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jujutsuflavoredpeach · 2 years

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Choso, Chapter Two.

Pairing Choso x fem!reader Content angst, hurt, choso neighbour, slow burn romance Warnings mentions of domestic violence, metions of pshysical abuse

CHAPTER THREE

Only when your muscles loosened from the tension after a hot shower did you feel it, the pain of abuse. When you looked in the mirror, you perfectly understood why Choso left the way he did. You had not realized what you had shown him without the intention of doing so. So many things were running through your head at that moment, that you didn't even feel anything when you took off your coat.

Some bruises were old, but some were fresh from last night. You dressed up and looked around the apartment for a while. No courtains, no furniture, no appliances. Only a piece of paper with an adress on it. The first thing you did was call your friend to tell him that your stay at the building would be permanent, and the second thing you would do was apologize to Choso for last night. You two had just met, and the way he acted towards you was so wholesome you kept asking yourself, over and over, how could you have been so careless and inattentive towards him.

After getting dressed, you put the piece of paper in the pocket of your jacket and decided to get lost for a little while. Apparently, the address pointed to a pastry shop located in the backstreets of Omotesando. It was quite a walk, and you hadn't slept a wink since you ended the call with Koji. You couldn't get rid of your worries so easily, coupled with the reality that you had stolen a lot from Choso's night. You felt even more guilty, because if he had to leave his house at a time like that to go to work, that meant that it must be quite a demanding job then, and thanks to you he hadn't been able to rest.

Before the thoughts that danced in your mind tired you even more, you had finally reached your destination. It was a lovely street, not too crowded you noticed, as you were trying to match a building, or a business, or whatever it was with the number written on the scrap of paper.

'808. God, I need glasses.'

You finally got it. To be fair, you were looking at a bakery, but they had pastries too. Fair to say it was pretty tucked away, but it pleased your taste. You didn't know what to expect, maybe you looked hungry to Choso last night, and he wasn't wrong because you were famished. That chamomile tea was the last thing that had entered your system since then.

The atmosphere of the bakery was so nice, and the smell of freshly baked goods was something that always made your mouth water. Also, the weather had improved and the place had something that was hard to find in Tokyo; a comfortable outdoor seating area. Your morning was set. You couldn't wait to have a coffee and eat something delicious, you really needed it. Despite the circumstances, you were grateful that Choso had guided you there. If it wasn't for that piece of paper, you would probably still be locked in that apartment not knowing what to do yet.

"¿What can I help you with?" someone from the counter staff asked you as soon as you entered.

"Actually, it's my first time here so ¿What'd you recommend?" you asked with sparkling eyes.

"Our croissants are always baked to perfection, the walnut-honey bread is so soft, perfect for today's weather, and our red bean based pastries are all the rave."

"¡Yah, totally! Give me one of each, and also coffee please, in the biggest cup that you have. ¿Can I add a piece of matcha crepe cake to my order? ¡Oh, and a batch of Nama chocolate! That one is to go."

"If you are eating at our terrace I can save the chocolates for you. ¿Would you like me to help you carry the food?"

"No, it's completely fine. Just tell me how much I owe you." you nodded gratefully.

"Oh, it's nothing." the girl looked at you reassuringly giving a few little quick nods and casually pushed the tray with the bread and pastries towards you, but you remained glued to your spot.

Before you could say anything she continued to speak as she handed you your coffee.

"It's a treat from our baker." she said with a smile plastered on her face.

"I- ¡This is ridiculous! I don't know a baker here." you told her laughingly. "I saw a woman paying just now, I'd be much comfortable doing that."

"¡Enjoy! Once you are finisihed, don't forget to pick up your chocolates on the way out." she nodded politely and soon disappeared, leaving you mouth agape.

Leaving the strange matter behind, you went up to the terrace and finally sat down without waiting a second to bring the hot dark liquid to your lips. Once you tasted the semi-bitter taste of freshly ground beans, you breathed a sigh of relief. As soon as you tried the food you couldn't stop. Everything was heavenly rich, fresh and tasty. You were trapped in a utterly delightful paradise of flavour and texture.

"¿How is everything?"

Bringing a napkin to your lips, you looked up to see Choso with your brows raised in surprise as he took a seat in front of you. He turned the chair around, placing each leg on either side and using the back as an armrest, but he wasn't looking at you, he was looking down at the people on the street while he grazed his lower lip with his thumb.

This is not at all how you'd seen him last night. Unlike his loose and relaxed style, his hair was tied into two high ponytails. He was sporting a tight black t-shirt and a pair of dark, high rise trousers. You were able to appreciate so much more of his build in that way. Round-shouldered, muscle rippled underneath the tight shirt. Biceps and chest strained against the fabric. Short stringy strands of dark hair fell across a light-skinned face. Firm jaw, thin nose, face calm and remote, with that peculiar and attractive mark that made him look so edgy.

"Yeah, it's- I love it, this place and the food. I can't even describe it. Thank you."

As soon as you finished your sentence he turned to lock eyes with you. He kept looking at you dead in the eye as you were giving him the sweetest smile you could muster, and then, you felt the brush of his index finger against your cheek as he got rid of a tear that fell without warning.

"Choso-"

"I made them."

"¿You- are the baker?"

Choso nodded quietly as he grabbed a few napkins from the holder and pressed them against your cheek, signaling for you to dry yourself. He didn't deem himself very gentle when it came to close contact, but couldn't help to stop that tear from falling as if it was your own esence that was escaping you, and it was a little unnerving to him, the way you were trying to keep your feelings bottled up.

"I'm also the owner."

In all honesty, he only wanted to redirect your thoughts. He knew that you were eager to explain yourself to him for something that you weren't even ready to talk about yet. Choso had issues with other people's pain, and he really couldn't handle what you were about to tell him at that moment. He'd only want to break the guy's neck, and he'd much rather see you calm down first, so you could tell him about yourself, rather than apologizing to him for something that was out of your control.

He could've waited last night actually, maybe a half an hour more for you to end your call with the bastard that threw you out on the street in the middle of the night, but he figured you needed your own space. You probably thought it would be a meaningless call with not much to say, but the guy had clearly ended you in those five minutes, maybe eight, that he was there. Choso noticed, because you couldn't show yourself to him in your most vulnerable state.

As a person who didn't enjoy being the center of attention, being on the background has proven to be a great tool for developing insight. Choso wasn't just going through the motions, he was a genuinely caring person. He lived each day trying to be that eldest son his mother would have been proud of, as a way to honor her memory. A strong and kind son who did not give trouble, but worked to be an example. But you didn't know that, that he did have his affairs in order, and in his eyes, you looked like your whole life had been turned to ashes.

"I really appreciate you making me come here. And the fact that you treated me to something you made, it's beautiful. I'm sure you've done this before, but that's not even the point. You did this for me today, without really knowing me. Your mom must be a proud woman, no doubt." this time you smiled from the heart, but that was soon erased when Choso drew a sharp breath at the mention of that word.

"¿Did I say something wrong?" you asked with concern.

Choso averted his gaze and cleared his throat. A slight shade of pink was visible around his mark, but his parted lips and the slight troubled looking frown made you feel differently about his reaction. His arm was resting over the table, and the only visible movement was that of his fingers playing with a piece of napkin, rolling it into a ball. You placed your hand over the mass of nervous fingers and started brushing your fingertips against his skin, making him stop immediately. Choso didn't encircle your hand with his fingers, but rather pressed his palm against the table's wooden surface.

Truth be told, you had made his heart swell.

He owned one of the best bakeries in Tokyo, and he'd gotten many compliments before. He could only dream of getting praise from his own mother, but for someone else to say that she would've been proud of his efforts and persona was something that made him flutter. You'd just done that to him. Truth be told, he'd come a long way to work in the city, having to leave the rest of his brothers behind, so he needed what you had just given to him. Reassurance.

"I'm staying, at the apartment." you blurted out. "I don't have a place to go back to, and I don't have family of my own, so that's that. A brand new start for me I guess."

Choso leaned over the back of the chair to catch your hand in his. A foreign behavior to him, born of an impulse. Something he didn't fully identify with. His energy was strong, determined and overwhelming, but serene at the same time. You didn't protest, and simply let his hand wrap around yours, so small in comparison.

"What happened?"

Despite trying to keep his composure, he couldn't do anything to stop the worry from seeping through his teeth. Taking a deep breath, you turned your head to look down from your spot beside the railing. Your gaze was fixed on the pedestrians. Children, teenagers, young adults walking hand in hand, families.

"Koji and I met at a private event three years ago. I was a waitress, and he worked at his father's company. Very cliché romance story, but it worked for me. Jitters turned infatuation, infatuation turned love, love turned to bliss, and soon enough we became stable. Comfortable around each other. Much to his father's dismay, his son had gotten together with a lower class woman. Koji never listened to him. The more his father talked, the more Koji did to make him see that he was not, and would never become, the same despotic and classist scum he was. He bought an apartment for the two of us, and a few months later he didn't want me working anymore. He wanted me to stay home, but I wasn't used to it. Apart from waitressing I had two other jobs to make ends meet, and I didn't know any other life that wasn't running around from A to B. When he said that we should start thinking about having a family, I-"

Choso squeezed your hand in reassurance, studying your face. It was puffy and swollen with grief, but that didn't stop you from continuing.

"My mother died giving birth to me and my dad was non existent. The only thing I had left was my grandmother, but she passed away six years ago."

"I'm sorry to hear that. About all of it."

You thanked him with a quiet smile, as he continued to listen to you.

"I quit those jobs because the idea of having a family with Koji was like a dream come true. My own family I could turn to, filled with love and safety, something that wouldn't be taken away from me, or abandon me, but soon enough things started to change. Koji's brother came back from America, engaged to a Yale graduate, and two business mergers under his arm. ¿Guess who's ambition started flying high? ¿Guess who wasn't good enough for him anymore? ¿Guess who he took it out on everytime he came home from the office?"

Choso started chewing at his lower lip and you felt the hot wet tears starting to fill up your eyes once more. His muscles tensed, and his grip on your hand tightened. You felt it, like a ball of fire buning at your skin. It was not only that he remembered the shape of your body under your clothes, he also remembered how mistreated it was. How careless and vile they had been to you. His blood boiled, but he was trying to contain himself as you hadn't finished talking, and the last thing he wanted to do was for you to think that he had had enough, because that wasn't it.

"Koji's father passed away six months ago, and last night the board decided that his brother would be the new president of the company. Just as you saw, I took that beating. I got punished for that, and then he kicked me out. The apartment is up for sale, and- there was somebody else. Somebody that he is now engaged to, as he informed to me last night. So that's what happened."

Before Choso could say anything, he was interrupted by a co-worker who had been looking for him everywhere to fix a problem with the steam oven. He stood up to approach the boy and started to question him calmly. Their mutters were barely audible. Choso nodded here and there, with his arms crossed against his chest. You couldn't help but hide your face, feeling a little embarrassed. Choso was nothing but a good guy who selflessly cared for people, and he had already done more than enough for you. Caught up in your pain, you had completely forgotten that you were in none other than his workplace, so you decided it would be best to leave.

You weren't going to leave without first saying goodbye, but Choso thought different when he saw your walking figure out of the corner of his eye. He didn't even think, he just reacted. Choso reached out to you, placing his thick and heavy hand over the shoulder that was bruised. You winced at the contact, groaning as you felt his fingertips sinking into your flesh.

"¡Dude! That was a harsh grab Choso." exclaimed the pink haired boy as he gazed wide-eyed at the man that had become paralyzed next to him.

"I-"

Choso felt his heart skip a beat and took a step forward, but you put your hand up as a sign for him to not come any closer. He fisted his hands, turning pale as he came to a halt without taking his eyes off of you.

"I'm completely fine Choso, I gotta go."

"Y/n-"

"¡I said it's fine!"

You went down the stairs as fast as possible without even looking at him.

"¡Ms., your chocolates!"

The girl from the counter tried to get your attention, but you didn't listen.

Walking slowly down the street, once you'd gotten far enough away from the bakery, you realized how battered you were, inside and out. You knew that what had happened with Choso had been an accident. You hadn't meant to speak to him like that, but the pain had frustrated you, and you knew that until you were fully healed, you would be a prisoner. It was the only thing Koji had left you with.

#jujutsu kaisen choso #choso scenarios #choso x you #choso imagine #choso #jjk #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jujutsu kaisen #jjk x y/n #jjk angst #jjk x fem!reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujustu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x you

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pascalispretty · 3 years

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dial ‘n’ for narcos - one

The Colombian Correspondent

Javier Peña x Female Reader

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Adult themes, references to death, references to violent crime, references to sex, swearing, smoking, drinking

Summary: A Narcos Film Noir AU. Javier Peña has returned to Colombia, and is determined to see justice handed down to the Godfathers of Cali. On his way, he meets a fresh-off-the-plane journalist with a tip burning her hole in her pocket that might just help him crack the Cali racket. (ao3)

¡Al Fin Cayó! The headline of El Tiempo declared, the blocky type seeping slightly into the thin paper where it had been exposed to the humidity.

Or perhaps it had gotten damp in transit. The papers could take days to arrive at best; the Argentine headlines were almost always weeks out of date by the time they reached the office.

With a sigh, you spread out the paper on your narrow desk, trying not to smudge the ink any further. Below the headline, with all the subtlety and grace of a sledgehammer, was a photo of Escobar laid out on a slab, his mother at his head.

It was nice to know that the news game was a crass one wherever you were in the world.

The reports of Pablo Escobar’s death had crackled over the airwaves well over a week ago, though stories were conflicting.

The police shot him. An American did it. He shot himself.

Either way, Escobar was dead.

To your annoyance, the article was also scanty on the details, barely more than four paragraphs long. Even the cables that Sierra had managed to get through had been sparse, especially on what would happen now that he was dead.

You rapped your knuckles on the walnut wood of the desk before yanking the drawer open. There’s a mess of paper inside, scraps of telegrams and envelopes, unsent memos, and unused stamps.

Somewhere in there was your ticket out of here.

Buried somewhere in there is a letter from Sierra, prematurely aged by how often you’ve looked it over in the last few days.

You found it underneath a receipt for a cab and pored over it once more. Sierra Nimri had been The Telegraph’s Colombian correspondent ever since Pablo Escobar had become an international news story.

Now that he was dead, Teddy James wanted to pull her out of Colombia and rotate her into Cuba, to replace Harry Johnson there. Officially, Harry was getting bumped up to the Brussels gig; unofficially, the higher-ups were getting twitched about how much time he was spending with the commies.

Either way, Teddy James, Latin American Editor and nephew of the publisher, wanted Sierra in Cuba, and so she was going to Cuba. To his mind, her gig in Colombia was over.

You disagreed.

Sierra wrote to you from time to time, handwritten letters accompanying the typed manuscript pages of her latest article. Usually, it was just trivial; notes asking for more of an allowance for bribes or passing on gossip that didn’t have a place in the paper proper.

You’d been working for the Latin American desk of The Telegraph for almost two years now, and nothing had made you sit bolt upright in your rickety chair the way the last paragraph of Sierra’s last letter had.

At the start of the missive, she’d acknowledged Teddy’s request to ship her off to Cuba, but she was adamant that she be replaced in Colombia by another reporter.

Cocaine shipments were up, she argued. The Godfathers of Cali were the new big racket in town, and the paper needed a newshawk on the ground to keep an eye on things.

There was also the sensational tip she had been given.

She had been told by Andrés Pastrana that he had listened to a series of tapes that he called ‘narco-cassettes’. She had been told that what was on them was explosive.

And then, before Pastrana could detonate whatever bombshell he had been about to drop, he’d vanished.

His left index finger had washed up in the Cauca river, where the rest of him had doubtless been tossed. Now he was having his bones bleached by the water, his secret gone into the river along with him.

Still, it was the break you had been waiting for. You had spent years, first in school and then in various news offices, working your way up the totem pole. You were tired of covering congressional campaign breakfasts and pet pageants.

Your time working the Latin American desk at The Telegraph had entailed little more than writing occasional updates on stories broken by the correspondents on the ground. From your tiny, cramped office by the stairs, you had read about assassinations and coups, about guerrillas in the jungles and juntas in the pampas.

You were determined to get the Colombian gig, no matter what Teddy thought about it being a waste of money.

With a long sigh, you ran your finger along the edge of the letter. Sierra’s writing looked like a spider had danced a jig in some ink, but you’re used to it by now. Holding the worn paper close to your heart, you pushed your chair back and stood up.

Teddy usually strolled back in from his liquid lunch with the sports editor around two; it was ten past now, and the best time you could think of to argue your case. Hoping the alcohol has done its job on your boss, you took a deep, steadying breath, and stepped out of the office.

