#the pork shoulder i know how to do that's the one fancy meal i know how to make and i do it for at least one big event a year. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

symphonicmetal101 · 3 years

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After watching some anime, can I request the brothers and Side characters with an MC that makes really great bentos in their aesthetic with their favorite meals? MC could make Lucifer a fancy dish of steak done to his favorite temperature, side dishes are organized neatly, and the bento is red and black to match his design or she made pink/pastel treats for Asmo is a very cute bento that matches his style. I think it would make their day when they receive something so cute from the human

ABSOFRICKINGLUTELY! ANON! I LOVE YOU! THANK YOU! However, I write gn! Whenever possible, so I hope you don't mind. Also, I've only made bento once, so I did a tinny bit of research. Most of them stray from traditional bento, however I tried to make sure I had the four components, (protien, carbs, salad/veggies, and fruit) (except Asmo), and different cooking methods for each. Some of them I forgot to explicitly say what colour the box was, so I'm sorry about that. I didn't do Luke because he had a role in Simeon's, and I blanked. (Sorry) Also, some of them have links bc I started to lose inspiration and motivation to write the same thing over and over again bc brain juice went bye. Hopefully I did this justice, I may have gotten a little carried away...sorry for rambling.

MC Makes Bento For The Boys

Lucifer

Lucifer had been working non-stop for the past few weeks

You had barely seen him, as he was so busy going back and forth from the castle, meetings, and he had banned everyone from his office. It had gotten so bad that he would "postpone" his meals, but nobody had seen him eat in a while.

You had a lot of spare time, so you did meal prep for the whole week just for Lucifer.

It was a little past noon by the time you finished, (and made Beel swear he wouldn't touch the food because you would treat him at Madam Scream's later), so you decided to make a bento box for Lucifer's lunch today with some leftover beef and rice you had.

With your protein and carbs taken care of, you prepared some roasted asparagus to add some colour to the box as well as a couple of carrots. You also added an umeboshi plum on top of the rice to match the colour of the box. (A/N I personally don't mind umeboshi on it's own, but if anyone wants to try it, I highly suggest you eat it with rice or have water on hand 😂)(oh yeah, umeboshi is a small, sour, pickled plum.)

In the final box you arranged a couple of orange slices, strawberries and grapes.

Satisfied, you brought the box and a glass of water up to his study. You didn't even bother knocking, knowing he would just send you away anyways.

You were greeted by a low growl. "Get out."

You rolled your eyes. "No. You need to eat Lucifer, and I'm not leaving until I know you've finished this."

"I don't have time for this MC. I have to-" he was cut off by his stomach rumbling.

He blushed slightly, and continued to busy himself with work.

"Please? I hate seeing you overwork yourself like this. Have you looked in the mirror lately? When was the last time you slept? Eaten? Had something other than coffee? Have you even gone to the bathroom in the past 48 hours?"

He sighed, folded his hands under his chin and looked up at you through disheveled raven locks.

"...you really aren't going anywhere until I eat." It wasn't a question, rather a statement with a trace of relief in it.

You extended the bento box out to him once more, though this time he accepted it.

"....thank you MC.....this is quite delicious. Perhaps once I'm done my work I can take you out to Ristorante Six to show my appreciation."

You pushed his hair back and planted a kiss on his forehead.

"Once you're done your work, you're going to sleep. That's an order, sir."

He silently cursed himself as he felt himself blush again

You were planning to stay until he finished, but then you heard Mammon and Levi fighting.

"I'll take care of that love. Make sure you drink that water too. Also, I prepped meals for the rest of the week for you, so you have no excuse to not eat. I bribed Beel, so they should stay there, but as an extra precaution I got Satan to teach me a protection spell. I didn't tell him what it was for, so it should be fine."

He watched you close the door behind you and wondered what he did to deserve someone like you.

Mammon

He was complaining to you because his actions finally caught up with him, and tomorrow he had to go out and repay some witches with time and favours, (being a bagboy), instead of money

He started belly-aching even more when you told him you weren't interested in joining him.

Luckily you were on dinner duty tonight, so you had a legitimate excuse to leave his pity-party

However while you were making dinner, you decided to show Mammon a little bit of sympathy, and set some rice and pork cutlet aside that you could use later.

After dinner, Mammon followed Lucifer, trying to convince him to give him money.

So you had ample time to continue working on his bento.

He had a three compartment wooden box

You scooped the rice into the box, put the cutlet on top, and two thinly sliced pieces of lemon on top.

You cut up some yellow, red, and orange bell pepper to put in the top left corner of the box

In the last compartment, you cut up golden kiwi, pineapple chunks, and a couple blueberries

You were about to put it in the fridge, when Mammon came screaming into the kitchen.

"MC HELP ME LUCIFER'S MAD I DON'T WANNA GET STRUNG UP AGAIN AND- wait, what's that?"

You sighed. "It was supposed to be a surprise Mammon! I made lunch for you for tomorrow, because you're going to be doing some running around and who knows when you'll get a moment to yourself? I was going to cast a spell on it to keep Beel from eating it, so it would have lasted overnight too... I just want to make sure you have something healthy to eat and so you don't have to spend money on take out. If you don't want it though, I'll just give it to Beel..."

He blushed furiously. "Ya don't gotta worry bout me, silly human. The Great Mammon can take care of himself! But-uh, I'll probably end up taking it anyways, because it's umm, it's free food! And Mammon ain't about to pass that up!"

He tried to grab it, but you pulled it close to yourself and turned, blocking him.

"You only want it because it's free? Ok. Fine. You'll have to pay me if you want it." You teased

He whined a bit. "Aw come on, ya even said ya didn't want me spendin money tomorrow! And ya said it was for me! MC, this ain't fair!"

"I didn't say you had to use money."

The next day while Mammon was out and about, trying to carry multiple bags of stuff for the witches, he happily ate his food, a light blush on his cheeks as every bite reminded him of the way you felt against his lips yesterday.

Leviathan

Levi had lost out on another draw despite having spent copious amounts of money on the tickets

As such, he had locked himself in his room to temporarily drown in his sorrows

You decided to make Kyaraben, character bento, for him. (Kyaraben can also refer to animals, real life celebrities, or natural settings)

(I would do Ruri- Chan but I have no fricking clue, so here's a link to a recipe for Pikachu Kyaraben because that's what you did instead)

Hesitantly, you brought your creation to his room and lightly knocked on the door.

"...I don't wanna talk to anyone right now."

"Levi, it's me. I brought something to cheer you up! At least let me give it to you if you don't want me to stay."

You could hear some scuffling and mumbling from behind the door. "I highly doubt there's anything a normie like you can do to help."

You tried to brush that off, because, ouch, but you knew he was upset so you tried not to take it to heart.

He was pouty as he opened the door, his demon form on display.

His expression immediately changed when he saw the bento in your hands.

"WOOOOOAAAHHH!!! THIS IS FOR ME??!! YOU MADE ME BENTO??!! This is something straight out of anime!!! Uh...uhm...d-do you maybe w-want to share it?"

The last part of his sentence had him blushing furiously, and he refused to look you in the eye.

"Sure. Maybe we can watch that anime you texted me about a couple days ago too."

His eyes lit up with joy as he used his tail to gently grab your wrist and pull you excitedly to his couch.

Once he had arranged everything to his liking, he sat down and bashfully accepted the bento.

At some point, he asked if he could feed it to you, however, there was only one pair of chopsticks

Blushy otaku very much enjoyed the bento, not only because it was like his anime, but also because it was you who made it.

He also got a couple indirect kisses, and could not focus on anything but that for the next few days.

Satan

You and Satan had been spending a lot of time together lately because he was helping you study for a test

Thanks to Satan's tutoring, you had managed to get a much higher score on the test than you had imagined.

As thanks, you wanted to make a kitten Kyaraben

You found him in the library at a desk, hunched over a book, studying some foreign language.

He was so engrossed in his studies that he didn't notice you right away, so you tapped him gently on his shoulder.

"Ah, MC. I'm afraid I missed you coming in. Are you alright?"

You smiled and nodded. You brought the box out from behind your back with your test papers on top, the mark clearly visible.

"I couldn't have gotten that mark without your help, so I made you some bento as thanks. I hope you like it."

His eyes widened in surprise. "Oh MC, that wasn't necessary. Spending time with you was enough for me, but thank you."

He slid the lid off the bento and chuckled when he saw what you had done.

"That's quite clever kitten. Perhaps next time you can show me how to make it?"

His pet name made you blush a bit, but that didn't stop you from agreeing.

You two spent the next few hours discussing different meals you guys could learn to make together.

Asmodeus

Asmo had been taking you shopping lately, hyping you up and helping you destress with spa nights

In return, you decided to make a dessert bento box in a pretty pink container.

It was a square container split into nine compartments.

Across the top three compartments, you arranged a rainbow of mochi.

On the bottom three you arranged a rainbow of macaroons.

In the two outside compartments left, you put a mini Wicked cupcake in each

Finally in the middle, you arranged Hershey's kisses into a heart.

Satisfied, you made your way to his room and announced your presence at his door.

"Come in darling~ I'm just finishing up my nails!"

You let yourself in and settled across the table from Asmo.

"I brought you something. I just wanted to thank you for helping me out lately and show you how much I appreciate you!"

You placed the box next to him so he could see what you had done.

His squeal of excitement almost decimated your eardrums, however moments later you were enveloped in a very tight, heartfelt, "smooshy" hug, but his elated expression made up for your temporary loss of hearing.

"Ohh MC! You're so sweet!!!! These look delicious, let's share them!! Just let me take a picture first with my favourite snack!!"

You sat back and expected him to pick up a cupcake, but yelped as he pulled you into the frame.

"I said with my favourite snacc MC, and I meant it!!" (Yes, he still took a picture of the bento)

Beelzebub

You wanted to plan an outdoor date for the two of you that wouldn't require you to excersize.

So you decided to try and make Koraku Bento, or picnic bento, but even bigger in hopes you would be able to temporarily satiate Beel's hunger

Because you were making so much, you needed multiple boxes, and a couple days to prepare, so you asked Simeon if you could work at PH so Beel wouldn't get to it early.

Of course, he agreed

Day one, you prepared five different fillings for the Onigiri you were planning to make: sha-ke (salted salmon),umeboshi (Japanese pickled plum), okaka (bonito flakes moistened with soy sauce), kombu (simmered kombu seaweed), tuna mayo (canned tuna with Japanese mayonnaise)

Day two you prepared three large protiens, (chicken, beef, and pork), each enough to fill about two containers each. You cooked each of them differently. You also cut up/prepared vegetables you wanted to use for tempura.

Day three you woke up early in order to be ready to take Beel out after his game. You made rice and finished making the Onigiri, (which Luke was adamant you let him make with you).

And Simeon helped you make the tempura and a beautiful salad to accompany everything else.

However, now there was a lot of stuff to carry and you wanted to greet Beel out of his game.

So the angels took care of transporting the food to the roof while you went to get Beel

"Why are we going to Purgatory Hall? Are we having dinner with the angels?"

"Not quite. The date I wanted to take you on had a slight change of plans. We just need to get to the roof-"

"Do you want me to fly us up there?"

You considered it for a moment then agreed. If nothing else, you would be avoiding Solomon.

Once you landed, appreciation for the angels swelled as they had laid everything out so beautifully.

"...oh. It looks like someone else is doing something up here. It smells really good, so we should probably go. I don't want to eat someone else's food and ruin their night by accident....again." He tried to leave, but you pulled on him gently.

"I'm glad you think it smells good. This is for you! I made it for you, and the angels helped me bring it up here when I went to pick you up."

His eyes widened. "...All of that...you made it for me?"

You couldn't help but smile and nod at his bashful expression.

He hugged you gently. "Thank you MC. I know that took a lot."

"It was worth it! You haven't even tried it yet. Come on, I'm hungry!" You giggled.

Beel's stomach growled in response, causing a slight blush to light his cheeks. You're so good to him❤

Belphegor (this has a bit of crack energy, I'm sorry. So will Solomon's😅)

"MC....can you pass me my D.D.D?"

"MC....can you give me a massage?"

"MC....can you switch my laundry for me?"

"MC....can you pass me my pillow?"

"Belphie, I love you. I understand you're the Avatar of Sloth. But what the actual fuck? Your pillow is under your arm, just move it under your head. I've already gotten up, like six times to do stuff for you."

He groaned. "But it takes too much effort!" He smushed his cheek into his arm and attempted to give you puppy-dog eyes.

"Sorry, only Beel can pull that off. If you want your pillow moved less than a foot, you're going to do it yourself. You of all people should now how frustrating it is to get up as soon as you sit down."

He groaned again and grumbled as he moved his own damn pillow.

You tried to relax a bit. Normally your time with Belphie consisted of cuddles, movie nights, planeterium visits, or just plugging into some music and enjoying each other's company, like you were trying to do now.

Until you made eye contact with him again.

He was going to ask something-

"MC........... can you get me a snack?"

Dear God, he was not gonna like this.

"Of course Belphie. I'd love to."

You made your way to the kitchen with new found energy.

You were going to make Shikaeshi Bento (revenge lunchbox)

Basically, it's supposed to be inedible or embarrassing, and be used to convey anger or overall dissatisfaction

So you grabbed his bento box, dumped uncooked rice into it, cracked an egg and left the shell in the box. You used purple food colouring to make a heart.

You brought the box up to Belphie, who was surprisingly still awake

"That was quick."

You grunted in response and walked out

"Hey why are you leaving?!"

A few seconds later, you heard, "MC! ...WHAT DID I DO??!! I JUST WANTED A SNACK!!...MC PLEASE COME BACK I DON'T WANNA GET UP!!"

Diavolo

So, usually Barbatos is in charge of making sure the Demon Prince eats

However, you told Barbatos that you wanted to make something special for Dia

"My Lord would thoroughly enjoy anything you made for him. He's been very busy lately, so I'm sure he would appreciate the kind gesture."

Barbatos graciously gave you precedence over the kitchen, giving you full access to everything you could ever need or want.

You decided to make him bento with your favourite protein

One compartment you filled with rice, using sesame seeds and an umeboshi for garnish

You arranged pieces of your favourite fruits in one of the smaller compartments

Then you made your favourite type of tempura, and prepared the sauce to go in the last two compartments

You asked Barbatos where Diavolo would be, and he escorted you to his office.

"My Lord, MC has come to speak with you."

Diavolo's head shot up and his face lit up with delight as he watched you walk through the door.

"MC! A welcome surprise. How are you? Is everything alright?"

"Everything's fine! I actually just wanted to give you something." You gave him the black box.

"I made bento with some of my favourite things...you mentioned wanting to get to know me a little bett-"

You were cut off by Diavolo crushing you in a hug

"...My Lord, MC needs to breathe."

"Ah, my apologies MC. This is the most wonderful, meaningful thing anyone has ever given me. How can I adequately express my gratitude? Simply name anything you want, and it shall be yours."

Once you had regained your breath, you gave him a small smile.

"Anything? Could I trouble you for your time?"

"MC, Lord Diavolo must finish his work in a timely matter. I can clear his schedule for afterwards."

"Barbatos, could they stay long enough for us to share the wonderful meal they've prepared?"

Usually Diavolo's begging and sad eyes™ would be powerless against him, however the soft spot he had for you and your much- less-seen sad expression were enough for him to bend this once.

"My Lord, I'll be back in an hour. I'm afraid that's all the time I can allow."

He stepped out, and allowed a small smile form on his face as he heard the two of you celebrate, also knowing that later on he would be listening to a very happy prince recount everything you two talked about and how much he loved you.

Barbatos

You, the brothers, and the other exchange students had been invited to the demon lord's castle for another event

It wasn't for another day, but you felt your chest tighten as you remembered Barbatos

Did he even get to eat those days when everyone was there?

You didn't want to take that chance, and decided to set up a small, filling bento box.

It only had three compartments, so you stuffed each one.

One had rice and meat.

You made some sushi and tamagoyaki to go on top.

For the last compartment, you made a simple chickpea salad.

The next day, Barbatos welcomed you all to the castle, as per usual.

However, this time he stuck around once the brothers and others had left.

"I...Well you already know, but this is for you!"

He nodded and graced you with a smile. "My knowing does not take away from my appreciation MC. Admittedly, nights like this are very demanding. I will repay you later. Thank you."

He tried to walk away, but you yelled after him, "You're not supposed to repay someone for a gift! Just take it!!"

He smiled to himself as he started to eat some food.

Perhaps this night would not be as taxing as he thought

Simeon

You had been experimenting new dinner recipes with Luke at Purgatory Hall; you were watching him while Simeon was away.

"If we leave these leftovers out, Solomon will get to them and ruin them."

"....why don't we make bento for Simeon? He's coming back tomorrow, isn't he?"

Luke beamed at you. "Okay!"

He went to get a small bento box divided into fifths (two large bottom compartments and three small top ones).

"Ok, so in one of the big ones, we can fit the rest of the rice."

Luke nodded. "Can I use this?" He held up a star-shaped cookie cutter.

"Of course!" You helped him mould the rice into a stable star shape.

He looked so happy designing stuff, you let him take the lead.

By the time you were finished, it was easily the most stunning dish you had seen.

"Wow MC! We should do this more often!" He was very proud of himself, and rightfully so. "I can't wait to give it to Simeon!....Is it ok if I give it to Simeon? It was your idea, so it's ok if you want to do it instead..."

You just smiled at him. "You can give it to him, you did most of the work anyways. For now though, you need to get to bed."

He pouted slightly, but complied.

The next morning you woke up to Luke speaking very animatedly to Simeon.

"Yeah! We tried a bunch of new things, and then MC suggested we make you a bento box with the leftovers, and it turned out really well so I can't wait for you to try it!!"

You leaned against the kitchen doorframe observing the interaction.

