#but sometimes its i had too many carrots left over from this recipe and ran out of this usual component typa concoctions

[nerdie-faerie]

It's miscellaneous vegetables pasta sauce time!

[supernaturalee]

Green and Gold: Part 1 - Gwilym Lee x Reader

Pairings: Widow/Single Father! Gwilym Lee x Reader

Warnings: Deceased wife/mother, slight angst/sadness, and Karen. 

Word Count: 5.4k

Summary: When Gwilym lost his wife two years ago he feared raising his daughter alone in a small coastal New Jersey town would be difficult. In the two years since her death, Gwil and Brianne are finally ready to start moving on. Following the words of a child psychologist, Gwil signs Bri up for cheerleading with the local youth squad, something Gwil knows nothing about. As he is thrust in the world of cheer bows and back handsprings, he will learn it takes a lot more than green and gold uniforms to mend his and his daughter’s hearts. Hopefully through the squad they will find strength, friendship, and possibly a spark of new love for the widow himself.  

Taglist:@the-baby-bookworm 

Author’s Note: So a lot of this series will come from stories of my own childhood as a youth cheerleader. It is really near and dear to my heart. I really hope you enjoy it and please let me know if you want to be tagged in future installments. 

Gwilym sipped his morning cup of tea as he enjoyed his few moments of peace and quiet in the hour before Brianne was awake. The ingredients for her lunch, laid in front of him as he placed the union jack mug down, a gift from his mate Ben. Today was Wednesday, which meant it was ham and cheese wraps with carrots, pretzels, and a gogurt. As he started making her lunch, he realized tonight was the first night of her cheerleading practice. He let out a breath as he rolled up the wraps before packing the snacks into the purple lunchbox. Filling her water bottle, placing it all in her backpack.  He took out her homework from the night before, looking over her math and then her English. She was a smart kid, smarter than he had been in his fifth year. Gwilym believed it was all from Angela, she was brilliant and that showed in Brianne. 

It was a humid September morning in the small town along the New Jersey coastline. The tall Welshman grimaced at the thought of another overly warm day with no promise of rain. Sometimes when he longed for the gray skies that England promised him, he would remember the excitement in Angela’s voice as she spoke about the town of her childhood. The way her brown eyes would go wide with joy as she told him of the wonderful memories she had of that place and how she longed to raise her own family there. It had actually been decided when she told him she was pregnant that they would move back to her hometown to raise their incoming child. It also didn’t hurt that his company had offered him a large raise and the covering of moving expenses to take over a better position in their New York office. So the young couple moved transatlantically and settled in a small two story home not far from Angela’s own childhood home. It had been a happy homecoming for Angela and the promise of an incredible life together for Gwilym with their new child, a beautiful baby girl named Brianne. 

That was until two years ago when the small but happy family lost Angela what seemed like very suddenly. Life became difficult from that moment on. Two years of grief therapy for both father and daughter, many sleepless lonely nights where he would reach out to her spot to pull her close like he had done so many times before, only to find the coldness of the sheets, and maybe one too many scotches on the nights when it became too much to bear. Friends that the couple had made didn’t know what to do with the now single father and his young seven year old daughter, so they distanced themselves from him. Ben, his friend from back home in England, flew in and stayed for two weeks while Gwil and Angela’s parents planned the funeral for the twenty-nine year old wife and daughter they had just lost. Two years passed and the loss and loneliness had not completely faded.

Gwil moved to make two bowls of oatmeal for breakfast and thought of his workday ahead. After the death of his wife, the publishing company he worked for allowed him to take a small leave of paid absence and then worked with him on working from home a few days a week as Brianne was still young. When he did have to commute into the city, which was an hour and a half train ride away, Angela’s parents would watch Brianne. He had even cleared her new cheerleading schedule with them. Brianne spent every Friday night with them and Gwilym would get a night to himself. Through most of the time, he would spend it thinking about how much he missed his daughter and how he couldn’t wait until she was home again the next morning. 

Angela’s parents Mario and Justina had been incredibly supportive with both the young girl and the widower father. He knew how hard it was for them after losing their only child, it was the main reason that Gwil didn’t move himself and Brianne back to England. They deserved to be an integral part in their granddaughter’s life. Gwilym shook away the thoughts of his late wife again as he placed the bowls of oatmeal on the island. He poured Bri a glass of juice and glanced up at the clock. He moved through the house to the staircase, taking the stairs two at a time he reached the top landing quickly. He let out a breath of success before moving to Brianne’s room down the hall from his own. He pushed opened the slightly ajar door more before sticking his head in. 

“Bri, honey, it's time to get up.” He stated before moving inside the neat room and opening the curtains, letting in the sunlight of the day. The nine year old stirred and groaned softly at the sudden light filling her room. She sat up, stretching her arms out. 

“Morning dad.” Brianne rubbed the last few morsels of sleep from her brown eyes and looked at her doting father. Those brown eyes of hers were one of the last pieces of Angela left on the Earth. Angela was almost disappointed when the baby’s eyes were brown and not blue like Gwilym. He just chuckled and said he would rather have two pairs of the most magnificent brown eyes in the world than two pairs of his own. Angela never said another word about it from that moment on. Brianne pushed back her light brunette locks from her face as she moved off the bed. Gwilym moved back to the doorway and looked at the young girl. 

“Breakfast is ready, come eat and then you can get ready for school.” He said. Brianne smiled wide and turned making her bed. Gwil didn’t mind making it but in Brianne’s big ‘I’m in fifth grade now dad,’ speech she made last week right before school started she had promised him that she would always make her bed from then on. Gwil moved to his room, changing from his sweats and an old rugby shirt into a pair of plain blue jeans and a white button up. He pulled on some gray socks and moved down to the kitchen. 

He knew he had no video meetings today so mostly that meant he was going to be reading manuscripts that prospective authors had sent in with the hopes of being published which meant dressing down. He ran his fingers through his short brown hair and looked at himself in the master bathroom mirror. Only the small bags under his eyes gave away how truly tired he was. At least last night he didn’t dream of her, he actually hadn’t dreamt of her in months. He was just restless, constantly up checking on Brianne just to make sure she was sleeping okay. Gwil inhale and ran his hands over the short beard he had grown. He had been toying with the idea of shaving for a few days. Angela had liked him clean shaven. He shaved every morning for six months after her death almost as if begging for some higher power to bring her back to him, to bring her back to their daughter. It hadn’t worked. 