Pastrana had been an important guy, a presidential candidate. Escobar was dead, and all of his men were either pinched or offed; it had to mean Pastrana had found out something serious about Cali. They were more or less the only narco game left in town, certainly the only ones with enough pull to murder a potential president.

There was a story in there somewhere, you could feel it. You needed to see for yourself if you could shake anything loose, and you were past positive that you could talk Teddy into letting you replace Sierra.

You just had to hope you didn’t end up dumped in the river yourself for your troubles.

* * *

Javier Peña tugged at the collar of his shirt with one hand as he drove, trying to loosen it slightly. Before starting his new job as the DEA attaché in Colombia, he had bought fresh clothes. It had seemed like a gig that required a little more formality than his usual jeans and short-sleeved shirts offered.

So, before he had left Laredo, he’d done a little shopping, feeling ridiculous as he trailed around the store and dodged men whose wives had clearly dragged them inside for fresh duds.

Still, he was glad to be back in Colombia. The idea of a few weeks at home had seemed tempting at first, especially after his brush with the DEA brass.

The wedding was what had made him come back to Colombia early. It had been a painfully awkward affair, people that Javi hadn’t seen in years rushing to shake his hand and call him a hero for helping win the War on Drugs.

They’d been wrong on both counts.

It almost felt like a relief to pull into the parking lot of the grey hunk of concrete that housed the US Embassy in Bogotá, where people were a little more in touch with the reality of what the US was doing in Colombia.

Stoddard, his new deputy, met him at the door and quickly shattered any hope Javier had that his staff was savvier than the general public. It was like being right back at the wedding; people were practically lining up to shake his hand and ask him about Escobar.

He got rid of them as quickly as he could without being openly rude, sending the kid off to find the boxes of files kept on the Cali cartel.

It was only when he was ensconced in his office, away from the whispers and stares of the new blood that had been rotated into his department, that he felt more at home. Once the door was closed, and the blinds were down, he was free to surround himself with paper, slip off his jacket, and settle down to work.

The glass of scotch he’d liberally poured for himself helped too.

From among the paper and photographs, a better image of the Cali cartel started to emerge.

They were a bunch of slick bastards, with carefully maintained fronts.

Gilberto and Miguel Rodríguez Orejuela were businessmen of renown in Cali, and Colombia more broadly. Gilberto had graduated from being chairman of the board for Banco de Trabajadores to setting up his own bank, First InterAmericas Bank.

Together, they also ran a chain of drugstores, donated handsomely to their favourite football team, owned a phone company based out of Cali, and still found the time to run the largest drug cartel in history.

They were slightly less brazen than Pablo Escobar had been; Pablo had claimed his immense wealth had originated in a firm that loaned out bicycles before he graduated up to a taxi firm. At least the brothers had more obvious sources of wealth

The brothers had two business partners; Chepe Santacruz Londoño, who handled New York operations, and Pacho Herrera, who officially helped run the drugstores, and unofficially ran security for the brothers. He also apparently owned nightclubs and bars all over, a gunsel who was drawn irrepressibly to the nightlife.

There was an op running in Cali tonight; they’d found a brother of a cartel dealer who’d been willing to cut a deal. Two agents had fitted him up for surveillance and sent him in as a waiter to some shindig the cartel was throwing.

It felt strange to Javier to not be there overseeing it personally. He was used to being on the ground, not up in some fancy, newly renovated office made almost entirely of glass.

“Stoddard!” Javi called, rubbing his eyes. The words were starting to swim on the pages, and he wasn’t entirely sure if that was down to the lateness of the hour or the amount of scotch he’d consumed.

When there was no answer, he stood and pulled the glass door of his office open, the blinds swinging violently at the motion.

“Stoddard?” He asked, but it was an empty gesture. The hallways beyond his office were dark; his staff had all left him for the night.

With a look back over his shoulder, Javi decided to call it a night as well. His new office was a mess of paperwork and boxes already, and now that he was up and shaking the stiffness from his legs, he couldn’t imagine sitting at the low, unforgiving couch in his office again. He itched for a cigarette, but he did his best to fight the urge.

Instead, he decided to indulge in his only remaining vice and headed for the nearest bar.

Not far from the embassy was La Social, its name broadcast in bright neon blue above the door. It was a frequent haunt of embassy staff; Javi could remember many hours spent in here with Murphy, talking theories over a cold beer.

Javier slipped the noose of the tie from around his throat as he walked in, and almost instantly wanted to walk back out. Clustered around a table by the window were his new team, Stoddard holding court at the head of the table.

Before Javi could make good his escape, Stoddard noticed him, and the cute brunette Javi had clocked earlier. Time was, Javi would have tried to get her into bed. But he was older now, and his run-in with Lorraine in Laredo had thrown him off his game.

Besides, too many of his mistakes in Colombia had been caused by his weakness for women. Better to avoid that temptation entirely than to risk another Helena, another Elisa, another Maritza. He didn’t need some pretty twist clouding his judgment this time around.

Instead, Javi shrugged his jacket off and took a seat at the bar. Whiskey would see him through, his most reliable partner.

“Hey, boss. Do you mind if we buy you a drink?” He offers, with an earnestness that Javi hasn’t seen in a long time. Was Murphy ever like that? Had Javi been, when he’d first stepped off the plane in Bogotá? The bartender set down the glass of whiskey Javi had ordered, and he took it gratefully.

“No, thanks.” They’re all too green; he wondered what Ivy League criminology course the DEA had recruited Stoddard from. The kid seemed a little deflated by Javi’s rejection. Perhaps he had hoped for stories of dramatic gunfights with Escobar’s men, of foiled car bombings and cocaine raids.

If Stoddard was going to survive down here, he had to get used to disappointment.

Javi finished his first whiskey and ordered another. That itch to smoke was back; he’d spent so many nights in here, with Murphy or Carrillo, smoking until his throat hurt and talking about La Catedral or how to force Escobar out of his hole.

Murphy was gone, playing happy families with Connie and Olivia in Miami.

Carrillo was dead, his widow back in Madrid with her son.

So Javier drank alone, and tried to ignore the desire for nicotine. A glance over his shoulder told him that the cute brunette from earlier was still sneaking peeks at him, and he tried to talk himself out of it. Sleeping with his staff would be a bad look for the new DEA attaché on his first day.

Just as he was about to slip off his barstool and talk to her, he found the seat beside him being pulled out and occupied.

Not by a cute brunette; by an overweight, balding man who looked fresh out of the jungle, still in khaki pants and heavy boots.

“Pretty girl. Poor taste in men though.” Stechner said, making himself comfortable in the seat beside Javier. “It’s nice to see you back, Agent Peña.” Javi very much doubted that. Ever since Stechner’s appointment as the CIA station chief down here, he’d rubbed Javi up the wrong way, and the feeling had apparently been mutual.

“Heard you signed off on me coming back.” Javi said, trying not to let his surprise show. It had taken him by surprise to hear it, especially after the CIA man had put the skids under Messina. Not that Javi had liked Messina, but there was something that rankled about the CIA being able to dispense with his former boss.

“Did indeed. You’re no sap, Peña; you know what the deal is down here. You know Escobar wasn’t a win, no matter how much the brass back home said it was. The same, please.” Stechner ordered his drink with the same casual tone as he spoke to Javi.

It was the tone of a man confident that he was always seven steps ahead of whoever he was talking to, and it made Javi grit his teeth.

“The fuck is that supposed to mean?” Javi would get into incalculable trouble for starting a barfight with the CIA station chief, but it was an enjoyable thought nevertheless. His steady calm was in direct opposition to the rising annoyance that was trying to crawl its way up Javi’s throat.

He almost missed the days when Steve had been the loose cannon; it had forced him to be more measured.

“What was accomplished, Javier? Thousands of Colombians died, and coke’s still flooding American streets by the ton.” Stechner took his drink from the bartender and took a slow sip.

“Oh, come on. You don’t care about American streets or dead Colombians.” Point of fact, Javi doubted Stechner cared much about anything. At that, Stechner gave a mirthless little chuckle.

“Point being, Peña, we can’t afford another bloodbath. No swallowing the spider to catch the fly this time. America has plans for Colombia; blood in the water will just gum up the works.” Stechner said this like it was the most obvious thing in the world, that somehow Javier had been responsible for the bloodbath and it had now fallen to William J. Stechner to tidy up after him.

“So what’s the play?”

“Surrender. The negotiations are all silk so far, and has the seal of approval from those muckety-mucks in DC.”

“And these fucking guys just breeze?”

“After handing over the keys to the biggest coke racket in history. Hell, the biggest racked in history full stop. Far as I’m concerned, the DEA can even take the credit.” As gestures go, it’s as hollow as a log, and it’s all Javier can do to stop himself from rolling his eyes.

“So what do you need me for?”

“The dashing DEA agent who took down Escobar? Helps to have a hero along for the ride. The godfathers’ will serve some time, most likely.” There was that word again, hero. Coming from Stechner, it just sounds like an insult, and Javi isn’t sure if that’s worse.

“And that’s enough for you? Sending them up the river for a spell?”

“If there were any justice in this world, Javier, you’d be in jail. That op your guys are running in Cali tonight? It’ll come up snake eyes. All you’ll get for the trouble of going after Cali are more stiffs.” With that, Stechner drained what was left of his drink and left, with a pat of Javi’s shoulder that smacked with condescension.

Javier had every intention of making tracks, the bar no longer feeling so welcoming. He truly meant to, finishing his own drink and tucking a few bills under the empty glass. But then, as he stood, he caught the eye of the cute brunette.

Fuck.

* * *

It had been a struggle for you not to press your nose up against the window of the cab as you were driven through Bogotá that first night that you arrived. On its high plateau in the Andes, Bogotá was cooler than you had anticipated, a look of rain in some of the clouds up above.

Part of you wanted to send the cab ahead with your luggage so you could roam the streets for yourself. Neon lights glittered everywhere, people spilled out of bars and night markets and onto the pavements, the whole city so vibrantly alive in front of you.

You had only read about it in Sierra’s dispatches; seeing it for yourself was another experience entirely, and you didn’t want to waste a single second of it.

The car paused in traffic, and you stared out of your window at the bar directly across from you. A neon blue sign flickering above the door revealed it as La Social. You wanted to climb out, to go to the bar and order yourself a drink and start exploring immediately.

But before you could work up the courage to jump out of the car, the traffic started moving again, carrying you closer to your destination.

The Telegraph had leased an apartment for Sierra not far from the US Embassy, a two-bedroom affair that sounded far nicer than your own tiny apartment that you barely afforded on your meagre salary. Still, the paper was footing the bills, so you were happy to take advantage while you could.

From the bag next to you, you pulled out the new leather notebook you had bought and squinted at the notes you had made in the light of the streetlamps you passed.

What was on the tapes worth killing Pastrana for?

Who has them now?

Why?

It wasn’t much. But it was a start.

Taglist: @lannister-slings-and-arrows, @zeldasayer, @coffeeandtodd, @lokiaddicted, @yespolkadotkitty, @steeeeeeeviebb, @pascalisthepunkest, @pascalesque . Let me know if you would like to be tagged!

#javier pena #javier pena fanfiction #narcos #narcos fanfiction #pedro pascal #dial n for narcos

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canyouhearthelight · 4 years

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The Miys, Ch. 93 - Campfire Stories Part 3

Okay, final chapter of Campfire stories, then we are back to our regularly scheduled shenanigans.

Chapter 93: Campfire Stories, Part 3

After Tyche’s story, we took a break to get stuff for s’mores - Charly, Conor, and Simon had teamed up on me, swearing a camping trip was incomplete without them. In lieu of the traditional fire, we were heating them with a short-term portable unit, only good for ten minutes, tops. While I wasn’t worried either way, not particularly liking marshmallows, Charly had taken it upon herself to do rather rigorous testing and assured everyone that the desserts would turn out right.

Once everyone who wanted it had sticky fingers, Conor politely swallowed his fourth sugary concoction. “These are too good, you know?”

“No such thing,” Simon argued. “Be as suspicious as you like, but I firmly believe in taking whatever joy we can get out of life and not pointing it out. Hoping God doesn’t notice, if you get my drift.”

I chuckled, while Arthur looked alarmed. “I did not expect that from you, lucky bastard.”

Simon shook his head furiously. “No. I know I wasn’t in the After, but life on its own was unfair and unjust enough before that. When you get those small moments of ecstatic delight - love, a good dinner, a happy dog, a chance to be kind - you just take it, and don’t let the universe know. Life never apologized for being harsh, I’m not going to apologize for any scrap of happiness I could find.”

“But some things can be far too good,” Conor insisted, picking his teeth thoughtfully. “My family always warned against things like that. The things to be afraid of weren’t the… scarred or damaged ones, but the ones that are flawless. That’s how you spot them, right?”

“Spot whom?” Grey asked, trying to wipe chocolate from their fingers.

“Witches, at least the evil ones. Fae. That sort.” He scrunched his face thoughtfully and leaned back. Tyche arched a brow, and he lunged to point at her. “See? That. You and Sophie arch that brow so much that it’s permanently just a wee bit higher than the other. That makes your face your face. But a face that’s entirely symmetrical? It’s so wrong that even artificial intelligence makes a point to avoid it.”

“Uncanny valley,” I offered, nodding.

He nodded to me. “Exactly. It’s uncanny. Not just in people. I was warned away from perfect circles in nature as a boy. Stones, a patch of grass, any perfect circles. Fairy circles, they called it. My parents told me about a girl who lived near where they grew up, didn’t listen about the woods. Said there was a stand of trees in the woods with a clearing in the middle.”

“Conor -” Charly tried to interrupt.

He waved her off. “The clearing wasn’t a normal one, see? It was exactly perfect, ten feet across from tree to tree, even if they never got an accurate count of trees. Da said twelve, Ma said sixteen. Nan swore blue it was ten. But all agreed that clearing was ten feet across, tree to tree.”

“Con…” This time it was Maverick, glancing around furtively.

Still, he kept on. “What made this clearing so memorable, were the trees around it. Like a snowflake, they were. Closer, but just as even between. Seven feet, precise, no matter who measured it. Then five.”

“Conor, please,” Charly begged, scooting closer to her partner. Even Coffee was giving the clearing a serious gaze at this point.

“The worst part, though,” he soldiered on, “was what told them it was clearly either a cursed place or a Mound: the trees themselves. Any one of them gave a normal person shivers and turned them back if they looked. The trees, you get, were just as bad as the woods themselves. Completely symmetrical, like a spoked wheel. And each ring of trees was exactly the same height, taller ones around the clearing.” He huffed a bit before continuing. “And this girl… this girl, you see? She’d been warned out of those woods since she was knee high to her da. But she kept wandering off, after cats and butterflies and a pretty flower here and there…”

Simon and Maverick were scowling at the trees around us at this point, with Maverick scooting closer to me and periodically glancing at Tyche to make sure she’s still there.

“One day, when he was about sixteen, Da says he saw the girl - she was maybe ten - taking off down the path, pretty as you please. At this point, he knew about her: Doreen. Dreamin’ Doreen. Ten years old, cute as a kitten, and prone to wanderin’ off. So he followed her, makin’ sure she didn’t get in trouble, right? And at first, she’s just… toddling off, if that’s what you can call it for a ten-year old. Right down the trail, not a step off, dead center. But then. Then she just turns, takes a hard left off the trail, between the trees, like she’s following something.

Da was right behind her, only looking away for a second at a time to make sure nothing was coming up on them. After about a half hour of this, he barely registered that the trees were thinner and… odd. Something about the trees bothered him, but he swore he couldn’t figure it out at first. Then, he turned back, and Doreen was gone. No sound, nothing. Just… gone. He started looking for her, thinking she couldn’t have gotten far, but after about five more steps, he saw the clearing.

Even panicked, he knew not to set foot in that clearing. He screamed and screamed for Doreen - they heard him all the way back in town, came running, and he was still hollering for her. When they started to drag him away, he fought ‘em off until Nan stopped him.

Nan grabbed his arm, pointed to a tree, right on the trunk. Those trees were so… perfect… that the damned bark looked like tile on a pillar, not like real bark. Every piece, just as pretty and even as you please. The leaves were the same, could be folded in half and look like they were cut instead. Da swore blind that lookin’ up through those branches was like looking through a bike wheel, the branches were so even-spaced. ‘They din’t look like trees, son,’ he always told me. ‘They looked like trees were described to a sculptor who never seen one’.

To the day they died, they swore that place was a faerie ring, that Doreen got taken by the Sidhe. No one ever found any of her, not a hair, not a bone, not even a scrap of her clothes,” he ground out, frustration clear. “Worse, there was never any proof, ever, that a person had ever stepped foot in those woods. Not even DNA testing on something a person plucked and handed to a researcher, with video proving it happened. Never did figure out what happened in there, not to Doreen or anyone else.”