"Thank you Luke, it looks wonderful. Good morning MC. I hope you slept well. Thanks for ba- for helping Luke while I was away."

He smiled gently at you before Luke was trying to get him to try the bento again.

He took a bite and smiled at Luke.

"It's delicious. You guys must have put a lot of love into it, as always." He looked directly at you at that point, but Luke was too elated to notice the silent exchange between you too.

Solomon

"Don't get mad at me! You agreed to test spells with me!"

"You asked me when I was half asleep Solomon! I also meant later, not right away!"

"Well, you're not a frog anymore, so I don't see what the problem is."

.... No, you weren't a frog anymore

That didn't mean you were happy about being a frog in the first place.

You texted Simeon, 'Who's on lunch duty today?"

"Me. Why?"

"I'll make us bento. We can picnic, the exchange students, that is."

So you spent the next little bit making normal bento for the three of you.

"Simeon said we should probably leave in five minutes" you thanked Luke and started on Solomon's.

You made Shikaeshi bento; you cracked four eggs and aligned their yolks into a rather phallic shape, added way too much fish oil, and threw a few sesame seeds on top.

However, once you made it to the picnic grounds, Solomon opened his box and gasped.

"MC, you know me so well!" And proceeded to drink right out of the box, the rest of you looking on in horror.

"I thought you were mad at me and you were going to give me something disgusting like Mac and Cheese. I guess all is forgiven. Thank you!"

At that point you couldn't even stay mad, that was just disgusting.

Aye, I hope you liked it anon, not sure if this is quite what you meant but....yeah.

Love y'all!

Masterlist

#obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me headcanons #obey me scenarios #obey me thoughts #long post #i really liked this one

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shwazzberryswriting · 3 years

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7 Steps to Forgiveness, Step 1: Show Gratitude

Step 1: Show Gratitude

Bian sat on her couch, her legs crossed in front of her with a blindfold on. Yangyang hadn’t specified how long she had to wait for him, but she was certain that five minutes had passed. Sitting back in her seat, she thought about how she agreed to give her boyfriend a second chance. Whatever he had in store was part of his Apology Tour, so she let him take control of how he was to prove himself.

“Babe?” she heard Yangyang’s voice say as she heard the front door opening. She smiled, turning her head in the direction of the sounds. He’d begun calling her babe the day after she told him she was willing to forgive him for hurting her.

“Hey,” she called out, holding up her hand to wave in what she hoped was his direction.

“You can’t see, right?”

“No, and I’ve been sitting here in silence for like, five minutes.”

“OK, I’m almost done,” he said with a rushed tone. She heard rustling noises. She smelt food, scents of a lot of herbs and onions and garlic hitting her nose. She was guessing he’d made her ramen. Her confidence in her guess heightened as she heard dinnerware being set down onto her kitchen table. “Babe, hold your hands out, and I’ll take them. I’ll help you walk over to the kitchen table.”

She did as he instructed, and stood up as she felt Yangyang’s fingers intertwined with hers. Blood rushed up to her face, she knew she was blushing. Whether it was subconscious or intentional, Yangyang as a real boyfriend was extremely affectionate.

She’d never had a boyfriend who kissed her hands and cheek as much as him. Every night for the past week he’d held her in his arms as they watched movies on her couch. And every opportunity he got, he held her hands, often with intertwined fingers. Even a hug came with him taking a few extra seconds to rub her back or a tight squeeze before he let her go.

She’d really come to enjoy him nuzzling his nose against the side of her neck. He could only kiss her cheeks and hand, but he reminded her that she’d forgotten to tell him he couldn’t be affectionate in other ways. It was both cute and annoying, but given how fresh things were, it was mostly cute. If he wanted to hold her close and kiss her cheeks she wasn’t going to reject his affections.

“Ready?” he said when he stopped her walking, and placed his hands onto her shoulders to fine tune how he wanted her to stand.

“It smells good,” she replied, feeling his hands untying the strings to the blindfold.

She blinked a few times before focusing her eyes onto the kitchen table. He’d prepared a hotpot for her. The broth was simmering in the electric burner and the fresh vegetables, cuts of meat, and dry ramen were laid out neatly before the pot of broth and a couple bowls of rice. He’d gone above and beyond a bowl of ramen.

“Wow,” she said as she turned to look at Yangyang. Before she could say another word he spoke up.

“Let me know if the food is good,” he said, pulling her seat out for her.

“You’re really going all out,” she said, smiling. They sat down together. “Did Chenle help you out?” “Renjun and Kun, too,” he said as he began throwing slices of pork belly, beef brisket and bok choy into the broth. “Don’t worry, they’re having their own hot pot at Chenle’s right now. We get to enjoy this alone.”

“The food looks so good,” she said, watching him toss mushrooms and cabbage into the broth. “So, what? A fancy meal once a week for the next month?”

“Fastest way to a person’s heart is through their stomach.”

“The food is amazing,” she said when she’d taken a bite of the meat he’d placed onto her bowl of rice. “You need to eat, too, Yangyang.”

She picked up some mushroom, napa cabbage and a slice of pork belly with her chopsticks and placed them onto his bowl of rice. He ate his food without a word, and she resisted the urge to put her chopsticks down and reach over to kiss the kernel of rice off the corner of his mouth. Instead, she caught his eye and pointed to her mouth to alert him. When they were done eating, he insisted she sit back and relax as he cleaned.

“I miss washing dishes with you,” Yangyang said as he set the cups down beside the sink. “A house full of bros is nothing but dirty dishes all the time. Your place is just your dishes and my dishes.”

“So I see your true motives,” she said, leaning up against the counter to watch him wash the dishes. “You want a lowkey roommate.”

“Hey, if you let me live with you, I’d always wash the dishes.”

“You mean you’ll put the dishes in the dishwasher?” He gave a smile as he began washing the dishes, nodding. She gave a chuckle before walking over to her fridge to grab a frozen popsicle. Unwrapping the pink strawberry flavored popsicle, she rested her back against the counter again as she stood beside Yangyang. “Do you want one?”

“Can I have, like, just a bite of yours?” he replied. He choked out a, “Thanks,” after biting off the tip of the popsicle. His childish tendencies made her smile.

As Yangyang washed the dishes, he talked about a project he had to do for a class, and how his project team turned a night of studying into a drinking game. When she finished the popsicle, Yangyang was focused on scrubbing the big pot they’d used for the hotpot. His tongue stuck out between his lips, and his hair fell over his eyes as he scrubbed at the food stuck to the pot.

“You won’t let me thank you for dinner,” she said, standing up straight, “so,” she stood behind Yangyang as she wrapped her arms around his waist before resting her head against his back.

She shut her eyes, pressing herself closer to him, sighing as she felt the warmth of his body. His familiar cologne blended with the lingering scent of food left on his clothes filled her nose. They listened to the music from his phone as he finished washing the dishes. Her arms held him close and she listened to his heartbeat.

To Step 2

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sylvanfreckles · 3 years

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Bedridden (Time for Whump, Boys #16)

Someone has a birthday!

This is for @angelfishofthelord, who not only has a birthday today but also keeps asking for stories in the AU where Ellen and Jo survived "Abandon All Hope" and adopt human!Cas in season 9

This is one of those stories

Summary: Castiel tries to comfort Jo when she's injured on a hunt...only to find himself the one comforted.

...

Castiel froze with a wince as a floorboard creaked beneath his feet, betraying his presence to the occupant of the room at the top of the stairs. It was ridiculous, anyway...he was here to deliver a meal to his bedridden friend, not to sneak past her.

“You might as well come in,” Jo called, her voice muffled through the solid wood of the door. “Not like I can get the door right now.”

Carefully, Castiel nudged the door open and wisely held the tray of food in front of him before entering Jo's room. “I brought nachos,” he offered.

“Oh my god,” Jo groaned. She dropped the paperback novel she'd been reading face down on her bedside table and held her hands out, making grasping motions with her fingers. “Quick, get in here before Mom sees.”

“It was suggested that you might like extra cheese and tomatoes,” Castiel said as he carefully unfolded the tray's legs so it could rest on the bed on either side of Jo's hips.

“Hey, I'll take pulled pork and sauerkraut as long as it's not more oatmeal and chicken broth,” Jo retorted. She was already levering up a chip to cram into her mouth, her other hand cupped close to her chest to catch the dripping cheese. “This is amazing,” she moaned around a mouthful of cheese.

Castiel couldn't help but smile as he gently straightened out the blankets across Jo's legs. Her right leg was wrapped in a heavy cast from just above her knee to the tip of her toes, and even her enthusiasticenjoyment of the nachos couldn't distract from the bandages around her wrists and throat.

Ellen said it was all right. Jo was hurt but they'd made it in time. She'd be okay. Life was all that mattered.

He knew this wouldn't have happened if he'd still been an angel.

“Hey,” Jo's voice pulled him out of his dark thoughts. She was staring at him, eyebrows raised until they all but vanished beneath her bangs. “You really making me eat this whole plate by myself?”

Castiel hesitated for a moment. He needed to eat now, of course—although it was growing tiresome. But there were plenty of simple, inexpensive foods in the kitchen downstairs...leftovers, even, that would go to waste. No use intruding on his friend's convalescence any further when he would be of no use to her.

“I mean it,” Jo said. Her gaze was intense, her eyes suddenly hard to meet. “Get your ass up here and eat some of these before Mom takes 'em away.”

Slowly, carefully, he sat on the very edge of the bed, head down to study his hands in his lap.

“Hey.”

He twisted to look at the young woman. Jo was holding out a nacho, the cheese threatening to overrun her fingers. “Eat it,” she insisted.

He took the chip from her and solemnly took a bite. She huffed out a laugh and returned to the plate. “Come on, man. I could really use the company.”

The nacho reminded him just a little of the Gas-N-Sip. Though the cheese Ellen kept in the kitchen was of a much higher quality than that in the gas station, there was still that combination of the crisp saltiness of the chip and the smoothness of the cheese that he remembered.

“How are these so good?” Jo demanded around another mouthful of cheese. “You have to tell me your secrets.”

Pleased, Castiel edged further back on the bed, until he was sitting against the headboard, bent knee rested on the bed to keep his shoes off the blankets. The least he could do was keep Jo company, after all. “You need to layer the chips and cheese,” he informed her. “Otherwise you end up with a hot mess on top and dry crumbs on the bottom.”

Jo let out an alarming snort and clamped one hand over her mouth. Castiel leaned close and rested a hand on her back. “Jo? Are you all right?”

She waved her free hand, coughing. “Promise me you'll never say that again.”

Castiel leaned back, frowning a little in confusion. “All right....” He'd only been repeating what Brandon had always said. The Gas-N-Sip night supervisor (Monday, Wednesday, and Thursday—but not Friday because he was a freelance DJ) had always waxed eloquent on the best ways to prepare the leftover food. Nora didn't care if they ate it, since it had to be thrown out anyway, as long as everything was properly recorded.

“Hey,” Jo elbowed him in the arm and gestured at the two cans resting on the far side of the tray. “What's this?”

“This is, ah,” Castiel picked up one of the cans and held it between his hands, focusing on the label. “BuckSnort root beer.” He didn't need to look to know Jo was staring at him. When he glanced over she just looked from his face to the can of root beer and raised her eyebrows. Castiel sighed.

“You can only find it in Idaho. It's a small batch soda company. Nora bought...she got some for the store but couldn't make an arrangement to carry it, so she gave us the leftover stock.”

“So how does fancy, handmade root beer from Idaho make it all the way here?” Jo asked. She was licking nacho cheese off her fingers, despite the pile of napkins Castiel had left on the tray.

Castiel tried to pull himself out of his memories. His time at the Gas-N-Sip hadn't always been pleasant, but Nora had let him keep the leftover half of that case of root beer. Small kindnesses like that always left him in awe of humanity. “Ellen ordered it. I thought you might like the taste.”

“Oh, no,” Jo shook her head. “Mom must've ordered that for you. You keep it.”

He hesitated for a moment, then leaned over to pull another chip off of her plate. “Are you really making me drink that entire case by myself?”

Jo let out a laughed and picked up her own can. “Fine, you win. Fancy, handmade root beer for everyone!” She held her can out toward him, and he gently touched it with his own.

He popped the top on his can and waited while Jo tasted hers. She took a sip, held the can out at arm's length to study the label, then took a longer drink. “This is...”

“Wintergreen, sassafrass, and licorice,” Castiel explained before drinking from his own can. The carbonation fizzed at his nose and the inside of his mouth, but in an oddly refreshing way.

“It's incredible.” Jo set her can down on her tray and reached over to rest a hand on Castiel's knee. “Thanks, Cas. You have no idea how much I needed this.”

Embarrassment was...odd. It was almost like shame, but tinged with something close to pleasure. It made heat run up the back of his neck to his ears, and he suddenly found himself unwilling to look up from the soda can cradled between his hands.

Jo gave his knee a squeeze before she pulled away to cram another nacho in her mouth. “Oh! I know! It's Thursday, right?”

Castiel squinted up at her, but she was already turned away from him to rustle through the drawer of her bedside table. “That's important?”

She turned back, triumphant, brandishing a TV remote. “Thursday's my favorite day,” she explained with a wink.

The heat was spreading from his ears to his cheeks and he dropped his gaze. Jo let out a teasing laugh and tipped toward him until she could bump him with her shoulder. “The game show channel plays old Jeopardyepisodes all day on Thursdays.”

Castiel stared up at the TV mounted on the wall opposite Jo's bed. Two men and a woman were standing behind podiums, and a third man seemed to be asking them questions. Or answering them, maybe?

The woman's podium lit up. “Who is Babe Didrikson?”

The third man congratulated her on a correct answer...question...and told her to select again. “I don't understand,” Castiel murmured, shifting to get closer to Jo. “Are they answering questions or asking them?”

“It's backward,” Jo explained, mouth full of more nachos. The plate was more than half empty by now, and Castiel felt a spike of guilt when he noticed a smear of cheese on top of Jo's blanket. “The questions you get are more like statements, and you have to make your answer sound like a question.”

Castiel stared up at the TV. One of the men was giving a non-answer now. “Why is he asking what baseball is?”

“The question was about a book about baseball,” Jo gestured at the TV with one hand while she took a long drink from her root beer with the other. “I never got the whole answer-with-a-question thing either, but it's fun to try to play along. Oh, they're doing proverbs now, I bet you'd be good at that.”

“Do this 'in haste and repeat at leisure',” the host was saying.

Castiel frowned. “Marry?”

“You got it!” Jo cheered, elbowing his arm, while the host was explaining the answer. “Look, that Rick guy didn't know it.”

He studied the game again, barely noticing when Jo tried to shove a nacho into his face. “Feather by feather. The goose is plucked feather by feather.” He took the chip out of her hand and ate it solemnly as the contestant chose the next answer-question.

“In the rhyming proverb, 'what can't be' this 'must be endured'.”

“Cured!” Jo pointed at the TV. “Mom says that all the time. 'What can't be cured must be endured'. And I've got the cast to prove it.”

Almost unconsciously, Castiel glanced down at the hard lump that was Jo's broken leg. Close enough to touch...but he had no power to heal. Not anymore. “Jo, I...”

“Hey,” Jo interrupted, holding her can of root beer out toward him again. “To endurance.”

He let himself smile, tapping his own can against hers. The strength of Jo's spirit was almost magnetic, pulling him back out of his own self-doubts and despair. He'd set out to comfort her...but it seemed like he was the one being comforted.

“To endurance.”

...

(BuckSnort is an actual Idaho-only brand of root beer. I haven't tried it, I just googled it.)

(This is part of the Whumptober 2018 prompts, you can read them here)

#whumptober 2018 #castiel #jo harvelle #hurt/comfort #fluff #family

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author-morgan · 4 years

Note

i love your works, especially what you do for Eivor. if you have time, could you do something where the reader is a healer and Eivor is her terrible patient? XOXO

Here you go, nonny! Hope you enjoy!

m!Eivor x fem!Reader

“BE CAREFUL, EIVOR,” you tell him standing on the docks as he helps pack one of the longships for the summer raids. He has only just recovered from a rancid cut on his calf not even a fortnight ago. The stubborn fool tried to hide the wound until you saw him emptying his stomach outside the feast hall and staggering back toward his small home on the outskirts of the village without having touched a single drop of ale.

His lips twitch into a smile beneath his golden beard. “Always am,” he replies, confident. As the healer’s apprentice you know even the strongest of men can be brought down by a single arrow. You worry for Eivor Wolfsmal and all the warriors setting off today, but Eivor is both obstinate and cocksure, two traits often leading to injury in battle. He knows you worry though, and after loading the last barrel of water into the ship, Eivor reaches for your hands —delicate against his rough paws. “I promise,” he says, voice softer than before.

Pleased with his oath, you smile and take another step closer, rising up on your toes —lips ghosting over his scarred cheeks. A promise and a farewell until next you meet. His clear eyes slip close at the featherlight touch and his heart skips a beat but the words on his tongue fade back into silence. He had fancied you for years, but never knew the right words to say —the timing never felt right either. A red-pink flush of color spans across his cheeks. Eivor lowers his gaze and steps back, letting your hands slip from his as others brush past you to-and-from the ships.

The longships set off from the docks into the Kattegat before the sun rises, but Sýnin lingers at your side for a moment longer. Eivor looks back from the stern, watching as his home and you shrink on the horizon. You sit on the end of the dock, bare feet skimming the cool, dark water until the small fleet of longships passes out of sight.

Sighing, you retreat back into the village and to help the healer, Ingibjǫrg. There is still work to be done, even in times of peace. Ingibjǫrg had been kind enough to take you in as her apprentice at a young age —starting with simple tasks like gathering herbs and flowers, grinding poultices, and caring for the cautery tools. Though now, she trusts you to work at her side as an equal, but the old crone still fondly calls you her apprentice.