“Dad!” Brianne’s voice from the kitchen had pulled him from his thoughts as he moved downstairs. 

“Yes love?” He said as he sat down beside her at the island. 

“Did you pack my lunch?” She asked hopeful that he said no and would just give her money for chicken nuggets like a lot of the other children got. 

“Of course.” He smiled proud of himself and the recipes he learned from parenting sites across the internet. Brianne frowned before starting to eat her maple brown sugar oatmeal. 

“What did you make?” 

“Ham and cheddar wraps with the mustard you like from Prime deli, carrots, and pretzels.” He said slightly unsure even though he packed the bag not even forty minutes previous. 

“Did you give me a go-gurt?” Her eyes now hopeful for the sweet tube of yogurt the kids loved. 

“You-gurt I did.” He made the terrible pun. Brianne’s face went dead pan.

“Dad!” She gave him a petty chuckle. “That was a really bad joke. “ Her chuckle turned into a soft giggle as Gwilym laughed. 

“As your dad I’m contractually obligated to make at least five bad jokes a day. I’m sorry darling it is in the guidebook to fatherhood.” He smiled at her. Brianne’s giggle turned back into a chuckle and an eye roll as she returned her full attention to her oatmeal. “Nervous or excited?” Gwil asked after a few moments of eating between the two. 

“For tonight?”

“Yeah, first big cheer practice!” He gave her a hopeful smile. She nodded. 

“More nervous than excited I guess.” She said scooping up a spoonful of oatmeal and pushing it around the bowl. “What if I’m no good? A lot of the kids have been cheering since they were five. I never have!” Her eyes moved to her father, they were filled with doubt. It took everything in him for Gwilym to not pull his daughter to his chest and hold her, promising her that everything would be okay.  

“So you’re a little behind, so what. You don’t have to cheer if you don’t want to.” He said. “Its okay to quit if it's for the right reasons.” He hoped that she wouldn’t ask him what the right reasons were because he wasn’t entirely sure he knew them himself. 

“No!” She said quickly shaking her head. “I want to! I’m just gonna have to try harder than some of the girls. I can do it.” The strength returned to her voice. 

“That’s my Bri.” Gwilym smiled wide with pride. “Has any of the kids shown you any moves?” He asked. 

“Well this girl Jasmine has. She’s on my team and in my class. She’s super cool and I really like her. “ Brianne smiled.  Gwil had heard bits and pieces about this girl and how much Brianne liked her.  “She showed me the game cheers at recess this past week and I’ve been practicing them. I think I got most of them down.” 

“Wait, game cheers? Are those different from the cheer cheers?” He asked slightly confused. 

“Game cheers are for the football games when we cheer on the teams. The cheer routine, dad, is for the competitions.” She confirmed for him. 

“Oh. Okay.” He blinked letting the information file itself in the new file on American cheerleading and football he had in his mind. When he had signed her up, he knew she would be at games but when the woman there asked if she was competing competitively Gwilym understood none of it. It took Brianne confirming that she wanted to compete. “Got it. You have got to teach me this stuff darling. In England, we don’t really have cheerleaders.” 

“Okay.” She nodded finishing her orange juice. She hopped off her stool taking her bowl and glass to the sink, placing them down. 

“Bri.” Gwil said watching her.

“Dishwasher, I know.” She took her dishes from the sink and put them in the half full dishwasher. Gwilym made a note to himself to run it after he got back from dropping her off at school. He finished his last few bites of breakfast as she ran upstairs to brush her teeth and get dressed. He moved putting his dishes in the machine, before putting on his shoes. After about ten minutes, he grabbed his car keys and wallet before looking up the stairs.

“Ready?” He called up. 

“Yeah.” She jogged down the stairs in shorts and a t-shirt. She moved pulling on her sneakers before taking her backpack from Gwil’s extended hand. They got into his black Chevy Cruze and pulled from the driveway. He started the short drive to the elementary school. 

“So how many kids are on the team?” He asked as he turned down the morning drivetime radio. 

“Thirty-five including me.” 

“Thirty-five! Doesn’t that get a little crowded and complicated?” He asked.

“Dad the best routines are complicated. The coaches know what they are doing. They were so good last year they got third in nationals!” She said excitedly. The way her voice talked about the team Gwil knew that she had made the right choice picking this sport. The nervousness from earlier had evaporated. “This year, Jasmine said, that we’re gonna win nationals. And if we win nationals we get really cool jackets! I wanna win, I wanna jacket. Mom won when she was my age.” Brianne said with the last part of her statement being quieter than the rest. Angela was still a hard conversation topic between the father and daughter. 

“I know love. She would be so very proud of you no matter if you cheered or not.” He

said honestly. Angela had been proud of their daughter’s accomplishments since day one. He pulled into the drop off line. “I’m gonna pick you up at two like always. We’re gonna go home do our respective work, then head to practice at five thirty, does that sound good?” He asked as the cars slowly inched up the line. She nodded.

“Can we eat dinner after practice?”

“Sure, honey. But that isn’t until almost eight o’clock.” He said worried it was too late for her. 

“I just want to make sure there is no chance I puke up dinner all over the mats.” She said. Gwilym couldn’t help but chuckle which eased her own tenseness. 

“Okay, but just for tonight.” He said as he pulled up to the curb and dropped her off. He leaned back kissing her cheek. “Have fun, but not too much. Learn but not too much that you’re more bright than your dear ole dad.” He said. 

“Brighter, dad.” She smiled. 

“See you’re already smarter than me.” He smiled as she got out of the car and walked towards the door. He watched her disappear in the sea of back packs before pulling up and out of the line. He began the drive home as he thought about googling some basic information about American cheerleading and the importance of it.  It was going to be an interesting day. 

______________________________________________________________________________

“I think I know everything I need to know love.” He says as he stopped at a red light on the corner of Van Zile Road. It was nearly five thirty and the two were on their way to the practice facility. “I know all about High V’s, low v’s, T’s, Broken T’s. Pretty good for your dad.” He smiled over at her, proud of himself.  Brianne nodded, giving him a similar proud smile. 