By this point, Tyche was looking suspiciously at the clearing, and that set of alarm bells in my head. “Conor,” she drawled slowly. “You do realize that the clearing we’re in is… really rather round, and ten, maybe eleven feet across?” He just grunted, staring into the light emitter like he had been since the end of his story. “Conor.” Her tone was firm and more emphatic. “You just told that story in a clearing of fourteen trees, ten feet across, with just enough space between the trees outside for tents. Maybe seven feet?”

When he didn’t respond, she scowled at him and stepped close to a tree. Maverick tried to stop her, but she flung off the arm he reached out. “You shit, these trees… Grey. Can you and Charly come here?” Charly shook her head vigorously, while Grey cautiously stepped over. After a couple minutes, Tyche made a point to stare down Charly, firmly gesturing as politely as possible to stand right here please.

Eventually, all three were looking up at the branches over their heads. Far from her hesitation earlier, Charly marched over to Conor with what I could only describe as ‘intent to kill’. While I looped an arm around her waist, she flailed with all four limbs at him. “You rat faced walnut! You did this on purpose! Lemme down! Let me at him!!!”

To his credit, he flinched away from the angry ball of woman I was keeping away from him. “Char! It was a joke, I swear!” Peeking around his hands, he still flinched a little. “It was just a prank.”

That last word seemed to deflate her entirely. Suddenly, instead of a brunette bundle of possessed weasel, I had a very calm woman gently patting my elbow. “You can let go now, I won’t hit him.”

Hesitantly, I set her back on her feet. Glancing back at Coffee, he nodded, so I relinquished my grip on her entirely. She pushed her hair out of her face with both hands and spun to sit beside her partner. My face must have shown my confusion in brilliant technicolor. “It was just a prank,” she clarified. “I got fooled. I’ll figure out a way to get him back,” she waved nonchalantly.

“Without including me or Maverick?” I asked, arms crossed.

“Shoot.” She bit her thumb. “Yeah, I can do that. It’ll just be harder.”

“I doubt it would be harder than a prank three months in the making,” Arthur pointed out, still looking at the trees with suspicion. “Three, right?”

“Four,” Grey corrected, staring impassively at the bark on the tree. “How did you get the bark to grow in a tile pattern?”

Conor rubbed his neck and grinned abashedly. “A razor, when they were still young enough the bark hadn’t split naturally? It was just a score, to make specific weak points where it would split better. And I stopped when I couldn’t reach anymore.”

With that comment, Coffee surged to his feet and stalked to the closest tree. After a close inspection and a not-at-all-discrete rub of his hand over the tree bark, he nodded. “I can confirm the bark is much more random above seven feet. The detail is very well done, though.” He glanced back at Conor with an impressed expression. “Four months planning did not go to waste.”

“Thank fuck,” Conor chuckled. He looked over his shoulder at Simon, who was still running a careful hand over one of the trees.

“I didn’t know this was possible,” Simon admitted. “You did this with a razor?”

“Trees split into bark when the outer layer gets so dry and firm that it stops stretching,” Grey explained. Conor pointed at them, choosing to be silent. “Since any substance in nature splits along the weakest point, scoring the young bark with a razor, especially if done repeatedly, would cause the bark to split along the scores.”

A dawning look shot across Simon’s face, echoed by a matching expression on Charly’s. “Conor,” Simon ventured. “These trees were force-grown until they were planted. How often did you score them?”

“Two, three times a day?” he winced. “I didn’t want to damage them, so the cuts were really shallow until the bark started to establish. Just so I could tell where to keep scoring.”

“Do we have co - Oh! Thanks, Mr. Farro!” Charly grinned sunnily at Arthur.

“Just… just Arthur right now, okay?” He carefully capped the thermos of hot chocolate.

“Right, you bet, Mr. Farro.” He winced, but she continued blithely. “I have to admit, four months on a prank is a lot to invest, but it paid off.” A careful sip of her drink, followed by a marshmallow coming from nowhere and dropping in. “You literally cultivated a stand of trees to pull this off. Well done, sir. Very well done.”

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#the miys #found family #aliens #apocalypse #stories #original science fiction #sci fi #my writing

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urrguide · 4 years

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Gooey Pecan Pie Bars with Toffee

The most gooey and tasty Pecan Pie Bars in all the land! These bars taste like an extra caramel walnut pie, however with an exceptionally rich shortbread outside layer. (Also, no tragic tears, since you don't need to reveal a pie batter.) I adjusted my preferred Pecan Pie Recipe to make these. The toffee bits that soften into the filling are what separate it!

Would someone be able to please remark immediately on the off chance that you read this post and see a few references to "Walnut Pie Bras." I swear I've

scoured it like multiple times as of now and continue discovering to an ever-increasing extent! There are no bras to see here individuals, move along.

In case you're searching for Pecan Pie Bars, then again… I got your back.

Tuesday isn't past the point where it is possible to be sharing these bras, correct? (OK, that one was a joke.) Is everyone prepared for Thanksgiving on Thursday? We simply set up our Christmas tree, so we are thoroughly prepared. Try not to be a hater now, Thanksgiving is very in the not so distant future! In ordinary years everyone would have been setting up their tree a week ago as of now!

Advise that to Home Depot, however. I called ahead to ensure they had live trees, they said yes. So we pull up after supper, and can see the trees over the parking area, however it looks dull. There happened to be a representative strolling by, so we moved down the window and approached if the live trees were available to be purchased.

State what? Individuals today is November 26th. Thanksgiving is so in the not so distant future! A year ago it was on Nov 22! Also, a great many people set up their tree at the end of the week after, correct? Or then again was that simply my family growing up.

I needed to put mine up extra early this year since I'm 36 weeks pregnant. I'm using up all the available time! This infant could astonish us whenever essentially, and I would prefer not to need to stress over enhancing when I'm in recuperation! (I realize I've totally cursed myself now, and will have my child on December 21, precisely when he's expected.)

Anyway, we rolled over to the trees, just to check, and sure enough, there was a worker there prepared to support us. He was so overall quite inviting and even put our tree on the head of our van without any help while we were inside paying, that is completely compensated for the other person, who obviously has no clue about what's happening! Ha!

The most effective method to make the best Pecan Pie Bars

Well on the off chance that you are as yet scrambling about what treat to make on Thursday, I have you secured! These walnut pie

bars

are completely wanton and WAY simpler than pie.

Start by making a shortbread hull. It's exceptionally straightforward, simply margarine and sugar and flour essentially, with somewhat salt and vanilla for flavor. Do whatever it takes not to eat everything without anyone else. (There aren't even any eggs to stop you. As though salmonella hazards at any point halted us at any rate… )

While moving your mixture to the container, I like to split it up into pieces with the goal that it's simpler to squeeze it in equally.

Here's the manner by which I slashed my walnuts. You can hack them as large or as little as you need. On the off chance that you purchase pre hacked walnuts from the store, you can avoid this progression totally! I like to toast my walnuts before adding them to the

bars, yet you can avoid that progression as well. I love the way profound they make the flavor, and you are preheating the stove at any rate, yet on the off chance that it's worrying you, don't stress they are as yet going to taste great!

Try not to skirt blending in the toffee bits, however! They dissolve into the filling to make the gooiest, most caramel filling ever. I LOVE the flavor the toffee bits include, you are going to adore it.

Include your filling head of the hull, prepare, and presto! They are so natural. The hardest part is allowing them to cool.

The most effective method to store Pecan Pie Bars

Perhaps the best part about walnut pie bars

is that they are ideal for making ahead when you have one thousand different things to do on Thanksgiving. Truth be told, it's better on the off chance that you make them early, much the same as walnut pie. The occupying needs an ideal opportunity to set up. Have you at any point attempted to cut into a walnut pie directly from the broiler? It's a wreck! A flavorful jumble it's actual, yet at the same time.

Make these bars

as long as 2 days ahead of time. Store them on the counter, firmly secured so they don't dry out. On the off chance that you might want to serve them warm, put the entire container back in the broiler at 350 for around 10-15 minutes, until warmed through. This will make it overall quite warm for serving, however won't self-destruct the way that they would on the off chance that you served them hot from the broiler.

In the event that the walnut pie barsare not passed by day 5 (how??), at that point I would stick them in the ice chest, secured. You can likewise freeze them in a ziplock and haul them out later. You will truly cherish your previous self. Let them defrost on the counter, fixed. At that point scoop some frozen yogurt on top and shower with salted caramel. Yes.

Upbeat Thanksgiving my companions! I will be back tomorrow with a simple formula for how to make turkey stock from your turkey body! It's so natural and makes the BEST soup. Stay tuned!

More pastry and pie bars plans for these special seasons!

Cheesecake Pecan Pie (Make Ahead!) << The best of the two universes. It's SO acceptable.

Walnut Pie Recipe with Buttery Streusel Topping << I figured I didn't care for walnut pie until I thought of this formula. Try not to detest on my streusel. It doesn't make it excessively sweet, just includes the correct crunch top. I really gave a streusel a shot the present walnut pie bars on one of my tests, yet didn't feel like it required it.

Crusty fruit-filled treat Bars << perhaps the best pie to ever turn into a bar. No doubt.

Cranberry Shortbread Bars << These are so straightforward yet give all of you that cranberry flavor you need!

Earthy colored Sugar Snickerdoodle Blondies << love that cinnamon sugar besting!

Raspberry Cheesecake Bars << such a great amount of snappier than making a springform cheesecake!

Crème Brulée Pumpkin Pie << you will never return to non-bruléed pumpkin pie. I'm letting you know!

Blackberry Slab Pie Bars from The View From Great Island

Custom made Cherry Pie Bars from The Country Cook

Peach Crumb Bars from Live Well Bake Often

Cocoa Cranberry Crumble Bars from Snixy Kitchen

The most gooey and delectable Pecan Pie Bars in all the land! These bars

taste like an extra caramelly walnut pie, yet with an exceptionally rich shortbread outside. (Furthermore, no dismal tears, since you don't need to reveal a pie mixture.) I adjusted my preferred Pecan Pie Recipe to make these. The toffee

bits that soften into the filling are an all-out distinct advantage!

Fixings

For the shortbread outside layer

1 cup (2 sticks) margarine, relaxed

1/2 cup granulated sugar

1/3 cup earthy colored sugar

1 and 1/2 teaspoons vanilla concentrate

3/4 teaspoon fit salt

2 cups universally handy flour, spooned and leveled

For the walnut filling

1/2 cup (1 stick) margarine

3 enormous eggs

1/4 cup granulated sugar

1 cup earthy colored sugar

1/2 light corn syrup

1 tablespoon milk

1 and 1/2 teaspoons vanilla concentrate

1/2 teaspoon fit salt

1 and 1/2 teaspoons new lemon juice

1 tablespoon flour

2 cups walnuts, coarsely slashed

1/2 cup toffee bits

Guidelines

Preheat your broiler to 350 degrees F. Toast your walnuts: If you need, set aside the effort to toast your walnuts a piece before they go in your bars. I like the additional flavor this includes, and your broiler is preheating in any case, however it's a bit much. Spread 2 cups of walnuts out onto a dry preparing sheet and put it into the stove at 350. Mix the walnuts every 2-5 minutes. Leave the walnuts in the broiler for 7-10 minutes all out (How long it takes will rely upon on the off chance that they are as of now hacked.) When the walnuts are fragrant and hot, take them out and put aside to cool.

Make the shortbread: Line a 9x13 inch container with material paper, or foil that you shower with nonstick splash. (You can likewise splash the container itself no issue, yet I like to have the option to lift the bars out for simple cutting.)

In an enormous bowl or stand blender, beat 1 cup of spread nearly to death. You need it to be light and cushioned, should take at any rate 2-3 minutes, in addition to separates for scratching the sides and base of the bowl.

Include 1/2 cup sugar and 1/3 cup earthy colored sugar. Beat until the blend is smooth and rich, again making a point to scratch the sides and base of the bowl.

Include 1 and 1/2 teaspoons vanilla and 3/4 teaspoon genuine salt. Beat well.

Include 2 cups of flour. Beat it all in, it will feel like a lot from the start. Utilize your spatula to get the scraps at the base if essential. Don't overbeat, when the flour is fused, quit blending.

Move the blend to the readied 9x13 inch skillet. I like to area out the mixture into pieces and spread them over the base of the search for gold squeezing, see photographs. Wet your hands only a tad, and press the mixture equally into the container. Try not to shape an edge covering, simply press everything level, wetting your hands again as vital.

Prepare the shortbread at 350 for 18-20 minutes, until softly caramelized on the edges. Expel from the stove and put in a safe spot if your filling isn't all set.

Make the walnut pie filling: Begin by searing your margarine. This gives your bars that profound, nutty flavor that is so ideal for fall. In a little pot, include 1/2 cup margarine. Turn the warmth to medium and let the margarine dissolve. Keep the warmth on medium and don't leave. Mix once in a while. Before long the margarine will air pocket and structure a thick white froth on top. From that point forward, the froth will retreat a tad and you will begin to see minimal earthy colored "bits" framing on the base of the container. Work them up and take a whiff. On the off chance that you see earthy colored spots and your spread has taken on a nutty fragrance, your margarine is seared. Take it off the warmth immediately. It goes from seared to consumed genuine snappy, so focus! Put aside to cool.

In the interim, scratch out any morsels from a similar bowl that you blended your shortbread in. (It's Thanksgiving individuals, we don't possess energy for additional dishes!) Add 3 huge eggs to the bowl and beat on medium speed for 3 minutes, until the eggs have helped up in shading a piece. (You're whipping air into them. Utilize a whisk connection on the off chance that you have one.)

When the 3 eggs are very much beaten, include 1/4 cup sugar, 1 cup earthy colored sugar, 1/2 cup light corn syrup, and 1 tablespoon milk. Beat well.

At the point when your margarine has cooled a sensible sum, add it to the egg blend. On the off chance that it is still quite hot, you can risk everything and include the hot margarine while your blender is running, to ensure you don't sour the eggs. (That is the thing that I generally do. These are the sort of dangers that cause me to feel like I'm carrying on with a hazardous life.) But in case you're apprehensive, hold up until you can put your finger in the spread without it harming. Beat the spread in well.

Include 1 and 1/2 teaspoons vanilla concentrate, 1/2 teaspoon genuine salt, 1 and 1/2 teaspoons new lemon juice (don't skip it! Lemon is the best mystery fixing to an extraordinary caramel sauce!), and 1 tablespoon flour. Beat everything together, racing out any flour irregularities.

On the off chance that you haven't as of now, coarsely hack your walnuts. Include the cleaved walnuts and 1/2 cup toffee bits to the egg blend, and overlap in with a spatula.

Pour the blend on the of the heated outside. It's alright if the outside is still warm, even hot. Spread the blend out equitably.

Heat the bars at 350 degrees F for around 30-35 minutes. At the point when it is done, the edges of the bars will be light earthy colored. The focal point of the bars may squirm a smidgen when you shake the dish, yet it ought not look sloshy. The bars from around 2 inches from the edges and farther ought not wobble. Your bars will prepare a couple of moments quicker in a metal skillet, a few minutes slower in a glass dish.

Let cool totally to room temperature. I mean it now!

See notes for the most ideal approach to serve these walnut pie bars to your visitors warm.

Present with a scoop of vanilla frozen yogurt and a shower of salted caramel! Absolutely unnecessary...but absolutely debauched.

Formula Notes

Make-ahead directions: You can make these

bars

as long as 2 days ahead of time before serving. Store them on the counter, firmly secured so they don't dry out. On the off chance that you might want to serve them warm, but the entire dish back in the stove (revealed) at 350 for around 10-15 minutes, until warmed through. This will make it overall quite warm for serving, however won't self-destruct the way that they would in the event that you serve them hot from the broiler.

#coock #foods recipes

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savage-rhi · 5 years

Note

I'm bulletproof... but please don't shoot me for Higgs and Gene 🤩 And I love you and your stories 🥰

@argetlam007 Aw shucks, hon I love you too 🥰💕💕💕💙 thank you so much for sending me in a drabble about these two fucking walnuts! Here ya go :D!

“What are we looking for exactly?” Gene asked Higgs as they rummaged through some old cargo boxes, scraps that MULEs had left behind on the road. She was amazed at how much junk was discarded.

“Guns, preferably AK-47s. I love those things.” Higgs said with amusement as he walked a few feet ahead to look at a box. Gene couldn’t help but snicker some. He was like a kid waking up at Christmas and trying to find out what he got for presents.

Gene didn’t like using guns. They were never her forte. Sure, she could shoot no problem and knew the basic mechanics, but two things bothered her about them: one, there was nothing sporting about killing a guy dead in his tracks without a fair fight, and secondly, even though the BTs had been gone for two years, she was still under the mindset of avoiding death if possible when it came to confrontation. There was still a part of her brain scared a void out could happen.