Time passes slowly during the raiding season. The women and elders are more diligent than their hotheaded sons and daughters, leading to few and minor injuries to care for during the days. It gives you ample time to sure-up the stores of supplies when the ships return. On a narrow trail overlooking the harbor, you spot the first of the longships, a scarlet sail emerging from the evening mist —then a second and third. The call of a great horn announces their return as you race back down the trail and along the rocky shore toward the docks.

All of the longships return, docking along the wharf and the victorious warriors disembark with their newfound riches and reunite with waiting spouses and children —few have been lost to battle this time. You search for Eivor, having seen Sýnin pass overhead and heard the raven’s call. You find him and three others bearing Arne on a makeshift stretcher with scraps of linen and wool bound tightly around his leg and middle. He offers a fleeting smile as you usher them to Ingibjǫrg.

Moving Arne onto a cot near the hearth, all but Eivor take their leave. You quickly help Ingibjǫrg do away with the soiled dressings and strip him of his broken mail and clothes. Neither of the wounds are severe, though they have begun to fester. He whimpers when she lays a hot cloth over each of the gashes, but you turn your attention to Eivor —shuffling on his feet. “Eivor?” You ask, noticing the sweat on his brow and the pallid color of his cheeks.

“I’m fine,” he assures you, noting the concern in your tone and kind eyes. Eivor doesn’t like it when people worry over him, especially you —you have enough to worry over with helping Ingibjǫrg.

Stepping to him, you lift your hand to his clammy forehead and frown. He is burning up to the touch. “No, you’re not,” you tell him, “you’re fevered.” Too often you had seen fevers turn deadly from neglect. A fever could be like an arrow, even the strongest of men were not immune to its deadly grasp.

“It’s nothing,” Eivor protests, but you both know it is a lie. The return journey was delayed by a two-day storm and he sacrificed many of his own rations for Arne’s sake, taking little time to rest from rowing. Your frown deepens.

Ingibjǫrg wipes her hands on her apron and looks over at where you and Eivor stand, having heard the brief conversation. “See to it that he gets a good meal and rest,” the old healer says —she can tend to Arne herself. “Too long at sea makes one ripe for sickness.” Eivor knows better than to protest Ingibjǫrg’s wisdom. Taking his hand, you lead him through the muddy streets and back to your little house —the one closest to the rocky shore with a soft pillar of smoke rising from the duab roof.

You push the door open and, greeted by the scent of a pot of stew with pork, cabbage, leeks, and thyme that’d been cooking over the hearth since dawn. Sýnin takes to a ceiling joint, perching above and Eivor sits on the low wooden bench near the fire and sighs, eyes slipping shut with a soft groan. It feels like he could sleep for a week without waking though his rumbling stomach reminds him there will be no rest yet. You pass Eivor a heaping bowl of the hot stew to go along with a hunk of brown bread and cup of watered ale, sitting next to him with your own helping.

Eivor ladles out another bowlful of the stew and watches as you move around the single-room home —setting a pot of water over the hearth in place of the stew. You take out several small sashes of dried herbs and place them in a cup, tamping the assortment with the end of a wooden spoon. He can vaguely make out the scent of garlic.

When the water begins to steam, you dip the cup into the pot and leave the fever tonic to steep —the stronger the better— before turning your attention back to him. “What are you doing?” He asks, looking up when you reach to unclasp the damp fur mantle around his shoulders.

Rolling your eyes, you lay the pelt aside to dry and start at the leather laces on his chest. His clear blue eyes studying your every move and committing the small wrinkles around your lips and eyes to memory. “These damp clothes aren’t helping you, Eivor,” you chide, continuing to untie his leather jerkin. A flush of color unrelated to the fever rises to his cheeks at how close you are to him —his heart starts to beat faster, too. Batting away your hands, Eivor sets about stripping off the rest of his damp clothes.

Rummaging around in a wooden chest, you pull out a spare tunic belonging to Eivor. You’d kept it for years, never quite knowing when he would turn up at your door. He pulls the scarlet tunic overhead and lets out a long sigh, stretching his now bare legs toward the fire —much like the rest of him, Eivor’s thighs are strong, corded with muscle. Ignoring his current state of undress, you hand him the freshly brewed tonic.

He sniffs the drink and scrunches up his face, looking up from the wooden cup to you as you unbind your hair from a braid. “You’re trying to kill me,” he deadpans. The mixture of wild garlic and caraway does not smell pleasant, but you know the old remedy works —Ingibjǫrg wouldn’t brew the tonic if it didn’t.

You laugh, shaking your head. “If I were–” your fingers catch on a knot “–you’d be dead already, Eivor Wolfsmal.” Pinching his nose, he downs the warm tonic in a single gulp and quickly washes it down with another cup of ale. Taking the empty cup, you nudge him toward the small bed against the wall —a straw-stuffed mattress with a handful of pelts and wool blanket you’d spent the greater part of a year weaving. Before he rises from the bench you kiss his temple. “Get some rest,” you tell him.

“Mmm,” he grumbles, gripping onto your wrist when you turn away, “not without you.” He blames the boldness of his words on the fever and ale but fails to hide his smile when you pull him to the bed and lay next to him.

EIVOR ENTERS THE healer’s quarters and immediately Ingibjǫrg is pointing you in his direction. She is in the middle of preparing a poultice and tonic for the Jarl’s sickly daughter, but even if she wasn’t Eivor had always been your charge. Wiping your hands on the front of your dress you look him over. He does not appear sick, nor does there seem to be any signs of a grievous injury save for the blood on his hand. Sýnin croaks, perched upon his shoulder —watching you closely.

Since returning from the raids, Eivor had frequented you and Ingibjǫrg more often for minor things. The old healer was the first to notice the change, but it is not until this moment you truly recognize what he is doing. He holds out his hand revealing a slim cut in his palm —his axe had slipped from his grasp while splitting wood. “This little cut?” You ask, soft smile bordering on a smirk. He nods and you lead him over to a small table and bench, gathering a pitcher of water and a clean strip of linen. Sitting across from Eivor, you clean and bind the wound and send him off with a kiss upon the cheek —the only patient who gets such special treatment.

EARLY ONE MORNING Eivor shows up at your door. You lift your brow in silent question and cross your arms over your chest to preserve some modesty in the threadbare linen shift. He rubs the scarred patch of skin on the back of his neck and looks down at his feet, giving a small cough that sounds like a child feigning to be sick to get out of chores. “Was wondering,” his voice trails off, “if you could make some more of that stew? Been coughing an awful lot.”

Motioning him into your home, you shuffle around in a small box of herbs, ointments, and ceramic vials of prepared tonics. Uncorking one, you hand it to Eivor —a challenge to see if he will admit his true intentions of coming to disturb your slumber. “Drink some of this then.”

It smells even worse than the garlic and caraway tonic you made when he was sick and Eivor imagines it will taste even worse. “I’d rather not,” he objects, pushing your hand away.

Replacing the stopper and returning the vial to its place, you step back in front of Eivor, laying your hand on his forehead —damp with sweat from a morning run but not fevered. You shake your head, lips kinking. “You don’t have to pretend to be sick or hurt to visit,” you tell him, hand slipping from his forehead to cup his scarred cheek. Eivor leans into the touch with a faint sigh. He wanted to tell you how he felt on the docks before sailing for Anglia, but the words were stuck in his throat, much like they are now.

Instead, Eivor will show you. His hand covers yours as he bends down, giving you time to step back, but you don’t. The unfamiliar tickle of his golden beard against your cheek causes you to smile, just as his lips brush against yours —hesitant then more certain when you push up on your toes and into him. Eivor’s arms wrap around your middle and when the kiss breaks, he lifts you up carrying you back to bed. “Are you allowed to have this type of relation with a patient?” He asks, laughing while leaning in for another kiss. You push on his shoulder, rolling your eyes, but accept a second kiss without complaint.

“Eivor Wolfsmal,” you start, and he hangs off of every word as you brush your fingers over the tattoo of a raven on the side of his head “I love you.” He may be stubborn and a terrible patient at times, but you had loved him for as long as you could remember. Eivor’s tender gaze and the calm silence is broken by Sýnin in the rafters, squawking and bouncing from foot-to-foot. The raven’s antics make you laugh, but Eivor knows why his cantankerous bird is acting like this. He rolls onto his side, rough hand tracing along your cheek and jaw.

Eivor draws you flush against him, lips seeking yours for the third of many times to come. The action silences Sýnin, but the raven still looks down —dark eyes trained on the two of you. He sighs when you part and presses his forehead against yours, holding you close. “Ek ann þér,” he breathes with a soft sigh —his only regret is he had not told you sooner, but unless Ingibjǫrg comes knocking, there’s plenty of hours left in the day to make up for lost time.

@fjor-ok-skadi @withered-poppies @ananriel @britishhotassassin @nemo-my-name-forevermore if you want to be added to my taglist for Eivor content, just let me know!

#Eivor #Eivor Wolfsmal #Eivor x Reader #m!Eivor #m!Eivor x Reader #male Eivor #male Eivor x Reader #Eivor Imagine #Eivor Fanfiction #Assassin's Creed Valhalla #Assassin's Creed #my writing #requested #Anonymous

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johannstutt413 · 4 years

Text

(requested by anonymous)

The Doctor wasn’t sure there was anything that could salvage his day at this point. Sure, his shift was about to end - and thank whatever god watched over their calamity-ridden world for that - but what was he going to do with himself? No games he felt like playing, or shows he felt like watching...Hell, he didn’t even feel that hungry-

“Doctor?” There was a knock on his door. “Are you busy?”

“Just finishin’ up. Come on in, Bagpipe.”

She immediately did. “Do you have supper plans?”

“Uh...I wasn’t even sure I was gonna eat dinner, honestly-”

“What?! And just go to bed hungry?!” Bagpipe shook her head. “That just won’t do at all.”

The Doctor looked away from his computer to explain himself more efficiently...and saw the picnic basket in her hands. “You want to have a picnic? With me?”

“Sure do! Just the two of us, if you don’t mind. Wanna run a few things by you now that I’m more settled in.”

“Huh. Well, I’m not gonna turn you down after you already went and made a basket for us.” He got up from his chair and stretched, cracking just about every joint in his body as he did. “Ahhhh...much better. Did you already pick a spot for us, or are you open to a suggestion?”

She shook her head. “Wherever you have in mind works for me, Doctor...Do I have to call you Doctor?”

“Doc works, too. I’m not all that attached to my real name thanks to the amnesia.”

“Doc, huh? Alrighty.” She followed closely behind him as they left his office. “Do you like potatoes, Doc?”

He smiled for the first time today. “I don’t get a lot of them, but I like them well enough.”

“Well I was thinkin’ we should start growin’ ‘em! That way we could have ‘em whenever we want, and it’d let me do some farmin’ again.”

“You really enjoy it that much?” The Doctor shrugged. “I can talk to some folks about it for you, but that sounds like a lot of work.”

Bagpipe nodded. “Oh don’t get me wrong, it is, but I’m real good at it, and it’s real rewardin’! ‘Specially if you’ll eat the potatoes I grow us...”

“Alright, here we are.” They’d arrived at an open deck with a large glass dome looking out at the sky behind the ship.

“Wow. This is mighty pretty, Doc.” She opened her basket and unfurled a plaid blanket. “Mind helpin’ me with the corners?”

He didn’t mind at all. “Hey, this blanket matches your skirt, doesn’t it?”

“Eh? Oh, I guess so. Didn’t even think of that...Maybe I shoulda found something else to wear.”

“Why would you go and do that?” The Doctor cocked his head innocently.

She sighed. “I’ve never understood city folk’s high fashion and all that, but...I wanna be cute, ya know? I don’t need to walk into a room and have the guys hooting and hollering like they do for Blaze or Skadi...But a lil’ attention now and again would be nice.”

“..Huh?” Going from innocence to confusion, his head flopped to the other side. “You don’t think you’re cute?”

“Wouldn’t folks say somethin’ if I was?”

He chuckled. “Some folks might. I dunno if they think that’s what you wanna hear.”

“Well, I do.” Bagpipe started unpacking the meal she’d made. “Alright, I found some potatoes, so I made a couple shepherd’s pies. Chicken, lamb, pork, steak, take your pick.”

“They’re still warm, too. Wow...These look amazin’, Bagpipe.”

She smiled. “Well, it’s all about how they taste, ain’t it? Let’s dig in.”

The Doctor started on the pork pie and did not regret his choice. “Man alive...You did such a good job on these.”

“As long as it ain’t fancy, I can make whatever you like, Doc.”

“Anything, huh?” He stood up, tin in hand, and sat closer to her. Much closer. “Can I tell you somethin’?”

Bagpipe nodded. “If I can tell you somethin’ right after.”

“That’s fine by me. You’re not just cute, Bagpipe; you’re adorable.”

“...Aww, shucks.” She blushed wildly, normally invisible freckles revealing themselves. “You’re not just sayin’ that, are ya?”

He leaned closer. “I wouldn’t pull your chain like that.”

“Doc...”

“Thing is, if you were just cute, I wouldn’t be sittin’ here with you right now.” The Doctor pulled back. “You know, there are plenty of good-lookin’ people workin’ here, but a lot of ‘em are mean, or shy, or somethin’ else that throws a wrench in tryin’a date ‘em. Then there’s you - you’re hard working, cute as a button, tough as nails, a great cook. I can’t find a flaw in you to save my life.”

She sniffed, wiping a tear from her eye. “Doc, you’re bein’ too sweet on me. I don’t wanna spoil the mood, so I’ll talk to ya about that one thing later...But while we’re here, how about we call this a first date?”

“Shoot, I’m willin’ to shoot straight to callin’ you my girlfriend, if that’s something you’re in’rested in.”

“More than you’ll ever know, I reckon.” They looked at each other for a moment before Bagpipe tapped his nose with a finger. “Boop.”

The Doctor chuckled as she started tidying up. “What was that about...hon? Does ‘hon’ work for you?”

“Sure, darlin’.”

“...I just got chills.” He shivered. “So much better than ‘Doc,’ ain’t it?”

She moved the basket to the other side of her. “It sure is. Well, I should take the leftovers back home...You wanna come with me?”

“That a question?” He yawned as he stood up to help her fold the blanket.

“Gettin’ tired, darlin’?” Saying it out loud was pure bliss. “Only wish there was a proper hay bale to nap on.”

The thought came to mind before he had a chance to filter it. “Well, a bed oughta be just fine.”

“Well, that didn’t take more than a minute.” Bagpipe slid the blanket into the basket with a wry grin.

“Sorry ‘bout that,” he sighed. “I’m just so happy, I-”

Basket over her shoulder, she grabbed him by both of his and pulled him within inches of her face, arms settling behind his neck. “You ain’t gotta apologize for sayin’ what we’re both thinkin’.”

“...I love ya already.”

“And I’ve loved ya for awhile now.” Her eyes flashed to his lips and back. “You gonna make a move, darlin’, or are we just gonna stand here?”

The light in his eyes only disappeared when they closed for the kiss.

#arknights #bagpipe (arknights)#full disclosure: this is what I talk like when I can #if it were easier to type #i'd write like this more often #also this banner start playin' nice and give me a bagpipe before it leaves #arknights fic

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inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 5 years

Text

Fine Dining (Request)

Request: “I've done some thinking and decided on my request. A scene in BoRhap that always makes me sad (even though I understand the point of it in the story) is when Freddie shows Roger his new house and invites him to stay for dinner, but Roger says he can't. So what I'd like to read is him and Roger (and the others show up, probably) having a picnic eating dinner on the floor in the not-yet-fully-assembled house. Can take place shortly after the scene in the movie for a little bit of conflict/tension.”

Requested by: @inthegardensofourminds

Warnings: Language.

Link to all my writing HERE

Another time, Fred.

The words still echo through Freddie’s mind, through the beautiful and empty house. There had once been days, weeks, months when Queen lived out of tiny cluttered flats, climbing over each other to get ready for work in the morning like mice clamoring for crumbs of toast with their pink, grasping paws. There had been days when the band ate every meal together, stretched out on stained and threadbare secondhand couches: Brian twirling his fork as he explains the placement of the stars; Roger leafing through music magazines, his jade eyes lit up with ravenous ambition; Deaky experimenting with riffs between bites of cold pizza. But Bri and Roger and John have families now, real families. Those old days are over, they’ve fled like passing seasons. And they are never coming back. Another time indeed.

Freddie paces around the mansion, dragging his fingertips lightly over the unadorned walls, the banister that runs the length of the staircase, the white windowsills like frames of blank portraits. All these rooms with nothing inside them, gutted of their wares and quirks and memories, all these bare corners, not even lived-in enough to collect tumbling swirls of dust; a gold-dipped palace without a shred of soul, a heart drained of blood. And suddenly, Fred finds himself feeling as hollow as Garden Lodge.

The doorbell chimes, the high-pitched pleasant sound ricocheting off the walls like refracted light. Fred hurries to the door—his Adidas slipping on the freshly-waxed hardwood floors—and snatches it open. Outside standing in the fading late-afternoon sunlight is Roger. Despite himself, Freddie feels a grin breaking out across his face, feels warmth unfurling to fill the vacant places that people love to forget they’re riddled with.

Roger raises a bulky paper bag with spots of grease on the bottom. “You like beef and broccoli, right?”

“Darling, what are you doing?!”

“You asked me to stay for dinner. So I’m staying for dinner.” Roger steps inside and meticulously circles each room, humming thoughtfully, rubbing his chin with his left hand as his right clutches the takeout bag. “Where will the dining room be?”

“Oh! Come along, dear, let me show you.” Freddie leads him to a long rectangular room adjacent to the kitchen. The windows there look out into the rose gardens, speckled with red and fuchsia and white. “How do you fancy this one?”

Roger nods, pretending to be unimpressed, but smirking at Fred just enough to ruin the joke. “A little scruffy. It’ll do, I suppose.” He places the takeout bag on the floor, kneels down beside it, and starts pulling out neat white boxes.