“That’s great dad.” She said, holding her cheer bag eagerly in her lap. Her hair pulled back into a ponytail with the green and gold cheer bow she had been given on sign up day. “What about stunts? Half up? Fulls? Liberties? Basket tosses?” She asked interested now in her father’s knowledge of the sport she was taking part in. It made her feel like a proud daughter to know that her father had taken a liking to it.

“Stunts?” His smile turned into a slightly confused look. “Well… maybe love, I don’t know as much as I claimed to.” He chuckled, noticing the red light had turned green. He pushed down gently on the accelerator. 

“I’ll help you. When I learn something, I will teach you it too.” She said. 

“Promise?”

“Promise.” She grinned. “I can’t wait to learn all the things it takes dad! And parents

usually only stay the first practice okay? So please don’t stay for all of them.” 

“Why not? Am I embarrassing?” He teased her. “Is it because I am not the one who brought it on?” He was trying to make her laugh, even though she was eager and ready to cheer. He could see behind her eyes the nervousness that laid there ready to attack the young girl.

“It’s Bring It On dad.” She giggled as Gwil turned onto the road leading into the industrial park. 

“Are we going the right way?” 

“Yeah, Jasmine says that it is by all these warehouses. It's the only place big enough for

all the cheer mats.” She says.  

“You will have to introduce me to Jasmine and Jasmine’s parents.” He said, pulling up to 1942 Swarthmore Ave, he parked his Chevy into an open spot and looked around the lot. He counted about 7 minivans, and 9 SVUs. It was the older red Jeep Cherokee that stuck out to him. It seemed out of place in the sea of stick figure families and my child is an honor roll student stickers that stared back at him from the windows and bumpers of other vehicles. 

Bri got out of the car quickly, moving inside the large warehouse. Gwilym tried to follow her just as quickly. Once he moved through the door, he noticed how huge the place actually was. There were four full sets of cheer mats, nine panels each, in which two of the floor were spring floors to make tumbling easier. There was a large tumble track and foam pit along the back wall. There were two small sets of bleachers inside for the parents to watch and a wall full of cubbies for the teams to put their bags.  

A young man sat at an out of place desk with his headphones in. He pointed to a sign in sheet with the four different teams on them.  Gwilym moved over to the list looking for Brianne Lee, signed his name under the sign in section. He looked up to spot his daughter talking to a shorter dark haired girl who placed their bags in cubbies next to each others. This must be Jasmine, he had heard so much about over the past few days. 

Gwilym moved towards the small sets of bleachers, trying to find an open seat. He could clearly distinguish two different groups as a few more parents came in and separated. On one bleacher sat parents that looked like they stepped out of a J.Crew or a Vineyard Vines advertisements. On the other set of bleachers, sat a few sets of parents. A man in a suit on the phone speaking Russian at a quick pace, an older woman knitting something as she watched the littlest girls on the far back mat. His eyes then moved to a trio of parents, a young man with short dark curly hair was listening intently to the story being told very animatedly by a reddish-brown hair man whose hands almost smacked the young Y/H/C woman in the face. She jerked her head back and started laughing at him. The two men started to join in her laughter, Gwil decided those were his kind of people. He took another step towards them before he was cut out by someone else. 

“Hi Honey. You must be Mr. Lee. I’m Karen Diguimi. McKenna’s mom” A woman with a short cropped haircut that swooped down in the front and then spiked up in the back stood in front of him. She wore a green and gold mustangs t-shirt with the names of her four children on the front over four running horse. In the gold glittering letters it said, ‘Karen’s Corral.’ Gwil gave her a polite smile  as he nodded. 

“Yes, I am Gwilym. Brianne’s father.” He shook her hand that she had jutted out at him. 

“Oh you’re British!” Her heavily mascaraed eyes went wide as the smile broadened 

across her face. A light blush came to Gwil’s cheeks as his accent was always getting him more attention than he wanted. 

“Yes ma’am I am.” He said. 

“Well, that is just incredible honey! You must come sit with us.” She gripped his arm with

her green and gold nails pulling him away from the parents he wanted to sit with.   

“Umm, okay.” He politely followed. She sat on the front row of the bleachers, pulling him down to introduce him to the Vineyard Vines and J. Crew parents. 

“This is John, Melissa, Linda, Frank, Tracy, and Vanessa. Guys, this is Gwilym. He is Brianne’s father.” She said pointing to each parent as she said their name. He nodded with each, shaking their hands. “This is just some of us, with some many kids on the team, most of us car pool. We could get you in on it if you want.” 

“Maybe. I’ll, uh, let you know.” He said kindly. He looked over onto the blue cheer mat, watching his daughter stretch next to Jasmine and a young auburn haired boy. He smiled as she made friends and he turned his attention back to Karen who had launched into a talk about a fundraiser for the competition buses.

“Wall gets those nice buses for their kids, I am just saying. They have won nationals three times over the last five years. It has to be the buses, so I want to come up with some kick booty ideas to raise money for the kids to take those charter buses.”

“Oh what about chocolate bars?” Tracy said. A few other parents threw out some ideas like tupperware, donuts, or pasta shaped like little footballs. 

“No, they never sell that well. How about candles that smell like pumpkin spice or vanilla marshmallow? It is almost fall and that would be perfect. We can even include the holiday ones. They make perfect Christmas gifts for your friends and neighbors.” Karen smiled knowing this was her winning idea.

“Shouldn’t we be asking those parents as well?” Gwil said as he looked over his shoulder at the three parents who talking about something on the woman’s phone. How Gwilym longed to be over there with them instead of here with these parents. 

“Oh them. No no, they won’t have any good ideas.” Karen pursed her lips in slight disgust. 

“What’s wrong with them?” He chuckled looking at her. He clearly saw no problem in the set of them. 

“There is nothing wrong with them per say but they are different from the rest of us.” She said losing the digested tone but keeping an air of rudeness about her. “Rami is probably the most mellow of the bunch. Sometimes he makes kind of crazy faces and it doesn’t weird me out as much as it did but its still odd. His wife Lucy thinks she’s better than us because she’s not from here. We rarely see them together because they have another daughter who plays soccer on the other side of town.” Karen said dishing what she thought was dirt to Gwil. He just thought Rami and Lucy seemed like good parents and it was probably the other way around about Karen thinking she was better than Lucy. 