Higgs was the complete opposite. In her opinion, Gene thought he was a little too trigger happy for his own good. She lost count how many people Higgs killed to save her hide on the journey east to the UCA scientists. Killing came naturally to Higgs like swimming was natural to a fish. He was born to do it.

Gene thought his skills were both extraordinary but also terrifying, and she thanked whatever gods out there existed that they were friends and not enemies. Higgs had told her he had done some terrible shit before, enough to where the UCA would kill or detain him if he set foot in their territories. Gene could only imagine what all his crimes were and despite having exceptional curiosity, she refrained from asking out of respect. Higgs didn’t pry much into her past and she returned the favor.

Coming upon a rusted box with an expired porter tag, Gene busted the cargo open and found exactly what Higgs had been hoping for. Smirking to herself, Gene started to flip around the safety gears, getting the AK-47 loaded and aimed towards him as Higgs whipped around upon his ears catching the signature sound.

“I’m bulletproof,” Higgs said as he thumped against the vest covering his body, holding his hands up in the air and chuckled. “But please don’t shoot me.”

“Give me one good reason not to.” Gene teased before pointing the weapon away as Higgs crossed his arms and scoffed playfully at her.

“Darlin’, do you even know how to handle a gun?”

“Just because I’m a porter, it doesn’t mean I’m a pussy,” Gene said as a matter of fact then rolled her eyes. “Of course I know how to handle a gun. You’ve seen me kill a Homo Demens before with one, Higgs.”

“Fine, if you’re such a bad bitch then prove it. I bet you a million bucks you won’t be able to handle the recoil. This ain’t no handgun little miss.” Higgs teased, gesturing at Gene to go on ahead. He had a smug look on his face that Gene really wanted to slap off, but she figured giving a demonstration would probably be just as satisfying.

Once Gene got the AK into the position she sighed.

“Alright, pick a target for me.” Gene quipped as Higgs hummed in thought while gently tugging at some of the hairs on his chin. His eyes squinted, looking about their area until he saw a decrepit looking tree and pointed straight forward. Higgs closed his eyes, making a small jump to where he was by Gene’s side. She had grown so used to it that she barely flinched, much to Higgs’s displeasure. He loved spooking Gene from time to time with it.

“Good luck!” Higgs said cheerfully, but his tone was anything but as Gene shook her head and took aim. It didn’t take her long to scope out the tree and fire. About thirty rounds went off, the booming sound of the bullets radiating in Gene’s eardrums as she held her ground then came to a stop.

Higgs made a face, squinting to see that Gene had hit the tree dead center. He gave a few claps and nodded.

“Color me impressed.” Higgs said amusingly, giving a smile until he saw Gene wince and began to rub her upper right shoulder. Higgs started to laugh as Gene cursed under her breath, the recoil having stung her after the rounds were completed. It felt like a hornet had come up and bitten her right on the spot.

“Shut up! At least I hit the target!” Gene said in her defense as Higgs wiped a stray tear from his eye due to laughing hard.

Higgs sighed, gesturing for Gene to hand him the gun which she promptly did. He took out a weird gun part from his pocket, Higgs then began to play around with the parts once he put the AK on safety, and Gene watched with curiosity as he adjusted some mechanics and then handed it back to Gene.

“Try it now,” Higgs said with a smile, and Gene furrowed her brows and took in a deep breath, getting her aim just right then fired off another round. When she was done, Gene was surprised that the recoil didn’t hurt this time. She was perplexed.

“How the hell did you--”

“It’s a recoil buffer shock I added. Makes a hell of a difference doesn’t it?” Higgs asked, his tone enthusiastic as Gene nodded.

“How long have you had that in your pocket?” Gene asked playfully while Higgs shrugged, rubbing the back of his neck as he chuckled.

“Probably for far too long.” He admitted as Gene put the gun on safety. Higgs sighed, looking out at the tree Gene had blown several holes into. “My daddy taught me everything I know about guns.”

Higgs leaned down, picking up some of the bullet casings for scrap usage, as Gene followed him soon after. They both quietly decided that there was nothing else to scavenge and needed to hit the road.

“I don’t think you ever told me whatever happened between you and your dad.” Gene said as Higgs made a face. She could see his muscles tense up as her brows furrowed.

“We don’t have to talk about it. I didn’t mean to pry.” Gene started as Higgs shook his head and let out a breath.

“No, no. It was bound to happen. Tell you what, I’ll tell you the whole story on our way to camp.”

“Really, like right now?” Gene asked surprised as Higgs smirked, holding up his hands briefly before letting them fall to his sides.

“My offer stands, darlin’.” Higgs teased.

Gene handed the gun to Higgs, figuring he’d like more than her. He smiled sincerely and swung it over his shoulder, carrying it much he used to when he rolled with Homo Demens.

“I didn’t think you’d trust me this much already.” Gene admitted, and then Higgs stopped. Gene stopped soon after as Higgs shook his head, his blue eyes roaming over her face while his knuckles reached out and caressed the side of her cheek thoughtfully.

“You have no damn idea how much I do.” Higgs said softly, smiling after giving Gene a wink before pressing on. Gene stood there for a moment, feeling her cheeks flush with warmth before running to catch up with him.

**A link to my ko-fi account. If you enjoy my content and want to support me getting my monthly medication for fibromyalgia and arthritis, I would be eternally grateful. It is NOT a requirement however! All my work is free to read!**

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theuprisingbakery · 4 years

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Less Restrictive, More Unique: A Personified Short Story of Cookie Ingredients

The cookies sat at their desks, watching the clock tick down to the end of the class period. Thirty more minutes, and they would be free to enjoy their Spring Break. A simple half hour of Biology was all that stood between five friends and Spring Break plans. Ms. Chip’s back was to the students as she wrote on the board ‘INTRODUCTION TO HEREDITY AND INGREDIENTS’ and turned around to face her students.

“Alright! Before we break for break,” she paused and chuckled at her own joke, “I want to introduce you to our new unit of study.”

The cookies groaned. Sandy Pecan in the back row rolled his eyes, Oreo Nabisco had already slept through most of class, but Gluten FreeMont in the front of the room looked up from a doodle she was creating on her notes sheet, interest peaked. Although she was interested, she was thoroughly irritated at having yet another thing take time away from her holiday freedom.

Ms. Chip looked at the class of chocolate chip cookies and smiled.

“We are all products that have similar ingredients. Commonalities that make us chocolate chip cookies, but we are also so different. Your genetic ingredients, what makes your essence so uniquely you, can be traced back through your family members. Your heredity! Let’s look briefly at the genetic ingredients map on page 54 of your textbook.”

There was a quick rustle of pages as students flipped through their books.

In the middle of the page was a chart that pictured different ingredients: 1 teaspoon of baking soda, 1 teaspoon of vanilla extract, and ½ teaspoon of salt, followed by different variations of flours, butter, eggs, sugars, and most importantly: chocolate chips.

“Our recipes are unique, we learned this when we discussed DNA earlier in the semester,” Ms. Chip went on. “But,” she continued, “our ingredients make up the traits that classify us in different diets, our ingredients give us a foundation of who we are, and what we are made of. Everything about us can be traced through our ingredients: nutrition, macros, enzymes, and calories!”

The class nodded, assured she was correct but many had faces that expressed utter confusion, as any new lesson might leave a student. Keto Atkins nudged the back of Gluten FreeMont with her pencil.

“What is she talking about?” Keto whispered to Gluten. Gluten swatted away Keto’s pencil proddings. “Shhh!” she turned around slightly to reply in an irritated fashion, then faced back to the teacher, her eyes set on Ms. Chip’s instructions. Gluten cringed slightly at the sudden movement of turning around. She’d experienced continuous abdominal pain for the last week or two, and it always seemed to happen right after lunch. She brushed off the pain not wanting to complain and gritted her teeth, knowing she didn’t have time to deal with stomach cramps and Keto’s unfortunate inability to pay attention at the same time.

Keto looked to her left after being silenced by her friend, where another girl was sitting. Vegan Planters was drawing a family portrait on the front cover of her Biology book; her focus had shifted attention to an art class project assigned for the break from earlier that day. Keto leaned over and whispered to Vegan, “why else was there a sudden emphasis on ingredients and heredity in Biology with less than twenty minutes left in class?” Vegan looked to Keto and shrugged, and went back to her drawing.

Keto slumped in her seat, but suddenly made eye contact with Hazelnut Cashew. Known as “Hazel” to her friends, she was sitting in the far left corner of the class, her twin sister Nutella, or “Ella” sat directly to Hazel’s right. Both of them were passing notes back and forth. They are the worst twins in the world, thought Keto. Most twins seemed to have ESP, but Hazel and Ella had nothing in common it seemed like. Keto looked at her four friends, all in some sort of different stage of paying (or not paying) attention to the lesson. Gluten was the only one seemingly writing anything down, and Keto figured Gluten would give the rest of them a briefing on whatever Ms. Chip was explaining.

“You are going to research your ingredients over the break!” Ms. Chip clapped enthusiastically. “I remember when I learned of my great-great-grandmother’s rare Allulose condition. Her genetic make-up used Allulose instead of granulated sugars. It was so fascinating! That’s why her chocolate chips were a bit more shiny in appearance compared to other chocolate chips.” Ms. Chip sighed, her thoughts somewhere else. “Because of her, my own chips are still shiny... not because of Allulose, but from my own mother’s Stevia ingredients she passed on to me!” A hand went up from the back of the classroom, it was Oreo Nabisco.

“So,” he asked, “You want us to research our families and our ingredients to see how we are made?”

“Yes, Oreo, that’s exactly it! Glad to see you are able to have some semblance of attention today, I thought maybe you were getting a little stale back there!” Ms. Chip passed out a packet of instructions and directions to the students, aware that there were only a few moments left before the students would rush out of the room to enjoy the sun and freedom that only comes with an extended holiday away from school.

“You can present your findings any way that you wish,” Ms. Chip said to the young cookies, “but remember that you are researching your ingredients through family members only- interviews, photos, and resources will all help you compile your findings into a story to share with the class when we return! Really think- what exactly makes you so you!” With precision that only comes with teaching for years, her sentence was punctuated with the Beep-Beep-Beep bell that signaled the end of another school day.

. . .

Gluten and Keto had been next door neighbors since elementary school, and as the sleeve of cookie-cutter houses in their neighborhood grew in size, Hazel and Ella, followed by Vegan, all moved into houses near each other while the girls were still in middle school. By high school, they were inseparable, and were able to walk to school and home together each day. As Keto and Vegan talked about an assignment for art, Gluten started to fall behind the others on the way home. Her stomach pains were getting worse. She thought eating something small, like a piece of bread as a snack, would help but it only made her feel worse. Ella noticed Gluten walking a little slower, holding her side.

“Gluten are you okay?” Ella asked her quietly. Ella could see that Gluten didn’t want to bring any attention to something being wrong.

“I’m fine!” Gluten snapped at Ella, which made her immediately feel even worse. “I’m sorry, I don’t know why I’m just so irritated today. It’s probably because we were given so much homework the day before break.”

“I understand,” Ella smiled, and hugged her friend. They were at Gluten’s house at this point in the walk, and the girls waved goodbye to her. They would meet up later in the week to work on the Biology project together. Gluten turned around and smiled at her friends, gritting her teeth through the pain in her abdomen.

. . .

Ella and Hazel were in the middle of a typical dinner feud. As twins, they were almost identical in genetic makeup, except for one small particular: Hazel was allergic to tree nuts.

“I just don’t understand,” Hazel said to her mother across the dinner table, “why you had to name me Hazelnut. It’s just so cruel, mom.”

Her mother smiled at the girls and shook her head.

“You’re named after your grandmother, Hazelnut. Gammie Hazelnut Toffee was so kind to me when I married your dad.” Hazel rolled her eyes at her mother. Everyone in their family had remnants of nuts in their DNA except her. It was the first thing she discovered while researching her family’s ingredients.

“I just don’t understand how that’s possible,” Hazel said to her mom when she discovered this small discrepancy in ingredients. Ella immediately started the “You’re Adopted, Hazel” campaign just to irritate her twin sister, but Hazel knew better.

“It just happens sometimes, Hazel. It’s a quirk, nothing more. You can be around nuts of course, clearly, you just can’t ingest them. You don’t remember this, but you had all your walnuts removed as a baby.”

“Ew mom, please don’t talk about removing my walnuts ever again,” Hazel said, while Ella snorted into her glass of chocolate milk.

Ella and Hazel had created a family diagram of a tree for their presentation. It was a tree of traits that dated back five generations of chocolate chip cookies. The girls had listed out family members across the top each with their own branch. 1 egg, ½ c. granulated sugar, 2 ¼ c. oat flour, ¾ c. light brown sugar were scrawled across the top

“Did you know,” their father chimed in, “that you have an ancestor that was part of Ruth Wakefield’s first batch of chocolate chip cookies? Ingredients were so simple at that time that Ruth chopped up barks of chocolate instead of using morsales in the cookies. The chocolate in our family was chunky and square until about three generations ago.” The girls added the story to their project.

The girls had a list of their ingredients; some listed as the same crucial elements from their biology textbook, others were unique to their family.

“The brown sugar,” Ella said, “is different. Most people don’t include that in their ingredients- why is that dad?”

“Brown sugar adds to the chewiness of our family,” he stated matter-of-factly. “Most people assume that two types of sugar would make a cookie sweeter, but in reality, the breakdown of brown sugar turns into a glaze… hence chewy!” He laughed looking down at the family pet. Their dog, Chewy, pawed at his side begging for scraps.

“Hazel,” their mother said, “Don’t worry about your allergy, you just have to be careful who you hang out with. Luckily all your friends are nut-free… well, except your sister of course!” She smiled at the twins, and started clearing the plates from the table.

. . .

Keto was putting the final touches on her project, noting the last piece of information from an interview she had with an aunt. Coconut flour uses ¼ the amount compared to other flours, her paper stated, and doubles the egg and liquid quantity due to high liquid absorbent properties. She knew her genetic makeup was thinner than others and often runny, but didn’t realize the extent of how different ingredients were to others. This must be why I’m so good at cross country, Keto thought to herself, because I’m made with double the liquid amount as other cookies. Her thoughts were cut short as her mother called her name from the living room. “Ketosis! Come here a minute I need to talk to you!” Keto looked at the clock, it was so late she was surprised her mother was even awake. Normally at this hour her mom and dad were usually half-baked. Keto walked into the living room, where she realized her mother had been crying.

. . .

Vegan was in the middle of her report, typing out ‘½ c. coconut oil, melted, ⅓ non-dairy milk, 1 ½ c. chickpea flour, Vegan chocola’-- when the phone suddenly rang in her bedroom. Vegan looked at the clock. 10:15 pm. It was a little late for a phone call, but she answered it regardless.

“Vegan!” The sound of Keto’s voice rang through from the other end in a panic. “It’s Gluten. She’s in the hospital.”

. . .

The next morning of Spring Break started in a gloomy fashion for the four friends. The night had been punctured by the sudden news that Gluten was very, very sick and in the hospital. Mrs. FreeMont called Keto’s mother the night before, and all the girls wanted to go to the hospital immediately to see Gluten. Begrudgingly, and after hours of begging, Mrs. FreeMont agreed.

“Girls,” Mrs. FreeMont insisted, “Before you go in to see her, you need to know that Gluten is very tired. She was poked and prodded for days, and had an endoscopy done last night. The doctors think she has...” There was a pause as Mrs. FreeMont held back tears, “Celiac Disease.”

The girls looked at each other, confused. Normally Gluten was the science nerd who knew all the answers to anything remotely medical, but from Mrs. FreeMont’s statement, it was more serious than anyone knew. Keto spoke up first.

“Mrs. FreeMont,” she asked, “What is Celiac Disease, and how could Gluten not know she had it?”

Hazel, Ella, and Vegan all nodded in agreement with her.

“It’s an auto-immune disease,” she whispered, as if this cleared up any confusion. “Gluten can’t.. Well she can’t have gluten in her system. It’s been building up more and more over the last year. Even more in the last few weeks. It’s slowly damaging her intestines, so she’ll have to have part of her small intestines removed later week. She also must have an immediate flour transplant. Our whole family’s genetic flour is all-purpose. Completely,” Mrs. FreeMont held back tears, “full of gluten enzymes.”

The girl’s mouths slacked open, horror-struck. This meant that none of Gluten’s family members would be able to donate flour to the young cookie for the necessary flour transplant. Suddenly, Vegan realized an important fact at the same time as Keto, Ella, and Hazel.

“Mrs. FreeMont!” Vegan piped up, “Can we help? I mean…” she paused, “can we donate flour to Gluten?” Mrs. FreeMont looked at the girls collectively.