Freddie joins him on the floor. He can’t stop smiling; but somewhere beneath the joy he hopes he doesn’t seem too needy, too desperate. When Freddie meets Roger’s eyes, Rog mirrors his smile and winks at him.

“Oh, fuck,” Roger sighs, peering into the bag. “Do you know how to use chopsticks?”

“I’m practically Japanese, dear. Hand them over.”

Rog passes Fred his dinner and a pair of chopsticks. Freddie situates the container in his lap and begins skillfully plucking out perfectly-sized bites of rice and beef. Roger watches him, posture slumped, defeated. “You think I can do that?”

“Well give it a try, darling!”

Roger opens his pork lo mein and stabs at it with chopsticks as Freddie giggles hysterically. After much wrangling Rog picks up a noodle, tries to raise it to his mouth, and immediately drops it on the floor. “Fucking...! Ridiculous goddamn noodles, stupid chopsticks, fucking fancy Asiatic bullshit.” He tears into a wax paper bag of crab rangoon and begins eating them with his callused fingers.

The doorbell rings again, and Fred raises his eyebrows at Roger.

“Oh yeah. I made a few calls.” Rog’s lips form the words around the crab rangoon he’s gnawing on.

John is at the door, a large pizza box in his arms. “Hi, Fred!”

“Deaky! Come in, come in, how are you?!”

“Do you have forks?!” Roger calls frantically from the dining room.

“Why would the pizza place give me forks?” John shoots back.

“Fucking...pizza!”

Back in the dining room, Roger is staring forlornly at his lo mein. John opens the pizza box and lays it on the hardwood floor. It’s half-pepperoni and sausage, half-cheese. Fred furrows his brow in confusion. There’s only one person they know who orders cheese pizza.

“Why—?”

The doorbell jingles once more. While John reaches for a crab rangoon and Roger whines about how he’s going to starve as he lowers a dripping slice of pepperoni-and-sausage pizza into his mouth, Fred scampers to greet his last guest. It’s Brian, balancing a takeout bag on one slim hip, his height and hair filling the doorway.

“Bri!” Freddie cries, embracing him. “Thank you for coming!”

“DO YOU HAVE FORKS??” Roger shouts from the dining room.

“Yes, of course I’ve got forks, why?” Brian answers, bewildered, following Fred through the house. “I’ve brought curries.”

“Praise be to Buddha!” Rog exclaims, lifting his hands to the ceiling.

John blinks at him. “That is...not correct.”

Brian sits cross-legged with them on the floor and gives Roger a fork. Then he begins unpacking several different containers, rice and red curry and green curry and naan breads.

“Oh no,” Deaky begins. “Is it...?”

“No,” Roger breathes, horrified.

“For fucks sake,” Freddie mutters.

“Yes,” Brian admits, quite defensively. “It does happen to be vegetarian, but it’s still delicious and healthy too—!”

The other three groan in unison.

“Do I look like a fucking rabbit?” Rog asks. “I mean, do you see any floppy ears and fluffy tails and buck teeth that I’m unaware of?”

Fred sighs. “Well, if buck teeth are what it takes...”

They all laugh uproariously, Freddie not bothering to cover his grin at all.

“You can help Brian with the veggies then,” Roger says.

“Your teeth are lovely, Fred,” John adds.

“Flattery will not get you into my will, darling Deaky, it simply will not.”

“Guess it’s time for me to come up with another hit then.” John is wearing a characteristically sly, placid smile.

“Anything but disco,” Bri says, stirring his curry.

Roger nods. “Fucking finally, something we can agree on!”

Freddie’s eyes soak them in as Bri and Rog and Deaky chat away, sharing food, shoving each other’s shoulders playfully, arguing over where they should go for dessert. Deaky spins a lo mein noodle and then launches it into Brian’s dark cloud of curls. Bri compliments the new house, the garden outside, the posh neighborhood, then somehow gets on the topic of world peace. Roger finds a box of Freddie’s ceramic flower vases, unwraps four, and fills them with water from the kitchen sink so they have something to drink.

“Rog?” Fred asks finally, gazing at him.

“Yeah.”

“I thought you had to go home to your family.”

“Freddie,” Roger replies matter-of-factly, shoveling lo mein gracelessly into his mouth, passing another crab rangoon to John. “You’re my family too.”

#borhap #borhap fic #bohemian rhapsody #freddie mercury #roger taylor #brian may #john deacon #request #fanfic

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becauseitsgreen · 5 years

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Cradlesona: Jonquil

Well... Here goes nothing... ヘ(´－｀;)ヘ

Jonquil Robert Lockwood

@scruffyturtlesreformed for art

Basic Info: Nicknames: N/A Birthday: March 1st Age: 23 Height: 185 cm Blood Type: O

Physical: Eyes: Blue Hair: Pale, rose gold? Hell, I don’t know how to describe that color, but it looks good lol. Accessories: Two black hair clips worn like roman numeral for two. Two black studs on earlobes, he would have gotten more, but it hurt too much. Features: Freckles across his cheeks and nose. Slightly pointed ears. Big burn scar all over right shoulder and shoulder blade. Illnesses: N/A

Social: Affiliation: Red Army Occupations: Two of Hearts Relationships: Luka & Edgar. He would consider them his dearest friends. He met them on the school roof. He had planned to take his life that day but ended up chatting and feeding pigeons with them. He began to hang out with them more often and almost burst into tears when they considered him a friend.

Jonquil tends to respond sarcastically to Edgar’s teasing, and he often refers to the other as a gremlin that belongs in the trash, in a loving manner of course. Edgar has learned that Jonquil can’t stand puns and whenever he makes one, Jonquil will immediately try to put him in the nearest trash receptacle. Jonquil does participate in Edgar’s antics from time to time. For example, they once convinced the Red Army to serve a “four cheese artisan crostini, topped with thinly sliced and smoked pork belly and served with tomato bisque with fresh basil” as an appetizer for a fancy dinner party. Jonah then proceeded to lose his shit once he found out they essentially served bacon grilled cheese sandwiches and tomato soup to a bunch of high born nobles.

With Luka, he’s calmer. They both share an interest in cooking and will often trade recipes, though Jonquil’s are more on the unhealthy side. Every so often they’ll go off to the Forbidden Forest and have picnics. He talks the most around Luka, and they end up sharing every little detail of their time apart for hours. However, they’re perfectly capable of enjoying each other’s company in silence as well.

Zero. Jonquil is willing to lend an ear whenever Zero needs to vent whenever Edgar’s is being particularly insufferable. Though, he does remind him that the Jack means well and that it’s all in good fun. They both share a goal of one day defeating Edgar in a spar, and they are often found sparring each other to improve their skills and techniques.

Kyle. One of Jonquil’s go to taste testers, the other being Edgar. Whenever Kyle catches Jonquil cooking late at night it turns into a drunken cooking spree and they end up just eating greasy food and drinking all night long.

Jonah. Jonah is aware that he and Luka were friends in school, but not the fact that he still hangs out with Luka on a regular basis, and he’d rather keep it that way for both his and Luka’s sake. He knows Jonah means well, in fact, he finds his adoration for his younger brother rather endearing, but he understands it can be a bit overwhelming to some. He and Edgar mess with the Queen every chance they get, and Jonquil will not hesitate to call him “mom.”

Lancelot. While Edgar supplies the King with strange sweets, Jonquil does the same with greasy food. He’s just happy to be able to share his cooking with Lancelot and relieved when he doesn’t skip meals.

Personality: He’s a goofy and optimistic guy who can brighten up the room whether you like it or not. Some may think he’s oblivious and can’t read the room, but really, he just wants to deescalate the situation, raise morale, or get your mind off something. His friendly and charming nature garners quite a bit of attention and he is eager to please. Jonquil is very indulgent both for himself and others, he does what he likes, and won’t judge when others do the same, in fact, he encourages it. He’s a big proponent of “treat yourself.”

However, deep down, he’s insecure of himself and hides his problems from even his closest friends to avoid becoming a burden. He desperately wants to be useful and tends to work himself to the bone in order to prove his worth, both as a soldier and as a person.

Family and History: Jonquil is the only son, and youngest out of four children in the Lockwood family. His family has trained and bred horses for the Red Army for generations. He has three older sisters, Lily, Primrose, and Violet, who’s his older twin sister. His father constantly pushed him to “man up,” as he was a gentle and reserved child when he was growing up. He didn’t want anything to do with the Red Army and was content on raising horses for the rest of his life. It didn’t help when his mother passed away from illness and his father became even more strict in his grief and he began to resent and father.

His family was not from the bloodline of the original Two of Hearts, in fact, they were promoted after his sister, Violet, revealed that the current Two at the time was not suited for the position (Long story short, she was betrothed to the Two of Hearts and he turned out to be abusive, this was revealed when she made a big spectacle on their wedding day and ran off to Black Territory. More on her in another post).

So when he was of age, he became the new Two of Hearts. While he wanted nothing to do with the position, he felt like he had no choice. He did, however, decide to do things his own way and went through a rebellious phase, piercing his ears, giving himself an undercut, dressing casually, and going against tradition in the Red Army.

Skills and Special Abilities: Magic. He’s an innate magic user, though he mostly uses his ability for simple things like cooking, or playing pranks. Magic is a last resort in battle, and more often then not, he’ll use it as a means to escape in order to protect his friends.

Cooking. He knows his way around a kitchen, though he’ll throw good nutrition out the window. He favors big, greasy or hearty meals.

Paired with: Luka Clemence

Life in Cradle: He wakes up at the crack of dawn to go tend to the horses in the Red Army stables, afterward he’ll train with Zero before breakfast. He’ll then eat a full English breakfast, to the disgust of Jonah, and go about his day training soldiers how to properly treat and ride their horses and incorporating combat techniques. When he has patrols he’ll look forward to running into his sister, Violet, or Luka. If he has time, he’ll sneak in a quick nap to recharge. In the evenings, after returning all horses to their stables, he’ll cook dinner for himself and Lancelot if he noticed the King skipping meals again. Sometimes Kyle and Edgar join him in the kitchen and they end of chatting into the night before he has to carry a drunk doctor back to his room before turning in for the night.

On his days off he’ll try to find time to spend it with Luka or Violet if their schedules align.

Fun Fact: He has a pet rooster named Henry.

#cradlesona #ikerev #luka clemence #edgar bright #lancelot kingsley #kyle ash #Jonah Clemence #ikemen revolution

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docholligay · 5 years

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Angstober day 4: Orphans and Runaways

Semi-angsty, really. A McCree fic. I promise tomorrow is SM, the one I have locked and loaded to post! 1300ish words. chronology is here.

It was good, to know how to be alone. When you relied on someone, they fell through, and sometimes it was through no fault of their own, but plenty of times, it was their fault, too. The whole thing was easier avoided than anything, and so McCree was grateful that most folks in Blackwatch kept to themselves. No illusion of family here, no surprise if you fell behind and got left behind.

McCree was tired of being surprised.

Every time in his life he thought he’d found something, it was lost to him. Time to stop looking, and know what the score was gonna be.

Maybe he could stop fucking up, if he just accepted life as it came.

Which would be easier, if Tracer hadn’t kept hounding nearly every member of Blackwatch to join them for dinner sometime. If McCree hadn’t wanted to.

His whole body had vibrated when she shook his hand for the pure force of it. Overwatch and Blackwatch were meant to be separate, Blackwatch kept in the darkness and the back alleys, but this little British thing in front of him had no concept of not being allowed to go somewhere or talk to someone. She’d asked his name, and called him Jesse from the first. She called near everyone by their first name, and insisted on being called Lena outside of an operation.

She invited him to dinner every week, a little unofficial thing she’d cobbled together with those that were willing to join her, with the exception of Moira, who McCree noticed never got an invitation. He assumed it was because she gave Tracer the willies, same as him, but he never asked. She seemed to really want him to come, grabbing onto his arm and howling with laughter every time she tried to imitate his accent when she asked, declaring that she was getting better every week. Somehow it seemed she was getting worse, though he wasn’t sure how that was possible.

Sometimes, he wanted to come.

But McCree was an orphan, and McCree was a runaway, and McCree was a captive, and it was better not to make any kind of connections, he reminded himself. He’d only fuck it up, after all.

It was hard, in moments like this, where even through the wall he could hear Tracer chattering and laughing, Mercy’s soft laugh just barely audible, Winston’s rumble near shaking the floor. Sometimes, Jack and Ana would join them, never one or the other, but only the two of them, but tonight McCree heard only those three voices. Tracer’s dinner sizes tended to wax and wane, and she greeted it with the same joy whether it was her and Winston or a bustling crowd.

The old shadow came upon him, the one he’d felt for the first time when his mother died. That sense that he would always be alone, a hawk circling in a wide and empty sky. It always returned to him, no matter how much light he tried to cast in his life.

Sometimes, he got tired of it.

How was he gonna fuck up showing up at a table? Gabe sometimes went out with Ana and Jack, and plenty of Blackwatch agents were seen by Mercy instead of Moira, if they could swing it. Why was he playing by the rules when no one else did? He ignored that shadowy sense of his own bad luck, and pushed himself off the bed. He looked in the mirror, briefly, straightening his shirt and placing his hat on his head. He was scruffy, but he liked to think that gave him a sense of charm, if he could be said to have any of that at all.

He opened the door, and walked toward the kitchen. In his mind this seemed a rather momentous choice, and in his more dramatic and childish thoughts, a tumbleweed might have drifted across the floor of the wide and open mess hall. But Tracer, being herself, hardly seemed to take it as a surprise at all, her face lighting up in the way a child receives a birthday cake, delighted but expectant.

“Jesse!” She waved, as if there was anyone else in the mess aside from their table.

A few pizzas sat between all of them, and a half-finished six pack of beer. It was not at all fancy--few of Tracer’s meals were--but the imperfect roundness of the crust, and all the extra cheese, let him know that she’d made this herself, and she seemed rightly proud.

He sat down and gave a guarded smile as Tracer shoved a plate into his hands.

“Now, this one’s pepperoni, love,” she pointed to the one in the middle, “turkey pepperoni, mind, as I wanted Ang to eat it, as well, but I think it turned out rather nice after all. And the other is supreme, but with pork sausage, I’m English love,I can only ‘elp meself so much, and this--” McCree often wondered when she found time to take a breath, “is pineapple with mushroom, Win loves it but the sauce is awfully spicy--”

Winston laughed. “There’s three chili flakes in it, Lena.”

She wrinkled her nose and smiled. “Anglophobia, that’s what it is,” she nodded back to McCree “and, anyhow, ‘ave all you like!”

It was hard not to be taken away by her enthusiasm for life, and he found himself smiling as he took a slice of pizza, and the beer offered to him.

He was quiet, for most of the night, simply enjoying the pleasure of having company for dinner again, the company of people who teased and laughed and knew each other, shared over a simple piece of food. The stories flowed from one to the other, and Tracer must have spoken at least seventy percent of the time, but it was an enjoyable seventy percent, and her giggle was hard not to enjoy.

“As you know, I don’t ‘ave sisters, but I do ‘ave me cousin Parvati, and,” she turned to McCree, “Jesse, you ‘ave brothers or sisters?”

He shook his head. “Mom died when I was twelve.”

Why he said that, he wasn’t sure. It had no bearing on the actual question he’d been asked, and as soon as he said it, he felt a blush rise to his cheeks, the sense that he’d shared too much of himself and could barely blame the beer. It had taken him years to tell the Deadlock Gang any of that, and here he was, spilling out at their nice meal.

But Tracer patted his hand. “I’m ever so sorry. I was six, when me Mum died. Awful.” she shook her head. “A pile of orphans, actually, we are,” she grinned again,”so don’t worry over casting a bit of a cloud, we’ve all felt it, right? Right. No problem at all.”

He looked across to them, who looked at him with the sort of sympathy that hurt, the kind that felt too close and too strange, and he knew, looking at them, that it was true. They were all orphans, and they were kind, and the warmth that had radiated from them still present. Maybe this wasn’t the stupidest idea he’d ever had. Maybe there was more than one place in the world where people were like him.

“I’ll drink to that.” He lifted his beer and quaffed it, beating back the shadow again.

Tracer drew her arm around his shoulders and hugged him, raising her own beer and taking a deep drink.

He didn’t know how he’d fail her. He couldn’t have seen himself in a back alleyway, pointing that gun and hitting his mark perfectly. He couldn’t have seen her struggling for breath on the floor of a medical van as Mercy barked orders. He couldn’t have seen how the memory of it would turn his stomach.

But somehow, he already knew:

He was going to fuck this up, too.

#HON HON HON

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jenroses · 5 years

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Cheap, low spoon cooking

My cooking tends to start with protein, and because of my food issues, that protein is generally meat, and if you argue with me about that, I’ll block you, because if you want to do a thread on low cost vegan cooking, go right ahead, you’ve got your own blog right there. Holler if you want more specific instructions for any of these, and let me know whether you just need a basic recipe or “how to for a complete noob to the kitchen” or anything in between.

1. Chicken

Chicken is at the top of the list for cheap and easy, because it can often be had for less than $1.50 per pound, and because many preparations of it can be done with less than 5 minutes of work (oven time not included.)

Basic: get whole chicken. Preheat oven to 450. Pull out giblets. Sprinkle salt on skin. Roast at 450 for 1 hour. Enjoy crispy skin, tender meat. Same method (shorter cooking time, about 45 minutes) works for bone-in skin-on thighs. With the whole chicken, you can usually make one bird into several meals, by using the meat for one meal, and making soup out of the bones and whatnot for the next meal. If you get skinless boneless thighs, they’ll usually be a little cheaper than skinless boneless breasts. Don’t roast them, cut them up, drench them in a marinade, and pan fry the pieces. Serve with pasta or rice and stir fried veggies.