“Oh okay.” Gwil shifted a bit from her, slowly trying to make his getaway. The woman sitting with Rami and the other man looked over at Gwil, noticing his physical discomfort. She moved up off her seat and slowly maneuvered off the bleachers. 

“Joe is divorced and his son is the only boy on the squad. He doesn’t like to fund raise and he doesn’t wear the team parent shirts Tracy and Melissa make.” Karen said. Joe and Rami watched the woman move in front of Gwil, holding out her hand. 

“Hi, I’m Y/N.” The young woman smiled, as Gwil placed his larger hand in hers and shook it. “Karen.” She pulled her hand away looking at the mother. “Love the shirt.” Gwil tried not to laugh in Karen’s face as it turned fifteen different shades of red as Y/N smiled still. Oh, these were people Gwil wanted to hang out with. Angela would have loved Y/N. 

“Gwilym.” 

“Rad name. So what were you two talking about?” 

“Oh nothing.” Karen quipped. 

“Selling candles for bus fare.” Gwil said. 

“Well, that is interesting. I wouldn’t mind selling a candle or two.” Y/N said. Gwil could hear the two men on the other bleacher snickering.  This caused him to smile more. 

“I haven’t decided  if this what we are going to do yet. But I will let you know.” Karen said with dripping sweetness. 

“Why don’t you do that?” Y/N said back with the same sweetness. “Gwil, if you want, there is plenty of room on our bleachers. You can join us if its too full over here.” She smiled genuinely at the man before moving back to Joe and Rami. Both whom high fived her as she sat back down.  

“Y/N is one more snide remark away from me telling Coach Nancy. She doesn’t have a child on the team.”

“What? Why is she here than?” Gwil looked back at Karen after watching Y/N smile and push her hair back from her face. It was the first time in a long time, Gwil had looked at a woman like he had looked at Angela when they first met. Now Karen was stopping him from looking at Y/N all together. 

“Well her niece is on the team. She is her legal guardian. Her brother and her sister-in-law died and left Jasmine to Y/N. God, we miss Nick, he would have never let his sister talk to me like that.” Karen said with no sympathy for the sister or the child. Gwil seriously doubted that she missed the man at all. 

“That kind of makes her a team parent, she’s a parent to her niece.” So Y/N was Jasmine’s aunt, that fact made a small part of Gwil’s heart spark for a mere moment in a place that had long been dark since Angela passed as he knew Y/N would be around more due to their children’s friendship. “You know Karen, I really want to be involved with Bri’s team because I love my daughter and I want to fully support her endeavors, but I think I am going to sit with them for now.” Gwil stood up and moved to the other set of bleachers. “Can I sit?” He asked as the smile on Y/N face grew. 

“Of course. Gwilym, this is Joe and Rami.” Y/N introduced him, two more hand shakes down. 

“Rami, Joe, this is Gwilym. He’s new to the squad, his daughter is Brianne.” She said. 

“Welcome to the mustangs, we’ve got spirit. My daughter is the dark curly haired one, Selma.” Rami said smiling. Gwil took note of her as he found a spot next to Y/N. He sat beside her as Joe pointed to the auburn haired boy.

“Welcome to the team man. That’s Joey, he’s my boy.” He smiled the same proud father smile that Gwil knew all too well. “It is nice to have new faces not being sucked in by Karen and her cronies.” Joe added, patting Gwil’s arm. This made Gwilym laugh. 

“Well she definitely tried. Complimented my accent, told me what a bunch of misfits you all were.”

“Aw, how sweet she’s thinking of us.” Y/N said. “Just be careful she might try to seduce you with the promise of nonfat vanilla pumpkin frappuccinos next.” 

“Misfits? I prefer the term outcasts but I guess that is all ‘I was homecoming queen and won’t let anyone forget’ can come up with.” Joe said. 

“Karen and him went to high school together.” Rami said. “She likes to be the homecoming queen for every trunk-n-treat that the town puts together.”

“It was years ago, find a better costume.” Joe softly exclaimed between them.

“No because I would like to speak to the manager is not a viable costume, Joseph.” 

“She was a bitch then and she’s a bitch now.” Joe said. “And I mean that with no ill will towards dogs.” He added. Gwil laughed more, turning his attention to his daughter who was currently in what he could assume was a stunt group. The conversation died down between the parents as they watched their respective child. 

“Y/N?” 

“Yeah?” She looked at Gwil. 

“What is Bri doing? I don’t know much about cheerleading.” He admitted. 

“Oh so she’s basing the stunt, which means once they get the flyer up in the air, that’s

Jasmine actually, Bri will hold her foot so that she is balanced and won’t fall.” 

“Flyer, base...the girl in the back?” He said trying to add more information to his

cheerleading knowledge card to impress Bri later. 

“She’s the backspot, she holds the flyer’s ankles so that she is more stable. Bri is pretty

good for someone who has never cheered before.” Y/N said. “Jasmine hasn’t stopped talking about her since school started. I’ve been waiting to meet you.” There was that small spark again in Gwil’s heart that quickly died down.   

“Yes! I hear about Jasmine daily, she’s definitely Bri’s best mate.” He said. Y/N smiled as she took the next hour and a half, explaining the different kinds of stunts they were trying. First with a half, then a full, and then a liberty. It was true, after he understood the mechanism of it all, that Bri was a sturdy base and quick to recover if the flyer moved. 

Gwil watched his daughter look happier than he had seen her in a long time. Maybe it was the connection to her mother or being on the squad with her friends, it was definitely worth the money spent on the cheer clothes, the sign up fees, competition fees, everything. If Gwil had to deal with Karen and her cronies every day till Bri was eighteen than so be it, if he knew she would smile like that. As the practice came to an end, Bri ran off the mat to her father. 

He scooped her up, hugging her close before putting her back down. 

“You did amazing love!” He said. 

“Oh thank you dad! I had a lot of fun.” She moved to her cubbie grabbing her bag. Jasmine moved next to her, whispering into Bri’s ear. 

“She looked like she had a blast.” Y/N said moving and standing next to him. 

“She did and thanks for your help. You know a lot about this stuff.” 