“My sweets,” she said with a small smile, “I doubt any of you can help, so many chocolate chip cookies are make with all-purpose flour now-a-days, it’s going to take time to find the right donors that Gluten needs--” her words were cut off by Keto suddenly.

“No, Mrs. FreeMont! Listen!” Keto said. The girls all started to talk at once.

“My genetic ingredients include chickpea flour!” Vegan almost yelled excitedly, thankful she decided to study her mother’s side of the family that included other vegan and gluten-free flour alternatives.

“And ours includes oat flour!” Hazel and Ella chimed in together.

“And mine,” Keto included, “is from coconut flour!”

“You see, Mrs. FreeMont,” Vegan said as she looked around at her three other friends, “we’re all made from gluten-free flour alternatives. It’s in our ingredients. We can help her.”

Mrs. FreeMont looked at the group of girls, bewildered, unbelieving at the chances that her youngest cookie would have made friends with a group of unique cookies who all held different active ingredients that her daughter needed most to survive.

“I just can’t believe it,” she said to herself, “what are the chances…” As the girls called their parents and met at the hospital to prepare for the flour transfusion, they quietly went into Gluten’s room to tell her what they were going to do to help their friend.

“Gluten, who would have thought we’d actually learn something helpful from an assignment Ms. Chip gave us to do!” Hazel said with a snort. The chocolate chips all laughed and filled Gluten in on what ingredients they were going to donate to help her out.

“Does this mean,” Gluten said with a smile, “that my heredity project gets to include you all as family now too?”

“Probably,” Keto said to her friend. The others nodded in agreement

“We’re all so similar,” Vegan quoted their teacher from the last day before break, “that we were just meant to be friends after all. This will definitely be a story to tell the class, don’t you think?”

The last thing Gluten remembered before drifting off to sleep was knowing that it felt good to have people in her life that understood her new restrictive diet, and that being made from alternative ingredients didn’t make her a bad cookie. Her new diet and new ingredients made her even more unique, just like her friends.

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menswearmusings · 5 years

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Do Yourself a Favor and Get a Decent Tie Rack From Dapper Woodworks—A Free Product Review

I don’t wear a tie everyday, and I don’t have a ton of ties, but the storage solution I had for the roughly 20 ties I do have was annoying and lame. Buying a better tie rack just wasn’t a high priority for me, and thus, my ties hung on a roughly $12 hanging contraption from T.J. Maxx. It made me very, very sad.

My sad T.J.Maxx tie rack.

Enter Dapper Woodworks. The man behind the company, Justin Trewitt, has been at this for two years as a side job to help create some supplemental income for his family while simultaneously engaging his interests in woodworking and menswear. As with many business ideas, his started when he wanted a way to store his pocket squares, so he just made his own. He realized perhaps other men facing the same situation would be interested in such a product, and soon he was selling on Etsy. His product selections now include shoe horns, coat hooks, collar stay organizers, the aforementioned pocket square organizers and of course, tie racks.

Justin asked me whether I would like to have one of his custom-made tie racks in order to give my impressions and give an honest review of it (note my free product policy here. TL;DR I keep my opinions honest and don’t accept free stuff in exchange for positive coverage). I measured my closet, and since he does custom-sized racks in addition to the standard stock sizes, asked for a 20-inch rack, which he told me stores 37 ties—way more than I currently have, so I’ve got room to grow. Since it was a custom size, I got to choose the wood, peg metal and whether it had the optional top shelf. Ultimately, I picked walnut with brass pegs, with the top shelf included, which I figured might help a little bit with dust, but also provide a nice spot to store a couple belts, silk knots, collar stays and whatever else.

He set to work immediately, posting progress images on his Instagram. Within about a week, he’d finished it and was ready to s—oh no! He messaged me to say he’d accidentally made it 18 inches long, not 20. Being super apologetic, he remade the 20 inch one within a few days, and it was on its way to me.

For this type of product, it’s very simple to determine whether it’s great: Is it real hard wood, not composite? Yes. Is it sturdily constructed? Yes. Are the cuts on the wood smooth, without jagged edges? Yes. The joints are fitly joined together, the stain is even, the pegs are secure and perfectly spaced. And he’s also put the next level of fit and finish into the installation aspect. On the back are keyhole slots, just as you’d find on any professionally made wooden shelf. Included in the box is a mounting guide, but instead of a flimsy piece of paper, it’s a full-length piece of wood with holes drilled in it at the exact spacing of the keyholes. Leveling it is a breeze, the three-dimensional wood taking the uncertainty out of whether or not a piece of paper was perfectly flat against the wall.

You could probably find all of those aspects in a mass produced, ugly tie rack from Container Store for less money, just as you can also get a mass produced, cheap tie from The Tie Bar for less money than a Drake’s tie, and it’ll accomplish the utilitarian aspect of the product. But what DW is doing is vastly superior in almost every aspect: it’s much more aesthetically pleasing; you can choose from half a dozen beautiful wood grains and multiple peg styles; you know who is making it and that you’re supporting him provide for his family; and now, even better, he has begun donating a portion of every month’s sales to a nonprofit that provides education, food and medical care for children in need.

In all, it’s an excellent product befitting a fine tie collection, the pedigree of which is sterling.

That said, the price seemed really high to me, especially at first. The standard 18-inch wide tie rack starts at $140 without the shelf, and $190 with.

But, like, a single Drake’s tie is $150. On sale, you can maybe score it for $75.

This $200 tie rack holds 37 ties.

Given how sad and lame most tie storage solutions are, it’s an absolute no-brainer for someone who has a collection of beautiful ties, and who also would like to store their clothing in a way that isn’t sad. That is, if you’re trying to use wide-shouldered hangers, decent garment bags, and shoe trees in your shoes, a tie rack makes perfect sense.

My recommendation

Measure your own space and get a rack that makes sense. The 18-inch will likely fit most spaces and holds enough ties for most guys, I’d guess. I 100% recommend the top shelf. It keeps dust off the ties and is a useful spot to put things like his lapel pins or belts or artwork. I love the walnut finish, and the brass pegs make it feel masculine. Use code MM10 for 10% off.

So there’s my review: the solid hardwood Dapper Woodworks tie rack is an excellent product that gives me immense pleasure, and which exceeded my expectations in how easily Justin makes the mounting aspect. The quality is very high, being profesionally built and using materials I am confident putting my finely made ties on.

I temporarily installed the rack for the photoshoot below, because getting this rack actually inspired me to do a DIY renovation on my real closet, but I didn’t have time to get that finished before the deadline to publish this review.

I asked Justin a few questions about his background, the origin of Dapper Woodworks and what he plans next. You can check it out in full below.

GET 10% OFF YOUR DAPPER WOODWORKS ORDER USING CODE MM10!

(Help support this site! If you buy stuff through my links, your clicks and purchases earn me a commission from many of the retailers I feature, and it helps me sustain this site—as well as my menswear habit ;-) Thanks!)

Menswear Musings: What do you do for your day job?

Justin Trewitt: I’ve been working for my family’s company for the past 5 1/2 years in Plano, Tx. We do financial planning for individuals and we also just started doing business brokerage so helping people buy and sell businesses. I started in customer service, but now I do a lot of behind the scenes preparation for client meetings. Basically lots of staring at a computer screen and Excel spreadsheets.

MM: How long have you been doing DW?

JW: I started Dapper Woodworks in November of 2017 so just over 2 years now. We had just decided for my wife to quit teaching to be a stay at home mom with our first son so I wanted to find a way to create a little extra income for our family.

MM: What got you started making these tie racks?

JW: Well I got into woodworking when my wife and I bought our house a few years ago. We didn’t have a lot of furniture so I just learned how to make some! I have also been into menswear after learning to dress better in college. When I began thinking of side hustles I decided that I wanted to combine my woodworking hobby with my passion for menswear, and that’s how Dapper Woodworks began. My first product was a pocket square rack that I made for myself out of cheap wood because I couldn’t find a good way to store my collection. I figured surely I wasn’t the only one with this problem so I made an Etsy store and put it up for sale. I knew I needed more products so I made a few tie racks out of some scrap wood and hardware. It took over a month before the first order, and then people began requesting custom sizes and woods and it’s just taken off from there!

MM: Have you had a big response?

JW: The response has been way bigger than I could have ever imagined! When I began I was going to be happy with a sale or two every month. We are 2 years in now, and I just counted that we’ve sent over 400 items all over the world which is just crazy to me! I think people really enjoy them because there aren’t any good options to display your ties or accessories in a beautiful way. When you invest a lot of money into your tie or pocket square collection you might as well display it on a rack that has the same level of craftsmanship. I believe people really enjoy the custom aspect because each product is unique and is made their specifications

MM: How big is your personal tie collection and what’re you favorite ties and why?

JW: I’m in the process of redoing my collection, and filling it with higher quality ties that reflect the quality of my products. I had a bunch of cheaper ties for my previous job that I got rid of so I still trying to fill my smallest rack that holds 21 ties. My first nice tie was my Kent Wang grenadine which I absolutely recommend to anyone starting a collection. The cool part about being in the menswear space is meeting other brands, and several tie makers that are running a side business like me. I’ve got a couple of really great grenadine and shantung ties from H.N. White in England. A beautiful brown cashmere tie from Oxford Rowe. Also this incredible 7 fold tie from Shawn Christopher who is the only brand I know that makes his own ties instead of having them manufactured.

MM: What’s the most gratifying thing about this business for you?

JW: Beside being able to provide for my family this business has helped pay for my wife and I to go on 2 mission trips to plant churches in Tanzania. We needed to raise all of our own funds, and had lots of other expenses such as doctors visits, vaccines, and passports and this business helped cover all extra expenses. Also we have just partnered with our friend’s ministry Twelve21, and a portion of each month’s sales will be going toward sponsoring a child that will provide an education, food, and medical care. It’s just been really neat to trust God through this whole process, and see where he has taken us!

MM: Any new products you’re working on that you

JW: Besides the tie racks and pocket square racks, our shoe horns have been very popular this year. I’ve also introduced a few smaller items like our collar stay organizers and cedar blocks. But going into 2020 I’m hoping to add some new tools to the shop and start making some valet trays, and maybe some shoe racks. I’m always trying to think of new items that are menswear and woodworking related, and if you ever have any suggestions just let me know.

Read more at Menswear Musings

#dapper woodworks #Menswear Musings Recommends #product review #tie rack

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thepioden · 5 years

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Gluten Free Cowboy Cookie Bars

It’s my mama’s birthday today, and she requested I make her favorite baked good ever, something my family calls “Cowboy Cookies”. A cowboy cookie is an oatmeal chocolate chip cookie with just... every conceivable scrap of dried fruit and nut you have on hand chucked in, resulting in a poorly-sorted conglomerate of mix-ins crudely bound together by oatmeal cookie base. They’re super chewy and tender and pretty tasty!

So Momther requested this and @sadgaywerewolf who cannot Eat Foods looked at me with a face full of the pathos of gastrointestinal trauma and implored me to do a gluten free version. Which actually worked, so I’m writing it down and sharing it with y’all! Note: this is in bar form because cookie bars are so much less work than cookies?? I discovered this recently, I’m never going back, but if you wanted to use this same recipe for traditional cookies, you can. I recommend freezing spheres of dough and baking them at 350 for about 11 minutes for optimally thick and chewy cookies.

Hardware:

9x13 glass baking dish

Parchment paper (optional but recommended)

Stand mixer if you love yourself. Large bowl + big spoon, otherwise

Oven

Measuring implements of some description

Software:

2 cups old-fashioned rolled oats. Quick oats probably work fine also? Check brand for gluten safeness - some are better than others re: avoiding cross contamination

1 cup blanched almond flour

1/4 cup tapioca flour*

1/4 cup potato starch*

3 large eggs

1 cup (2 sticks, 8 oz.) unsalted butter

1 cup packed brown sugar

1/2 cup granulated white sugar

1 tsp. baking soda

1 tsp. baking powder

1 tsp. kosher salt

1 tsp. xanthan gum*

Vanilla extract, cinnamon, nutmeg, and ground ginger to taste

Whatever the fuck mix-ins you have lying around. I used

1 cup semi-sweet chocolate chips

1/2 cup toasted unsweetened shredded coconut

~4 oz. dried cherries (however much was left in the bag) and ~4 oz. dried apricots

1/2 cup each walnuts and pecans

usually I’d add cranberries but I think we were out of cranberries?? couldn’t find them, omitted for today

*you can probably use one or the other, or cornstarch, or another starchy gluten-free flour substitute. I had both tapioca and potato starch on hand and this is my habitual sub-in gluten free flour blend. This recipe is very forgiving. Just do your best. You can also probably get away with not using xanthan gum here - the oats and eggs should help hold everything together - but it might be a bit more cakey/crumbly.

Procedure:

Preheat oven to 350F. Line 9x13 baking dish with parchment paper, or, failing that, grease the bejeezus out of it.

Cut your butter up into small chunks and cream with the brown and white sugar until homogenous and fluffy. If you are doing this by hand, love yourself and use room-temperature butter.

Add all three eggs to butter and sugar mixture, and mix until combined. Add vanilla (I have still never measured vanilla extract in my life, probably like. 2 tsp? idk. a good splash of it)

Add your oats. On top of the oats, add the almond flour, tapioca flour, potato starch, salt, baking soda, baking powder, and xanthan gum. Add spices (again, I eyeball this. Probably 1 tsp. cinnamon, and a healthy pinch of the others.) Mix until wet and dry ingredients are incorporated-ish. You will have a fairly sticky, very thick dough.

Add your mix-ins and stir until the dough has reached a level of homogeneity acceptable to your sensibilities. Dump dough into baking dish and press out into an even-ish layer - it will be thick! Bake at 350 for about 35 minutes. Check it when you’ve got about 10 minutes to go - if the top is brown, it’s a good idea to huck a piece of aluminum foil over the top, because almond flour burns if you look at it sideways at 5 degrees too hot.

As with all almond-flour-based baked goods, I recommend you let this cool and set for at least 1 hour before cutting into it, lest your cookie bars dissolve into an intractable mess of crumbs with some fruit in.

#recipe blogging with pi #gluten free #gluten free baking #cookie bars are my new jam forever

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mythicaliz · 5 years

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cheap eats tips

I got these asks last night but wanted to wait until i was on my laptop to answer them. so here are some ideas. they arent really recipes, just tips

tl/dr

Equipment

my number one way to save money is a chest freezer. obviously not everyone has the money to buy one or the space for one but you can find smaller ones on kijiji. alternatively, if you have a parent or friend who has a large freezer that you can easily access and is willing to give you some room in it that works too. we used to have a basket in my husband’s parents freezer before we got our own, and we give up some space in ours to a friend who lives near by. that being said, use whatever freezer space you have to stock up on things (more on this below)

a crockpot is also a great tool to have and you can find them cheap at thrift stores. It means spending 5 minutes in the morning and coming home to dinner already made. it can be used for so many things. there are no shortage of quick, cheap crockpot recipes on the internet but ill include some ideas below

Meat

- i pretty much only buy meat on clearance or sale. clearance meat is just a day or 2 before the sell by date so they have to get rid of it fast. it’s still fine quality. i just freeze it immediately (if you aren’t going to use the whole pack in one meal portion it out into freezer bags). This is why having a big freezer is handy. Once a pack of 3 chicken legs was on clearance for $2. we bought 24 of them and used them on the bbq, baked, in soups and stews, pulled the meat off for casseroles etc. we had like 6 months of chicken for under $50

-save your bones and scraps. have a bag on the go for beef scraps and one for chicken scraps in the freezer (do the same with vegetable peelings, ends, onion skins, etc.) throw a bag of veggie scraps and meat scraps/bones in your crockpot. cover with water and add whatever spices you like, peppercorns, bayleaf whatever. add a good amount of salt and a splash of vinegar. both of these help break down the bones and pull all the minerals from them. cook in the crockpot for 12-24 hours (you may need to add more water). strain it and you now have amazing bone broth which is incredibly good for you and a base for any soup. if you have the space you can freeze in ice cube trays and then put in a ziplock to have convenient broth chunks to throw in pretty much anything. but you can also just freeze it in tupperware, or zliplock bags or whatever.

-if you eat bacon save your grease. keep a mason jar in the fridge and drain any grease off into the jar. then you can sautee veggies and stuff in it and it’s already so delicious

-cut up meat and put it in soups, stews, casseroles etc rather than making it the centre of the dish. if you have 2 people you’re likely to cook 2 full chicken breasts if that’s the main part of your meal, but you could probably get away with one if you are making a dish where the chicken is cut up with lots of veggies and maybe some beans on top of pasta. get it?