2. Pork

Pork tends to range in price from $2.50 per pound up to $8 per pound. I’m usually getting pork shoulder for about $3 per pound. Shoulder and “country style ribs” are incredibly cheap and can be pressure cooked (instant pot) or slow cooked into pulled pork with seasonings, or you can get slightly fancier, make a marinade of coconut aminos and orange juice (or apple juice and apple cider vinegar, or rice wine vinegar, mirin, soy sauce, whatever, just make sure there’s some salt and some acid and some sweetness in the marinade to help tenderize the meat), and cut the shoulder roast into 3/4 inch thick steaks, cutting across the grain, then put in a bag or bowl with the marinade overnight. We add onions and garlic and shallots to the marinade because I can digestively tolerate them only if they’ve been soaking in acid of some sort for a while. My favorite is to marinade in orange juice, coconut aminos, chilis, onion, garlic, etc. overnight, then pan fry the steaks, turning often, until golden brown. The resulting pork shoulder steaks get cut into strips and served a variety of ways--tacos, sandwiches, lettuce wraps, whatever. We usually use about 8 oz per person if there’s no fancy sandwich toppings, and 6 oz per person or less if making wraps or tacos. I have to have a little more energy for this method, and will often have someone else prep the aromatics.

3. Eggs Even farm eggs, if you live anywhere near a rural area, can be had for less than 50 cents an egg, and regular conventional eggs have been $2 per dozen or less basically as long as I’ve been alive. Basic egg recipes can go from fridge to table in about 5 minutes. I usually get eggs from a friend whose neighbors have backyard chickens, for about $4 per dozen. A good nonstick egg pan + eggs is a fast way to get protein into you without spending all your energy doing it. Over easy, scrambled, omelet, or my kid’s favorite, egg in the hole... all cheap and incredibly fast.

4. Beef Most beef is not cheap, and has been getting steadily more expensive for years. That said, if you understand how to cook various less fancy cuts, and shop at a local butcher, chances are you can get your meat for far less than a typical grocery store. I rarely go for things like ribeye or filet. We’re all about the round roast, chuck roast and flat iron here. Also like the shank. I rarely spend more than $7 per pound on beef, usually closer to $6. But again, we’re shopping at a local butcher who sources meat locally and does all breakdown themselves. Tricks: Look for a whole flat iron and ask the butcher to cut it. The method I ask for is “Please cut it off the silverskin and then into 6 oz portions.” This eliminates most of the gristle layer, leaving incredibly tender meat with a ton of flavor. The flat iron is from the chuck, but is a specific muscle that doesn’t get used a lot, so it’s very tender. Round roast, tip roast... these can be just salted and roasted very slowly (like, 200 F) if you have a meat thermometer with a probe that can stay in the meat, so that you roast it at very low temp until it comes up to about 110-120 degrees, then you take it out, turn the oven up to like 450, put a rub on the meat, and blast it at high heat until the probe is at 140. Then you let it rest for a while and come up a few more degrees, and what you get is a roast with a crust, as tender as the cut is likely to get while staying pink, which, cut thin, will be fantastic roast beef. If you don’t have a fancy thermometer, we usually start it high, then turn it down without opening the oven and let it go for an hour or so before checking with a cheap thermometer. But you can also cut into smaller pieces, marinade, and stir fry. You can ask the butcher to cut your roast into chunks for stir fry, if you aren’t up to the cutting.

Chuck, shank, and other tough cuts can be pressure cooked into super tender pot roast very quickly. Wine, mushrooms... We use cheap sulfite-free wine and whatever mushrooms are most affordable for this.

5. Lamb Lamb can be pricey, but we get a boneless leg roast (grass fed) at Costco for about $6 per pound, which is one of the best prices out there for grass fed meat. We use the roast in one of two ways: We either roast it low and slow like beef, serving it rare, or we cube it and pressure cook it with savory liquids and then serve it with coconut milk and curry paste over rice. So good. 6. Duck Our local Asian markets usually have whole duck for $3.50-ish per pound. It’s outrageously expensive literally anywhere else. Duck doesn’t cook like chicken, exactly... you must score the fat if you want it crispy, which means poking the fat without poking the meat. We roast at high temp, flipping as needed, to get a very crisp duck without drying out the breast. SAVE the drippings and use them in soup, or to cook eggs or potatoes in. Duck fat is like gold. So much flavor. 1 duck feeds 3 of us an indulgent amount of duck. Cooking gadgets for reducing the amount of physical energy you need to cook things: I never, ever use slow cookers because even used properly they seem to create less flavor than the pressure cooker methods. Pressure cookers are like slow cookers for procrastinators. Things that normally would take all day take an hour. Things that would take a couple of hours will take 30 minutes. The amount of money you can save in cooking beans alone vs. canned will pay for it. Pressure cooker is often the difference between me making homemade stock and throwing the carcass away. They’re also about as efficient at transferring heat into meat as any form of cooking you can get, so the energy savings are not irrelevant. Instant Pot is $70-ish at Costco right now, I’m just saying. An oven is helpful, but if you don’t have a full sized oven or can’t bend that way, a toaster oven can do a LOT. If you can get one that is large enough to cook a chicken in, you don’t need a larger oven if you aren’t doing large scale cooking. If you have a child who wants to learn to cook, a cheap toaster oven costs about the same as an EZ bake, but is an actual real kitchen device which can do real cooking. Spend a little more and get one with air circulation and a little more interior space if you can afford the counter space and the money. I know people like air fryers, I’ve not seen the point. Very few things an air fryer can do that a convection toaster oven can’t, and the form factor is better for the toaster oven for cooking a reasonable amount of tater tots. (priorities!)

Food processor: If you find chopping things a barrier, food processors can slice and grate very quickly, and rinse off nicely without a lot of elbow grease. I don’t usually bother, but I have minions who will do chop prep for me. If you don’t, even a small food processor will be less taxing on sore joints than most chopping. If you want to make pastry, a food processor is a must if you have energy issues.

Knives and a means to sharpen them: dull knives make cooking incredibly exhausting and tedious. Sharp knives make it all work so much better. The base price of the knife is less important than the condition you keep it in, as youtube will be happy to show you in a variety of mesmerizing videos.

Meat thermometer: Sort by reviews, ignore any where the reviews are suspicious. My strong preference is for digital quick-read ($10ish) OR probe-style leave-in. ($20-ish) You want this for food safety AND so that you can avoid overcooking roasts.

Cutting board: ideal is something with a groove (prevents juices from flooding the counter and contaminating everything) that runs around the edge. Cheap plastic boards can be convenient, I guess, but are harder to get reliably clean than wood, which tends to kill off germs. My favorites are bamboo. Not terribly spendy, super pretty, work very well.

The pans I use: 9x13 pyrex baking dish for most of our chicken stuff dark enamel roaster (not huge unless you’re going to do turkeys) for beef roasts (very cheap) large baking trays lined with silpats (both bought at costco, idek, they’re ideal for tater tots and such and don’t get problems with sticking and are easy to clean) Nonstick PFOA-free egg pan, sautee pan and 11 inch griddle. I think I spent $22 at Target on three egg-type pans of different sizes? Not particularly spendy, but you do need to replace them every 5 years or so. variety of saucepans and pots in stainless (I have cuisnart and Kirkland and they’re fine and last kind of forever barring disasters and sometimes even then. Can be bought second hand.) We use a lot of pyrex stuff because it’s convenient for leftovers and mise en place. If you have someone helping with chop prep, little dishes full of prepped things make the cooking go so much easier. But you can do that in regular dishes too, we’re just fancy that way (and I stg the pyrex breeds in the cupboard.)

I’ll talk starches if people want.

#Mine

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kiruuuuu · 5 years

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Smoke/Lesion oneshot in which Lesion meets someone important during his first mission and then realises he was horribly wrong over the course of a few years. (Rating T, culture clash + hurt/comfort, ~9k words) - written for @yovelie! I can’t thank you enough for this commission and all your encouragement 💞💞 You continue to be a delight! Find my commission info here!

This fic has been posted to AO3 as well!! Read it here :)

His presence alone demands respect: he has the aura of someone who turns heads unconsciously, who parts a crowd with no effort and without realising, of a man used to making himself heard. Tze Long inadvertently holds his breath as the broad-shouldered, imposing European paces the room, studying the papers handed to him upon entry and not yet having directed a single word at anyone. He oozes confidence and competence, a good mixture as far as Tze Long is concerned, and despite the circumstances, he’s calmed down considerably. With this fortress of a man on their side, he has nothing to fear.

The man’s companion is less impressive, reminds Tze Long more of an aged schoolkid, sitting the wrong way around on a chair and resting his chin on his arms, eyes lazily trailing after his superior. If anything, he’s an apprentice, for some reason deemed worthy enough to follow this legend around despite proving himself lacking in several aspects – physical appearance is just one of them. He merely scanned the report Tze Long neatly put together before switching to playing with a lighter instead, face bored and impassive.

Indonesian weather doesn’t agree with either of them and yet Tze Long can’t pretend he minds, not when it forces the two to expose their toned arms and causes sweat to bead up on their foreheads enticingly. This is a moment in which he stops wondering why he’s got it so bad for Westerners.

Paper rustles and restless footfalls stop. The tall man fixes Tze Long with a level gaze which shouldn’t cause his heart to skip a beat like this. “Your name is…?”

“Liu Tze Long, sir.”

Two pairs of eyes drill into him yet he returns the stare without blinking. “You know who I am?”

He nods. “I do, sir.” How could he not? Operation Nimrod gained international fame and besides, all special forces have their own celebrities, pass on gossip just as swiftly as the Hollywood scene. Vineyards work fast, especially concerning the British SAS, most acclaimed organisation worldwide. Tze Long has been following this man’s career for about a decade now, hungrily devouring every tasty piece of information he could find. This is his idol before him, in the flesh, and he still has trouble believing it.

“Good. This is James Porter.” The sidekick gives a half-hearted wave and a half-hearted smile. “You’re the one who interpreted the files on the laptop found in Macau?”

“That is correct, sir.”

“Fucking bubonic plague”, Mike Baker mutters with a shake of his head, pushing back his sweat-soaked hair. “What do you reckon, Jamie?”

“Complete neutralisation asap”, comes the reply without hesitation, yet delivered like a disagreeable school report, “the files didn’t indicate the existence of more than one lab, so only one infiltration necessary. We’ll have the SDU assist us in gathering intel and coordinating the whole thing, go in, destroy the prototypes and samples as well as all data and leave.”

Tze Long nods mutely. They’ve identified the location of the extremist’s laboratory already which is why his superiors deemed it necessary to ask the Brits for help – their expertise in storming a building riddled with mercenaries and equipped with a worryingly potent biological weapon is limited. He doesn’t let his surprise over James’ astute observations show. He should’ve figured every member of the SAS has been recruited for a reason.

“Almost.” Mike leans against a table and Tze Long’s eyes drop lower all by themselves. “There’s no need to ask more people for help. We three are more than capable of taking down this megalomaniac – the fewer people can alert these terrorists to our plan of attack, the better. We don’t need the SDU’s fancy gadgets if we can help it. Right?”

The last word is directed at Tze Long who nods automatically. He indubitably knows best, seeing as how he’s not only still alive but also in active duty after all this time. “Yes, sir. Of course.”

“See? Even he agrees with me.” James simply rolls his eyes, visibly exasperated, but doesn’t dare object. If he had, Tze Long would’ve been appalled with the blasphemy. “You’re both knowledgeable in toxicology, so you better figure out how to get rid of this nonsense while I do observation and planning. Also, if you call me ‘sir’ one more time, I’m gonna personally feed you my badge.”

Tze Long opens his mouth, throws a glance at an extremely amused-looking Porter and decides against speaking up.

“Alright, let’s brainstorm on how to neutralise this plague without causing a medium-sized epidemic”, Porter turns to him with a cheerful grin. “Or, as I’d like to call it: the fun part.”

~*~

Macau has never held any fascination for Tze Long for as long as he could think – the old Portuguese buildings, yes, but once he’d seen them, there was only glamour and glitz to discover, new ways of relieving encumbered tourists of their money and the vice-like grip of the Chinese government tightening on a city doomed to be a one-trick pony forever. He never bought into the explosive potential of the casinos, prioritised work over luck and ended up in a respectable place as a result. Things work out eventually, but always through hard work and not unnecessary risk-taking. He prefers necessary risk-taking.

This day, however, he’s come to experience it through someone else’s eyes and allowed the city to dazzle him as if he was a toddler experiencing the Lunar New Year fireworks consciously for the very first time. Everything is bright, loud, inviting and affordable, even for his wallet, and he takes great pride in explaining all the local delicacies, the colonial history and differences between Macau and Hong Kong, as well as Asian customs in general. Most Europeans he meets either already know their fair share about the region or are much more interested in an entirely different thing, so it’s with childlike wonder that he accompanies Mike and James traipsing through Asia’s Las Vegas.

They’ve washed up in a Din Tai Fung purely because Mike knows the restaurant chain and was thirsting for a little bit of familiarity after an entire day of concentrated culture shock – but not familiar enough to allow them to forget they’re in another continent, like one of the many American fast food chains might’ve done, even given their differing menu.

“I never would’ve pegged you for a gambler”, Tze Long chuckles in between dumplings and marvels not for the first time at the fact that conversing with one of the most renowned blades has become this easy over the course of a singular mission.

“Me neither, but results don’t lie.” Mike frowns at the cup of green tea before downing it in one go. He doesn’t look like a fan. “If you hadn’t dragged me off, I might be a few thousand quid richer.”

“If we hadn’t dragged you off you’d be on your fifth Singapore sling and probably hitting on a coat rack”, James states drily.

“A miracle – the man who bets on everything shies away from roulette.”

“Not everyone has your kind of pocket change. And besides, I only bet on meaningful things. Like the fact that I’m gonna eat more than either of you of these – what are they called again?”

“Xiao long bao.” Tze Long pokes at one of the steamed dumplings filled with pork and hot soup. “And don’t bother betting anything, my stomach becomes bottomless when it comes to them.”

“You look like you don’t have them very often, in that case”, Mike interjects with a grin and definitely did not expect Tze Long to mirror his expression and retort: “You look like you have them a little too often.” He’s come to learn that friendly banter is not only viewed favourably but also generally expected, and not for the first time he’s grateful for his extended interest in expats.

Once James is done laughing (which takes a while and is made worse by Mike’s glare), he suggests: “These things are bloody delicious, so I’m definitely not gonna lose. Let’s bet on a dessert.”

Tze Long agrees, and their banter continues. An outsider might not identify them as extremely recent acquaintances, not with how easily Tze Long laughs, not with how naturally James elbows him in the side, not with how nonchalantly Mike overlooks their antics. But near death experiences have a way of forming unbreakable bonds, invisible strings tying near strangers together and inspiring them to treat each other almost like family: an involuntary gathering of people who share a fundamental trust. It’s easier to ignore shortcomings or differing opinions when they’ve had each other’s blood on their hands, and never before has Tze Long felt this connection as strongly as with these two Englishmen. They will stay in contact after this, that much is obvious, and maybe he’s made friends for life.

Maybe he’s made more.

Mike was the first one to ask him for his number, and if he noticed Tze Long’s fingers shaking, he didn’t comment on it.

As expected, both of them end up too full to even think about trying the molten chocolate-filled dumplings nor the matcha cake, so they agree on a draw after probably having miscounted anyway. Tze Long shows his gratitude for Mike’s winnings paying for their meal by gifting him a charm for his phone, one that’s not too tacky and meant to bring good fortune, and because he doesn’t want James to be empty-handed, he buys one for him too. They walk off the food coma by one of the beaches; it’s cooled down a little over the course of the evening and so neither of them takes their shirt off. Shame.

They linger outside of the hotel.

“You’re going back to Hong Kong tonight?”, Mike inquires, stretching in the humid night air and displaying his long limbs like an unconcerned predator knowing it’s at the top of the food chain.

“Yes. I sleep better at home and the ferries go regularly even at this hour. It’s a shame about your flight, I would’ve liked to show you my home.”

“And I’d like to show you ours”, James replies, sounding surprisingly genuine. Usually, half of what he utters is sarcasm and the other half jokes – if he hadn’t displayed professionalism and competence during their mission on top of that, Tze Long might’ve refused to work with him outright. “If you’re ever in Europe, call.”

“And if you’re ever in Asia again, let me know.” He fidgets. His throat is swollen with all the half-sentences threatening to burst out, all the confessions he’s suppressing… but there’s a foreign body in the way and he’s not willing to lay himself bare before these attentive eyes which have been following his every move for days now. He’s long understood that laziness and disinterest are a cover to hide a sharp sense of observation as well as a keen mind. James prefers being underestimated. Mike, on the other hand, is as authentic as it gets – he never holds back, sees bluntness as a virtue and wastes no time in hiding. Enviable. Tze Long wishes he could do the same.

“I forgot to buy smokes, be right back”, James announces into the short silence and disappears as if he’d read Tze Long’s mind. The opportunity is perfect, made even better when Mike addresses him directly.

“I’m serious, it was a pleasure working with you.” His chest swells at the genuine compliment. “Even if you’re as suicidal as Jamie. You’ll get far. Do you have a lot of experience under your belt already?”

He omitted this fact as to not spark any doubts, but now he might as well admit it. “Actually, this was my first mission.”

Mike’s brows lift, just like the corners of his mouth. “And you waited this long to tell us? You son of a bitch, I don’t believe it. I have even less doubt about your future now. I hope to see you again soon.” He holds out his hand and Tze Long takes it, feels a warm palm against his own, a strong grip, melts under approving eyes. “You did well. I mean it. Take care of yourself, will you?”