“Anytime and I was a mustang myself until I joined drama club in high school.” She said. Y/N was a bit younger than Gwil but maybe she did know his late wife, not that he told her about Angela.  “Oh hey, I was going to ask if maybe you wanted to join our carpool. Sometimes I take Joey and Selma home, and vice versa. Just in case you want a night in or if you’re busy with your significant other.”

“Oh I’m not…” He started, he wasn’t ready to bring up the widowship yet. He put his smile back on as he nodded.  “Yeah that sounds fantastic.” 

“It’s just our kids, no Karen, no crazy cheer parents.” Y/N said. “I’ll give you my number so that we can work out all the details.”  He nodded as Bri tapped his arm. 

“Dad?”

“Yeah love?”

“Jasmine and Ms. Y/L/N were going to get pizza. Can we go with them please?” Brianne battered her eyelashes at him, putting on a small pleading pout. 

“Yeah please Mr. Lee?” Jasmine chimed in with her sweet voice. 

“I don’t know. Is it okay with you, Y/N if we tag along?” He looked at the woman. 

“Oh yeah, totally. We’re going to Squan Tavern, best thin crust in town.” Y/N smiled. 

“Awesome, lead the way and we will follow.” Gwil said. Brianne and Jasmine exclaimed happily as they moved out of the warehouse. Chattering about the things they had learned that night and what was to come in their practices. Gwil walked behind Y/N out of the building as she turned to him. 

“See you two in a few.” She smiled, taking Jasmine’s hand leading the girl across the asphalt. She headed to the older red Jeep Cherokee in the parking lot. As Gwil stood at his car door watching them he smiled. In that moment as she helped her niece into the car and then got in herself, Gwilym knew that maybe cheerleading was going to be good for both of them. Maybe even small sparks of gold could make the green shine again. 

[blumenwrites]

Erejean Week 2k17-Apocalypse

so usually I don’t join in for these ship weeks but the erejean tag is so dead nowadays and I haven’t written nearly enough for these two a03 link should be up later when the site is working again :(( nevertheless I actually???? met???? a deadline???? wild

Out of the many things Eren missed one of them was the birds. Growing up in the countryside had meant that every morning he would wake to their screeching as they prattled about the trees right next to Eren's window. Even in the evening they would carry on shrieking as if they weren't already being annoying enough. Once, a bird had miraculously flow into his room (to this day he still had no clue how since all the windows were sealed shut) and he had yell at it and direct it towards the open window with pool noodles before it took the hint. At least there aren't any pigeons Jean had said and added besides aren't birds chirping supposed to be sweet? before moving on to complain about how he didn't appreciate Shiganshina for the great place it was and why city life was objectively The Worst. Although he still didn't quite see the charm in those flappy fucks, whilst lying in bed with only the static air to keep him company he had to admit that maybe there was a novelty in the twittering and tweeting of sparrows in the morning.

Eren shifted his head when he heard the door open to reveal Jean walking over towards the bed with a plate of scrambled eggs and a crooked grin.

“Get back in bed,” Eren groaned through a slow yawn, holding open the duvet in invitation and really, how was Jean to resist? He placed the plate on the bedside table and pulled Eren by the waist closer to place a kiss on his forehead. Eren mourned the loss of Jean's stubble from last night but appreciated the scent of lemon soap lingering on his throat and chin. He ran a hand through Jean's thick hair and hummed.

“You need to cut your hair,” Eren mumbled, voice still thick with sleep.

“Hm, only if you do it for me,” Jean replied. “Come on, Eren, you need to get up,” he coaxed as he played with the straps of Eren's tank-top that needed washing. Later. Everything could wait until later.

“No,” Eren whined as if he were a petulant child, burying his head into Jean's shoulder.

“I milked the cows for you but the stables aren't gonna clean themselves.”

“You're not selling this very well.”

“Eren. Get up.”

Eren burrowed himself under the sheets, encasing himself in a protective cocoon. That was until Jean cruelling ripped the covers away, exposing him to the comparatively frigid temperature of the room.

“Ugh, fine! By the way, I'm breaking up with you,” Eren scowled, ripping off his pajamas to change into his usual flannel shirt and jeans.

“Love you too,” Jean beamed and god, Eren hated how cheesy it felt to say it, but it felt like stepping into the sun for the first time after a long winter.

Staggering into their shared bathroom, Eren frowned at the flecks of shaving foam that Jean hadn't cleaned off the mirror and the toothpaste growing crusty in the sink. He never was particularly fussy about cleanliness but then he had met Levi and ever since even seeing a speck of dust made him recoil. Unfortunately, Levi's wrath hadn't had the same effect on Jean, meaning their bedroom floor was normally scattered with yesterday's clothes before Eren could pick them up, leading to a lot of raised eyebrows and muffled laughter from their friends.

Although Eren missed commercial toothpaste their own-brand baking soda concoction did the job well enough. It wouldn't be uncommon for them to just forego a typical cleanliness regime but basic hygiene was one of the few things keeping Eren on the borderline of sanity. Plus, morning breath was something no one wanted to deal with.

Eren finished his plate that Jean had prepared and made a mental note to thank him once his fury at that morning's betrayal had simmered down. He trudged down the aching stairs and cursed the sun that blinded him the moment he stepped outside. It was an irritatingly bright, cheerful day and Eren just wanted to crawl back to bed.

“Afternoon, Eren,” Armin greeted with a wide smile.

“I've just woken up, therefore, it's morning,” Eren grumbled, feeling far too much like an old man for someone who was only twenty-five. “Do you need any help?” Eren nudged his head towards the weeds Armin was pulling up.

“Don't worry, I've got this for now. Some of the carrots are already prepared for harvest though so if you could get around to that later that'd be great.”

“Okay, I'll do it soon.”

They departed with mutual waves and continued to their respective jobs. When Eren wandered into the stables he spotted Jean brushing off the amounting dust on Julius' flank, face sour but his shoulders relaxed. Eren picked up a stray comb and began picking out straw from his mane.

“This little shit, honestly, I swear he was rolling in his hay for the fun of it. And he knocked over his water on purpose too,” Jean grumbled, brows creasing in a way that never ceased to make Eren snigger.

