty feeling seemed to fluff up and fill the whole of his head with an absolutely merciless itch.

Without meaning to, without feeling any sort of control over himself, Arkady rocked on his chair’s hind legs, threw back his head, and crowed out a very finalizing, “AhhHHHH! Ha-AH!…HET’HAHT-KSHAHHH!”

And then dizzily, drowsily, Arkady’s shoulders drooped, and he sighed a long sigh. His nose was finally, finally at peace. Tired, running a bit, and even a little sore, but at peace.

He must have sneezed for about ten minutes. During the entire hypnotic event, Arkady had heard nothing but his own voice, and now that it was absent, it donned on him just how… oddly the voices around him were pitched. It sounded like arguing. How peculiar… now that his brain was coming back to him, Arkady realized that laughter or silence was a more explicable response. Just what was going on?

He opened his eyes. Desperate tears immediately spilled out, and he had to wipe them on the unused part of his napkin for quite a bit. Once that was finished, Arkady got his first good look of the dining room…

… A majority of which was obscured by a bevy of royal guards, swords drawn and poised in a semicircle around his chair.

Arkady turned side to side rapidly. Queen Cveta was gone from her place at the the table, and so was Pedja, who had been sitting across from him. To his left began the guards, and directly behind him was Jaga, a hand on his chair, smiling wanly down at him.

“Well, well. Seems Ilari is with you after all. Feeling better, Prince Arkady?” she asked, in a taut voice barely hinted with her patented humor.

Arkady still had the napkin around his nose. “Um,” he said from behind it, “what’s going on?”

Jaga gave a single bitter laugh. “The tea never lies,” she said. “Something important did happen today, Prince, and it wasn’t your sister’s betrothal. There was an attempt on your life.”

That was the last thing he had expected. Arkady’s eyes widened. “Wait… Then Mother… Pedja—”

“Are fine,” Jaga filled in quickly. “And so are you, thanks to the gods.” She held up a wine glass, which Arkady realized had been his own. “This,” she said, “is poisoned. I took it from you as soon as you started sneezing. You’re only alive because you couldn’t drink it.” She studied the red liquid. “You’re only alive,” she said distantly, “because the gods willed it so.”

__________________________________________________

An entire week passed before Vjera saw her brother again. Queen Cveta had ordered that he spend that entire time praying: three days fasting, the following four without, but no visitors to interrupt. Vjera and the rest of her family were required to pray too, but not as intensely. Arkady was, according to their mother, currently in the gods’ highest favor, and therefore it was especially necessary that he thank them profusely for his life and ask that Gornoye find a way to reach peace with Derevo.

Queen Cveta left the prayers to her children; she had always been more engaged in the political side of her job, though technically the guard was meant to be in charge of such decisions. Vjera spent her days trying to find out what she could about Prince Ivar: if he had orchestrated the attack on her brother, or if only that angry fellow Sacha had been behind it. Either way, the betrothal was off. Vjera couldn’t say that part exactly disappointed her.

The poison in the wine Arkady had almost drank was slow-acting and difficult to detect. Jaga would not have suspected poison at all, if the sneezing hadn’t alerted her to trouble. It was only after Jaga voiced her suspicions that Queen Cveta asked Sacha to drink; and when he refused, everything had seemed to erupt. Jaga had been working most of the week to even determine what Sacha had used as a toxin. Vjera wasn’t sure if she wanted to know the ways in which the poison would have hurt Arkady. The thought of how close her brother had been to death made her heart pound enough as it was.

At the end of his week of prayers, Vjera was there to greet Arkady outside his bedroom. It was early, and the sky was pink. When he saw her, he looked relieved; for both of them, it seemed seeing was believing, and it was nice to finally have proof the other was all right. They embraced, and then immediately began talking as they walked down the verandah steps.

“You weren’t hurt, were you? You were so close to Ivar. He didn’t try anything, did he?”

“Me? Nothing happened to me; it’s you who was threatened.”

“I don’t really feel like I was,” Arkady admitted. His face looked thinner from the three-day fast. “I suppose that still hasn’t really sunk in. I thanked the gods over and over, but I’m not sure how sincere I sounded. I don’t even know what would have happened if they hadn’t intervened.”

“You would have died,” Vjera said. “And maybe we would have never known why.”

“Then you would have been the heir apparent, and Prince Ivar would have had a good reason to merge the kingdoms,” Arkady said, as if he were reciting it. “I’ve been thinking about that a lot these days.”

“I’ve been thinking about that too much these days,” Vjera sighed. “We may go to war with Derevo over this. For a moment, I want to stop worrying and just be grateful you’re alive…” Her voice broke off at the end.

Arkady paused, put a hand on her shoulder. “I haven’t gone anywhere, Vjera. And neither have you. We have our family. We’re going to be all right.”

She leaned into his hug again, but it was cut short when she felt him try to pull away only seconds later. There was something curiously familiar about the action… and sure enough, when Arkady was far enough away to see his face clearly, his expression was a snarled mask not unlike the one he’d modeled only seven days ago.

“Hhuhhh… hhehhthh…”

He wavered there, his head bobbing once, twice, before snapping down with a modest, “Hef’SHOO!”

Once it was out, his shoulders drooped considerably, and he rubbed a hand across his face. “Oh, thank goodness… For a second, I was worried all that was about to start up again…”

Vjera couldn’t help laughing a bit. “Even after it saved your life?”

“Hey,” Arkady defended with a smirk, “if you knew what it felt like, you wouldn’t want it to happen again either.”

Vjera shook her head. They kept walking. “How did it feel to finally sneeze after all that time, anyway?” she asked, needing a little levity.

Arkady winced, frowning. It was as if he were reliving the ordeal. “It felt like I had been tied in a knot all day and I’d finally been loosened. Or like there had been something unbalanced inside of me and it was balancing again. It wasn’t exactly a good feeling… but it also felt absolutely amazing… Am I making any sense?”

Vjera raised an eyebrow. “Are you saying it was worth the wait?”

Arkady snorted a laugh. “It had to be worth the wait,” he said, “because if it hadn’t been, I would have just gone and downed that whole glass of wine.”

#snz kink #sneeze kink #snz fiction #I don't know what tags people use haha #it's male btw

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staytheb · 3 years

Text

Trip

Pairing: MX’s Shownu x OC [Chaewon] || MX’s Hyungwon x OC [Siyeon] Genre: slice of life, slight fluff Word Count: 2,051 Summary: Siyeon later finds out that their Girls’ Trip turns out to be more of a Couple Trip instead much to her dismay. previously: Closer

Warning: semi-proofread

hihi. am back! and this is part two to Closer. but i still think that you can read it on its own accord. i may or may not write a third part to this, but shall see how i feel or whatever. anyways, this one was fun to write and actually not a re-written chapter, but inspired from one. lol anyways, i thin that’s it so yeah, happy reading and kthxbai, Admin Lia~

"Wow."

Siyeon stared at the place as she, Chaewon, and their two friends who were also sisters, Minjae and Jaehwa, arrived in Seogwipo and were staying at their friends' aunt's home.

"This place is really nice."

"Oh yeah. Aunt Narae uses it as a vacation home and allowed us the space this weekend." Minjae said with a smile.

"Yes" Jaehwa agreed. "And the best part is that we each get to have our own rooms"

Siyeon cast them an incredulous look.

"Wow, really? Usually we just share like always"

"Not this time. One for each of us." Chaewon confirmed with a grin. "We're going all out this time to fully relax."

"Only down side is that we gotta go shopping for supplies and groceries as she didn't have time to prepare us." Minjae stated.

Siyeon groaned and whined a bit.

"I went to sleep late. Woke up early. Flew on a plane, settle, and go out shopping? Boo."

"You'll live." Chaewon commented with a laugh.

"Alright, Siyeon, how about this."

Minjae suddenly prompted as Siyeon cast her friend a puzzled look.

"We'll go out shopping and get all the stuff while you make sure the place looks good and clear out anything before going back to sleep."

"I guess. Okay, alright, I'll do that. Thanks."

"Anyways, let's settled in the rooms first before doing anything else." Jaehwa suggested as all four entered the spacious villa.

~~~~~~~

Siyeon was fast asleep after clearing the villa while the others left for the store. While in her sleepy state Siyeon felt her body being pulled backward as she softly collided with something a second later. She caught a whiff of a very familiar scent, but dismissed it. Siyeon tried to scoot away, but whatever was keeping her in place held her firmly letting out a small chuckle. Huffing, Siyeon opened her eyes and re-positioned herself to face Hyungwon who lied beside her with a his body propped by one arm and the other on her with a mischievous smile.

"Aww, did I disturb my little kitten?" Hyungwon cooed while playfully patting Siyeon.

Siyeon eyed him with a frown.

"Yes. I thought I told you that it was a girls' trip this weekend."

"You did."

Hyungwon nodded as he continued to pat the female nonchalantly with his free hand.

"So what are you doing here, anyways, Hyungwon?"

"To spend more time with you and the others, but mainly with you."

"Hmm, right. Wait. The others? As in Changkyun and Jooheon came along, too?"

Siyeon's brows furrowed until realization hit her and she groaned into her bed.

"She's such a brat. They're so mean. It's like a couple vacation now."

Hyungwon chuckled before re-positioning himself to comfortably lay in bed and pulling Siyeon against his chest. She allowed him to pull her closer as she reluctantly nuzzled against him.

"You knew, didn't you? That's why you asked that day."

"Mmhmm."

He hummed as silence fell between them. He spoke a moment later when Siyeon didn't speak.

"Does that bother you?"

"Not really," She answered while looking up at him with a small smirk, "But now I have to deal with you even on vacation."

Hyungwon chuckled before placing a small kiss on her forehead. Siyeon's lips quirked upward upon thinking of something as she eventually wrapped her arms around him.

"Sing me a lullaby."

Hyungwon smiled before softly singing a random song. The pair soon fell asleep shortly after.

~~~~~~~

"What are we doing?" Hyunwoo asked Chaewon as the couple shopped around the market.