Please, he thinks but doesn’t even dare finish the thought let alone allow his tongue to betray him, dumbly repeats the word in his head over and over like a mantra, like a spell he’s trying to weave. Please. Please. “Yes. You too. Have a safe flight.” And with those words, Mike Baker seemingly vanishes from his life. Silhouette starkly visible against the bright light of the hotel lobby, the embodiment of everything Tze Long wants and wants to be, he leaves, in his wake the hot night air clogging lungs and airways and hearts.

When Tze Long turns, James is silently offering him a lit cigarette. They share it without a word, just like Tze Long often enforced an awkward quiet between them through non-committal replies or flat out ignoring quips despite their wittiness. Looking back, he feels bad about it.

“Wanna join me upstairs?”, the Brit asks as he extinguishes the mutual vice and leads the way when Tze Long nods. Mind and expression carefully blank, they ride the elevator up and enter the luxurious room after James has unlocked it. It’s about the same size as Tze Long’s apartment in Hong Kong. “Shower? Your preference.”

He shakes his head and watches the other man approach him, closes his eyes only a second after their lips touch.

It’s always so obvious, with Europeans. They make no move to hide their interest or curiosity, seem to have no off switch whereas Tze Long has stumbled over vague acquaintances, locals whom he’d never have suspected in the past. James telegraphed clearly until he knew he was understood, and then continued unintentionally.

He’s a good kisser, at least. Considerate, adaptive, even playful – he manages to coax a few smiles out of Tze Long as they just stand there and kiss, despite him feeling like the entire last week didn’t even matter. He wouldn’t have felt like this even if they’d failed. But James is more and more successful in taking his mind off it, and for that he’s grateful. He does have a nice build, favouring the torso over legs but Tze Long doesn’t mind, not when he can run his hands over hard muscles and feel them dance below his fingertips.

They crawl onto the bed, James shirtless and unreasonably attractive-looking, dark mane fanning out on his pillow and ribs expanding prettily with every deep inhale over Tze Long toying with his tongue. He’s hard, both of them are, and it’s no surprise that the first piece of clothing James tries to undo are Tze Long’s trousers.

“I top”, he whispers against a swollen mouth and slides lower to capture an erect nipple with his lips.

James picks up on his phrasing. “Exclusively?” He doesn’t sound like he minds and lets out a beautiful little moan.

“Exclusively Westerners.” Tze Long doesn’t mention he rarely sleeps with locals as it is – many of them are a mirror to his own insecurities and remind him of the endless questions about his marital status. He’s met wonderful local men, yes, one wonderful woman too, an outlier who sadly didn’t stay by his side or else she could’ve made most of his life a lot easier, but when it comes down to it, he prefers the natural demeanour, the surprise over him having to hide, the cheerful forgetfulness concerning their cultural differences. It’s easier to not be reminded than to overcome.

“Had enough of white guy machos who come to the ‘land of the bottoms’ expecting everyone to fall at their feet?” He’s amused yet not mocking.

“Not far off”, Tze Long admits with a smile and leans up for another kiss which is eagerly accepted. He’s starting to get the impression James would be content with nothing but snogging the entire night and the thought makes him uncomfortable.

“It’s not a race thing”, James mutters, hands gently stroking over Tze Long’s body, “I just like pretty people.”

And I like people who take what I’m willing to give without much fuss, Tze Long thinks and marvels over how the body below his comes alive at his every touch. He’s a magnet and James made of metal, has no choice but to strain towards him, intense gaze fixed on his face. Somehow, it hurts looking at him. “What else do you like?” Tze Long parts legs with a soft push to an inner thigh and settles between them.

“Anything. I’m not picky.” Coming from anyone else, he wouldn’t have believed it, but it rings true for James. “Live out your fantasies.” He smiles and means it, despite his next words. “I know I’m a substitute.”

Tze Long’s mouth goes dry. His cheeks burn, actually feel on fire. Restless digits roam over exposed skin but none of its warmth manages to penetrate his own. He feels cheapened, caught. He knows James noticed. He just thought he’d have the decency not to mention it.

He tries to save it with a kiss, but it’s sticky, sickly sweet like too much candy, the taste clinging to the roof of his mouth. Like Macau itself, a pretty façade and nothing more. James can tell he’s not feeling it anymore, he’s sure.

“You don’t have to”, James says, so full of understanding Tze Long’s stomach is in knots.

“I want to”, he lies. Kind eyes blink up at him. James really is handsome, at third glance. He imagines what it’s like to actually fuck him. He wonders what he’d feel like afterwards. The thought is sobering.

“How about we walk around the city some more instead? There were other places you mentioned we didn’t get to see. I’ll just skip sleeping.”

Tze Long doesn’t ask whether it’s really alright with James. He just nods and gets up.

~*~

Confrontation goes against his nature. He’s always cultivated a healthy mix of empathy and disillusionment with humanity as a whole, both to understand other people’s actions as well as not care too much – he’s self-sufficient, needs little to be content, is ambitious without being overzealous, and he believes that everyone eventually gets what they deserve. Picking fights, holding grudges, none of it appeals to him, instead seems clunky, awkward, unnecessary. He lives and lets live, expects others to show him similar courtesy but doesn’t cause a fuss when they don’t.

This, however, is different.

“I’ve been working on this for two months, as you’re well aware, and now you’re saying I won’t be permitted to bring this mission to its conclusion?” His tone is even but his fingers flex, betraying his anger, even resentment.

Mei Lin had to pull him aside so they don’t have this conversation in front of the rest of their team, for which he’s grateful, though he hopes it doesn’t appear as if he’s questioning her authority. She’s gotten enough shit as it is. “Yes”, she replies curtly. “This is non-negotiable. Leave.”

Tze Long catches his fury before it breaks out of him. He respects her like no other, and unlike his peers, doesn’t hold her to higher standards just because she’s a woman. She’s had to work twice as hard to receive half as many commendations. No, this isn’t about her. “You know my work is important to me”, he appeals to her sense of duty, but he’s got the impression he’s not talking to her in her function as his superior right now, despite all.

“This isn’t your call to make either way.” He believes it. If their roles were reversed, if he begged her to exclude him from the mission yet she deemed him irreplaceable, she wouldn’t allow it. “I will bear the consequences. I am aware of what I’m doing. And you need to go.”

He sincerely hopes she’s not committing career suicide, not after she’s fought her way into the SDU, clawed her way up with iron discipline and excellent results. She could have him officially rebuked for insubordination if he refused and stayed. So he doesn’t.

A few hours later, he feels his father’s pulse fade under his fingertips.

Tze Long feels like he’s underwater. Like he’s a singular grain of sand, mercilessly and relentlessly being tossed around by the tide, ground up against his brethren over and over again until they’ve all lost their edge, become smooth and round and compatible, until they make up a pretty picture as a whole, with their personal identities vanishing in favour of making up a greater good.

A metropolis like Hong Kong seems to have this effect on people – at least on most of the ones he’s met. They turn into exchangeable faces, rehashing the same conversations over and over, fulfilling their purpose and causing no ruckus. Oiling the machine. On bad days, this impression weighs him down amid the traffic noises, the daily rush to work and back, the desperate attempts to take the mind off everything. On good days, he manages to spot beauty wherever he goes, smiles and small gestures of kindness, the shocking diversity of the city representing unification and celebration of life in all forms. Hong Kong is colourful in more ways than one, if he dares to look.

Today is a bad day.

He’s frantically chewing on a toothpick while tonguing the sore spots in his mouth where he poked himself before. A friend suggested replacing cigarettes with something else to keep his mouth occupied and help suppress the addiction, and after dismissing chewing gum and carrots, he’s landed on this. So far, it does nothing to quell his anxiety.

When Mei Lin leaves the building, her expression is unreadable until she’s stopped right in front of him, blinking up into the painfully direct sunlight. They study each other, both looking for signs of weakness not to exploit but to encourage. Eventually, she nods. “We’re good”, she announces and both of them slump a little in relief.

What she really means to say is: I’m good. But Tze Long doesn’t correct her. “What did he say?”

“He was understandably upset I would force you off the mission after you’ve been the most involved op in the whole thing. He blamed me for being soft, for endangering the rest of the troop by replacing you. And he told me I shouldn’t have let you know about the call.”

Tze Long nods silently. It’s what he expected.

If she’d told him of the call afterwards, he wouldn’t have been there to witness his father’s last breath.

“But there was someone else there. SAS. Apparently a friend of yours.”

His stomach flips. Did he really come? He wouldn’t have thought – he messaged him that day, late at night, not expecting a reply as usual. Responses were scarce, have always been, so he figured he’d get a supportive text back in a week or two. Not this. His heartbeat quickens and he has to hold himself back to let Mei Lin finish instead of charging the building.

“He wanted to know what happened and then offered his own advice. I’ll spare you the details, they argued a bit, but he held the opinion that amid our discipline and rigorous training, we mustn’t forget we’re also human. Because this humanity is the entire reason we’re doing any of what we’re doing. And in his opinion, I acted according to this ideal and therefore shouldn’t be punished.”

“That does sound like something he’d say”, Tze Long agrees quietly.

Both of them turn to the busy street as if on signal, take a deep breath, compose themselves. He wants to embrace her, wonders whether she’ll take it the right way. Everything is impermanent, he recently received a sharp reminder of this, and his need to cherish everything he still has left throbs behind his temples. Instead, he settles for an earnest: “Thank you. I didn’t agree in the moment, but I do now. You made the correct call.”

“I know.” She fixes him with a gaze so full of sympathy that it paralyses him. “I’m sorry.”

He just nods again. Despite all, he wants to ask her about him, what he was like, whether she liked him, whether she understood who exactly he is. The realisation of how much he cares is frightening, even more so when he hears footsteps behind him, clearly approaching the two of them. He’ll never be ready to face him, never has been, and so he takes the plunge without hesitation and turns around, turns to -

“It’s just me”, James states almost apologetically the moment he must notice the disappointment in Tze Long’s expression.

Whatever it is, whether it’s the uncomfortable vacuum Tze Long has been carrying around with him for a few days already, hindering his ability to feel anything, whether it’s the relief of seeing a familiar, friendly face, whether it’s the fact that James just helped Mei Lin – it’s not nearly as big of a letdown as Tze Long would’ve expected. Yes, he’d hoped it’d be him. But after a second, he’s already come to terms with the fact that it isn’t, and if he’s completely honest, he doesn’t even mind that much. “Good to see you”, he says and means it.

James’ face lights up with a smile. “Good to be here.”

Their dynamic is different.

Tze Long fails to pinpoint why, whether it’s the long months – years, he realises – of constant communication, the fact that he’s not looking over James’ shoulder for most of the time, or the sad circumstances. He’s sociable enough, always enjoys making and keeping friends from all over the world which has come in handy not only at his job but also in his spare time, so he kept up the steady stream of messages between the younger Brit and himself. It wasn’t like they texted every day, yet he expected a message at least once a week and wasn’t ever disappointed. Usually, it was either a world event which occupied them, a remarkable injury on either side (like when Tze Long broke his toe by demonstrating his lack of skill on the tightrope, or when James dreamt bad, flailed around in his sleep and punched himself in the nuts), an entertaining story they came across or just a simple checking in. Casual, pleasant, inconsequential conversations.

Now that they’re face to face once more, James is much more tangible, with that singular dimple he actually pointed out at some point, the laid-back attitude which puts Tze Long at ease immediately, filled to the brim with terrible ideas and even worse jokes and never turning down a challenge. He’s a painting which has come alive, surprising in its actuality yet its core still intact. It’s not like meeting an entirely new person, more of… seeing a whole.

In the half-day they have available, Tze Long shows him Hong Kong. The flight leaves late at night and James bemoans the fact that he’s got trouble sleeping on planes as it is, so the jetlag will kill him, and Tze Long doesn’t ask whether he was in the area anyway, doesn’t ask when he arrived in the first place, why exactly he came.

He suggests Din Tai Fung once more but James shakes his head, inquires about other local specialties and trails after him until they reach the night market on Temple Street which isn’t as crowded as usual seeing as it’s only afternoon. Like in Macau, Tze Long revels in his position as tourist guide and points out miscellaneous facts, tells a few anecdotes and buys a chocolate-flavoured egg waffle as well as milk tea so James can munch and sip on something while marvelling at the colourful trinkets and embroidered clothes offered en masse. In order to get him to try as many stalls as possible, they share portions of dim sum, grilled squid and braised meat, and it delights him to see that James is willing to try basically everything – except for stinky tofu, which is understandable. Tze Long barely smells it at this point but he knows it’s quite off-putting to people not used to it.

Before they head to visit the nearby temples, he purchases fresh fruits to complete the culture shock: some lychee-like longans, a shockingly bright pink dragon fruit and a sweetsop, Tze Long’s personal favourite with its creamy, aromatic flesh. James’ curiosity knows no bounds and, very uncharacteristically, he doesn’t treat Hong Kong with his usual biting sarcasm. It’s not reverence he shows either, and Tze Long would be hard pressed to describe his attitude as anything more precise than simple enchantment.

They barely manage to get to Victoria Peak before sunset. Just like the rest of the city, the mountain is flooded with people, all trying to get the best selfie before moving on, whereas James leans against the railing on one of the viewing platforms and merely looks. Tze Long steps up next to him, close enough to touch, forcing the bustling activity behind them to the back of his mind and tries to see his home through James’ eyes. Below them, countless skyscrapers stretch upwards like fingers, reaching out for infinity.

“What about where you live?”, James wants to know after a long while. “I want to see where you used to work. Where you grew up.”

He shakes his head after some deliberation. “We don’t have time for that”, he lies when in reality he’s not ready to face this part of his life again, especially not show it to a stranger of sorts. His past feels deeply personal somehow, his struggle to end up where he is now like a secret he’d better keep. Part of it is simple vanity – he wouldn’t like to imagine James telling his colleagues, telling him. And of course, the one person who shared this history with him has now passed away.

James’ eyes are on him, attentive, almost waiting. “Next time?”, he asks, sounding hopeful. Tze Long wonders what kind of impression he’ll take away from this short visit.

“Yes. Next time.” He’s not sure if there will be one, but he hopes he’ll feel differently about himself by then.

“What was he like?”

A deep breath. How is he meant to answer this question? “Kind but firm”, he offers and puts a new toothpick in his mouth. “No time for nonsense but always willing to listen if something was on my mind. Distracted, at times. Whenever he found a gift for me, he’d present it so proudly. He was happiest when he could teach me things, show me the world. When he couldn’t work anymore, he -” His voice breaks, so he stops talking. Despite it not being his fault, guilt had plagued his father for decades. Having to rely on his only son, witnessing Tze Long’s struggle took its toll on him just like on Tze Long himself, though it changed into fierce pride later on, once he became a Flying Tiger. But he remembers the forlorn stare into their empty cupboards, the reassurances of being able to mend clothes, shoes, self-image.

James is going to get a sunburn and it’s not going to be pretty. He hasn’t tanned much this summer yet and Tze Long wants to reach out to protect his skin from the merciless rays. To maybe run fingers through his luscious hair. “He sounds like a good father.”

“He was.”

And despite the serenity of the moment, James actually goes there: “Your description of him reminds me of someone.”

Tze Long fights down the urge to simply leave. He’s better than that. “I bet you won’t drink a whole glass of durian milk”, he switches topics and earns a side-glance he’s incapable of deciphering.

“- you should’ve seen his face when I told him to shove it, pure comedy, this dude was not used to anyone saying no to him, not with him built like a bloody fridge and that stupid fuckin’ tattoo on his forehead, something daft like carnivorous or edgelord, I don’t even remember, I only remember thinking: this lad must’ve randomly picked a word from the dictionary that sounded cool.”

Tze Long moves his own drink out of the range of James’ flailing arms but makes no move to interrupt him.

“And me, a foot shorter and seemingly harmless, refusing to budge? Well, you can imagine what happened.”

“I do hope you wiped the floor with him.”

“First he punched me in the throat, but yes, afterwards I most definitely wiped the floor but only because he tripped over some barbed wire, nearly shredded his entire dick and bled all over the fucking linoleum. That was the last time he tried to sell some fake insurance, I’m sure.”

Drunk James is adorable. He’s become a waterfall, largely unaware of himself not in an inconsiderate way but an endearing one, speaking his mind openly and demanding Tze Long’s full attention. He fills silences with anything and everything, after two cocktails already, and he goes deaf when Tze Long tells him that going on a plane while intoxicated might not be the best idea. They’re perched by the bar, sipping bitter liquor because today is just one of those days and let the soft pop music relax their muscles.

While he prattles on, rants about the next odd encounter, Tze Long gets distracted by the curve of his eyebrows and the hard jaw and he wonders whether he’s still interested. What he’d say to the suggestion of dipping into a hotel real quick. It’s less than an hour until he has to be at the airport, however, hardly enough time, but idly toying with the idea is fun nonetheless.

“Thank you for coming”, he eventually manages to interject while James takes a breath.

“Aye. Mike relayed the message and it sounded like you might get in trouble, or your colleague might. He’s off gallivanting around the Middle East somewhere I think, claims he’s busy doing recon or whatnot but I bet he’s lazing in the sun and resting his bones. Soon he’s gonna be the oldest bloke in the SAS, did you know? Fucker’s immortal. Some of the lads who bet on his retirement are gone themselves by now.”

Tze Long did not know this. He doesn’t know a lot of things about Mike. “I appreciate your help, in any way.”

“Believe me, your boss didn’t.” James grins and it makes him look years younger. “I might get shit for it but my major has my back. And I got yours. If anything else is up, let me know and I’ll travel half the world again.”

He has no doubt James would, and he tries to identify whether it’s a snipe aimed at him for texting Mike only, not him, but isn’t sure. His brooding is interrupted when he spots a familiar figure at the other end of the counter, glancing over and flashing him a wide smile. “Oh no”, he mutters to himself.