-not meat but eggs are always good to have on hand. inexpensive and so much you can do with them. (in an oven proof skillet: sautee up some veggies, whisk up some eggs and throw them in. top with a bit of cheese if you like. throw it in the oven until eggs are set. you have a fritatta you can eat for dinner or cut into wedges and eat hot or cold for breakfast or lunch)

Produce

-lettuce is a scam. don’t buy it. it’s expensive, has almost no nutrition and is pretty shitty for the environment. Spinach or cabbage is a better choice because you can make salads with it but if it starts to get past it’s prime you can cook it or freeze it and throw it in a soup or stirfry later

-root vegetables last a long time and are great. plus they add heartiness to any meal

-use your most perishable produce first, then move onto the heartier stuff. frozen is also great, and sometimes is more nutritious than fresh thats out of season

-apples. they last forever and if they get sad you can make apple sauce (in your crockpot! cup em up, skin on and all, add a little cinnamon and some water and cook until mush. then blend it up) or baked apples (cut em in half and scoop out the core a little. add a bit of butter and brown sugar in the hole. if you have walnuts or pecans you can throw some in there too. bake until soft)

Legumes etc

-legumes, beans, pulses are all amazing sources of protein and inexpensive. you can save even more money buy buying dried ones and rehydrating them in your crockpot. (rinse beans and put in crockpot with 2 inches of water above beans. they should take about 6 hours on high to be tender)

-lentils are also great and have a really nice flavour. you can also use them to thicken soups, one of my favourite dishes is called Mujadara. it’s lebanese (like me!) you slowly cook a cut up onion in olive oil until it’s all caramalized and delicious. set it aside and cook equal parts rice and brown lentils. you can use water or broth for more flavour. cook until tender, top with your friend onions and it’s like heaven. i’ll cut up a tomato and cucumber and make a little salad on the side with it.

shopping

-stock up on things when you can. say canned tomatoes are on sale. maybe you can’t afford to buy 10 of them, but even if you buy one or two extra cans then you’ve paid less and have them on hand when you need them. also, i realize room can be an issue. don’t feel like all your food has to stay in your kitchen. in college i had a bin under my bed with canned goods and pasta etc. as long as it’s nonperishable keep it wherever you can.

-buy the largest size you can afford. for most things, it pays to buy in bulk. maybe you have a friend you can go halfsies on bigger items with. an example is rice. gigantic bags that could feed you for a year go on sale for $10. if you can, buy it.

-a lot of people live in food deserts. what that means is you live somewhere that it’s nearly impossible to walk to a grocery store so you end up shopping at convenience stores, gas stations and eating fast food. I suggest a well planned monthly shopping trip to a store that has good deals. Yeah you’ll pay for an uber, but you’ll save more than in the long run and have much healthier food.

-don’t force yourself to eat things you dont like. so many people try to choke down kale. or rather they buy it and let it rot in their fridge. personally, i like kale, (im sure it helps that i fry up onions in bacon grease and then wilt kale in that :P) but just because it’s some super food doesn't mean you have to eat it or feel bad for not eating it.

anyway that’s some advice!

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stopforamoment · 6 years

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Part Six: Dinner with Mr. Geoduck (Series 8, Part 6 of 8)

Series Eight: Good Guys Do Exist (Eight Parts) Part Six: Dinner with Mr. Geoduck (Series 8, Part 6 of 8)

***Please read the author’s note before reading this!*****

Masterlist

Book: The Royal Romance (After Book Three—or Four?)

Pairing: Bastien Lykel x OFC Rinda Parks Word Count: 2,763 Rating: R for Language and Potentially Dangerous Dating Situation (but everything is under control!)

TRIGGERS: Mention of potential violent dating situation and controlling/dominant male behavior. There is also mention of balut (a controversial food because of cultural clashes and it can be considered inhumane to eat).

Author’s Note: Obligatory disclaimer that Pixelberry Studios owns the TRR characters and my pocketbook with those darn diamond scenes. OFC with all of her quirks is all mine. My apologies if Tumblr or I do something stupid when I try to post this. The keep reading link shows up on my laptop but not my phone. Ugh.

Series Summary: It’s the fourth week of school, going into October, and it’s Bastien’s last week as security officer at the school. He’s just helping Drake with the transition, and then he’s back to the palace as Head of Security for the Royal Guard. This series starts to transition Drake into the school and sets him up as a “good guy,” (our marshmallow!) just like Bastien.

Summary: In part six Drake, Rinda, and Laura meet up with Mr. Geoduck for an interesting date night. Also, just a reminder that Bastien’s nickname for Rinda is “Tria,” Rinda is hopeless when it comes to deciding what she wants to order at restaurants, and “banana” is the security team’s silly safety word, partly because Bastien hates bananas. Also, Mr. Ariti is Rinda’s neighbor.Bastien has a standing invitation to spend the night at Mr. Ariti’s house whenever needed, and Mr. Ariti also extended that invitation to Drake.

Mr. Ariti’s invitation is covered in “Mr. Ariti’s Offer” Rinda’s food quirks are summed up in “Ordering Food for Rinda,” which is in Drabbles with Rinda and Bastien.

Banana safety word is covered in “Safety Word,” which is in Series Four, September School Days.

A/N Please know that I mean no disrespect to the foods mentioned in this chapter, or the cultures and individuals who enjoy them. The whole idea for this creepy date and the balut dish originally came to me because many years ago I saw an episode of Millionaire Matchmaker, and one millionaire really did seem off. He ordered balut and had a creepy look on his face when he saw his date squirm when she opened the egg. He seemed so cruel the way he watched his date squirm when she saw it, and it’s burned into my memories.

The references to sweetbreads and tripe are because a lot of professional chefs do so much with these foods, Anthony Bourdain especially. I like how he would advocate that we need to use more parts of animals and not waste food, and I love how he was always willing to try anything new. My own mother really did grow up in poverty, so when she ate these things growing up it was a stigma for her that this was “poor people food.” That’s her experience, and I made that Rinda’s mom’s experience in this chapter. I know these are amazing foods and again, it is not my intent to disrespect anyone!

Thursday Night, Week Four

The server gave everyone a friendly smile when she came up to introduce herself. Rinda and Laura looked up at each other in shock, but they said nothing. She told them the specials, but if they liked seafood, she highly recommended their stuffed halibut with roasted vegetables. She also recommended that they save room for dessert or an after-dinner drink because the bartender made amazing banana daiquiris. Rinda locked eyes with the server, and she calmly continued. “Again, my name is Tria, and if you need anything tonight just let me or any one of our staff members know.” Rinda was trying not to tear up. “Thank you, Tria. We appreciate that.” The server gave Rinda a warm smile before walking away. Drake leaned in to Rinda to whisper near her ear. “Bastien and I didn’t want you to worry about what to order tonight. Or anything else, okay?” She gave his hand a grateful squeeze. . . . . .

The evening was a disaster. Laura was so polite, and it took so much self-control for Rinda not to yell at Mr. Geoduck. He was a self-proclaimed foodie and insisted on ordering for Laura. No, not just telling the server her order, but telling Laura what to order. Rinda could see Drake clench his fists, so she tried to deflect by whispering to him “Hmm. Maybe I should date him. I’d never have to worry about picking an entrée ever again.” Drake gave her a thin smile, but they both knew this was ridiculous.

He ordered appetizers with names that they couldn’t pronounce. They couldn’t even pronounce some of the ingredients in the food. And it was small. The first course was a sampler, but the food was microscopic. The second course was worse. When the dish was set in front of them, Rinda knew. Balut. Her face went pale. “I’m so sorry guys. I know I’m the self-proclaimed egg slut, but I take it back. I can’t. I’ll be sick.” She leaned in to whisper to Drake. “Please, can you stay here with Laura?” He nodded, unsure of what Rinda was so upset about. But when he cracked open the egg, he knew. Laura blanched, and Drake immediately offered to escort her outside for some air, but Laura was a trooper. She tried it, part of the liquid. It tasted like chicken soup. But she couldn’t actually eat it, even if it was considered a delicacy. Mr. Geoduck expounded on the history of the delicacy, but Drake was watching his face. It wasn’t that he wanted Laura to try something new, something she might not otherwise experience. It wasn’t even that he was trying to show off. Maybe Rinda was right. Maybe there was something cruel. Yes, many people thought it was cruel to eat that delicacy. But it wasn’t even that. It was the way he stared at Laura, enjoying her shocked reaction. Something was just off. Rinda came back when she saw that course was cleared and smiled when “Tria” asked how she was doing. Fine. Everything was fine. But “Tria” flashed her a sympathetic smile. Mr. Geoduck was now ready to order the main course, whether everyone else was ready or not. He wanted Laura to have the sweetbreads, Rinda would have the tripe dish, and Drake would have the pork belly. Rinda tried not to laugh. She actually liked that food. Her maternal grandma, not Grandma Lorinda, made it for the family several times. But Rinda’s mom grew up piss poor, and her mom would just shake her head that those foods were now considered a delicacy. For Rinda’s mom it was a reminder of her white trash past, her alcoholic father who really did piss away their money, and her mother who would beg scraps, offal, from the butcher just so her children would have some protein. Rinda had respect for the chefs who were able to elevate that food and she was glad people were coming around so that food wasn’t wasted. She also knew there were families, like her mom’s, who prepared and enjoyed those foods with so much love. But she was also influenced by her mom’s attitude toward sweetbreads and tripe, and after Mr. Geoduck ordered balut, Rinda knew he was just trying to be ass and purposely order “trash food” simply for the shock value, which pissed her off even more. She looked at their server. “No, I won’t take the tripe, but thank you. I’ll have the halibut special that you recommended.” She whispered to Laura while Drake was ordering. “Are you okay with the sweetbreads, or did you want to try something else? It’s actually really good, and we can share meals, okay?” Laura gave Rinda a weak smile. She didn’t even know what tripe or sweetbreads were, and it was clear this date wasn’t going anywhere, so she really just needed to get through the night. She’d agree to anything, and besides. Drake already promised that they’d get burgers afterward if they didn’t fill up on rich people food. It was going to be okay. Drake calmly told the server he was having a steak, not whatever the other guy told him to eat. “Tria” asked if they needed anything else, and she took an extra moment to look at Laura. To make sure she was okay. Laura didn’t look up, so the server looked at Rinda. “Was there anything else?” Rinda smiled. “I think we’re okay for dinner, but I saw you have Melomakarona. Are those the Christmas cookies with the honey and walnuts? The server smiled and nodded. “Can you please wrap up a dozen to go?” “Whoa, Parks!” Rinda laughed. “They’re not for me, Drake. For Bastien. His mom and sister always made them for Christmas, so I want to take some home for him.” She turned back to the server and laughed. “Yes, I really did mean a dozen. Thank you so much!” The server smiled back before she left. “Parks. That’s pretty nice of you.” Drake was trying to tease her, but Rinda could see that he was genuinely happy that she was doing that for Bastien. Rinda knew she was blushing and she just shook her head and turned away, unable to come up with a pithy response to Drake. . . . . . Mr. Geoduck was pontificating about something. It might have been his job, his self-proclaimed knowledge of food, his dick circumference. Really, it didn’t matter because Rinda knew she had to take one for the team. She asked the man a question about himself, and soon Mr. Geoduck was talking about . . . himself. Again. Rinda nodded and smiled with fake enthusiasm. If a neck could get carpal tunnel, her neck would have it. Meanwhile, Laura and Drake were engaged in their own conversation. The two of them had already bonded over their love of football, but now they were sharing camping stories and playfully bickering over the best bait to catch fish. The main courses arrived and Laura thought the sweetbreads were okay, but not really her thing, so Rinda traded half of her meal with Laura. Then Drake offered to trade the other part of Laura’s meal for half of his steak with Laura, if she didn’t mind that he liked it cooked rare. Otherwise, Drake would ask the server to put her portion on the grill for a little longer. Laura thanked him, but she didn’t mind a good steak that was done rare, although she did have to tease him. “You know Drake, you could still resuscitate that cow. Just saying.” “Heh. Yeah, Laura. Just walk it by a grill before you serve it.” “It’s so raw, I think it’s eating the salad.” Drake rolled his eyes. “What can I say? I like my steak breathing.” “Hey Drake?” “What?” “What do you call a cow with a twitch?” Drake shook his head. Laura smirked. “Beef jerky!” Rinda rolled her eyes and snorted. It was the perfect stupid teacher joke. “You got that from a student, right?” Laura grinned and nodded. Mr. Geoduck finally spoke again and Rinda jumped. He was so busy sulking that she forgot all about him. “You know, I’ve always thought teaching would be a great job. Summers off and all of that.” Drake felt Rinda squeeze his hand and he grinned. He knew teachers worked evenings and weekends, and he was quickly experiencing some of the heartbreaking stories first-hand. But he was also learning how rewarding it was—and how well-deserved a summer vacation is. The guy was definitely a jerk, degrading Laura’s profession. Drake looked over at Laura, who was giving Mr. Geoduck an icy stare. She was ready to throat punch him for being so purposely rude. “Actually, there is a lot of work involved throughout the school year. If you add up the hours we work during the school year it easily adds up to the time people work during a full year. All of us work a lot of evenings and weekends so we can help the kids. In fact, we have a lot of things to need to prep for next week, so we really can’t stay much longer.” That was the cue to wrap things up, but the man grabbed Laura’s hand to kiss it. “I’ve upset you. Please let me make it up to you. There’s that out-of-town wedding coming up. I booked a hotel room with a jacuzzi so we can make a weekend of it.” Laura turned pale and Rinda furiously grabbed a fork, ready to lunge at the man and gouge his eyes out if necessary. Laura spoke quietly at first, but her voice gained volume as she gained confidence. “No, I don’t want to go to the wedding with you. I don’t want to see you again. Thank you for dinner, but this evening is over.” The man grabbed Laura’s hand to prevent her from standing up and she winced in pain, but Drake was already standing up, applying a pressure point to the man’s shoulder so he would let Laura go. He gently helped Laura up, and Rinda quickly grabbed their purses and got ready to escort Laura to the front door, but first Rinda had to say something to Mr. Geoduck. “Thank you for taking care of the check tonight. Since you insisted on ordering for all of us and educating us on the food you forced us to eat, I realize that was your intent—to pay for the entire bill.” It was a statement, not a question. She glanced at Drake. Don’t you dare pay for anything. Drake nodded.

Rinda put her arm around Laura and quickly walked her to the front door. Laura was starting to cry and Rinda was gently soothing her. “It’s okay. Drake is taking care of him, okay? But I can’t leave you alone. We have to walk out together and wait for the valet to get our car.” The owner of the restaurant walked over to offer Laura to see if he could help, but Rinda instinctively stepped in front of Laura to protect her. The man smiled. “It’s okay. You’re Rinda, right?” Rinda nodded. “I’m sorry about that. Thank you for everything you and your staff are doing to help us tonight.” “It’s fine. Please come into the office while you wait. I’ll have your car brought up and we have additional staff who are helping Drake.” Laura was shaking, and Rinda kept her arms around her, rubbing her back and trying to soothe her. “Is our server okay?” The man nodded to Rinda. “Yes, she isn’t going back to that table. If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to present the check and ensure the man stays here until you leave.” When Drake stormed up it was clear he was furious at the man and how he treated Laura. Rinda was shocked. She had never seen Drake so furious before. “Drake, are you okay to drive so I can sit in the back with Laura? Otherwise I can drive if you want to sit in back with her.” “Rinda is a better driver” Laura weakly joked. The valet came in to hand Rinda the keys just as “Tria” came running up with to-go bags of food. “I was afraid I was too late! You almost forgot the cookies! And I also wrapped up the food, even the sweetbreads. But not your leftover balut.” Rinda laughed and gave the server a hug. “Thank you for everything. I’m so sorry you had to deal with that ass, but I’m so glad you and everyone else were here to help us.” She smiled. “No problem. We’ve all been there, and we have to stick together to keep each other safe.” Rinda gave her hand one last squeeze before they left. After they left the owner made a phone call. “Bastien? They just left. Yeah, you were right. He was an ass but Drake took care of him, and Rinda was there to help Laura. No, the ladies left with Drake. They’re safe. And the guy’s still here. We’re taking our time getting him the bill so he doesn’t have a chance to follow them outside. No, Rinda made him pay for the entire check. She’s quite the spitfire, isn’t she? . . . Of course. I’m happy to help. Good night.” . . . . . “Mr. Lykel? Is everything okay?” Bastien smiled at Henry. “Yup. Hey, did you know that your mom is pretty amazing?” Henry grinned. “Yeah, she has her moments. Did that guy piss her and Aunt Laura off? Did Uncle Drake kick his ass? I can’t wait to hear about it.” Bastien ruffled Henry’s hair and laughed. “None of your business. Now, are there any chocolate chip cookies left or did you eat them all?” . . . . .