She cast her boyfriend a look.

"Buying food, Hyunwoo."

"Oh."

"You weren't listening earlier were you?"

"Uh, I was. No. Sorry.

Chaewon shook her head with a chuckle as she scanned the items.

"Anyways, what should we make to eat tonight?"

The pair along with the others were buying things. Chaewon and Hyunwoo were in charge of buying actual food. Minjae and Changkyun were in charge of purchasing the drinks and games while Jaehwa and Jooheon were in charge of getting the snacks and house necessities. Meanwhile Hyungwon and Siyeon would be picking up the cake for Hyunwoo.

"We can grill tonight and have a barbecue." Hyunwoo suggested.

"We could do that."

"Or we can have hotpot."

"We could do that, too."

"Unless, no one really wants to cook and we can order take out."

"That's a high possibility for tonight as we all just flew in."

"Is there anything you're craving?" Hyunwoo asked not sure himself on what they should eat tonight.

"Um, not really craving anything. Everything sounds pretty good at the moment."

Chaewon placed a few already packed trays of pork belly into the cart.

"Are we only going to eat pork belly this whole weekend?" Hyunwoo questioned his girlfriend.

"Because I would like to eat beef, too, Won."

Chaewon rolled her eyes while placing other packed meat into the cart.

"I was getting there. Calm down. I didn't forget about y'all."

"Sorry."

Chaewon brushed him off with a small smile knowing that he was just eagered to eat when possible.

"It's fine, but we have to make sure the food lasts for the remainder of our stay. I don't want to go shopping more than I have to."

"Yes, yes."

Hyunwoo placed more meat into the cart. Chaewon chuckled.

"You really love meat."

"As much as I love you."

"You're so cheesy."

Hyunwoo chuckled before sweeping his eyes over the other products.

"What else should we get?"

Chaewon glanced at their cart before looking at her boyfriend with a slight smile.

"We need to buy rice and vegetables, too. Because that's a lot of meat and I don't want to just eat that for the next four days."

~~~~~~~

Siyeon stirred awake as her eyes fluttered open to see Hyungwon sound asleep beside her. She remembered that he and company had joined her and the others on their supposed girls' vacation. Siyeon pulled away as Hyungwon continued to sleep. She checked her phone, saw the time, and a text message from the girls less than half an hour ago asking if she could check if the house had certain utensils to use for a barbecue tonight. Stretching and yawning, Siyeon slowly got out of bed and left the room to go and check. Once she left, several minutes later Hyungwon jolted awake upon his phone ringing. He fumbled about until he located his mobile device and answered the call.

"Hello?"

His other hand went to locate Siyeon's body, but he was met with empty spaces and frowned while looking over to where he remembered Siyeon was supposed to be.

"What?"

Hyungwon wasn't paying attention to the other person on the other line.

"Cake? Oh yeah."

He sat up in bed while ruffling his hair and let out a yawn before speaking to his friend.

"Yeah, me and Siyeon will leave in a little bit to pick one up. Okay. See y'all later."

Hyungwon hung up and got out of bed in search of Siyeon. He found her in the kitchen on the phone going through the cabinets.

"Yeah, we have that here. Probably just get more of those. Okay. See y'all soon. Bye."

Siyeon hung up and turned around to meet Hyungwon.

"Oh. Hi."

Hyungwon shot her a lazy smile with a head tilt.

"We have to pick up a cake. Let's get ready before going."

~~~~~~~

"Um, does the house have enough space for all this?" Hyunwoo asked his girlfriend once they were in line along with Jooheon and Changkyun.

"Um, dunno, but we'll find out." Chaewon answered with a laugh. "We should be fine. I think."

"Is this gonna fit in the car though?"

"Minjae already got another car rented." Changkyun answered with Jooheon nodding.

"Yeah, she and Jaehwa went to pick it up a while ago."

"Good thing we drove in two cars instead of one." Chaewon commented with a laugh. "Because I wouldn't wanna do another trip."

"By the way, already called Hyungwon and he and Siyeon will be picking up the cake in a bit."

"Alright, cool. Thanks, Jooheon."

"No problem."

Hyunwoo gazed at the loaded carts of things when Chaewon got his attention.

"Hey, I'll be back. Siyeon wants ice cream, but doesn't know which kind."

"Could we get ice cream, too?"

"Yeah, I second that."

Both Jooheon and Changkyun chimed in last minute with sweet smiles.

"Sure. What do y'all want?"

Chaewon looked at them expectantly.

"I'm fine with whatever." They answered in unison.

"Alright. I'll be back. Y'all know what to do if we're not back by then."

Chaewon walked off soon afterwards.

"Jaehwa left me her card." Jooheon stated while holding up Jaehwa's card.

"So did Minjae."

Changkyun held up Minjae's card. Hyunwoo chuckled as he followed suit.