“I understand where he's coming from. Pissing you off is incredibly fun,” Eren laughed as he tugged at a particularly intricate knot.

“I hate you both,” Jean scowled like a wet cat. Eren blew a kiss that was not received kindly.

Even so, they worked comfortably in silence for the rest of the afternoon, tending to the stables, checking the water supply, harvesting early food, and salting the meat for storage. When the sundial indicated that it was nearing seven, Eren and Jean walked down together towards the perimeter to greet a tired looking Mikasa and Annie. Eren's nose twitched at the scent of decay and ash.

“One zombie in the morning neared the fence and we burned the body as protocol,” Annie explained as Mikasa swung off her crossbow to hand it to Eren. “Other than that, no activity like normal. There's six arrows and two rounds left for the rifle.”

“Anything else to report?” Jean prompted whilst positioning himself on his usual branch of the thick oak tree that was probably older than earth itself.

“No. As always, be careful,” Mikasa said before turning to join the others for dinner. Eren would be bitter he was missing roast night but he had already made Mikasa take his shift the night before so it was only fair.

Staying on watch was a painfully dreary job that included a whole lot of doing nothing but they had learned to appreciate the quiet after months of running from shack to shack with danger waiting to pounce around every corner. Making it to Armin's grandfather's farmhouse had been a massive risk and yes, they complained and about the back-breaking upkeep but everyday Eren was grateful for their safe haven in what would otherwise be hell on earth.

“Eren, look!” Jean stage-whispered, jerking his head over the fence. Eren searched the green but empty terrain beyond and located what Jean was staring at. What looked to be a small ball of fluff that could easily fit within one's hand was sniffing around, padding around to twitch its nose at the strands of overgrown grass.

“Wow, when was the last time we saw an animal outside the gates?” Eren mused aloud. Even without the buzzing of the electric wired fence and the scavenged barricade of rusted materials and pikes to ward off predators, most animals had been infected or eaten at this point.

“It must have been a year ago with the dear Connie spotted,” Jean answered. Eren had felt guilty for having to shoot it but it had provided a week's worth of food for the entire group. Besides, even if they had let it go, eventually it would have been bitten but this, a small, harmless rabbit, this they could appreciate.

“Mikasa and I used to have a rabbit when we were younger,” Eren reminisced, the sudden memory of begging his mother to allow him to get a pet gracing a smile to his lips.

“What was its name?” Jean asked, beaming at Eren in a way he never would've imagined anyone to look at him. The sun caught the flecks of gold in his eyes and Eren was momentarily stunned.

“She was called Flopsy,” Eren replied, turning his head slightly to hide his blush. Jean snorted, causing Eren to chuck a pebble at him.

“I'm sorry, I just didn't expect you to be so predictable. What else, did you have a black and white dog called Oreo?” Jean snickered.

“God, I want Oreos again,” Eren groaned. They shared a moment of silence for all the junk food that was no longer a ten-minute walk away. At least they would never have to relive that month on canned runner beans again. Now even looking at peas made him flinch.

“I think Sasha was mentioning that she was working on a doughnut recipe,” Jean offered in reassurance.

“If this ever blows over the first thing I'm doing is going to McDonalds and ordering six Big Macs, five Oreo McFlurry's, and three chocolate milkshakes to go with it.”

“Eren, don't; we haven't eaten yet.”

“What would you go for?”

“I'd go to Krispy Kreme and eat an entire Premium Dozen for myself and no one could stop me.”

“Same. Sometimes it's just the pointless shit I miss, you know? Family and security in knowing I have the next day in front of me aside sometimes I just miss ordering Dominos at 11 p.m. for my hangover the next day.”

“Yeah.”

The sun was beginning to sink and the rabbit had gone. Eren glanced at Jean and smiled softly with a gentle sigh, taking his offered palm in his, stroking his fingers along the callouses and scrapes.

“When society gets its shit back together again we're gonna go on one of those food tours around America and eat twice our weight in greasy food,” Jean promised with a grin that made Eren's heartbeat stutter.

Eren squeezed his palm and leaned against his bony yet comforting shoulder.

“I'd like that.”

[marsupial-tapir]

okay ANIMORPHS cooking headcanons, who can follow a recipe, who doesnt understand portion control, who sets pasta on fire

wow what a surprise i cannot believe u have requested this

take 3 on the cooking headcanons. U ASKED FOR IT

marco: remember how whenmarco was 11 his mum died and his dad fell into a major depressive episode andmarco unofficially became his own sole carer for 2 years? HA good times wellmarco knows how to cook. thats how he’s alive. he never viewed the task withmuch enthusiasm bc it was just like,, something that needed to be done,, (atleast some of the time. obviously 2 in 5 days it was just m&ms for dinner)and he’s got all his skills from trial-and-error and from watching the terribledaytime cooking shows that his dad watches, so he’s not an Artiste™ but hispractical skills are off the wall. he can make a shockingly palatable meal outof nothing but convenience-store canned items, jake’s lunch leftovers, andgently-expired condiments. also he is a MASTER when it comes to Secret KitchenTricks (many of which were cannily passed down to him by a forward-thinking evabefore she disappeared). the only person who knows about these talents this iscassie. one time he called her and she was like “im SORRY marco im distractedby this bacon disaster, i just put the olive oil in and its all going wrong”and marco’s like “well duh there’s your first problem. you dont FRY withOLIVE OIL cassie. thats why it SMOKES. use rice bran oil like the rest of us”and cassies like ???????? she never tells anyone bc she realises hes lowkeyembarrassed by the fact that he’s developed this as an Adaptive Survival skill,and when hes a kid he plays it down like nbd, but later on when he getsolder he starts to milk this talent for all it’s worth. hes like hang on…. thisshit is VALUABLE. that’s when his true culinary talents can blossom