Rinda jumped into the driver’s seat and Drake helped Laura into the backseat. “Guys, I’m sorry, but we have to go. If the door is closed I’m moving.” Rinda started driving while Drake helped Laura get comfortable in her seat and he reached around her to buckle her seatbelt. Then he put his suitcoat around her. Laura gave him a shy smile. “Thanks.” Drake smiled. “You’re welcome. Can I do anything else right now?” Laura shook her head, but she leaned on Drake and held his hand. Rinda stopped at a drive thru to get burgers and shakes for everyone, and then she drove back to the school. Laura and Drake had their cars there, and she wanted to go back to a central location before they talked to Laura and figured out the best way to help her that night. Drake offered to take Laura home, and then he was going to spend the night at Mr. Ariti’s house. Then Rinda was going to pick up Laura in the morning to take her to work. Drake wanted to do it, but Rinda reminded him that it would only start rumors if he was the one to bring her to work. It just wasn’t worth it. Rinda got out of the car and took Laura to the side so Drake wouldn’t hear her. She gently cupped Laura’s face with her hands. “Laura, he was an ass, but there are a lot of good guys out there. I promise. Just look at Julian and Theo. Santos. Drake and Bastien. Jameson and I didn’t get married until we were almost 30, and it was worth the wait. I promise, good guys do exist. And you can trust Drake, okay? He’ll get you home safely. I wouldn’t let him drive you home if I had any doubt.” Then she gave Laura a hug and waited while Drake helped Laura into his jeep, buckled her again, and handed her the leftovers, burgers, and shakes to eat on the way home. Then he carefully closed the door for her. He turned around to say something to Rinda, but she didn’t give him the chance. She gave Drake a hug and whispered into his ear “Mr. Geoduck wasn’t the gentleman tonight. You were. And thank you.” She pulled back. “And for the record, usually when a girl is excited about getting flowers she keeps them somewhere where she can look at them all day. Not in the teacher’s lounge.” Rinda knew he was about to start running his hand through his hair, so she quickly tousled his hair and whispered “Goodnight, Strubelkopf” Goodnight Tousled Hair, before getting back into her car.

@asherella-is-a-dork-3 @liam-rhys

#long post #choices trr #bastien lykel #rinda parks ofc #drake walker

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b-does-the-write-thing · 7 years

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The Graveyard Cat

Title:

The Graveyard Cat

Rating: Teen

Word Count: 7187

Notes/Summary: The spirits of those who love us never really fade away, and love can be found even in the darkest of places.

Prompt used: Pale; Hunger Never Satisfied: New, Inexperienced Witch

As the wind picked up from the east, the black-eyed-susans began to sway their heads. Growing undisturbed along the small two laned road, they grew wild save for the few being plucked by the man standing amongst them. With unfashionably long hair to his shoulders and a well worn but well cared for day coat, the man added a few more of them to the bouquet of wildflowers in his left hand. In the distance, the stalks of corn rustled against each other to add a noise of whispers to the otherwise silent scene.

In the late days of October, the entire countryside was flush with grown gold reaching for the sun. With the blue skies overhead and the stalks of maize drifting sweetly in the breeze, the scene was idyllic until a lone cloud drifted over the sun and the man lifted his eyes to the heavens. A chill fell over the land as the autumn afternoon flirted with the winds of winter.

Drawing his collar closer to his neck, Roibert Gold stood slowly so not to risk hurting his bad leg any further than necessary. The seasonal change in weather was already aggravating the old break, and the wind shift had brought the scent of rain. If he didn’t take care to get home before the storm hit, his knee would be swollen large as a melon. The last thing he needed this close to the harvest was to be bedridden though it would be his own damnable fault if he got caught out here in a rainstorm. A grown man should know better, he berated himself.

The lone Scotsman turned to the south, along the two lane road, out here somewhere between the middle of nowhere and utterly lost, until he arrived with no warning at a cemetery. It was a small plot, gated and well tended for besides the swirl of autumn leaves starting to decorate the graves. Gold reached out to push open the high high gate, but there was the rattle of iron and the scream of metal on metal instead of the usual rustle of the tall grass bending down to allow him access.

He frowned down at a small padlock, clean as a whistle and newly nestled over the weather tempered iron of the old gate. The road around him was abandoned, but the smell of fresh earth indicated a new member had joined the graveyard community. Gold could only make out a mound of soil in the right hand back corner, and belatedly remembered the miller had taken sick last week.

Some overzealous mourner had probably thought to protect their newly departed from the ravages of possible marauders, and in doing so, had locked Gold out. “Sorry Bae,” he whispered to a small gravestone just out of reach. He could not see it clearly, years of reading in the dark had not been good to his sight, but he knew the name Bailey Gold was etched with painstaking care. The years 1895-1909 were hidden under a carpet of autumn leaves, but he knew those too by heart. Gold turned with a heavy sigh, making a mental note that if the weather held, he would call upon the miller’s family tomorrow and find who had barred him from his son’s grave.

The community had changed since Bailey had died. It had grown from the four farms that had once shared this small plot to a community, dotingly called Storybrooke by the people who had began to settle closer together in a small township to the direct south of the farmlands. These newcomers left Gold alone for the most part, and he left them alone though there was the occasional spot of trouble. Nothing to do about it, especially in these days. Prohibition was the law of the land now, and everyone’s private business was now supposedly everyone's’ business.

Gold didn’t think much of that. There was a reason he lived in an old rundown house, rotted boards practically falling down around his ears. It was the home he had come to when he had arrived in the new world with his young son in tow. They had made it their own, and when his son had died, so had his interest in keeping the house. It rotted, much like he himself did but Gold didn’t mind. It stayed warm enough in the winter and the windows opened to the summer breeze while the tin roof kept out the rain and snow common in north Ohio. And if the corner front door squeaked whenever someone so much as took a step on to the property, it gave him enough time to be standing outside on the square front porch, his hand on his Remington.

Gold wouldn’t hesitate to fire it, especially considering what he had out in his dilapidated barn. An old man barely able to walk the mile to the local graveyard, alone in this world, could hardly be believed to harvest the corn on his property, but on a warm evening, the smell of barley and hops could be smelled as far south as twenty miles.

In the summer of 1925, even that was enough to get the local sheriff called on Gold a fair few times but the young Irish lawman swore he hadn’t found a drop of liquor on Gold’s property, and if Sheriff Humbert’s accent was a little stronger after a visit out to Gold’s farmhouse, no one else noticed. After all, no one drank these days, not with Prohibition.

The wind picked up but Gold stayed where he stood, looking over the gate at where his son was buried, the dead flowers from last week starting to crumble and decay. His heart twisted and if he had been a younger man, a full man, he would have leapt over the gate with ease. Instead, he walked to the far side of the small graveyard, to where a copse of trees crowded the gate and cast shadows over the graves buried along the very edge.

His son’s grave was no closer here, and Gold gave up the ghost of hope he might be able to lay flowers on his son’s grave today. “I’ll be back soon,” he promised his son as he gently laid the flowers upon the unconsecrated ground on the wrong side of the gate. “Don’t you worry, my boy, I’m here.”

“Myrow.”

Despite his frustration, a smile flickered over Gold’s tired face. “Ah, there you are, sweetheart,” he greeted as he turned his face up to the tree above him. Bright eyes gazed down at him from where a black cat crouched in the shadows of the leaves. He offered her his hand to sniff, and she crept forward enough to butt her head against it before rubbing her cheek along the length of his palm. “How is my favorite lass?” he asked with a teasing smile. “Could you not stop them from barring the gate?”

The cat meowed in response, her eyes unblinking. With a splash of white on her chest and eyes as blue as the loch of Menteith, she was a bonny thing. Gold fished his traditional offering of scraps from his coat pocket and held them up to the feline. She purred before delicately taking the offering from him, her wet nose and sharp teeth brushing against the sensitive pads of his fingers. Only when she had finished did she slip down from the tree to curl about his ankles. No one in the community had ever claimed the black beauty, and she seemed to live here at the graveyard. Gold privately thought of her as the guardian spirit of the place.

The wind increased and a branch of the closest tree reached out to snag his day coat. Gold jumped as the branch scraped along his arm like a caress, before gently disentangling himself and returning to the roadside. With one last look at where he had laid his offering, Gold started to hobble back home as the sun started its slow decline to meet the horizon. He did not notice the cat watching him as he disappeared down the road.

Everyone knew the Gold homestead. The tall house stood facing the north besides a forked black walnut tree that looked as if God himself had reached down with his almighty hand to split it asunder. Lighting hit it, legend said, but no one had dared live in the shadow of the twisted tree until Gold had came to town.

This autumn evening, the lower windows glowed with the bright light of a raging fire, and the occasional shadow passed by the window as the man himself limped from one room to another. The promised storm had arrived shortly after sunset, and the window pelted the thin glass and dripped down from the tin rooftop to land in puddles around the baseboards. The chill of the wind whistled through cracks and chinks of the walls, but Gold did not feel the cold. He clutched the barrel aged whiskey in his hands, a book forgotten in his lap as he stared into the fire.

His thoughts were in the past, with a crew headed young boy with skinned knees, a woman’s laugh and the smell of the Scottish breeze, so he did not see the shadow press up against the window. It lingered there for a long moment before a rumble of thunder broke the melancholy sound of the rain. By the time Gold tore his gaze out of the past, the shadow had melted away and the window black and empty once more.

The fire crackled and popped, and Gold moved to stir the embers lest it die away when something scratched at the door. Assuming it be his imagination, Gold ignored it and moved to stir the fire. Outside, the wind howled into the cracks of the house and his mind slipped back to the graveyard and the unavoidable shiver ran down his spine at the thought of his boy out there alone in his grave on such a night.

The wind died down for a moment, the wailing ceasing just long enough for Gold to hear something scratching at the door once more. He half rose in his chair, straining to listen as his heart began to thump in time to the rain. No one would be out in this squall, no one but those with mischief on their minds. In the corner of the room, his shotgun gleamed yellow and red in the fire’s light and he collected it as the wind returned once more to drown out whatever was at his front door.

The new world did not have the banshees or the little folk, just desperate folk and those reckless fools who might think an old man an easy target. Gold made his way to the front door, the solid wood as unchanging as ever. The scratching had faded away, but the sensation of a presence had not. Something stood on the other side of the door, and it was waiting for him.

When he swung the front door open, Gold aimed his gun straight out at nothing. The night was dark and the rain came down like a curtain separating the dry corner of his porch from the wild earth just beyond. Nothing stirred in the great blackness, and Gold lowered his shotgun as he stepped out into the cold night air.

“Myrow.”

The graveyard cat jumped down from the railing beside the door to land at his feet, and Gold nearly stumbled backwards into the house as it butted its head against his bad leg. Black as pitch, it had blended so perfectly into the evening sky, he had not noticed it. Now, it purred merrily, vibrating against him as it swirled between his ankles. The door behind him had scratch marks that matched the thing’s wicked claws, gleaming ever so slightly despite the darkness.

“Wee Cheetie, you gave me a fright,” Gold scolded it, his Scottish burr heavy from the fright in his veins. The cat gave another chirp but it did not stop its sinuous motions. Careful of his aching knee, Gold bend down to collect the creature, and it went willingly into his arms. “What are you doing here, lass?”

She nestled close to his chest and began to purr again, her fur damp with rain and her claws already burying carefully into his jumper. “What are you doing out here in this, lass?” he asked her but the cat had no answer for him. With a sigh, Gold collected his shotgun and returned to the warmth of his home. He dropped the wee cheetie into his armchair as he ambled over to the icebox to collect the last of the milk. “Least you have enough sense to come in out of the rain,” he remarked as he poured the milk into a teacup. He fetched a saucer as well in case the cheetie had trouble with the lip of the cup.

When he returned to the living room with a cup and saucer, the cat had disappeared from his chair. Instead, the firelight flickered over the long pale limbs of a woman who sat curled up in it, her brown hair cascading over her shoulders as she gazed shyly up at him. Gold heard rather than felt the teacup fall from his nerveless fingers to fall upon the floor. He pivoted so that his back was to her, but it did nothing to alleviate the pace his heart was already racing or the heated flush upon his cheeks.

“Hello.”

Her voice was clear as a bell and it ran through him eliciting a shiver he was powerless to contain. HIs mouth opened on its own accord to return the soft spoken greeting, but his better sense clamped down on his tongue. He had grown up in the highlands of Scotland, and was no stranger to tales of the fae. He just had never expected one to appear in his living room in the heart of the new world.

“You have nothing to fear from me, Roibert.”

At the sound of his true name, long left behind on the shores of Scotland, Gold turned to look over his shoulder. The woman had retrieved the fallen teacup and saucer and was examining the chipped lip of it with some concern. She did not meet his eye, but held it up for him to examine. “Shall I fix it for you?”

He shook his head. “It’s just a cup,” he said and the fae smiled in delight as she lifted it to her nose to inhale. Gold swallowed roughly, frozen in place. Fae were fickle things, and while he had not offended her yet, their tempers could be set off without warning.

“Sit,” his guest said with a nod towards the loveseat tucked away into the corner. He sank into the uncomfortable seat, careful to keep his eyes averted from the pale skin glistening in the light of the fire. Outside, the wind blew against the windows until they rattled in their panes. “I thank you for your kindness,” the woman said and drew her legs up into the chair with her. Curled into the upholstery, the curves of her body were hidden by her arms and legs, but he could not unsee them.

“My home is open to you,” he said in rote. “May the fae favor it.”

At his stiff politeness, her face grew troubled. “Are you not happy to see me?” she asked him. It may have been his imagination but she sounded as if she hurt by that. “ “Does this form displease you? Would you prefer my feline form?”

Gold desperately wanted to take a long drink of his bourbon, but he had left the decanter in the kitchen.Walking a tightrope, Gold tried to find the right way to alert his guest to his discomfort without offending her . “I...I would not gaze upon your beauty with these unworthy eyes,” he said finally and was rewarded with a noise of understanding.

“Ah, I see. I sometimes forget about humans and their...morality. Is this more to your liking?”

A black robe draped over her now, the rich velvet glistening invitingly. The only splash of color was a spot of white at her breast, the same marking as her feline form. He belatedly realized she was watching him for his reaction and he tried to school his face back into a neutral mask.

Though he did not speak, her smile grew warm. “Thank you,” she said as she twirled her finger around the rim of the chipped cup. He belatedly remembered the spilled milk but the floor at her feet was clean. “I am sorry for the waste of your hospitality,” she said and her cheeks flushed. “I did not mean to alarm you.”

He shook his head. “It is I who should apologize,” he said as he bowed his head.

“Oh, now none of that,” she said with a pout. “I have been watching you Roibert Gold, and I know you not as a lickspittle.” The odd word twerked the corner of his mouth and he returned her gaze. “I am Bòidhchead,” she continued. The old word meant beauty, and in gazing upon her, the gods had not named her idly. “I have long wished to meet you like this, but ...I come before you because your son in danger.”

Gold looked down to where his arm rested on the loveseat arm and wondered if he had strayed into a dream. Did he still slumber by the fire, lulled to sleep by the taste of bourbon and the scent of the fire?

“You are not sleeping, Roibert,” she said. Her teeth were white and ever so slightly pointed. Bòidhchead stood and came to sit beside him. In her hand, there were now two filled decanters and she passed it to him with a conspirator's smile “Have you never met a witch before?” Bòidhchead asked. “Your heart is racing like a rabbit.”

His head was swimming but one thing stood out to him and he clung to it like a lifeline. “You said...Bae is in danger?”

Bòidhchead nodded gravely. “What do you know about the cat sìth?”

He racked his brain for a moment, but all he could recall was the scene of a funeral. His father had stood over his mother’s deathbed before the burial, while her sisters had sang outside the door. He had been small then, a wee bairn, forgotten in the grief of the house, but he had remembered asking one of his aunts why she sang. And her response had been, “ to keep her soul from being stolen away by the cat king.” He racked his brain for how long he had befriended the lone black cat that stalked the grounds around the graveyard. Had she been there when Bae had been buried?

“My kind are drawn to spirits,” Bòidhchead said, once more knowing exactly what he was thinking. “I speak to them and them to me. They tell me of their lives and deferred dreams and I watch over them so they will always know peace. Bailey was my first...my first guardianship.”

His heart contracted painfully. She slipped her hand in his and he marveled at how perfectly it fit in his own. The heat from her palm slid into his veins and it warmed him in ways no drink ever had. “He told me such stories. How loved he was, how strong you were, and how he worried for you on your own.”

Gold’s eyes burned but he stared into the fire. His son’s face had blurred from time to time, but here, holding the witch’s hand, he could see him clearly. “He stays behind for your sake,” Bòidhchead said softly, knowing this would be a blow. “He would not leave you alone.”

Gold had never missed a weekly walk to the graveyard, often going daily if the weather permitted it, but Gold had never realized...had not considered his son was still there, alone.