"Chaewon gave me hers, too."

~~~~~~~

After everyone returned home and changed into comfortable clothing did they start prepping for the barbecuing tonight.

"Is this small enough?"

"I skewered all the chicken pieces."

"The grill's ready to go."

"Set the table."

"Stuff's on the grill now."

"I'm gonna eat an ice cream. Does anyone want one?"

"That's after the main meal."

"Ugh, fine."

Went the conversation between the group of eight as they maneuvered around the back patio coming in and out of the house.

"Let's take a drink first!" Minjae announced as she made sure everyone had a drink in hand.

"Of course you wanna start out drinking already." Siyeon commented as Minjae grinned before holding her can in the air.

"Happy birthday to Hyunwoo even though it's not until tomorrow!"

"Happy birthday, Hyunwoo!"

The group cheered before consuming their drink and went about the rest of their evening.

~Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you, happy birthday dear Hyunwoo, happy birthday to you~

The group sang while Hyunwoo blew out the candles after eating their meal and moved on to dessert. They cut up the cake with everyone getting a slice save for Siyeon who opted for ice cream. Chaewon passed a fork to her boyfriend, but Hyunwoo had already took a bite out of his slice without it.

"Please, babe, use a fork."

Chaewon waved the fork for her boyfriend to take with a pointed look.

"Uh, thanks."

Hyunwoo took the offered fork with a sheepish look and used it to eat the remainder of his dessert.

"Anyways, what are we doing tomorrow?" Siyeon asked a second later while happily consuming the frozen treat.

"We can go hiking along the coast in the early morning." Jaehwa suggested.

"I thought we decided to check out the Cheonjiyeon Falls or the Jeongbang Falls."

Chaewon spoke next with Minjae chiming in.

"Didn't we want to ride the ATV or go shooting at Daeyoo Land?"

Siyeon then remembered something.

"Wait, we talked about those among ourselves before this trip became a couple trip."

"Oh, good point, Siyeon," Changkyun stated with a grin, "We can have an only couple outing tomorrow."

"Ooh, I second that." Jooheon agreed while slinging an arm around Jaehwa with a cheeky look. "Jaehwa and I can have all day together just the two of us while all of y'all can do the same."

"Hmm, that's sounds cool."

Hyunwoo nodded liking the idea.

"Chaewon and I can spend my birthday all day together without any of you disturbing us."

"Wow."

"Perfect."

Minjae grinned with a clap of her hands.

"So we agree that tomorrow we're all spending time as a couple away from one another, yeah?"

While a majority agreed Siyeon was about to decline when she felt a soft pat on her thigh from Hyungwon. She glanced at him as he cast her a lazy smile before looking at the others.

"Yeah, that's fine. Siyeon and I will be checking out the O'sulloc Tea Museum tomorrow just the two of us."

"Ooh, sounds fun for sure." Jaehwa said in excitement as she shot her friend a playful look.

"Oh, definitely, Jaehwa. Most definitely." Chaewon stated while wriggling her eyebrows at Siyeon.

Siyeon rolled her eyes at the two's words, but a small smile graced her lips.

"So," Minjae interjected while looking at the group, "Tomorrow is Couple Day meaning the couples won't be bother until later tomorrow night to plan the rest of the days."

Everyone agreed as they continued their night of merriment before turning in to rest themselves for tomorrow.

#staytheb #monsta x scenarios #son hyunwoo #shownu #chae hyungwon

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dearericbittle · 5 years

Text

but that’s just a first impression (I could be totally wrong) - Sterek 1/1

Summary: Derek is on a really awful blind date (Laura will pay for this). But the waiter is really cute.

(Also on AO3)

This was not the first time that his family had set him up, but it was definitely going to be the last. After this guy, Laura was never going to be allowed to even think of forcing him to meet anyone.

They only just got to the restaurant and Derek was already over it – and thinking seriously about injuring himself to get away. He was a werewolf, he’d heal, but his date was not in the know and he did not look like he possessed enough empathy to take Derek to a hospital. It made it more likely he’d leave Derek alone to seek medical attention that he didn’t need – the perfect escape.

So far, the guy had already tried to grope him three separate times, barely taking his hands off before Derek was tempted to let his claws out. He’d been a douche to the hostess, a perfectly lovely girl, albeit a little nervous on her first night on the job. And now he was talking about his fucking car again – a Porsche, because clearly he was compensating for something.

Derek was ready to stab himself with the shrimp fork.

Also, who would take a first date to such an embarrassing and stuffy restaurant? Did this guy really think that Derek would be impressed enough to get naked because of it?

“Good evening, gentlemen,” the waiter showed up.

Ugh, Derek didn’t want to look up from his menu long enough to get a glimpse of his date, because then he’d have to acknowledge that this was actually happening. Not even his most impressive resting bitchface with his most severe murder brows had deterred this guy from getting inappropriately close on the car ride over there.

And it didn’t stop him from hating on the Camaro.

“Finally,” the douche was an asshole to any and all waitstaff as well – another deal breaker. “I thought I might die of starvation before we got some actual service here.”

That earned him a serious glare from Derek, that the worst date ever didn’t even notice because he was too busy treating the server like complete shit.

The server with golden eyes and an impish tilt to his nose, the one who smelled vaguely of cinnamon and sugar. The man he could have sworn he’d seen somewhere before, but he didn’t display any signs of him being familiar with Derek.

That was going to bother him until he’d figured it out.

“I apologize you had to wait longer than you’d been expecting,” the server looked vaguely bored with the conversation – Derek could relate. “Can I get you anything to drink while you peruse the menu? If you’ve already made your choice, I can take your order.”

Normally, Derek would suggest alcohol, and lots of it, but he drove the asshole – and because the guy did not actually know Derek wouldn’t be able to get drunk off a couple glasses of wine, he had to play human and stay sober.

“Are you trying to rush us out?”

“I’d like some water, thanks,” Derek completely ignored his date and just addressed the server directly. “What would you recommend?”

It wasn’t just that he did not want to interact with his date, but also that he still had not figured out how he knew this waiter. Maybe if he talked more, he would put the pieces together.

“You look like a carnivore to me,” the guy actually winked at him, briefly forming a claw with his left hand. “So I think you would appreciate our pork tenderloin or the steak. Rare, of course. Or the rabbit.” Another wink, without the gesture this time. “We have a lovely beef stew that pairs well with our house red. But my personal favorite appetizer is the sausage-stuffed pepper poppers. And not just because it’s wonderful to say. I pair it with our signature cocktail – which we can serve for you in a virgin version as well.”

Who was this guy and how did he know? The claws, the jokes about rabbits and rare stick (which really was a personal favorite of his)… The mystery was the most interesting thing about the date so far.

“I will take your suggestion,” Derek let his eyes glow briefly, easily written off as a trick of the light. “And that virgin cocktail. I’ll take the steak. Rare.”

When the waiter did not flinch at that, reacting to his electric blue eyes as if he’d seen it all before, Derek almost gaped at him. Even those in the know would react to a blue-eyed werewolf with fear and disdain. He’d gotten used to it, but he’d never liked it.

“I’ll tell the kitchen,” the server – Derek really wanted his name – nodded solemnly, a hint of a grin on his face. “And you sir, have you made a decision?”

Oh right, there was someone else at the table. Derek had been this close to forgetting, and now he was forcefully reminded that he’d have to spend the rest of the night with this guy.

“What are your low-carb options?” His date was looking worse by the second.

Derek barely held back a groan, because he was an asshole. He was judgmental about these model type guys eating hardly anything, or watching their weight because of some fad diet. Sure, as a werewolf he never had to worry about his weight or his metabolism, but it was just another thing where they were as far from a match as they could be. The guy was probably a vegetarian too.

He was going to murder Laura for this.

As the waiter painstakingly went through the many dishes on the menu, his fake smile never faltering, Derek tried to surreptitiously take another sniff of him. Processed sugars normally made him sneeze, but there was something about this guy that made it work.

Somehow he completely failed at being surreptitious, because the server wiggled his cute nose at Derek without pausing his speech about the fresh vegetables used in the pear and goat cheese salad.

How was he doing this? How could he tell?

He was spending so much time thinking about his server that he completely missed whatever stupid thing his date ordered, only tuning back in for a crack about not everyone having a body to maintain (making the waiter flinch at the judgment and Derek prepare to roar out his disapproval).

“If you need anything else, just ask for Stiles,” the server – Stiles? – nodded before departing with a fake customer service smile. “Your drinks will be right with you.”

“What the hell kind of name is Stiles?”

Honestly, the shrimp fork was looking more and more appealing by the minute. Stiles would help him escape, he was sure of it.

By the time Stiles brought out the main course, Derek was tempted to ask the server to run away with him. The food was delicious, but the company continued to be awful and Stiles’ subtle digs at his date were the only reason for Derek to stick around.

That and all of the favors that Laura would owe him after this. Where did she even meet an asshole like this? She’d probably told him, but he hadn’t really been listening. Which is also why he wouldn’t be able to tell anyone his date’s name even if someone held a gun to his head.

He assumed that the asshole was one of the people Laura had gotten in touch with at the DA’s office. And if he’d go out on a date if Laura asked, he couldn’t be one of the people she put behind bars, or someone she beat. Because those guys hated her.

Because she was better than all of them combined. But he could never tell her that – that was the sibling rule.

Digging into his food, he almost let out a moan at the perfect flavor of the steak. And it was perfectly cooked – rare enough for him to really enjoy it, but not rare enough to make it look and taste like he was eating raw meat.

Perhaps someone on staff was a werewolf?

There was a small piece of paper carelessly dropped next to his plate. The second his date was otherwise occupied – probably by his own reflection – he folded it open and had to hide an actual laugh threatening to escape from his mouth.

I spit in the salad

Sorry not sorry

It was awful, but it was also surprisingly charming. The handwriting was terrible, almost illegible with the way that the letters all crowded together and some of them slanted weirdly to the left – but the words were still easy enough to make out for Derek. He could almost hear Stiles’ voice wrapping around the words, as if he’d spoken them aloud.

There was no way he couldn’t respond, awkwardly hiding his hands as he wrote on an old receipt in the pocket of his slightly too tight jacket.

I’m sure the saliva really brings out the flavor in that lettuce

He took advantage of his werewolf speed to shove the note in Stiles’ pocket as he passed the table, holding the empty plates of the lovely couple occupying the table next to them.

It took a minute, but then he heard laughter coming from the kitchen, and he knew a pleased grin had made it on to his own face. He really hoped that his date didn’t think it had anything to do with him.

At some point his date would have to talk himself out, right? Because Derek hadn’t said more than two words to him since Stiles delivered the entrees and still the guy was talking (about himself). Derek was happy not to make conversation, but if the guy’s foot moved up his leg one more time, he was accidentally going to break it.