“I swear though, that bloody rotten egg fruit, whatever it’s called, I’m never touching one of those again, I still wanna throw up every time I burp.” James interrupts himself to follow Tze Long’s gaze. “What, someone making bedroom eyes at you?”

“Yes. He’s very charming, to be honest.” He sighs, shaking his head. Should’ve known better than to drag James to his usual club. “And very married.”

“That happen often?”

It’s too complicated to go into detail, so he nods. Having grandchildren continues to be one of the highest priorities in the life of a parent, and Tze Long has met many, many guys living a double life – one for society and their family, one for themselves. He’d rather not get involved with these men even if it means limiting himself.

“Want me to take care of it?”

The seemingly innocent question makes him huff in amusement. “Please don’t start a bar fight, I’d hate to get banned.”

“More than one way to show you’re not interested”, James mutters and true, he’s right.

Tze Long doesn’t even mind. He puts his toothpick aside.

They meet halfway between their chairs and James’ corners of his mouth are turned upwards when they do. He tastes of rum and tobacco and the tendrils of addiction pull at him enticingly at the reminder of what he’s given up; the background noise fades in favour of his own heartbeat and James is still smiling, never once stops. His smile feels like a thinly-veiled accusation and a self-satisfied victory simultaneously and yet Tze Long can’t get enough. James switches to his chair, actually settles on his thighs without breaking the heady touch of lips on lips, clearly uncaring of the spectacle they’re putting on. Tze Long’s hands stray to his sides and for once, he’s not picturing a different body between his palms.

“I think we’re good”, he murmurs after a while, after all decency is long overthrown.

“Hmm, no, he’s still looking”, James hums back without even opening his eyes once, smile widening, but when Tze Long withdraws, he relents and instead pulls him into a hug.

And it just overwhelms him. The rare feel of a warm body makes him realise he hasn’t deliberately, consciously touched another human being in days, reminds him of the empty apartment he’ll return to, chock full of memories and shards which don’t cut deep by themselves yet make up a fearsome blade as a whole; reminds him of the desperate loneliness which creeps up on him now and then, whenever he’s weak, whenever he lets it. He thinks of the eternal double check mark, message received, thinks of his colleagues’ triumphant faces as they recounted the successful mission without him.

He clings, hard, and only notices the supportive arms wrapped around him once his fingers have stopped shaking. He’s breaking down in the middle of the bar, visible to everyone, to people he knows, and the shame burns almost worse than his grief.

Regardless, James is still there. Whispering nothings, stroking his back soothingly, acting as if none of this was out of line. His warmth is painful because he’s unsure how to repay it, but right now he has no choice but to accept.

“It’s okay”, James tells him like he really believes it. “You’ll be alright.”

~*~

He turns out to be correct, even if it takes some time for Tze Long to wholly believe it.

A piercing stare accompanies the realisation together with a suffocating amount of information he’s expected to digest and memorise, and yet he couldn’t be happier. The office is nondescript and icy for his standards and he can already tell it’ll take some time to get used to this part of the earth.

“I am very happy to know you in our team”, Six finishes with a seriousness Tze Long respects. “Welcome to Rainbow.”

“It is an honour.” He matches her tone. “I’m looking forward to working with you, ma’am.” He knows when he’s dismissed, gets up and ready to start this new chapter of his life, but curiosity gets the better of him: “May I ask – am I the only one of my unit you’ve recruited?”

Six’ expression softens. The formal part is over, she can rest assured all her points have come across and therefore she allows herself some friendliness. “No. One of your colleagues will join us as well – Mei Lin Siu.”

He finds himself smiling. “That is an excellent choice, ma’am.”

“Funny. She said the same thing about you.”

~*~

England is cold, empty, quiet and boring. And Tze Long is surprisingly fine with it.

He traded comfortable warmth for considerably less rain – even if the Spanish operators give him an odd look over this statement – and exercising outdoors is less suffocating, less of a chore. Admittedly, he could do without winter but after having been enlightened about layers, sealing gloves and sleeves and other tricks which Mira and Jackal divulge gladly, it’s not that bad. Even if summer has him a little homesick now and then. Sometimes he also misses the liveliness of his home, the many faces just like his, the natural way people accept each other as an inevitability. Here, it happens that existing in a space earns him disapproving glances.

But it’s quiet. He sleeps like the dead, hasn’t been this calm in decades and finally finds enough time to really pursue hobbies he had to neglect previously: he reads for days on end, dabbles (and generally fails) in a few crafty endeavours, follows the news from the silence of his apartment, feeling secure, comfy, safe. He picks up cooking, much to James’ delight, and together they spend a weekend on xiao long bao, having to re-do the dough several times and despairing over the soup gelatin only to give up and attempt it again a week later, nailing it first try. And whenever the muted quality of this country threatens to overwhelm him, he puts on some music, a film, or simply invites James over.

He doesn’t have many complaints, not when he spends most of his free mornings in bed with a steaming cup of coffee by his side and phone in hand, the world under his fingertips. Still, it required some getting used to the way people treat each other, the blunt and direct style of communication, the many gestures which would be deemed horribly rude in Asia.

Tze Long idly ponders cultural differences while Mike hands him a bowl of rice, chopsticks simply stabbed into it.

Next to him, he can sense James’ eyes widening before he quickly snatches the utensils and holds them out to Tze Long instead. They share a secret, slightly embarrassed smile, just like they did when Mike presented him with four sample bottles of whisky from his favourite distilleries – he can’t expect everyone to be aware of common superstitions, but he would’ve guessed the social stigma around the number four would’ve been widespread enough to have reached Mike’s ears. Even Mark pulled a face in the background, and James elbowed him, accepting one of the bottles gratefully.

Mike is trying, that’s the part which counts, and Tze Long is fiercely appreciative: he hasn’t celebrated his birthday properly in an eternity, certainly not with colleagues which have become more than that over time, and certainly not with gifts as thoughtful as the ones he’s received (like the high quality tea from Mei Lin, and an entire book series of English classics from James). Mike is trying, and as he’s come to realise over the years, this doesn’t always amount to much. But it doesn’t matter, provided he manages his expectations.

Somewhere along the way, he’s stopped drinking up literally every single word dripping from his lips, stopped blindly accepting, stopped the worship. Mike is a friend. Mike is even a bit of a shit friend a lot of the time, yet his heart remains in the right place – which is a little distant, a little distracted, and far, far away from Tze Long’s.

“This is the best thing you’ve ever cooked”, he informs his gracious host matter-of-factly, and can spot the flattered happiness through the ensuing modesty. It’s certainly not the best thing he’s ever eaten, but his statement remains true nonetheless. Aniseed in curry is courageous and the result a little odd yet edible, and so complaining is the furthest thing on his mind.

When Mike is back to bustling around in the kitchen, Mei Lin quietly asks the other guests: “He really went all out. Does he do this often?”

“Never”, replies Seamus, sounding amused. He looks a giant next to Tze Long’s comparatively dainty teammate, though they seem to get along well. “He’s forgotten Mark’s and Jamie’s before, and gave me out-of-date rum truffles for my birthday.”

“Aren’t you on a diet?”, she asks, prompting a meaningful nod.

“He really cares about Tze Long, even if he’s not sure how to show it”, James interjects, sounding bored. “They’ve been friends for a long while, after all.”

“We have been friends for a long while”, Tze Long feels the need to point out. James’ eyes slide over to him, bore into his skull, almost intense enough to cause him to lower his gaze – but he doesn’t. He knows what it’s for, all the dismissive replies in the beginning, him acting as if the clown (whose humour meshed surprisingly well with his own, who was willing to undertake the same risks as him, who watched his every move) was invisible. If he could go back, he’d act differently. If he could go back, he wouldn’t spend a significant amount of his life chasing after a castle in the sky.

But he did, and now it’s done.

“We have”, he affirms, and instead of agreeing, James gets distracted by Seamus addressing him, and this simple fact shouldn’t bother Tze Long as much as it does. He doesn’t have a monopoly on him, he has to regularly remind himself of this. He didn’t earn the right to have one.

Joining Mike in the kitchen feels less like a conscious decision and more of an escape. “I can’t thank you enough”, he begins and is immediately interrupted by a scoff.

“You could lie and tell me this blobby pudding isn’t the most sorry-looking excuse for custard you’ve ever seen.”

“This custard looks delicious”, Tze Long lies smoothly and Mike’s gruff laugh mends his brittle soul a bit. They’ve learnt to interact with each other without any of the awkwardness prevalent in the beginning of Tze Long’s time in Rainbow.

“Good lad. And you don’t need to thank me, it’s the least I can do. For once, you could shut up and accept people being nice to you.” It’s ingrained in Tze Long to fight for the bill, react modestly to and dismiss compliments rather than accept them, refuse gifts a few times when receiving them. He opens his mouth to object, but once more Mike is faster: “I’ve received complaints about you, you know. You’re being too bloody nice – people just need to mention a book and you’ve already promised to let them borrow it, you give lifts to unsuspecting whiners and generally are too friendly. We’re in fucking England, no one knows how to deal with that shite here.”

Tze Long grins, even if he’s aware Mike isn’t purely joking. “Are you suggesting I’m not already playing my part in making our work environment… more toxic?”

The eye roll he receives is inordinately satisfying, yet his triumph doesn’t last. “No, lad, I’m telling you to go out and bloody take something for yourself. Something which you’ve wanted for a long, long time. You’re allowed, you know? You’re allowed to demand things.”

And this strikes a chord. The smile on Tze Long’s lips fades the further the words sink, float down, down, down into the murky depths of his subconscious which reacts with instant, intense panic. Because they only become louder the deeper they reach, their echo reverberating and creating a cacophony making it impossible to think straight. Unhelpfully, his conscious mind provides a solution, the one suggestion which he’s carried on his tongue for years, wrote on his forehead, the one truth he thought irrevocable: “Are you telling me to ask you out?”

The awkwardly-shaped sentence lodges in his throat, causes the gears in his head to grind and shriek, and it’s wrong, so wrong, if Mike says yes he’s never setting foot in his flat again, fuck the idolising, fuck professional relationships, he’ll curl up in ball and shake and shiver and shudder because no, it’s not what he wants, maybe something he never wanted in the first place.

While he’s still reeling from what’s raging on inside him, Mike throws him an almost pitiful glance. “Not me I’m talking about”, he grumbles. “I mean the one bloke whose friendliness you’ve always accepted without any protest.”

And isn’t that the fucking point?

It’s the one person who consistently made him lose face, no matter what, humiliated him with his displays of adoration Tze Long could never hope to repay, proved him unworthy with every breath he takes, and his presence burns under his fingernails, a constant itch chipping away at his honour because he deserves none of it and yet he wants. Oh he wants. He’s humbled by every easy laugh following disrespect, and the more this shadowy figure was pushed away, the harder it tried to keep up, and keeping it hazy is so much easier than allowing its entire being to invade every nook and cranny of his life.

Only -

That already happened a while ago, didn’t it?

James is outside, an unopened beer in his hand and smoking by himself because Seamus doesn’t endorse his addiction and Mei Lin and Mark hate the smell. He’s glowing in the setting sun, illuminated almost from the inside and Tze Long viciously wishes his brilliancy was contagious. “What’s wrong?”, he asks, unaware of the storm raging behind Tze Long’s unchanged exterior.

“I’m cold”, he replies, earning furrowed brows.

“It’s July.”

“Yes.”

They look at each other. James’ lips purse around the cigarette and Tze Long wants to grab the bottle and smash it on the asphalt, just to expend some of the energy throbbing through him. “Did Mike say anything? Are you okay?”

“I bought two tickets to Hong Kong.” And it’s out. With this, he’s handed himself over and there’s no going back.

“You’re going with him?” Carefully neutral. James stubs out the cigarette and takes out his key ring with its bottle opener attached. There’s a piece of string, too, displaying some of the decorative beads Tze Long recognises easily. The charm must’ve fallen off or broken after extensive use over the years.

“I wouldn’t want him to come along.”

Busy hands pause. He still doesn’t understand. “Mei Lin is accompanying you?”

“No.” They don’t have leave at the same time anyway. But he and James do. Always had.

Fingers twitch. Then slowly set the beer down on the stone steps behind them. He’s looking everywhere but at Tze Long, long hair falling into his eyes. “So -”

“I’ve been buying two ever since I joined Rainbow.” They both know how conscious he is of spending money.

“Jesus”, says James.

Tze Long is dizzy. He expected this moment to taste half-fermented, almost rotten, like a fruit ignored for too long, but instead it’s an explosion of refreshing flavour and pleasant sweetness, horrifyingly addicting. His face hurts and he realises that he’s grinning from cheek to cheek, must look like a lunatic if James’ expression is anything to go by. “Come with me. Please.”

And James seems to understand what he means, even if a frown tugs on his mouth and the face he makes is one of sorrow and not happiness, yet when Tze Long steps closer, James latches onto him like a drowning man.

His turmoil is far from appeased, but one thought prevails above all, forces his emotions to simmer down: I might not deserve this, he thinks, but he certainly does. He holds James until he’s shaking only with laughter, nothing else, the half-suppressed bouts of relief convincing him more and more of having made the right decision. They’re each other’s anchors, unwilling to let go, and beam at each other so brightly it blots out the sun.

“I’d love to”, James tells him in that rare, genuine tone of voice Tze Long has never heard him use with anyone else. “Are you sure?”

“Yes. I wouldn’t want anyone else by my side.” His lack of hesitation only increases James’ luminosity. “I’ll show you everything, James. I’ll show you all.” This seems to convince him, no doubt due to the far-reaching implications.

This time, when they kiss, Tze Long knows for a fact he won’t feel his stomach drop afterwards. And it’s mostly because he knows it won’t be their last one.

#rainbow six siege #smoke #lesion #smoke/lesion #fanfic #oneshot #commissions #this gave me the worst case of wanderlust #if I didn't portray anything correctly please let me know!!

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xxxgrianeatsendermitesxxx · 5 years

Text

Not quite human

"Grian? Dude you're drooling."

[[More]]

Grian flushed and wiped the drool from his mouth, giving a sheepish smile. "Sorry, I didn't notice...hey does anyone fancy a barbeque?" Iskall chuckled, resting his elbow on Mumbo's shoulder. The mustached fellow was almost attempting to submerge himself in the water, he also nodded. Iskall grinned at him, raising an eyebrow. "Always thinking about food aren't you?" The blonde pouted in response to this, whining. "I'm just huuunngryyyyy..." This sent the swede into a fit of chuckling, miming wiping his eyes, keeping them shut tight. Mumbo was also chuckling lightly, staring up at the stars in the sky. Grian beamed at them and went to speak. "But really, we should get something to eat soon. I'm a little pec-" But he was cut off by a blood curdling scream as Mumbo leaped out of the hot tub in abject horror and disgust. He stared at the tub itself like it had just insulted his entire bloodline. Iskall quickly turned around and opened his eyes, looking at Mumbo with mounting concern. "What's up? You look like you've seen a ghost."

Mumbo shuddered and looked back to Iskall, staring him in the eyes as he uttered. "Something just touched my leg..." Iskalls eyes widened and he grimaced, that didn't seem good. Grian quietly cleared his throat, the other two turned to look at him. His ears where suddenly a lot longer and he had a tooth or two sticking out of his mouth. He sheepishly smiled and raised a tail out of the water, long with light fuz and a big waft of fur on the tip. "That...may have been me, I relaxed too much and my disguise slipped." They stared at him for a few moments, looking over these new features on their friend. When grian realized why they where looking at him like that, his ears drooped and coward at the side of the hot tub. He stared back in pure fear, shaking. Iskall raised an eyebrow at him after looking him over. "So what even are you?"

Grian was surprised that they didn't both already know, he took a deep breath and did his best. "I'm...I'm a Venandi in silva..." He stared down at the water, shaking in pure fear. If they hadn't wanted to hurt him before then they would now, there was nothing worse then his kind. Mumbo stared blankly at him, not understanding what that meant. He still didn't know what Grian was and he didn't like seeing his friend so scared, he reached out to comfort him but Iskall grabbed his wrist and forced his hand down. Iskall knew exactly what Grian was and he had to say he wasn't happy about it, Venandi in silva were monsters. Not doubt about it, they were all feral man-eating beasts. But even though Iskall had previously had a run in with one it didn't sit right that Grian was the same, it must be possible that there were good ones too. There would be no other way to explain Grian, Iskall was sure of it. He went to speak but saw that Grian has raised his head to look at them, uttering a question in the meekest voice possible. "Wh...why haven't you hurt me yet..?" This shocked both boys, Mumbo because he couldn't imagine why they'd ever hurt him and Iskall because he could imagine exactly the kind of abuse someone of his kind would suffer. Even if he was friendly, people just wouldn't understand that. So Iskall was the one who approached him, Iskall was the one who hugged him and Iskall was the one who swallowed his pride and assured Grian that neither of them would ever dream of hurting him.

Mumbo quickly joined the two and made sure Grian knew that he seconded Iskalls sentiment. Grian clung to his friend, tear droplettes hit the water and drowned away as did Grians fears. He believed every word his friends told him, at least, he hoped he believed them. He wanted to believe them, he trusted them after all. He leaped out of the hot tub, his deer-like legs propelling him to a great height before he landed gracefully on the ground. He beamed at them, happy to show them what he could do now he was sure they trusted him. "Now about that barbeque..." The hair on the back of Iskalls neck stood on end at that, he'd been witness to a feeding of these creatures and it wasn't pretty. But he kept his smile and nodded, Mumbo did the same but the mustached man wasn't concerned at all. "Yeah, I'm up for it." "Completely." Grian grinned happily, clapping excitedly. "What food shall we have? I'll fetch it!" Mumbo hummed in thought, he really didn't know what he wanted. He glanced at Iskall who was clearly also thinking, Mumbo then has an idea. "Oh how about pork? We could have sausages, bacon...pork chops..." Grians face lit up and he clapped his hands together in delight and ran off. "I'll go get some!!"