jake: uworded this “who sets pasta on fire regularly” and my response to that is thatone (1) time jake did Not set the pasta on fire and it made marco cry realtears of joy. listen jake tries So Hard (because, in the spirit of being theUltimate Straight Ally Dadfriend and an All Round Decent Fella, he’s lowkeyaware of his existence as a straight white guy and makes well-meaning attemptsto avoid hypermasculinic douchebaggery in domestic life. also he’s probablythat disgustingly wholesome Hey Mom Do You Need Some Help In The Kitchen kindof kid) but when he tries its just. so bad. oh my god its so bad. he’s onlyever tried like 3 ultra-basic Good Ol Classic American meals and every time hedoes its a crime against his culinary heritage. his brownies come out lopsided,, he putswildly incorrect ingredient volumes in,, he confuses salt for sugar,, somehownever manages to stir the cake mix properly,, tries to do taste tests like “i thinkit tastes ok??” no it doesnt jake this gravy tastes like toxic waste,, withoutfail lets something catch on fire while he’s squinting at the recipe trying tofigure out which step he was up to,,, its a mess. his family suffers through itnevertheless because they are Heroes. “t-tastess – gre at,, llittleb uddy”pre-yeerk tom says once, with tears of anguish streaming from his eyes

rachel: terriblecooking is a berenson gene and if rachel had survived the war marco’s talk showwould have included a nailbiting Reality TV segment where contestants sample amystery berenson dish and have to race to identify the Cousin of Origin beforefood poisoning sets in. this segment would have been discontinued after the 3rdhospitalisation and a food safety inquiry. in essence rachel is as terrible asjake but also worse because the constant failure pisses her off so much thatall of her concoctions are brewed with a terrible bitter malice. Fuck You,Pasta. You Deserve to Burn. also i think at some point in the series itmentions taht rachel tried being a vegetarian and i choose to believe this istrue and also that it is the point where things go from worst to worster.eventually even she has to admit she’s never gonna manage it and resorts tolike. deep-frying entire zucchinis or something

tobias: uknow what?? im gonna say Not Terrible?? tobias is pretty creative and lbr idoubt his neglectful ass relatives were gonna cook for him. he probably pickedup some stuff from recipe books bc he liked reading through them (listen i cantcook for shit but even i get a kick out of lookin at food books bc goddamn??the aesthetic?? plus tobias was a book kid in general so) also if we’re runningwith the autistic tobias concept (its Canon, folks) i like the idea that as ahuman tobias couldve been hypersensitive esp. to tastes, so he was pretty goodat noticing when two flavours clashed and figuring out what stuff to puttogether to avoid that. (obviously he cant do this as a hawk but sometimes hewatches ax’s food choices and the twist of primal horror he experiences is acomforting reminder that some vestiges of his humanity remain). HOWEVER by thesame token he also doesnt strike me as the sort of Organised Efficient personwho’d be a really productive cooker. i might be self-projecting here but like,,have u ever tried to string together a series of practical tasks into an organisedsequence while in the kitchen,,, theres like 80 bowls and justt too manyutensils and timers goin off and u forgot to put the herbs in and u ran out ofbench space so u gotta try start washign up at the same time but meanwhile ugotta Coordinate all the cooking stuff really fast so u dont poison urself orstart a fire and then u lose focus zonin out thinkin about smth else u alreadymessed up the order of actions sso do u start again or just eat the garbage or??? look cooking is hard and i feel like tobias gets that. he’s ok at it intheory but his application is shit. also hes a bird

cassie: idsay she’s not a natural culinary prodigy but with lots of patient practiceshe’s become pretty decent. im not sure if its canon but for some reason imconvinced her dad is a really good cook?? meanwhile her mum is approachingberenson-level bad and DESPISES it. hooooo boy. (she and rachel bond overthis). this means her dad enlists cassie as Head Kitchen Assistant and teachesher the ropes, and she really quite enjoys it? preparing a meal is simple andpractical and instantly-gratifying in a way thats really calming, and she likesbeing able to spend time with her dad. also not to be sappy but one time theyhave rachel over for dinner and cassie and her dad are helping each other stirthe pot on the stove while her mum and rachel viciously chop vegetables andtoss carrot tops at them from across the kitchen as a protest against beingrelegated to washing-up duty, and afterwards cassie tries to make brownies but burnsthem atrociously and they gotta pick through the charred remains to find ediblebits and rachel says “HA who’s top of the Poisons Authority Watchlist now??…dont answer that” and thats. a really good night. cassie holds on to that. ALSOafter the war cassie pretends she’s a way worse cook than she actually is soshe has an excuse to invite marco over to “”help her”” and get him doingsomething different. he never admits that it helps but she knows fromexperience it does

ax: HOOO BOY HERE COMES THE WILDCARD. i was torn betweensaying “theres an intergalactic petition to establish a restraining orderbetween ax and Every Kitchen” and “he is a culinary TREASURE” but u knowwhat?? porque no los dos. ax around food is an unrestrained force of nature. this is a canonical fact. he gathers his flavours from the world around him (literally from the entire world around him, and from under him, and sometimes from the gutter to his left) AND im gonna say that despite his unconventional pantry choices hes actually,, not too bad at making flavours Work. unfortunately since he never has to occupy a human body for longer than 2 hours he has never had to work around the concept of “”food poisoning”” and his talents would have gone to tragic waste,, had marco not stepped in to save the day. with the help of marco’s PRACTICALITY and his handy snippets of earth advice like “the alfoil is aUTENSIL not an INGREDIENT what the FUCK AX how are u even CHEWING THAT” ax’s raw talent is skilfully tamed. together they areunstoppable. They take out several team cooking shows on network tv,once because ax famously used the kitchen’s set props as a garnish. Ax probablybriefly invests in a popup restaurant for the fun of it and meets with roaringcritical success before it is gently shut down by the well-meaning andhighly-entertained food safety authorities, on account of his questionableingredient choices. Notable exchanges in the restaurant’s brief andspectacular history include the food connoisseur who located ax personally toimplore “what is this…. subtle twist of flavour? the acidic flare that tinglesin the throat and warms the belly to its deepest crevice? please aximili, umust reveal what mystery ingredient is responsible for this luxuriant gustatorysensation” “its helicopter fuel”

[maysview]

Chicken Pot Cobbler

By May Moorefield

Brandishing a freshly sharpened knife, Jenna licked her lips and inhaled silently. There’s no going back now, she told herself. Committed. Collected. Ready. Then, she exhaled: A flash of glinting steel. A sickening slice. And then… “Oh dear, not again.”