Only it really would not be an accident.

When Stiles came by to ask about dessert, Derek was ready to call it a night, no matter how much he’d love to continue flirting with Stiles. Passing notes like they were in high school, shooting smiles and flirtatious looks without the asshole noticing.

Fuck, Derek still couldn’t remember his name.

“How about we take dessert home?”

Wait, the douche still thought that this date was going well? Even when Derek hadn’t responded to any of his overtures? Even though Derek didn’t respond to a single thing he said and didn’t speak to him unless asked? Even though Derek forgot his damn name?

“How about I drop you off at your place,” Derek was tired of holding back, “and I go back here to get my own dessert. All. By. Myself.”

He hadn’t had a chance to look at the dessert menu, and his sweet tooth was sort of an open secret to his pack. And maybe he could have sucked it up a little while longer, but the implication that Derek would go home with this guy just because he bothered to took him out to a fancy dinner? That was more than enough to have him refuse outright.

“All those in favor say aye,” Stiles muttered under his breath, trying to distance himself from the awkward proceedings.

Shit, he really couldn’t put Stiles in the middle of this, because he didn’t want him to risk his job. Anything less than kind he did or said to this douche would naturally have the asshole calling for his job. Because God forbid people had opinions about him that were less than complete awe of his existence.

Why the hell did Laura think Derek would want to go on a date with a guy like that?

“We’ll take the check,” Derek spoke decisively. “Thank you.”

Sure, his date protested at that, and rather loudly at first, until he realized that he was drawing attention to himself. Guys like this never wanted to be seen as less than perfect – and a rejection from his date? That would be less than perfect.

Ugh – he was probably going to try and convince Derek when they were alone. He was not looking forward to that.

The asshole didn’t leave a tip, even though he did pick up the bill – it was his idea, so Derek thought it was only right. Though he did grab his wallet to leave a proper tip, shooting a kind smile to the insecure hostess on his way out.

As he expected, only painful honesty got the asshole out of the Camaro with Derek’s metaphorical virtue still in tact. He was still going to take a long shower to wash the scent off him, but first he was going to go back for dessert. Two desserts maybe.

He was going to leave this part out of the story he was telling Laura. She did not need any extra ammunition to make fun of him – as his older sister, she had a lifetime’s worth.

“You came back,” it almost seemed like Stiles was waiting for him.

“I couldn’t leave without dessert,” he shrugged, like the awkward shit he was.

Because he did leave, no matter how briefly – he had to drive the douche home. But he wasn’t going to leave Stiles before he’d gotten a chance to talk to him, to at least try and figure out what he knew and if he could grin at Derek some more.

If that didn’t make him a creep who hit on someone at their job, which was probably up there on the list of asshole things to do.

“You are in for a treat,” Stiles’ smirk promised only great things – some of them slightly dirty.

Or was that wishful thinking?

Still, Stiles did not take his order before he walked away. Which meant that he probably had some kind of plan to surprise Derek with a nice dessert – he could never argue with a plan like that.

He could trust Stiles to pick something good for him.

It was awkward sitting at the table by himself, with people giving him pitying looks like he’d been stood up by a date – instead of kicking his date out of his car and coming back to flirt with the cute waiter some more. And get dessert. But mostly that first bit.

When the scent of cinnamon and sugar got even stronger than it was before, he looked away from the snooty old couple he’d been glaring at. Stiles was grinning as he placed a perfect cake in front of Derek.

The reason for the grin quickly became obvious.

I WIN

YOU LOSE

The writing was in a hideous shade of pink, the shade Laura always claimed was no one’s color but Barbie’s. But she always enjoyed defacing his property with a pink pen, because that was what older sisters were for.

His sister was actually the worst.

“I won! You lose, baby brother.”

His sister was actually here, digging into the cake with relish as her eyes flared red ever so briefly, just to stick it to him even more.

“You won what?” Derek had to roll his eyes at her. “The competition for worst blind date you’ve ever sent me on?”

And that is a pretty high bar, so far. After setting him up with Jennifer, who ended up trying to magic him for some reason, he had all the rights to complain. Though Jennifer was a pretty good date until she tried to manipulating into killing her ex-girlfriend.

“I feel like I should be offended,” Stiles was still there, taking a seat next to Derek for no apparent reason.

What the hell was going on here? There was no way that he minded Stiles sitting with him, the guy could sit in his lap and Derek would be happy. But still – Laura’s plans always ended in some kind of humiliation, and apparently she hadn’t had her fill after that awful guy.

“Jackson was my intern,” Laura has frosting on her face, but she doesn’t seem to care. “I told him I’d finally let him take on a proper case if he was the worst date ever. That way you’d be too annoyed to ignore your actual date. My good friend Stiles here.”

Jackson! That was his name!

“You always dismiss these dates before you even bother getting to know them,” Laura continued her speech, because she always did love a speech, “and I’ve known for ages that you and Stiles would hit it off.”

Derek really wanted to be mad at his sister, because the whole manipulation deal was not okay, not ever. And she knew it, and would probably apologize for it in time, once she was done gloating about it.

“Because I’m adorable,” Stiles nodded seriously.

But also, that. He did like Stiles, right away. And if Laura had introduced Stiles as his blind date, he probably would have found an excuse to hate him, right away.

“How about you go eat your victory cake elsewhere?” Stiles proposed. “And your hot like burning brother and I can discuss this without your interference.”

For once, Laura listened to someone other than herself – which was impressive. And the way Stiles just grabbed him the second Laura’s back was turned was even more impressive, especially when Stiles told him that Laura would have to pay for that cake.

Stiles clocked out and unbuttoned his tie, thoroughly distracting Derek.

By the time Laura finished the cake and paid, they were steaming up the windows of the Camaro.

Laura never did have to set him up after that.

#sterek #when i write the things #so this happened #if you have prompts let me know #this is my tenth sterek fic #i'm dying to interact with people who also ship it

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ilike-moss · 6 years

Note

1-70, bc i'm gon distract u

*cracks knuckles* okay, lets do this.

1. Do you have a good relationship with your parents?

I would say they are all strained for different reasons. (I say all because i am including my mother, father, and step father)

2. Who did you last say "I love you" to?

My younger sister, earlier today.

3. Do you regret anything?

Lmao just about everything, dude.

4. Are you insecure?

Oh, always.

5. What is your relationship status?

Single as usual.

6. How do you want to die?

Painlessly

7. What did you last eat?

Sweet potato fries and a caramel milk shake.

8. Played any sports?

Yes a couple and I hated all of them, sports don't really agree with me. tae kwon do, soft ball, and swimming.

9. Do you bite your nails?

Nope.

10. When was your last physical fight.

I have never been in a physical fight and if i was i am fairly certain i would loose, but hey, who knows. Maybe I'd surprise myself.

11. Do you like someone?

Yup.

12. Have you ever stayed up 48 hours?

Yes, I was trying to see how long i could stay awake and I hated it.

13. Do you hate anyone at the moment?

Oh yes, I do.

14. Do you miss someone?

My grandma and grandpa that live in Florida.

15. Do you have any pets?

No, my land lord dosn't allow pets.

16. How are you feeling at the moment?

Tired, as always.

17. Ever made out in the bathroom?

I haven't made out in the first place.

18. Are you scared of spiders.

sometimes. It depends on the spider, really.

19. Would you go back in time if you were given the chance?

This kinda depends on what you mean by go back in time. Do you mean go back in time as in i age back to the time i was like, a younger version of myself (and if so, do i remember everything from this time or do i just forget and like, relive everything?? Or is it like in Doctor Who were present me goes back into a different time, not necessarily in a time where i existed, like the 1930's or something?

20. Where was the last place you snogged someone?

In my dreams (I know, sad but true.)

21. What are your plans for the weekend.

This also depends. If you mean the actual weekend, then my plans are working. If you mean what i consider my weekend, then my plans are hanging out with my best friend.

22. Do you want to have kids? How many?

Well, i do want to have kids eventually. Two or three probably, but then again, I also want to foster kids as well, so maybe more if you count them.

23. Do you have piercings? How many?

My ears (just the regular one) and my nose, though i plan on getting the industrial done on my left ear as well.

24. What is/are/were your best subject(s)?

At this point, honestly, I don't remember. I am gonna go with chorus class.

25. Do you miss anyone from your past.

Yeah my dead pets.

26. What are you craving right now?

A love life.

27. Have you ever broken someone's heart?

Not to my knowledge.

28. Have you ever been cheated on.

Well, I have only had one relationship and it only lasted a month so no.

29. Have you made a boyfriend/girlfriend cry?

No.

30. What's irritating you right now.

Pretty much everything, but mostly my mental health.

31. Does somebody love you.

My family and friends. (at least i hope they do)

32. What is your favorite color?

It's a tie between purple and green.

33. Do you have trust issues?

Of course.

34. Who/what was your last dream about.

I really don't remember.

35. Who was the last person your cried in front of.

i can't remember this one either.

36. Do you give out second chances too easily?

Probably.

37. Is it easier for you to forgive or forget?

Forgive probably but i probably would rather just forget.

38. Is this the best year of your life?

Well, it surprisingly isn't the worst, but I wouldn't say its the best either. I'm not entirely sure I have a best year of my life. It's kinda all mostly been rubbish so far with some good points.

39. How old were you when you had your first kiss.

Still waiting on that, unfortunately.

40. Have you ever walked outside comepletely nakes.

Lmao, no.

(For some reason it goes straight from 40 to 51, sorry)51. Favorite food?

Pork chops with my aunt's macaroni salad.

52. Do you believe everything happens for a reason.

Sometimes.

53. What was the last thing you did before you went to bed last night?

Light a sandalwood incense.

54. Is cheating ever okay?

Do you mean in a relationship? if so, the answer is no.

55. Are you mean?

Sometimes i can be a little snappy but besides that, no.

56. How man people have you ever fist fought?

057. Do you believe in true love?

Yes, but i really have yet to see it for the most part.

58. favorite weather?

Thunder Storms.

59. Do you like the snow.

Up until Christmas, after that, no.

60. Do you want to get married.

I would like to, yes.

61. Is it cute when a boy/girl calls you baby?

Never been a huge fan of that nick name, though i have never been personally called it.

62. What makes you happy?

Being around my friends and family, Loki fanart and other things related to the marvel character, white chocolate kit kats and reading.

63 . Would you change your name?

Perhaps if i found the right name.

64. Would it be hard to kiss the last person you kissed?

Considering I haven't kissed anyone besides like, family members on the cheek, no.

65. Your best friend of the opposite sec likes you, what do you do?

Panic