This left Iskall and Mumbo alone at the back of Sahara, they got back into the hot tub and relaxed for a few moments before Iskall spoke up. "I was reluctant you know..." Mumbo looked at him in confusion, a little bit worried. "Reluctant to accept him..." Iskall sighed, hoping Mumbo didn't think him too cruel but the ravenette simply nodded along slowly. "See...I had a run in with one of his kind before...with Doc, Ren and Stress..." He took another deep breath, shaking slightly at the horrific memory. "If it wasn't for Doc's metal arm then I wouldn't be talking to you right now..." Mumbo's eyes widened in realisation of what Iskall meant, suddenly understanding why Iskall seemed so hesitant with everything Grian said. He pulled Iskall into a tight hug. "It's ok, Grian isn't like that. You know this, we can talk to him about it when he gets back if you want?" Iskall shook his head but kept clinging to Mumbo tightly, shaking as his tall friend rubbed circles on his back.

After a while of the two sitting there in silence together, a loud noise could be hear crashing towards them. The turned to see Grian bounding towards them holding two entire pigs in his arms, a huge smile on his face. He dropped the swines in front of them and stood proudly, beaming at them with his long tail whiping back and forth behind him. The duo smiled back at him, Mumbo shaking his head in amusement. "How did you manage to get two whole pig??" Grian beamed proudly. "My kind are expert hunters Mumbo, we can do things that humans just can't." Mumbo glanced at Iskall who mouthed 'I'm fine' before congratulating Grian on his hunting prowess. The blonde beamed proudly as he tried to set up a small fire but his long wagging tail kept putting the flame out, he sighed and held it down. He got the fire started with one hand and a little help from Mumbo, they cooked the pork over the fire then climbed down and lay on a small patch of sand. Grian stared up at the stars, he was so glad his friends accepted him for what he truly was. He'd never felt happier and his tail sure showed that. Mumbo counted out some of the stars, glancing at Iskall every know and again. He was proud of the swede for understanding that not everyone of the same species is the same and for opening up to him about his concerns. Mumbo was also proud of Grian for actually having the guts to tell them what he is and not being afraid to show of once sure they'd never hurt him, he was unbelievably proud of both his friends. Iskall was still a little bit worried, the things he'd seem made it impossible for him to ever truly trust on of Grian's kind. But he was trying, he knew that Grian would never hurt him nor Mumbo and trusted him on that but he couldn't help but feel super uncomfortable when Grian grinned with all his razor sharp teeth on display or tore at the meal they'd just had. That was what set him on edge, but it was fine, he truest his friend. All was well.

#hermitcraft six #hermitcraft #mumbo jumbo #mumbo #iskall87 #iskall #iskall85 #grian #grianmc

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withabackpackandcamera · 4 years

Photo

November 27th, 2019

Day 6: A Lovely, Lazy Day, With A Pinch of Magic

Our sleep last night in our monstrosity of a bed was so comfortable. It was hard to wake up this morning but again, breakfast was calling and we were starting to get hungry. So, we rolled out of bed at the latest possible hour and went down to the dining room for breakfast. This morning, I ordered a Eriska Full Scottish, with pork sausage, Stornoway black pudding, grilled plum tomato, streaky bacon, grilled field mushroom, and a fried egg. Cynthia ordered the 3 Egg Omelette with tomato, ham, and cheese. In addition, we had a basket full of pastries and croissants and a table full of fruit and juice to pick from, as well as tea and coffee to round it out. What a spread! And how delicious it all was! All while sitting next to the large window looking out onto the beautiful lawn sitting under the almost clear, sunny skies. What a great way to start the morning!!!

After a yummy, filling breakfast, we took a short nap before it was time for our next scheduled appointment: the spa. The reason I originally booked Isle of Eriska Hotel for our stay was because it offered the option of a spa treatment. And I knew how much Cynthia loved spas and massages. And the result of the decision was full bliss and happiness. Cynthia and I each had our own masseuses in our own rooms and each went through a very short, not-long-enough 30 minute massage. I ordered Cynthia the Eriska Back, Neck, and Shoulder Massage and ordered myself the Oriental Head Massage. This was my very first spa experience and it was amazingly soothing, relaxing, and amazing. I just lay there and the knots in my shoulders from carrying my backpack were slowly massaged out and my scalp underwent soothing treatment. By the time the session was done, I wasn’t quite ready to get up and get dressed again. I just wanted to stay for just a bit longer. Just a bit longer….

After our massages, with our bodies in a state of relaxation, we went back to the room and took a break before leaving the castle briefly for a walk and some photos. Next up was afternoon tea time by the hotel fireplace. Originally, I booked afternoon tea at The Deck Restaurant in another building on the property but because it was getting chilly and windy outside, we thought it was a better idea to just hang tight by the warm and cozy fireplace. We ordered the Full Afternoon Tea for two, and it came with eight small cakes and deserts (there were essentially four cakes and they gave us two of each type), two bonbons, two scones with jam, clotted cream, and butter, and two pots full of tea, one filled with Splendid Earl Grey Black Tea and the other filled with traditional English Black Tea. We sat and leisurely ate our sweets and drank our teas. Before long, we were extremely full, only finishing about half of the sweets and desserts that they had brought out to us. Knowing our limits, we packed the rest to-go and left to spend the last precious moments on the island enjoying the outdoor scenery before we had to leave for Edinburgh.

We strolled around the estate and grounds for a little bit and explored the other buildings in the area, making our way slowly out to the waterfront nearby before turning back to the hotel. We then quickly packed up our stuff and checked out, just as the weather started to get a little windier and the skies started getting darker. And once again, we were on the road for a 2 hour and 45 minute drive back to Edinburgh. Luckily, given how rested we were from the lazy, relaxing day at the Isle of Eriska, the drive back wasn’t half bad and before we knew it, we had returned our rental car and Ubered into the city to our night’s stay at The Balmoral, an old school, fancy 5-star hotel in downtown Edinburgh. Once we were checked in, we spent about an hour in our room chilling and snacking before making moves to the last activity I had planned for our engagementmoon: a potions (cocktail brewing) class and experience at The Cauldron, a pop-up bar located less than a mile walk from our hotel.

We walked through the rain to get to The Cauldron and once we were there, we were greeted by a very energetic witch/staff member who introduced us to the experience we had signed up for and told us the stories behind several magical wands we were to choose from for our potions class. We got acquainted with our table, our potions materials, and our tablemates, John and Lea from Northern Ireland. Then we went to test out our wands and grabbed our drinks from the Wild Beast Menagerie (I got a Vodka-infused cocktail and Cynthia started with a mocktail) before proceeding to the start of our potion making experience. All in all, we brewed two sweet, very weakly alcoholic cocktails (Transfiguration Tonic and Lost Thyme) that weren’t too bad. The experience was fun with all the gadgets we got to use, the actually activity of mixing drinks, and the robes we donned. Also fun was the opportunity to talk and learn more about John and Lea before they headed out. All in all, a fun potions class to begin our last 24 hours in Scotland.

Before calling it a night, we ended up stopping at McDonald’s near our hotel for a quick bite to eat since all of the other restaurants in the area were closed by the time our potions class was done. Just the right thing to end the night with (Poor Cynthia would disagree with that, haha). Scheduled for tomorrow is a whirlwind tour through Edinburgh before jumping on a plane back to London. Get ready!

5 Things I Learned Today:

1. To me, Scottish haggis tastes like corned beef hash. Maybe it was just the way that mine was prepared. Not as bad as I thought it’d be.

2. Today, I learned how soothing and relaxing good massages can be and how good they feel when you are tense and stiff with tight muscles after long hours of traveling and hiking. I didn’t realize it would be this nice! So down for more in the future!

3. The Isle of Eriska Hotel, Spa and Island’s main building was called the Big House and was built in 1884. And the island on which the castle hotel now sits was bought by Robin Buchanan-Smith and his wife Sheena in 1973 and over time, it was turned into what it is today: a nice castle-like hotel filled with fabulous experiences.

4. Real British afternoon tea is a whole meal in and of itself. Especially if you’re choosing the full afternoon tea with sandwiches, scones, cakes, and other desserts along with the tea. How do they do it and still make it to dinner???

5. When driving on highways in Scotland, you’ll see blue signs with red or white diagonal bars running across it, with a sign with three bars immediately followed by signs with two bars then one bar. I observed that these signs likely serve as a warning for a change in driving conditions while driving, whether it’s a speed limit change as you approach a city or town or it’s an upcoming lay-by where you can turn off onto to rest or do whatever you need.

#withabackpackandcamera #huyphan8990 #travelblog #travel #blog #photography #travelphotography #IsleofEriska #Scotland #Edinburgh #TheCauldron #Balmoral #UnitedKingdom #Engagementmoon #worldtravels #HarryPotter #AfternoonTea #WandsandRobes

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kpop-sprite · 5 years

Text

I’ll Miss You

Yeosang - Spanking - Fluff - Subby

“It’s a really long time to be away from you, Yeosang-ah…” I sniffled, my face pressed against my boyfriend’s black Nike sweatshirt breathing in the nutmeg and cinnamon cologne he wore. His arms squeezed me tightly, hands rubbing my back as I choked back my tears once more.

“Jagi, I know this is a lot to think about, so how about we just focus on the time we do have before the tour starts? There’s many things I have planned for us to do before we go.” I titled my face up to look at Yeosang, his perfect smile spreading across his face, those deep blue contacts staring me down. When did he become so ethereal?

“What kind of plans?” I finally asked, Yeosang leaning down to plant a warm kiss upon my lips.

“You’ll see.”

The restaurant was alive with the quiet humming of people eating dinner together, the smell of pork belly and white radish filling my senses gracefully. I grabbed onto Yeosang’s hand tighter tugging him down to hear my voice in his ear.

“Are you sure we can afford this place? It seems too fancy…” I gazed around the room noticing the slightly crowded restaurant filled with people, mostly couples, brazing their meats and grilling vegetables.

“Annyeong! How many today?” The hostess was tall, slender frame with blonde curls that flowed past her shoulders, eyes dark hazel focusing onto Yeosang’s. I could totally take her, I thought.

“Two please,” Yeosang squeezed my hand and dragged me behind him as the hostess led us to a table near the center of the restaurant surrounded by 3 more groups of people in tables within the same vicinity. The restaurant was dim-lit with dulled silver lights hanging over each table that gave off little reflective light against the dark red walls. Yeosang pulled out a chair for me to sit in, him pushing it gently under the table before taking his own seat beside me.

I lifted the menu and glanced at the prices, a churning in my stomach beginning. “Yeosang…”

“Hmm?” He acknowledged me without glancing up.

“How can we afford this…$30 for pork belly…I just don’t think –“

Yeosang’s hand was hot and heavy as he pressed it against my thigh, slowly sliding my dress up exposing my black tights. My cheeks flushed cerise as I caught his eyes in my irises. “For once in our relationship, let me be the one to worry about things, hm?” He removed his hand just as quickly as he had placed it onto my body, lifting up the menu once more just in time for the waiter to come to the table.

The blood in my ears echoed out at me, the feeling of his touch radiating through my body as his voice became muffled as he ordered our meal, the waiter walking off to gather our drinks. I looked down at my hands that cupped themselves together in my lap. Touch…touching was something so natural yet made me feel aflame with the heat of a thousand suns. The burning, the burning returned to my skin, my arm this time. I tilted my head up to look into Yeosang’s eyes, those blue contacts breaking my breathing. When did his chair get this close to me?

“Jagiya,” His voice was soft like crème, his breath brushing against my jawline as he leaned in closer, “tell me, what are thinking about right now?”

My heart pounded erratically as he spoke. My mind losing all train of thought I swallowed the lump sticking to my throat. He was so unfair to me and my feelings.

“Your pork belly, beef, and vegetables, sir.” The waiter returned finally, Yeosang leaning off of me enough to allow me to catch my breath, taking the items from the man as he named them. “Pickled white radish, kimchi, and finally the lettuce wraps. Is there anything else I can get you?”

“No, thank you, this is fine.” Yeosang cranked the grill heat up before placing the meat on the cast iron top the sizzle of the meat with mushrooms and onions parallel to them began our meal. I picked up the wooden chopsticks provided by the restaurant and slid some radish between my lips, my eyes widening at the flavor.

“Oh my--!” I put my hand over my lips surprised at the flavor that was spinning on my tastebuds.

“Good, huh?” Yeosang smiled at me as he flipped the meat on the grill top.

“It’s amazing!” I quickly slid two more pieces in my mouth before picking up a large piece and anchoring it to his mouth, his perfect pink lips opening enough to suck the radish from the wooden instruments my body quivering instantly, my thighs rubbing vigorously together. I couldn’t take this.

I laid my chopsticks on the table and stood up from my chair, “I think I am going to run to the restroom for a moment…” I quickly walked off and pushed into the single toilet restroom, leaning over the sink looking in the mirror. “You’re losing it, Y/N. You don’t need to touch yourself in a public place…you’re above that.” The pulsing between my folds radiated loudly, the heat needing cooled.

**KNOCK KNOCK**

My head shot up from the sink, “uh, occupied!”

**KNOCK KNOCK**

“SOMEONE’S IN HERE!” I started to become even more frustrated with this repeated knocking.

**KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK**

I yanked the door open, “I said someone is in here—ah, Yeosang, I –“ he pushed his way into the bathroom, our bodies taking up a lot of the smaller space.

“You left quite abruptly, I was concerned.”

“Ah…y-yes. I am sorry about that, I just needed a minute is all.”

Yeosang came dangerously close to my body, his heated hand sliding up my arm, along my shoulder, up my neck, his thumb rest against my throat as his lips stalled inches from mine. “Didn’t I tell you to let me worry about tonight and not you?”

I nodded not knowing what else to do.

“Alright, let’s go finish eating then, our meat must be burning.” Yeosang held open the door for me, “Ladies first.”

I began to walk past Yeosang when a quick sting hit me from behind, a moaning yelp leaving my throat as I tried to keep myself from stumbling forward. My cheeks burned with embarrassment. What did he just do?

“You sound so good when you make that sound, Jagi.” He purred out, his voice adding to his cocky demeanor.

I quickly pushed him back into the restroom locking the door behind us. “What are you trying to do, Yeosang?” I spoke almost infuriated at him, the teasing taking its toll on my body and mind.

“How do you mean?” He smiled half-heartedly, not seeming to care that he just made my core leak with arousal.

I smiled, “You’re not slick, Yeosang, in fact, I know exactly what you’re trying to do.”

“Do you?” His smile hung from the side of his face his smolder trying to stay hidden.

I moved in closer to him, his body backing up quickly until he hit the wall, finally he was the one in shock. I grabbed his collar and pulled his face down towards mine, my lips dangling in front of his now. “Take of your pants. Now.” He fumbled a moment, reaching for his belt and then his button on his pants. “Quickly.” He moved more quickly removing his pants, them crashing to the ground, the black clashing against the white tiles.

I pressed my body against his chest my hand grabbing his soft erection that hardened quickly in my touch. “You’re funny Yeosang.” I chuckled lightly, “You really wanted me to be begging for you to fuck me in this bathroom, but here you are about to cum with just my hand on your cock.” I squeezed his erection tightly feeling his pulse bounce against my skin. Yeosang’s head fell back, a gasp leaving his chest with a rise and fall in his lungs.

My hand released his erection before demanding him to get onto his knees his body reacting instantly to my demands. I cupped his face in my hands and then slapped him light against the cheek, his birthmark turning dark red from the mark. I leaned down to him burying my tongue between his lips. Our tongues massaging one another, twisting into a tangle of seduction. He tasted like the white radish, my taste buds remembering the look on his face as he sucked on the chopsticks. I groaned, reaching between my legs, sliding the tights that were now soaked away from my folds and sliding two fingers against my swollen nub.

I moaned against his mouth, echoing out my pleasure as I reached my high quickly from own touch. Yeosang gazed into my face as I came, my orgasm causing his cock to twitch out in front of me, him desperate for touch. “Jagiya…” his groaning like the sweetest rain falling from the sky, “Yes my love?” I rubbed his face with my wet hand, his tongue lapping at my arousal that moistened the tips. “Please?” He looked down at his pulsating cock before locking eyes with me once more.

I grabbed his erection, pumping it feverishly watching Yeosang mewl from my touch, the control I had over him giving me a different kind of high. I rubbed my thumb against his dripping tip, the redness like that of a raspberry, overly teased and ready to be released. I pumped quickly, my palm creating a sweet suction of pressure against his shaft. I moved quickly, Yeosang gasping for air, moments away from his orgasm when I released him from my grasp. He quivered, his body releasing quakes as his orgasm was being denied, he looked up at me, the blue in his contacts like an ocean.

“Touch yourself for me, Yeosang. Show me how much you’ll miss me when you leave.” I cooed out to him, Yeosang’s hand shaking as he grabbed his tender erection, palming it slowly, “Tell me how much you need me…” he heavily breathed out as he fucked himself in his hand, his fluid seeping out from his slit.

“I’m going to m-miss you, so so s-so much, baby,” Yeosang sucked air through his teeth, his high coming closer now, “I’m - - oh fuck…”

“Tell me baby,” I leaned against his ear whispering lightly as he pumped himself faster, “tell me how much you need me to touch you.”

“I…I need you so bad…please…”

I moved quickly to remove his hand from his cock and slip my lips around his dick. I pumped my mouth tightly over him for a short moment before his erection hit him like a freight train. He leaned back and his hips slid his dick deeper into my mouth as he came. His cum spurting into my mouth, back of my throat, and slid past my lips, down my chin. I swallowed his arousal, sitting up to look at him, his beautiful features resting against the dark blue wall of the bathroom.

“You know I’m going to miss you, right?” He spoke between heavy breaths.

“I know,” I smiled, grabbing his hand into my own, “me too.”

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