Jenna dropped the knife on the kitchen counter and studied her bleeding index finger. She had just barely nicked it, but the real wound ran more deeply: for weeks, she had been attempting to conquer the chicken pot pie, but something went wrong every time. Whether it was burning the roux, leaving the pie in the oven for too long, or accidentally cutting her finger (exhibit E, above), each mistake reminded her of one thing– she was a terrible cook.

Crestfallen, Jenna grabbed the knife, carried it to the sink, and began running hot, soapy water over it. She stared at her face in the blade, scrubbing and scrubbing until every speck had vanished from her metallic reflection.

Then, she saw something peculiar out of the corner of her eye: the mise en place was shaking, trembling like a pot of vigorously boiling water. Like a first breath. Carrots, celery, onions, peas– everything began shifting and rearranging until Jenna was standing face to face with a humanoid tower of vegetables, Giuseppe Arcimboldo style.

“GAHHH!” she shrieked, stumbling backward.

This is not happening. Maybe I inhaled some pesticides–I knew I should have used organic produce…

But no matter how many times she blinked or rubbed panicked circles into her eyes, the vegetable man remained parked in front of her. After a few heaving breaths she stuttered,

“What, er, who are you?”

“Come on Jenna, don’t you know the recipe by now?” the tower replied. “I’m the chicken pot pie you’ve been working so hard to make. My friends call me Reggie the Veggie though. Or, I guess I imagine that’s what they would call me if I actually had friends. The produce aisle definitely gets lonely sometimes, but I manage... ”

“Wha-wha-what are you doing here?

“You tell me. You’re the one who keeps bringing me back to this kitchen. I mean I’m not complaining, you’ve got some gorgeous tile work right there by the sink.”

As the vegetable man droned on, Jenna began to feel the color return to her face (this Reggie the Veggie seemed nice enough, and incredibly well-versed in interior design), and considered the situation: What was Reggie doing here? Why did she insist on making chicken pot pie instead of something simpler? It wasn’t some family recipe she felt compelled to master, or a skill to impress that coworker she had her eye on (he’s pescatarian anyway). Did she even like chicken pot pie? All she knew was that no matter how many times she tried, she couldn’t quite get the dish right. The feeling prickled the inside of her stomach with a poignant insistence, growling like spoiled milk or a rancid tenderloin.

But her thoughts were interrupted by an ear-splitting CLANG!, followed by Reggie’s squeaky voice: “Wow, you’ve got some pretty neat equipment in here! Is that a KitchenAid Pro 600™? IN COBALT BLUE?!”

He proceeded to inspect the device with the clumsy appraisal of a five-year-old on Christmas day, stubbing his grubby, nubby carrot fingers on the attachments and side-levers.

“Hey! Be careful over there, I spent eons trying to make that pie dough, and that mixer cost me weeks of extra shifts at William Sonoma.”

“And you’re complaining? I love that store! All of the pancake mixes and kitchen shears and over-priced coffee machines– it’s a housewife’s paradise,” said Reggie, throwing his hands up in a grand gesture.

Well, maybe not so grand. As the vegetable man’s arms shot through the air, his shallot-capped elbows hit the switches on the side of the mixer, moving the lever from a peaceful “2” to a frenzied “10”. The machine roared, spitting chunks of dough and spraying flour all over the counter as the paddle whirled feverishly around the bowl. By the time Jenna scrambled over and pushed the lever back into place, the damage had been done: the pie dough was now woefully overmixed and half its starting volume, certainly not enough to hold the filling.

Studying the mess in front of her, Jenna receded into the sharp thoughts brewing in her brain.  Are you really surprised? Every other attempt ended in disaster, you’re just not cut out for the kitchen.  All her life she’d punctuated her actions with automatic apologies and “I’m sorry”s, assuming whatever she had done would be unsatisfactorily underwhelming. But there was only one person who really thought that– Jenna. Even in first grade, when she and her classmates practiced cursive manuscript in Language Arts class. Everyone had workbooks filled with diagrams of the lettering and lines to trace the shapes on, and Jenna would spend hours painstakingly going over each one. Make the tittle above the “I” smaller. No, now it’s too small. Move the stem to the left. Shift the letter sideways, it needs to slant more. Over and over, these thoughts swarmed around her brain and banged into her forehead, pulsing and throbbing until all she could see was haphazard scrawls on the page, absent of sound or meaning.

Reggie, having stood back in rigid shock, slowly approached Jenna and whispered, “I’m so sorry Jenna. I’m such a klutz, and I know how hard you’ve been working on this.”

“It’s alright, it wasn’t going to work out anyway. I’m just not cut out for this.”

“Don’t be so hard on yourself. Why do you keep speaking like you’ve done something wrong?”

“I just seem to fail to do what others do so easily. Some people make perfect pot pies every day for a living, and I can’t even follow this simple recipe. I just want to feel like I am able to do something, and do it well.”

“Jenna, that recipe was written by some random dude on the internet with the username “chefdaddy289.” Do you really think he should have the final say on what constitutes a successful dish? The beauty of cooking is that you’re not supposed to get it right every time. All culinary creations are products of accidents and failures. Take crepes Suzette for example: famous for its caramelized orange flavor, this dish was born when a waiter accidentally set the original dessert on fire. And as clumsy and difficult to manage as I am, you continue to devote your time and passion into putting me together. So if nothing else, just know that I wouldn’t exist without you, and I am incredibly grateful to be here.”

With these words, a warm current washed over her face. She mattered to someone.

Nobody, much less a magical vegetable man, had ever made her feel so purposeful. Despite her failures, and perhaps even because of them, she was able to find a friend in a place where she never expected. Who cares if the recipe isn’t perfect? It was Jenna’s, her own, and that was all she really wanted. She knew what to do.

“I’m going to try this again,” Jenna began, “but there is one problem...”

“What?”

“I’m going to need those vegetables back.”

“Oh, right!” he exclaimed.

Then, as quickly as they had the first time, the mosaic of produce that formed the man’s body began quivering and disintegrating, until it finally collapsed in a heap on the counter. Jenna picked up the knife once more. Committed. Collected. Ready.

***

She opened the oven, slid the pan out, and braced herself. The crust had shattered and sunken into the mixture in various places, and the filling had oozed over the edges. But when she tasted it, a large grin erupted across her face. “I’ll name this one chicken pot cobbler.”