66. Do you have a friend of the opposite sex that you can act your complete self around?

There really isnt anyone that i can act my complete true self around. everyone gets to see different parts. Some see very arge parts of me but i don't think anyone has seen it all truely.

67. Who was the last person of the opposite sex you talked to?

One of the people i share an apartment with.

68. Who's the last person you had a deep conversation with?

Either you or my apartment mate.

69. Do you believe in soul mates.

It's a beautiful idea that i'd like to get behind but I think i would have a hard time believing it.

70. Is there anyone you would die for?

Several people actually.

Ugh, finally finished, i hope you are happy

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hak-7 · 3 years

Text

OUR DAILY BREAD

Knowledge

Lets look at the idea of the (last supper). Now, look! In the last supper, who's there in that picture. Twelve men under one. Is that right! Twelve disciples, or apostles under one messenger of G-d. What do they represent. They represent the spiritual kingdom. They represent the sky, the heavens. The sky and the heavens are symbolic of man's spiritual aspirations. So what did Jesus then represent for the people?He represented a community that promised a new life, (didn't he promise something new). He didn't give it. Not in his day. He said, he prayed, “give us this day, our daily bread". Is that right. And he goes on. “Thy kingdom come”. Not here.

So he prayed for daily bread. And he prayed for the kingdom. Right. To come down from heaven. Is that right. That it be on earth, as it is in heaven . So his table represented the (heavenly aspirations). When we look at the heavens, what do we see up there? A sign of peace. At night we look at the sky. Oh, it looks so peaceful doesn't it. So quiet and peaceful. So orderly. Things are up there in an orderly arrangement, and they move so orderly, and they're so dependable.

You can clock it and, oh, you came back the same time again, say, "oh sweetheart moon, you came the same time", "baby I thought you'd be a little late tonight". The moon say, "naw, I'm pretty regular". And the sun, you know, at night you get long you know, and you get tired or bored with the night, "oh, I wonder when that sun's coming. I wish it would hurry up". And you get up and you wait. Say, "hey, hey boy. You sure do your own thing don't you. I wanted you a little earlier. You came the same time you did yesterday". The sun says, "well, I'm pretty regular". Order, peace, regularity, is that right. Isn't that what we want on this earth? Girl kiss you today, kiss you tomorrow, and then two months before she kissed you again.

Say "hey, what's happening to you girl". Say, "why you kiss me yesterday, and the day before, and the day before, and now, here two weeks has passed, and no kiss?" "You got me to the kiss. You got me expecting the kiss. You aren't regular. I'm going out and find me a steady". Yeah, isn't that, don't our life call for some kind of system, some kind of systematic order. Some kind of regularity. So man, look at the Heavens as a sign of that. He say, "Oh, I wish it was here. I wish we had that same kind of discipline, that same of peace and orderliness, and regularity down here in community".

So Jesus prayed for that didn't he? He said, "thy kingdom come". So that means Jesus prayed for orderly life, for consistent life, for regular life, to be established on earth, not only for that, he said, "and the daily bread". The bread, he took it and gave it to the poor didn't he. And they charged him with going into the (sacred house), and eating that bread on the Sabbath day. Say, "well that's forbidden". "You did wrong". And Jesus defended it. He quoted past scripture's. (David, right). I think it was David, and quoted David. He reminded them of David, to justify what he had done.

Now, what does the daily bread symbolize? Now here again we have two major concerns being addressed with a symbol. Bread is a symbol, and we have here two major concerns being addressed with a symbol. What is the first concern? The first concern is for the freedom of the human intellect. And bread, we know is symbolic of doctrine, symbolic of the teachings of Jesus himself. For the New Testament speaks of people eating bread and compares it with knowledge. And the New Testament speaks of eating meat, and compares it also with knowledge. This is nothing that we're secretly disclosing, or any secrets we're exposing. The bible itself tells you this in plain language. That bread represents knowledge, and also meat represent’s knowledge. So bread represents a certain kind of knowledge. What kind? How do they make bread. The bread that we eat today is bread filled with air, so our bread represents spiritual science.

The bread of the new testament is spiritual science. It's bread filled with air. Air representing spirit. And we know that Jesus is called what, "the one blessed with the holy spirit", and he's called also, "child of the holy spirit". So the doctrine then, or the gospel of Jesus is bread, not meat, bread. And if you study the gospel, he ate bread and fish. Right. He didn't eat any beef. No lamb. And the only thing he had for pork was a curse. This is a fact of the new testament. Some people were possessed by demons. He drove those demons out of those people, into the herd of pigs, and the herd of pigs went crazy and jumped off the cliff and committed suicide.

That's the only connection I know in that bible of Jesus with the pork. That he drove the spirits out of the people that were possessed by them, into a herd of swine. And they became crazy and ran over and jumped over a cliff and committed suicide. Now, I hope you're not one of those swine. And I sure hope you will stop eating them too, but that's beside the point. You don't have to allow that into this discussion today either. Just for emotional effect. If bread then represent spiritual science, you know, the way they make bread now, the bible say's "a certain one put yeast in three measures of bread", is that right. And we know that the Trinitarian doctrine is a doctrine of three, (trinity means three). A certain one put yeast in three measures of bread.

Now, what does the yeast do to the dough? The yeast makes more air get into the dough, and it makes the dough rise. The yeast puts more air into it, and makes it rise. And we know that the new testament doctrine is a highly spiritual doctrine. It's a loaf of bread, raised up very high, with yeast air. Now this is not to criticize. I respect these symbols, and these elements. They hold wisdom, they hold science. In the last supper, let us look and see what was on the table (bread and wine).

Now he said, "do this in remembrance of me." We're still talking about the crucifix. Don't forget our point. We're establishing reasons why that image should go, reasons for its removal. So he said, "do this in remembrance of me." And he broke the bread and he gave it to the disciples, right?And they all ate of one bread, (meaning they all ate of one doctrine), is that right? And then he also took the wine and they all drank of the same wine (same wine symbolizing that he was telling them to be of the same spirit). And you know now, liquors are called spirits, aren't they? Liquors are called spirits. So one was a spiritual doctrine, and he said, "eat of it." See, the teeth have to work with bread. You don't just swallow bread. You swallow water. You chew bread. See, some kinds of ideas we give you, you don't have to chew it, we say "chew on that awhile". You ever here that expression, "chew on that awhile." It means think about that; ponder on that, think about that for awhile, you see. So, bread represents religious doctrine, or teachings that hold science.

The science for treating the spiritual ills of the person. And the wine represents the spirit that is connected directly with human sensitivities. And those sensitivities now have become concerns, and we know that concerns are stronger than sensitivities, aren't they. Water represents sensitivities. If you just touch water it quivers all through. Water is very sensitive. But wine represents a higher development in the water. Wine represent concerns. Concerns will stimulate the mind. Concerns, when they are sober concerns, they will stimulate the mind, if they are promising, but they won't necessarily, or they won't drunken the mind. Right? But we can get concerns that are not understandable, or that are oppressive, or not in accord with the needs of our nature, and those concerns will make us drunk. Won't they? Yes! So that's hard liquor, or the non-communion wine, that's wine that aren't supposed to be taken.

Communion wine is different. Now, if you catch the priest giving the wine around, and it's that 69 wine, don't take it. He's supposed to have water, or grape juice. Water with some red dye in it to symbolize, or to resemble blood, or some red grape juice. That's what he is supposed to have. He isn't supposed to be drinking wine, no real wine. Wine is called the juice of the vine. Now, if you leave it to ferment, it will become something to make you drunk. To intoxicate you. So what is the meaning of this intoxicating effect now? (It means that the people become so emotionally enthused, so emotionally involved into the religion, that the effect on them is the effect of alcohol). And if you increase that too much, you make your congregation drunk, don' you. Yes! That's strong liquor. Strong liquor. Now, no amount of that stuff you buy from the liquor store is justified. G-d forbids that. He says, "Surely, alcohol, gambling, and certain other things are works of the devil. Stay away from them".

But this wine that they take in communion is symbolic of (enthusiastic teachings). So, Jesus is able to take flat doctrine that the Jews were dealing out, or giving, and he was able to see insight, and with his insight, he was able to see meaning's in there that they hadn't been able to discover. So, he was able to develop those concepts to a high level, like developing water up to a level of wine. And the people were excited. Like some of you are right now. You perhaps, have listened to religious teachers, or preachers before, but now you're excited.

Your curiosities are excited. Your imagination is excited. So you're like, drinking wine. Like wine, it's exciting for you, it's enthusiastic and everything, so it's like drinking wine. But if I just harp on the moral message, it will be just giving you plain water, and pretty soon, it gets dull, doesn't' it. "oh hell, I'm tired of this nigger telling me I ought to be righteous", "hell, he don't know the rest of the problems I got. I'm going to leave" but there is hardly anyone left here, because it's not flat water, its a little wine. And you know, wine is hard to resist. You have to have a divine commandant to stay away from it. Especially in the situation of it down here. It throw you into chaos, turmoil, and confusion etc., you know, and everything is going bad, that wine is hard to resist.

You say you have sweet promises. You're sweet tasting. I got to take you. Going back to the last supper. Look at the last supper now. What's offered on the table. Wine and bread. Do you call that a supper? I'm not making fun. There's a sign in this. Do you call that a supper? Haven't you heard of (after dinner wine), (cocktails), (a cocktail, and after dinner wine).Now, if this was a supper, this tells me that this was, after dinner. Right! It wasn't a cocktail. It didn't say before supper, or brunch, or something like that. This is called supper. So that tells me that this was supper time, and at supper time there was being served at the square table, not the round table, the square table, wine and bread. So that tells me that this was desert. The supper had been finished, and the wine and bread was the desert. That's why they call Jesus "sweet Jesus".

Now, the next time the priest put that cracker on your tongue if it doesn't taste sweet, tell him, "you're doing all right, but make the bread sweet, because Jesus is (sweet Jesus), and this aren't supper man, this is dessert, after supper, or at supper time". So we know the doctrine of Christianity is built upon the scientific basis that man is driven helplessly, toward pleasure. Man wants to be pleased. He wants to be happy, and Jesus is given to us as a sweet symbol. He represents everything sweet, nice, and pleasant.