“I have long encouraged him to move to the next world,” Bòidhchead old him and her face had the shadow of guilt upon it. “But...I grew too comfortable. I did not press him, for I enjoyed his company...and your visits…”

The young witch sighed. “His spirit grew faint and wistful. His love for you kept him tethered here, but souls are not meant to remain behind on this plane. It is my duty to usher them forth into the next life but Bae would not leave you on your own. ”

Her warmth was anchoring him, though his heart squeezed in his chest as tears began to cloud his eyes. “Bae,” he murmured as his fists closed over his heart. “My boy...I don’t...I don’t understand,” he managed. “Is he...is he gone?”

Bòidhchead moved to kneel before him and she took both of his hands in her own before pressing one to her cheek. Her eyes flickered close as she leaned into it, and she inhaled deeply as if committing his scent to memory. “He’s with you always,” she said and reached out to touch his heart. “But a shadow has passed over him...and I cannot reach him now. I came...I came here tonight for your help. To save Bailey from the shadows and to deliver him to peace.”

Gold’s hand covered her own where it lay against his chest. The rain on the other side of the wall beat mercilessly against the house, but a vision of Bae alone in the graveyard came to him unbidden. His son stood as tall as he had in life, his brown hair damp with rain and his hopeful smile shadowed by the wisdom that came to a boy mature beyond his age. Bae’s voice echoed in his ear, a whispered goodbye as the fever had burned through his son’s body.

A single tear fell from his eye, and Bòidhchead murmured her distress as he bowed forward. She raised up to take his head to her breast, as if to let him cry there, curled into her embrace. “It was not your fault, Roibert,” she whispered, so assuredly that he could almost let himself believe her. “He does not blame you. It is time you cease blaming yourself.”

His fingers clutched at her shoulders and he wrenched himself away in embarrassment. “My apologies, Bòidhchead.”

HIs accent curled around the familiar word and it brought a tear stained smile to her face. “You speak your mother tongue beautifully,” she murmured as she reached up to twist a lock of his hair between her fingers. “Bae is not as skilled at it. He calls me Belle, in his mother’s tongue.”

Gold had forgotten...Bae had never had the gift for Gaelic, and his mother, a French born Sassenach, had hated the guttural language. Bae had loved his mother’s native tongue, often begging her to translate everything and everything to hear the romantic language from across the sea. When their small family had come to America, Bae’s mother had stayed on the boat with the ship’s captain and after that Bae had never spoken a word of French again.

Gold had to close his eyes again as more tears threatened to fall. “I held him in my arms as a babe and promised no harm would come to him...and then I brought him here...to his death. I held him as he died and begged God to take me instead.” The angels had been blind to Bae’s plight and God was deaf to Gold’s pained pleas. But perhaps someone else had been listening for a witch stood before him with promises of Bae’s salvation. “How can I help him now?”

“He is too far out of m y reach,” she confessed and an embarrassed flush crossed her pale cheeks. “I fear only your voice will call him back from the road he was traveled down.”

Gold had missed his son from the moment he had drawn his last breath. He had lived in a house unchanged over the years since his son had perished, had not taken a scissor to his hair or a blade to his face. He had done nothing but grieve and await his own turn but death had avoided him, too cowardly to show his countenance after his theft of a young boy.

“Will you help me?” Belle asked again and though he had no idea how a broken old man could help a witch, he nodded. “Close your eyes,” she said as she took his hand in her own.

Gold hesitated but despite her twilight entrance into his life, there was something about this Belle he could not resist. She felt evergreen, as if he had known her for an eternity. She was a piece in the puzzle that was his small life, and her presence at his side was steady and sure, a heartbeat he had never noticed was missing. He let his eyes drift close and there was the croon of words, old and ancient. With his eyes clenched tight, a flicker of lights played behind the back of his eyelids shimmered and when he opened them, he was back in his living room.

Belle had not stirred from his side, and he turned to her in consternation, but something caught his gaze out of the corner of his eye. He stood, legs shaky and uncertain, as his son smiled at him from across the room.

His face was whole and full. His eyes sparkled with mischievous joy, so different from the dying boy who had been skin and bones at the end. “Papa,” Bailey greete. Gold had forgotten his son’s voice, but at that one word, he knew the spirit before him was real. He opened his arms and Bae barreled into them, arms clasping tightly around his shoulder as Bae hid his face into his father’s embrace.

“Bae,” Gold breathed and the smell of grass and mud trickled up to him. “It’s you. It’s really you.” The spirit was flesh and bone in his arms, and Gold decided in that second he would sell his soul if it meant to stay here for a few moments more.

His son grew serious though his eyes still shimmered with barely contained emotion. “Papa, I…. I’m afraid.” Gold’s arms tightened around his son as his breath caught in his chest. As he looked around, he saw the house was the same as it had been when Bailey had lived there still, messy and cluttered as only a teenage boy could make his home. Signs of Gold’s own presence was here in the decanter upon the tabletop or the worn boots by the door. Yet, there was something else lingering.

“Bailey,” Belle said as she stepped forward.

“Belle!” the boy greeted in relief and he threw his arms around her as well. “Where did you go?” he asked her, and his voice had a note of accusation in it.

The witch blushed again, and looked nervously at where the dark staircase loomed at the front of the room. “I warned you, Bae,” she whispered even as she clutched him tighter to her as if she too feared he would disappear if she let him go. “I told you what would happen if you went down this road. I couldn’t follow after you here.”

Gold looked between them, uncertain what was happening but unable to care. He was with his son. Bailey parted from Belle and turned back to his Gold. Bailey’s face was a mixture of shame and fear. “Belle’s right, Papa,” he confessed in a tiny voice. “It’s my fault.”

“What is, Bae?” Gold asked but something began to tingle along the back of his neck.

“I was afraid of what will happen next and...I didn’t want you to be alone....”

“You mustn’t worry about me,” Gold said firmly and he cupped his son’s face in his hands, marveling at him. The ache of how strongly he missed his son seemed to be tearing him apart, but he pushed it away. He had to be strong now, he knew. He had to be strong for Bae.

There was a heavy tread on the stairs and Belle’s breath caught her in throat. “He’s coming,” she whispered and her pale complexion went white as the velvet on her breast. “My powers do not work in this place,” she said with a pointed look at Gold.

“Who is he?” Gold demanded but Bailey was hiding behind him now as well. Gold’s own fear disappeared as his son’s own terror washed over him and he took a step forward toward the corner where his shotgun sat just as it had in the house he had just left. As the heavy tread came to the foot of the stairs, Gold finished priming it and pointed it steadily at the shadow in the front of the room. He could not make out a face but the frame was somehow familiar.

The shadow lifted his hand towards them, and the fire died out with a whoosh. The spirit of his son at his back gave Gold the confidence to step forward, brandishing the weapon. Belle moved to stand beside him, though her voice shook. ‘Leave this place,” she told the shadow. “His soul is not for you.”

The shadow drew in a deep rattling breath, and Bailey whimpered behind them. Gold cocked the gun, and all hesitation left him. “Get out of my house,” he demanded. “Leave my son be.”

The shadow chuckled, the noise like the wheeze of death, before it stepped forward into the light. At his side, Belle sucked in a breath of surprise, but it was nothing to the blow in Gold’s gut. Facing him, was a mirror image of himself, eyes black as pitch and mouth sneering. “Your house?” the shadow repeated. “Your son?”

Gold lowered the gun as he gazed upon himself. “What is the meaning of this?”

“Spirits are not meant to stay on the mortal plane,” Belle said with a tilt of her jaw. Trying desperately to be brave, she did not retreat backwards away from the shadow though there was naked terror on her face. “My kind...my people protect them from evils that would consume them. Theirs is a hunger that is never satisfied...but I...I’ve never-”

The shadow laughed again, but did not move closer to them. “A kitten sìth,” it spat. “Nine lives will not be enough to save you, little cat. You and the boy are mine. You were foolish to follow him here.”

A faint touch at his elbow made him look down to find Bailey staring at the creature across them. “I didn’t want to be alone,” Bailey confessed. “It offered me...it told me I could come home and be with you…”

“And you are,” the evil said with a wave of its hand. It’s voice was high pitched and grotesque and Gold swallowed at the cruelty reflected in the sightless eyes.

“You can do this, Roibert,” Belle breathed and he looked up to find her standing between him and the shadow. “You have to convince Bailey to cross over or his spirit will be trapped here forever.”

“What lies are you telling now, sìth?” the shadow snarled. “Trying to save your own skin?”

Gold shook his head. “But-”

“I’ll handle it,” Belle said though a shiver ran down her spine. “I can distract it for a few moments or more, but you must convince Bailey it is time to move on...or we’ll all be stuck here.”

She did not wait for him to respond, but turned with a hiss back towards the shadow. In the next second, a cat leapt splitting towards the shadowy Gold, and the two tumbled out into the porch beyond the front door.

“Belle!” Bailey cried and went to move after them but Gold caught him by the arm.

He sank down to his son’s level and smiled up at him though his heart was breaking. “Bailey...my boy, I’m sorry.I’m sorry I made you feel as if you could not move on… I never...I never wanted this for you. I wanted to protect you, care for you, and I failed…”

“Papa,” Bailey muttered and he threw his arms around his neck. “Papa, this isn’t your fault.”

There was an angry howl from outside and both men turned as it was followed by the sound of a cat’s yowl of pain. “She’s not strong enough,” Bailey said and his face was worried. Gold resisted the urge to go out after the witch, but she had already told him how he could fix this and he had to stay true to it. besides, what was an old man with a limp going to do to a shadow demon?

“How do...how do you cross over?” Gold asked his son.

Bae looked behind him, and Gold sensed there was a world he could not see just beyond his son. “It’s a door of sorts...a window but it’s getting fainter,” his son confessed to him, and his voice was small and scared. “Belle says time is running out but…” His son faulted. “It’s beautiful,” he said to his father in a whisper. ��It’s indescribable...but I guess it reminds me...of the sunset we spent on the cliffs in Scotland waiting for the ocean liner. All purples and oranges, blues and reds.. endless and boundless where the sky and the sea blended together with the sun….”

“It sounds beautiful, my boy,” Gold said and he was relieved Bae’s eyes were off into what he could not see. His son did not see the tear fall, nor the next one as Gold hurriedly scrubbed them away. The world around them was starting to fade, the house drifting away from them until it was just him and Bailey standing before each other. The sound of something terrible was in the back of his mind, but Gold could not remember what it was or why it mattered.

Bae turned back to him and as always, he saw right through him. With a brave smile, he took a step closer to Gold once more. “Papa, I won’t leave you alone…”

Gold had tried to be the best father possible, and he had failed miserably in a million ways but it seemed the fates had given him one last chance to do the right thing. “You have to go,” Gold said firmly. “You said it yourself, the door is closing. I won’t...I won’t have you stuck here with that...that thing for an eternity. You go on, son. I’ll see you there.”

“How do you know?” Bae asked and he was five again, scared and unsure about going across the great sea.

“I just do,” Gold said and he took his son in his arms one last time. “I’ll see you again,” he promised him, the same thing he had whispered to his son when he had drawn his last breath. “I promise.”

In the next heartbeat, the fire cracked and Gold started back to consciousness. There was a storm outside his window and a decanter of bourbon laid at his feet. The front door was open and rain poured into the living room. Gold puzzled what was going on but his head ached too fiercely to focus. As he lifted a trembling hand to his forehead, he caught sight of something lying cross the threshold, a small bundle of some kind.

He stood, and his legs faltered beneath him so he had to grab at the back of the chair to stay upright. He had dreamed of his son, and Bae’s voice still echoed in his mind. Part of him wanted nothing more than to lie back down upon the couch and disappear back into the dream, but something else urged him upwards. He had to close the door, something told him.

He made it to the opening to find the small bundle was not some inanimate object, but a feline stretched across the threshold. Her eyes were closed and head thrown back at an unnatural angle, but her chest rose and fell even as her fur stuck matted to her lithe frame. There was blood pooled beneath her and he sank down to his knees, ignoring the stab of pain as he reached trembling fingers out to the small creature.

A blue eye peeked open and a small pitiful meow followed. Gold’s mind uttered one word and he repeated it incredulously. “Belle?”

The rain whipped at his face and sank into his clothes, but he did not feel them. The cat’s eyes flickered close again, and she shuddered in a long sinuous motion until a cat no longer lay before him, but a young woman.

“He crossed over,” she managed to say though her face was contorted in pain. “His soul is at peace. You did it.”

Gold barely heard her, he was too busy searching for the wound. He found it on the nape of her neck, her hair clotted with blood. It was shallower than he had thought, but the blood ran freely into his palms as he cradled her neck. “Here,” he said and he carefully moved her head into his lap. “Shh,” he said as he tried to speak. “It’s okay, you’re going to be fine, Belle.”

There was something bitter upon his lip, and only when he sucked his lip into his mouth did he realize there were tears upon his cheeks. Belle, for now he could think of her as nothing else, reached up to wipe them from his face with a gentle hand.

“I am young for my kind,” she said to him. The bright blue light of them burned the brighter for the halo of fire lighter. “I am inexperienced and naive, and my sisters would call me foolish, but I promised Bae that you would not be alone.”

Gold shook his head, not comprehending.

“But...I admit I was afraid.”

“Afraid?” Gold repeated, certain he had not heard her correctly.

“Of you, of course,” Belle replied. “I feared your would not...be receptive to my company. That you would hate me for putting Bae in danger.”

“You saved him,” Gold said in disbelief. “You protected him when I couldn’t and you let me see him again...Belle, you saved him and I both.”

“No, you did,” she said with a faint smile. The blood was beginning to clot and he was careful not to let her hair fall back into the wound. There were bandages in the house, and he would wash the wound out with some bourbon when she was strong enough to stand. “I knew you could,” she said and her eyes traced over his face in a way that made his heart do a somersault.

“Belle,” he repeated. The utterance of it made him feel closer to his son so he said it again. “Belle.”

Her skin was soft against the rough calluses on his hands and he found himself leaning forward as if drawn to her. She smelled of the wilderness, of the rain and something long ago, and her eyes drew him towards her. He had never sought salvation for his sins before this moment, and in the back of his mind, he realized why there were so many stories warning of the dangers of the Fae.

He paused just shy of her parted lips, and her breath ghosted over him like a benediction. She trembled as he pulled back but did not move towards him. “”Let’s get you inside,” he said instead and if her eyes were wistful, he did not notice.

Within minutes, Belle had dried them both and they sat upon the floor before the fire without speaking. She was miles away and he could only sit and stare at her lest he break the silence.

The storm continued to rage outside, but it did not grieve Gold as it once had. His son was safe and warm. Bailey knew he was loved and would always be loved,a nd Gold found a sort of peace in that knowledge as well.

Belle had let him care for her wound, and he had traced his fingers through her hair to shake the debris free. He had found shallow cuts along the crown of her head and a series of shallow cuts along her ribcage where he suspected a few bones were broken, but she assured him she would be fine.

As the evening faded away into morning, Gold reflected that the little witch beside him had known him for quite a few years, and he wondered at all the things he must have said to her, the secrets he had whispered to Bailey’s grave when he thought no one else was around, and the cowardly side of him she must have seen in all those small scared moments. She had seen him for the man he truly was, a coward.

“I’ve loved you since the moment I saw you,” Belle said quietly and his heart skidded to a stop as the sneering voices in his head fell silent. “You were talking to his headstone with flowers in your lap, and despite the tears on your cheeks you were smiling as you told him some story.”

“Embarassing, I presume?” he said, and Belle’s face cracked into a smile at his teasing tone.

“He loved you so much,” Belle said as she gazed into the fire. “How could I not?”

She drew the blanket closer around her shoulders and raised her hands to the warmth of the fire. “I thought a million times of following you home..or revealing myself to you...but he was your son and I loved him as if he was my own.” She smiled sadly. “That’s the first rule of being a Cat Sith,” she admitted. “You aren’t supposed to get attached to your spirits.”

“Where will you go now?” he asked and he found he did not want to know the answer.

She shook her head. “I don’t know,” she admitted and she was beautiful in her sadness.

Caught up in his own bittersweet grief, he reached out to her and she collapsed in relief into his arms. “Stay with me,” he whispered against her ear as he combed his fingers carefully through her hair. “For as long as you want.”

Her breath hiccuped and she turned as if she had could not possible had heard him right “Stay,” he repeated. Trembling, he leaned down to brush a kiss against her lips.Inch by inch he lowered his head until her eyes fluttered shut.

“Is forever too long?” she whispered before she closed the gap between them to taste his lips. She felt like home. When his arms closed around her and her breath caught in her throat, for the first time in years, he did not feel so alone.

fin.

#rumbelle revelry #rumbelle #b does the write thing

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