Is that right? Yes! So that's the sweet bread you see, and the wine represents the sweet wine, the sweet spirit in that doctrine. The spirit of what? Love. Love for G-d. Love for your fellow man. Do good, even by your enemies, right. That's the sweet spirit. The spirit of conscience, that motivates you to do good, to be good, in spite of the situation that prompts you, or stimulates you to do wrong, or to do evil, or to be cruel. So here, we have a doctrine, and we have a behavior. We have a doctrine in the bread, and we have a behavior, or a spirit of behavior, in the wine. And that's call the last supper. And I said it's dessert, that came after the supper. It was what he gave them in the end of his life.

During his mission, he gave them instruction. He educated them. And at the end of that mission, there was a supper. He gave them the dessert. And dessert was "to keep the sweet conscience", "to keep the sweet inclinations", "to teach the sweet impulses", "and eat of that, that will sustain that". For what we eat of solids, doesn't it sustain the liquids. Yes. The blood is two things. Nutrients from solids, and liquid from water. Is that right. So there are two. Solids and liquids, that's what it is. Nutrients from solids, and liquids from water. When they come together, they make blood. Now look. If we can only bring the material concerns back into our spiritualism, won't we have blood again. Yes. We need the nutrients of the solids to mix with the water to make blood.

And what does our scripture say. It say's "G-d saw the heavens and the earth separate, and he said, come ye together, willingly or unwillingly". So in scriptural language, he's saying, "that the heavenly aspirations, and the earthly needs have to be reconciled, whether you like it or not". Willingly, or unwillingly.

Imam W.D. Mohammed (raa)

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thevintagebluebird · 3 years

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Unpinned - Winter Squash and Wild Mushroom Curry

Tumblr tells me it’s been six months since my last post. That seems pretty on-brand for me and this blog. Valentine’s day is coming up, and I could offer you all flowers, chocolates, and promises I don’t intend to keep: or I can just try to cook new recipes and take photos of them more often.

Let’s see, what’s new...well, we left the nightmare world of 2020 behind and are now firmly in the nightmare world of 2021. Still in lockdown. Still hanging out on Zoom. Oh! But the fella and I did the unthinkable: we MOVED! Yes, after eight long happy years together in a two-room apartment, the pandemic finally broke us. Working from home gets really cramped when you can’t walk behind your partner’s conference call to get to the bathroom. With everyone fleeing the cities for the space of the suburbs, apartment rents in our little commuter city plummeted! So we finally, FINALLY found our unicorn apartment. Same city, same rent, AND THREE BEDROOMS BABY. And that means no more plastic blue countertops here! So allow me to present my first vegan recipe AND my first post from the new digs:

Winter Squash and Wild Mushroom Curry! Straight off the never-fail pages of the New York Times cooking section, I printed this recipe sans images and left it hanging on my fridge for weeks, waiting for the right moment. Apparently at 4:45pm driving home during a snowstorm I realized it was THE right moment, because I stopped at the grocery store, loaded up my cart with a concerning amount of mushrooms, and got to work.

Verdict: Is the Pintrest photo complete bullshit? I need to hit up my local Indian grocery stores because I have no idea where you find a branch of curry leaves in Shaws, but other than that not really!

Is it crazy expensive/time consuming/confusing? No! It came together shockingly fast! The mushrooms can start to add up a bit but 100% worth it.

Does it taste good? So good I’m considering making it again TOMORROW.

Winter Squash and Wild Mushroom Curry

INGREDIENTS

3 tablespoons vegetable oil

10 ounces butternut or other winter squash, peeled and cut into 1/2-inch pieces

Kosher salt and black pepper

1 or 2 small green chiles, such as jalapeño or serrano

3 medium shallots or 1 small onion, finely diced

½ teaspoon black mustard seeds

½ teaspoon cumin seeds

Handful of fresh or frozen curry leaves (optional)

2 garlic cloves, minced

1 teaspoon ground coriander

Pinch of ground cayenne

½ teaspoon ground turmeric

1 pound mushrooms, preferably a mix of cultivated and wild, trimmed and sliced 1/8-inch thick

¾ cup coconut milk

2 tablespoons lime juice

Cilantro sprigs, for garnish

In a wide skillet, heat oil over medium-high. When hot, add squash cubes in one layer. Season with salt and pepper. Cook for about 2 minutes, letting cubes brown slightly, then flip and cook for 2 minutes more. Use a slotted spoon to lift squash out, and set aside.

Cut a lengthwise slit in each chile to open it, but leave whole. (This helps the chiles heat the sauce without making it too spicy.)

Add shallots, salt lightly and cook, stirring, 1 minute. Add mustard seeds, cumin seeds and curry leaves, if using, and let sizzle for 30 seconds, then add garlic, coriander, cayenne, turmeric and chiles. Stir well and cook for 30 seconds more.

Add mushrooms, season with salt and toss to coat. Cook, stirring, until mushrooms begin to soften, about 5 minutes.

Return squash cubes to skillet, stir in coconut milk and bring to a simmer. Lower heat to medium and simmer for another 5 minutes. If mixture looks dry, thin with a little water. Taste and season with salt.

Before serving, stir in lime juice. Transfer to a warm serving dish and garnish with cilantro.

Look at that spread. And LOOK AT THOSE NON-70S-BLUE COUNTERS! I may have gone a tad overboard with the mushrooms but they are nature’s meat, after all.

My sous chef for the evening. Pretty dang excited to marry that cutie in the aftertimes.

Ah yes, my favorite part of any recipe: trying to do shoddy math in my head. It calls for 10oz of butternut squash which, due to packing/shipping small boxes almost every day for the last ten years, I can eyeball fairly well, but this was a 1lb 12oz box. I have no idea why they didn’t pack a pound, a pound and a half, or 2lbs, but there ya go. I hate cutting butternut squash so I really shouldn’t complain.

Stop what you are doing to feed the cat because she is a cruel mistress and demands a sacrifice NOW.

Ask your partner if the 3″ cubes look close enough to 1/2″ cubes and admit that they probably need chopping. Oh well. Chop ‘em.

Does he look fly as hell? Yes. But these are our snazzy utility sunglasses. Not only do they make you the coolest person in any room, they also a) reduce overstimulation in a pounding nightclub b) keep the oils from onions from burning your eyes during chopping c) I guess block the sun sometimes.

Get those now-tiny cubes into a hot pan! Perfect! ...for now. Foreshadowing.

Wash your fungus. Now, I’m not fancy and don’t have wild mushrooms or foraged mushrooms (I haven’t gotten to see my mushroom guy at the Somerville Winter Farmer’s Market in a while). I got some shiitake, baby portabella, and plain ol’ white mushrooms. Store brand baby.

Snazzy sous chef grillin’ the onions.

So it’s about time I admit: I did not have some (read: many) of the spices this recipe called for. I have never seen curry leaves. I don’t know what black mustard seed looks like. I don’t own coriander. We turn into weeping piles of burned sand whenever there’s a pepper in the house. So I did a lot of substitutions: entirely left out the chiles (sorry flavor fans) and skipped step 2, swapped ground cumin for the seeds, used curry powder in place of leaves, and threw in a dash of cardamom instead of coriander (it smelled like something that would be happy in a curry dish plus they’re close alphabetically). I added a good dose of black pepper to make up for the lack of mustard seeds (?!) and, anyway, my meals are often struggle meals.

Ah yes, the other inevitable moment of the evening: when I realize there’s no way the rest of the ingredients will fit into my pan. Tall Allan to the rescue, pulling down our dutch oven gifted by the lovely Ann and Joe when we helped them move a million years ago! It doesn’t get nearly enough use. Maybe I should store it somewhere I can actually reach.

WHOO NOW TWO DIRTY HAND-WASH-ONLY PANS!

Ok now we’re getting somewhere, starting to smell pretty damn good...

If you are not a cilantro-is-soap person, chop up your fresh leaves. I did splurge on these because I also have salsa and can make next-level nachos next time I need a snack. Or put it in a salad or whatever. Mainly nachos.

This is the moment you realize that despite crafting this blog for a few years and being both a person who cooks food sometimes AND a professional pantry chef in years past, you STILL don’t ever closely read the recipe all the way through first. The curry needs rice. What are you even doing with your life. How could you forget to start the rice. Now everything will be done in minutes and you’re starving and the rice is RAW. Concede defeat, promise to make rice FIRST next time, and pull out some tiny bit of starch: these mini whole grain naan breads. They are my new obsession. They’re $3.50 for four slices but holy heck I love them so much.

Done! The whole thing came together in under a half hour, and looks nice on a plate!

We’re skeptical that sans rice this vegan meal will be filling enough, but moments after this photo was taken and before a single bite was had, our doorbell rang and who was it but THE KENTS with GIRL SCOUT COOKIES! Delivered to our door in a snow storm no less! Desert safely secured, we sat down to discover our fates: it was GOOD!! Filling! Tasty!

Final final verdict: I’ve yet to try a NY Times recipe I didn’t end up loving (the one and only salad recipe I have is their orange/radish/pistachio dish I was shown a few years ago - amazing) and this was no exception. We’re trying to eat less meat (and have already virtually cut beef and pork from our normal rotation) so finding easy vegan meals is really exciting. We freakin’ love mushrooms and I can’t wait to make this again. Probably later this week.

#unpinned pinterest pintrestfail recipe cooking

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theaveragekenyan · 4 years

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Hungry Heart...

Hungry Heart.

A quick game of ‘Family Fortunes’. (Family Fortunes the game show where the answers were requested from a publicly polled question, i.e)

Q = Name a type of American Food.

A = Hamburger ....our survey says, Hamburger ✅ Top answer.

Next;

Q - Name a type of Italian Food.

A = Pizza …our survey says, Pizza ✅ Top Answer

Next;

Q - Name a type of Kenyan food.

A = Ugali…our survey says, Ugali ✅ Top Answer.

I’m confident the above responses would be the most popular answers to those questions if a survey were taken on the streets of Nairobi today.

Ask Donald Trump, what’s better than a Hamburger? Juicy, succulent ground beef with tomatoes, lettuce, cheese, pickle, mustard, ketchup all held together by an air pumped bread bun…nothing fake at all about that.

Or what about a Pizza? oven fired circular dough, topped with an infinite amount of cheese options under any mix of vegetables and meat varieties…a billion deliveries every year can’t be wrong.

And let’s not forget a Kenyan staple, Ugali, ground maize meal, mixed with boiling water and then formed into a solid white ball. Delicious, well, ok…it’s not really delicious…it’s more a way of life and enjoyed because there’s very little other choice.

Kenyan Food is interesting, because historically, food has developed into…well…food.

The food theory hasn’t moved too far away from the ‘don’t eat, die’ philosophy rather than into fancy cuisine.

This is why I find the average Kenyan meal to be “BnB”, basic and bland, and Ugali has to stand right up there as a great example of BnB food.

Ugali has various names across Africa and is eaten by many, so African’s aside, It is a guarantee that all foreigner’s will be quizzed by Kenyan’s to find out if they have eaten Ugali. If the answer is yes, the next question will be ‘do you like Ugali?’

And this is when the foreigner will become increasingly awkward, stutter and generally skirt around the BnB fact. The foreigner will mince out cloaked enthusiasm and say “Yes…I’ve tried it…it’s nice…I…..like it” blatantly, the foreigner doesn’t want to get anywhere near describing it’s taste or what it’s eaten with. Essentially anything to not offend the Kenyan national dish.

Then, in the not too distant future, the foreigner will be with the person, that asked all of the Ugali questions, when Lunch is served.

Naturally, the foreigner will be bumped up to pole position in the queue for food.

The food will be covered, all the lids down on the large metallic serving trays and then one by one up they pop. First serving tray open and it’s a large fresh tray of steaming Ugali.

As the cellophane is proudly pealed away, “Ugali” announces the Kenyan “You said Ugali is nice”

Now the food server hears this and loves it, how they laugh as the heavy serving spoon sinks into the epic Ugali field. The foreigner is now looking at the true scale of Ugali, out comes a Rugby ball sized portion and is placed on their plate “is that enough?” the server asks without irony.

“Yes, plenty, Asantee” squirms the foreigner politely. On piles the rest of lunch, but there’s not much room on the plate for anything else. So the foreigner sits down at a table, with their plate of Ugali and other small scale assorted bitings, as the Kenyan’s join.

They all ask the same question “Oh, you like Ugali?” “Yes, I do, but this is a little bit too much for me” replies the foreigner, only to be met with “Oh that’s not much really” from the Kenyan’s, the foreigner looks around and realises this is no lie, food is stacked up on top of Ugali which rises up to peoples chests, steam touching their chins. The foreigner takes the first enthusiastic fork full to barrels of laughter

“Eat it with your hands” say the Kenyans,

“We eat Ugali with our hands” the advice continues to come in.

The foreigner now has to quickly scan around to check how that’s done, they see many shovelling hands with golf ball sized portions of Ugali, scooping up sauce and trapping bits of meat and spinach. The foreigner gives it a go, but soon realise they’ve broken off too much Ugali and now their ball is the size of a Tennis ball. Oh dear, now they’ve got to eat up more Ugali than they thought they ever could. Each bite feels like it’s draining brain juice as their mouth dries to resemble the Sahara desert. There’s easily still 4 more bites of the Ugali ball to go. It’s time for evasive action, “hmmmm tha wath delithuth” splutters the foreigner as they stand up, turn around and spit their mouths content onto their plate and scrape it into the bin, I’ll never eat Ugali again they tell themselves.

I think the closest comparison to Ugali would be Mashed Potatoes, well mashed potatoes if you don’t add salt, pepper, butter and milk. At least with mashed spuds, the extra additions don’t stop there; cheese, beetroot, butternut, Brussels, balsamic vinegar, mustard, soy sauce, chilli sauce all work to break up the classic spud recipe’s monotony. Nothing like that with Ugali, oh hang on…it can be made either white or brown…the only difference being, brown Ugali soaks up your blood.

Speaking of Mashed Potato, there is a fancy mash version here called Mukimo, it’s very nice. It’s bright green and has whole kernels of hard maize in it. I prefer it to Ugali, but it’s definitely one to serve yourself and not have a Kenyan do it for you.

For the the larger part of Kenya, food is readily available, but with the poverty found in such places as the Nairobi slums, food has to be simple and within a ridiculously low daily budget, people don’t have too much of a choice to be flambéing duck or questioning how many times their chips have been deep fried.

From my travels, I’ve noticed that many Kenyan meals will have been cooked for a good proportion of the day. Usually a slow cook involves beans and pulses, incredibly healthy, wholesome and organic, but also served incredibly dull. It’s essentially a bean stew with little flavour or signature kick. It’s like a can of ‘no frills vegetable soup’ that’s been boiled for 5 hours. It has a certain appeal, but it’s nothing special, yet to talk to a Kenyan about boiled beans or “Githeri” as it’s called, is, as if, it is some kind of speciality cuisine. Each region seems to have it’s own version, but the variety doesn’t seem to change that much, maybe one region adds carrots or potatoes and that’s about it. I guarantee, if that dish had originated in one of the poorest regions of China, it would be a real delicacy now. Sure you’d get the odd bat claw stuck between your teeth, but nonetheless, I imagine it would be an overall tastier experience than “Githeri”. Thanks Chef’s of Kenya, but I’ll stick with the English delicacy of baked beans on toast, cupboard to table in less than 10 minutes.

That slow cooking style reverberates through many culinary styles. In fact, most food is slow cooked, this is why the over 70’s love eating here. Pasta is never al-dente, cabbage doesn’t come with a crunch, meat is a lottery as to how how much jaw action will be needed and eggs are always over cooked. Unless you’re in a Western priced Hotel or restaurant, food is never considered to be served ‘just cooked’, I’m yet to find a boiled salad, but I know it’s out there. Note to self, Boiled Salad, somebody get me Heston Blumenthal.

The word Koroga means 'to stir’ in Swahili. A ‘foody’ experience, that is often talked about, is the Koroga. This is apparently a uniquely Kenyan Swahili experience. However, from my experience, what I was told about a Koroga and what I actually encountered at a Koroga were two completely different experiences.

This is what I was told about a Koroga.

A Koroga is a get together of family and friends who will start the event off by selecting meats, vegetables, herbs and spices and then start adding them all into a large pot. These ingredients will be cooked by the party as as the pot is regularly stirred by the party, whilst allowing everything to cook for about 4-5 hours.

A Curry based BBQ, I mean that sounds like a proper great time.

No, not quite, in fact from my experience, this is what actually happens.

A Koroga is a get together of family and friends who, once everyone has arrived and is indicated to start will instruct a Chef to add meat, vegetables, herbs and spices into a large pan and then cook everything for the guests, this will be then served 3-4 hours later when the most stirred things are the guests who are totally shit-faced from all the boozing whilst waiting for the food to be cooked. I just think the Koroga idea hasn’t really been properly thought out. It’s closest relative the BBQ or Braai work extremely well, but its USP is about DIY food and standing around the grill complaining. The Koroga’s USP is that the Chef decided to cook everything outside rather than in the kitchen, sorry, I just don’t get the appeal.

One dish that is cooked quickly, at least I think it’s cooked quickly, is Nyama Choma.

Translated literally - Nyama is meat - Choma is burn. A Meat Burn.

“I’ve heard it’s going to be lovely on Saturday, so you’re all invited around to ours for a Meat Burn”

Fortunately, the meat isn’t burnt, not like at UK BBQ’s,

The choices of meat are;

Mbuzi = Goat.

Kuku = Chicken.

Nyama = any other type of Red Meat that is from a Cow.

Sorry Lamb and Pork, this scene is not for you, go find your own Meat Burn.

Just like any badly managed BBQ/Braai, the final cook quality is hit and miss, the hits involve nice juicy tender bites of meat and sucked out marrowbone. The misses include, chewy, sinewy, fatty meat if you can find it, and once again the experience lacks imagination. The only seasoning you will get is salt and there will only be one accompaniment to the meat which is called Kachumbari, a mix of tomato, onion and chilli.

So Kenyan Meat Burn’s are for the real purists only. I do love Nyama Choma though, if not just for it’s back to basic 10,000 BC appeal.

One experience I never tire of, is a Kenyan breakfast in a Hotel. The breakfast routine follows the International standard of the best planned meal of the day. It starts at the Juice bar and ends up at the bloated Pig table. There’s always a great choice at a Kenyan breakfast, although many will be disappointed at the lack of bacon on offer, that’s because Kenyan’s prefer sausages to Bacon hands down.

I like that many of the previous nights dinner offerings will be now re-served for breakfast. So there are always surprises to be had like Green Banana Curry, Githeri, Fish stew, Roast Potatoes, Lentil Stew and anything else that didn’t get eaten the night before.

Hands down, my favourite experience of a Kenyan breakfast is observing the Egg Chef. You’ll know it’s the Egg Chef because they will be dressed like the top google image search for Chef.

The egg is treated with the most respect, kept separately and away from all the other dishes that are hidden underneath aluminium lids. The Eggs will never come into contact with the mixed up serving spoons covered in bean juice and banana curry, they are not good enough for the eggs. But wait, what’s this, what’s hiding underneath here?, oh it’s the Hard Boiled Eggs, the common, dirty poor bastard parent of the free and easy, liberated, naked eggs that the Egg Chef will caress and massage into a beautiful work of art.

The Egg chef will be situated at the start of the line, but when you want him, he won’t be there. I say he, the Egg Chef is always a he, no Woman in Kenya is considered prestigious enough to do this job. The Egg Chef and Kenyan President are two Jobs women will never perform.

So what tends to happen is this, in the absence of the Egg Chef people will pile up their plates first. Then the Egg Chef appears exactly when he wants, just like the true artist he is, only then will the egg orders be taken.

Now the only cooking utensils the Egg Chef possesses are a frying pan and a spatula. So this limits the type of egg available to either a Fried Egg or an Omelette. I always like to joke I’ll take a poached Egg, but it’s short-lived because nobody understands what I’m saying. Don’t be getting technical with the Egg Chef, his position of authority is untouchable.

Fried Eggs will be cooked in either two choices, “cooked” or “sunny side up”. The majority of times I’ve requested Sunny Side Up, the eggs have been served closer to raw, which is a little too avant-garde for me. So, they have to be sent back which will be re-served ‘cooked’.

My advice, request cooked.

If you’re asking for an omelette it will be either served “with everything” or “without everything”. “Without everything” is a plain egg omelette “With everything” is an Omelette mixed with finely chopped onion, capsicum and chilli pepper. Both Omelette varieties are good, but as previously mentioned, they will be “cooked”, i.e a properly cooked through, no nonsense, fuss free, nothing moving, Omelette. That said, they go down well and the pomp and circumstance of the occasion overrides any need for a fancy, modern, runny consistency.

I’ve spoken to many people that blame the style of Kenyan food on Colonisation.

Typical, blame the Brits for bequeathing a bland stereotypical diet.

This is not true, because anyone that says they don’t like British Cuisine then goes onto say, except they like Pork Pie, Mr Kipling Cakes, Sausage Rolls, Full English Breakfast, Chicken Tikka Masala, Black Pudding, Sausage and Mash, Fish and Chips, Mushy Peas, Deep Fried Mars Bar, Jammie Dodgers, Sunday Roast, The Tasting Menu at The Fat Duck, Gordon Ramsey swearing, Monster Munch, Jellied Eels and Roast Badger.

There, conclusive evidence that England has a varied and incredibly well established culinary tradition of original and modern food.

So whilst there is an excellent and extensive varied selection of Kenyan restaurants, serving truly excellent food, once you step outside of all that and roam into the realms of “lazy” Kenyan food, you will be craving Pickled Onion Monster Munch all day long.

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izayoi-no-mikoto · 6 years

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Yuletide treat - Vatican Miracle Examiner

(contains spoilers for the anime. Set soon after episode 12.)

Roberto is kind, and loyal, and good.

It doesn't particularly surprise Ryouta to discover this; in the course of his short life, he has looked up to two people above all others, Kou for what he has done in life and Josef for what he did in death, and both of them counted Roberto as someone special. To earn the friendship and admiration of two such people is no small feat, and it says much of Roberto that he has done it.

Ryouta knew this before, but it was more an intellectual exercise than anything else; he hadn't met the man, had never spoken to him, had never witnessed the workings of his mind or the kindness of his spirit or the depth of his loyalty. Of course Roberto had to be a good person, Ryouta thought, but he thought little deeper than that.

Then his condition takes a turn for the worse, and he sees three specters before him, and--Ah, it's time, he realizes, it must at last be my turn to die.

But it isn't. Ryouta wakes up again, somehow--miraculously--still alive, and that is when he meets Roberto for the first time.

"That belongs to you," Ryouta says, nodding at the golden bookmark, and a flood of emotion pours over Roberto's face, too vast and too swift for Ryouta to translate, and--Ah, he thinks, I see why you became his friend, Josef.

That should, he thinks, be the end of it. Kou spends seemingly every waking moment at Ryouta's bedside, but aside from that one time, Roberto doesn't accompany him, doesn't impose on them, doesn't interrupt. Ryouta isn't particularly affected by this one way or the other, and in all honesty he didn't expect anything different. Perhaps Roberto makes himself scarce because he's overwhelmed by the discovery of Josef's sacrament, or perhaps he just isn't as invested in Kou's little brother as Kou himself is--either of which would be perfectly understandable, and Ryouta sees no reason to even ponder the question. But as Ryouta's condition improves from catastrophic to perilous to actually not half bad, Roberto increasingly visits--sometimes with a book under his arm, sometimes bringing nothing but himself and a gentle smile, always sincere--and Ryouta soon wonders if perhaps the reason for Roberto's prior absence was simply that he didn't want to infringe on their brotherly bonding when Ryouta's time might have been running out, or their celebration upon discovering that Ryouta would, at least for now, survive.

Today Roberto announces his arrival with a knock on the door. At first Ryouta can't guess who it is, but Kou breaks off mid-sentence and glances over at the sound, his face already lighting up. It's as though he can sense Roberto's presence through the wall, or perhaps can recognize the weight and cadence of his knuckles on wood. Either way, he clearly knows who it is without asking, and it's the sheer joy in his expression as much as anything else that makes Ryouta call out, "Come in."

Ryouta is strong enough that his voice carries, now.

The door creaks open, and Roberto steps inside. "Roberto!" Kou exclaims, as thought he can't hold back his excitement. He so often greets Roberto this way; it tickles Ryouta, just a little, to see his responsible, mature older brother unfold like this.

"Hiraga," Roberto says by way of greeting, and even though using the surname should sound distant, impersonal, he manages to imbue it with a fathomless fondness that fills every syllable. Then he looks over at Ryouta. "Hello, Ryouta," he says pleasantly, and though the depth of emotion has slipped away, the warmth is very real. "How are you feeling?"

"Quite well, thank you," Ryouta replies. "In fact, I feel better than I have in... quite a long time."

Roberto and Kou exchange a glance, one of those looks that speaks to implicit understanding of things left unsaid and a bond extending beyond the capacities of human explanation. It's at times like this that Ryouta wishes he were inside their circle, wishes that he could understand exactly what they do, how they live, the things they've seen and experienced together, because there is obviously something here that he doesn't understand, something involving him, and--

But at the same time, he wants no part of it. He knows that there are some places he is not meant to intrude.

"I'm glad to hear that," Roberto says, and he pulls up a chair and takes a seat beside Kou. "I was just thinking that if your doctors okay it, you might appreciate something other than hospital food. I'm pretty good in the kitchen, you know."

Kou beams. "Oh, will you cook for him, Roberto?" he asks, excited, then turns to Ryouta with bright eyes. "Roberto is a fantastic cook, Ryouta, I promise you that you've never tasted anything nearly so delicious--he can make positively anything, one time we were in North America and he made us bison--"

And so begins a cascade of gushing descriptions of pancetta-wrapped beef tenderloin, and cranberry-gorgonzola-pecan spinach salad, and braised soy-apple pork chops, and all matter of cuisine that Kou without exception praises rapturously, his hands clasped and stars in his eyes. Roberto doesn't even try to cut in; he just watches and listens with his cheek propped up in one hand, wearing an expression that is equal parts bemused, flattered and hopelessly fond. And if he won't stop Kou, well, then Ryouta can't find it in himself to stop him, either.

"--and if you have the opportunity to eat Roberto's cooking, you simply cannot pass it up!" Kou concludes at last with a decisive nod.

Ryouta blinks, dazed. "I look forward to it," he says faintly, because it seems like a safer option than mentioning any specific details that might get Kou started again, and also because it's true--after all, he trusts his brother's judgment implicitly, in all things.

"You're exaggerating, Hiraga," Roberto says with a roll of his eyes. "If you talk up my cooking that much, he'll only be disappointed. It's better not to give him false hope."

Kou gapes as though Roberto's self-effacement is a personal insult. "Disappointed? I have never once been disappointed by your cooking, Roberto! If anything--"

Kou's renewed fervor is cut short by the ringing of his cell phone. He breaks off to fish his phone out of his pocket and glance at the screen. Then his face goes blank. "I apologize, but I have to take this," he says, his eyes flitting to Roberto. Roberto gazes back, then nods. Vatican business, then. Kou excuses himself from the room, leaving Roberto and Ryouta to their own devices.

Roberto waits until the door softly clicks shut, and then he turns to Ryouta. "I wish it could have happened without you almost dying, but I'm glad I finally got to meet you," he says. The bluntness is painful, but refreshing--everyone knew Ryouta's life had hung in the balance, but no one else has dared speak the words aloud in his presence, as though giving voice to the thought might bring the reaper back to finish the job. Roberto, it seems, has no such qualms. "Your brother speaks well of you."

Ryouta's cheeks go hot. "My brother is too kind," he says, enfeebled.

Roberto chuckles softly. "That's true," he allows. "But that doesn't mean he's wrong."

Ryouta's cheeks must be bright red by now, he's sure of it. Of course his brother speaks well of him; a good older brother cares for his younger brother, and Kou is nothing if not good in every way. But hearing someone else say it is completely different.

"I've always looked up to him," Ryouta admits. "I know I can't do everything he does, especially when I've been in the hospital so much. But I try to live up to his ideals."

"Not many people can live up to Hiraga's ideals," Roberto says, unexpectedly frank. "Believe me, I've tried."

Ryouta studies him, not bothering to try to hide it. He's pretty sure Roberto would see through him anyway. Roberto meets his gaze, then leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "You must miss him," he says, gently. "What with him being gone on missions for the Vatican all the time."

"I do miss him," Ryouta says. No point denying it. "But I know he's doing what's important to him."

Roberto's pursed lips soften, just a bit. "When he got the phone call saying your condition had worsened, he dropped everything to fly to Germany to be here with you," he says. "You're important to him, too. Don't forget that."

Ryouta flashes back to that moment. The three specters he'd seen so often, too often, except now they loomed over him and he realized, Ah, this time they're here for me--and then, that tiny voice of weakness, the one he'd spent so long trying to crush out of existence, raised its head and whispered, faint and defeated: I just wish I could have seen my brother one more time.

"Father Roberto," Ryouta says, "can I tell you something?"

Roberto's eyebrows rise. He reclines in his chair, crosses his legs, folds his hands in his lap. "What is it?"

"I don't know if you'll believe me," Ryouta says.

Roberto's somber expression doesn't even twitch. "My job is quite literally to try to disprove miracles," he says. "I have to be skeptical about everything. So no, I can't promise I'll believe you. But I can promise that I'll hear you out."

So Ryouta tells him.

Ryouta tells him about the three hooded specters. Ryouta tells him about Danny, and his mother, and all the sick and ailing children he'd seen swept away in their wake. Ryouta tells him about praying for the dying, believing it was all he could do, believing it was the reason he was put on this earth. Ryouta tells him about the sacrament.

Ryouta tells him about seeing the three specters once again and realizing, deep in his gut and with chilling certainty, Ah, it's my turn.

He falls quiet at last, and Roberto sits beside him and lets the silence stretch. It grows deeper and heavier, and Ryouta fidgets, second-guessing his decision. He doesn't believe me, he thinks, suddenly doubting himself, he doesn't believe me, I've ruined everything, I--

"I'll be honest," Roberto says abruptly. "I don't know if you can actually see, I don't know, the agents of Death or whatever you'd like to call them. I don't know if they actually exist or if you're just hallucinating them or if you're making them up out of whole cloth. I don't even know how I would prove or disprove it. But I do believe you."

Ryouta's breath escapes him in a relieved rush. His head suddenly feels too light. "You believe me?"

"You're an honest kid," Roberto says. "Like I said, I don't know if what you see is real or not. But this isn't an investigation. It's real enough to you, and that's all that matters to me."

Ryouta swallows, suddenly overwhelmed by the urge to cry. He manages to control himself and settles for sniffling a bit instead.

"But Ryouta," Roberto continues, leaning forward again, and now his face and his voice are so grave that Ryouta feels his heart drop, "you have to promise me one thing."

Ryouta gulps. His hands clench into nervous fists beneath the sheets. "What is it?" he asks, his voice small.

What could Roberto want of him? Was he going to demand that Ryouta never breathe a word of this again? Never speak of this to Kou? Or--

"Promise me," Roberto says, "that if you ever see them come for your brother, you'll tell me."

Ryouta's anxiously churning mind screeches to a halt. He stares at Roberto, perplexed. "Why?" he blurts. "It's not--" and then his voice falters, and he has to gather himself up again before he can resume speaking. "It's not something I'd wish upon anyone else," he mumbles at last, the words dragged almost unwilling out of him. "To know that someone will die, and not be able to save them--"

"I'll save him."

Ryouta had been saying something, but the sheer ferocity in Roberto's voice makes him forget all words.

Roberto takes a deep breath. "I'll save him," he repeats, more restrained this time, but without losing an ounce of steel. "No matter what, I'll save him." He stares at Ryouta as though willing him to understand something that cannot be put into mere words. "I'd go through Hell to save him," he says, quiet and strained but utterly unyielding. "I'd do anything to save him. So you have to promise me. Please."

Unable to speak, Ryouta nods his agreement. A promise. Roberto leans back, as though he is only now satisfied.

The door swings open. "My apologies," Kou says, sliding his phone back into his pocket as he reenters the room. "I couldn't--" he breaks off, glancing between the two of them as though he can sense the heaviness of what has in his absence passed between them. "Did I interrupt something?" he asks.

"No, no," Roberto says, leaning his chair back on two legs and waving a lazy hand in dismissal. "Ryouta and I were just chatting while you were gone. Your brother's a good kid, you know?"

Kou's hesitation instantly evaporates. "I know he is," he says, casting an affectionate look Ryouta's way, and so he misses the painfully soft expression that sweeps over Roberto's face.

He misses it, but Ryouta doesn't. I'd do anything for him, Roberto had said, and Ryouta suddenly knows, with more certainty than he thinks he's ever felt in his life, that Roberto's words are the truth. And Kou might not know it yet, might not yet realize it, but--

Ah, Ryouta realizes, now I know why my brother loves you.

#fic #fanfic #yuletide #Vatican Miracle Examiner #VME #Vatican Kiseki Chousakan #Hiraga Ryouta #Roberto Nicolas #Hiraga Joseph Kou #Yuletide treat

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