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itsallyscorner · 3 years

Note

hey. can u do part 2 to the’ Being a High School Student on A Marvel Set’? :)

💌

Period Buddies

Pairing: platonic!Sebastian Stan x teen!reader, platonic!Anthony Mackie x teen!reader

Summary: I’m currently on my period so I wrote this to help me cope:) Basically Anthony and Seb being the biggest and supportive guys to you during your period:)

Warnings: Umm not much, some mentions of blood and periods.

Hello my love!💞 Thank you for the request! I was actually planning on making another ‘High School student’ fic with the Marvel cast, so I decided to use that idea for this request! I hope you like it🥰 Also sorry I haven’t uploaded a fic in a while; I was lacking motivation to write and school was pretty hectic😭 Thank you for your patience my loves x

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fluturaș - little butterfly

✧───── ･｡ﾟ★: *. ☽.* :★. ─────✧

You were laid out along your couch in your trailer, a fluffy Sherpa blanket wrapped around you and your head resting atop two soft pillows. You were laid on your stomach, the pressure of the couch slightly helping with the stinging pain in your lower abdomen. Your geography teacher was teaching via Zoom, though your laptop was on the coffee table that was inches away from you; knowing you weren’t feeling your best, you’ve decided to stay on the couch for school and moved the table closer to the couch so everything was within your reach. You had been lazily taking notes—or attempting to with the remaining energy you could muster up.

You had been surprised by the devil himself when you woke up earlier today at around six in the morning. You knew your monthly was coming; with the constant cravings, body aches, and the newly developed pimple gracing your face, your period was around the corner. And you were right, a dark red stain was splotched onto your white floral bedsheets when you woke up today. What a way to start the morning.

Yes, no woman ever felt their best during their period. You were always bloated, hungry, and blood was constantly flowing out of you, yet you were still expected to show up to both work and school. Not to mention, the pain you were currently enduring was making it really difficult for you to to focus on anything. Your teacher’s voice seemed to fade into the background as your body was blinded with the stabbing pain in your lower abdomen. You may have been overreacting, but everything just hurt.

Geography was your midway class, meaning that you were halfway through your school day. Which also meant that you were soon to be called to set. You had a lunch break and some time to do your homework, but either way you still had to get to set. Usually you’d be antsy to get the school day over with, practically buzzing to get to get into your costume and do some stunts with your two favorite guys on set. Although today was different, the thought of heading to set and being active felt dreadful. You just wanted to curl up into a ball, snuggle into your Sherpa blanket, and take a well deserved nap.

Your teacher’s voice was interrupted by a knock on your door. Already knowing who it was, you let out a faint “come in” to the two men outside your trailer. A second passes before your trailer’s door slowly opens and Anthony’s head pops from behind it. His sparkling yet dark brown eyes and toothy grin etched onto his friendly features. Sebastian pops up behind him, an equally wide smile on his face as he wiggled a white take away box in the air.

“What’s up buttercup.” They cheerfully greet you.

Though both of the men’s smiles drop once they see you bundled up on the couch. Anthony fully enters your trailer, Sebastian following suit. Approaching your little set up, Anthony glances at your laptop.

“Isn’t your camera on? Did your teacher allow you to attend school like this?” He asks you. He knew you were a responsible kid and had no troubles keeping up with your education. But that’s the thing, you were still a kid. Having kids of his own, he knew how unmotivated children can get in the middle of the school year and the laziness that came along with it. Seeing you lounging on the couch while your teacher was lecturing was just a bit concerning for him.

You stiffly nod, “My camera’s off. I just don’t feel good.”

The last sentence catches both of the grown men’s attention. Sebastian rounds the corner of the coffee table and hovers over you, observing your face. He softly places the back of his hand onto your forehead, checking for any alarming warmth.

“You’re a bit warm, but it’s probably because of the blanket.” He mutters, choosing to sit on the arm rest of the couch. “You alright, fluturaș?” He looks down at you in concern, lips tilting down into a small frown.

Anthony had settled beside your feet, one of his arms using your ankles as an arm rest. Strangely enough his arm brought you comfort instead of adding to the ache in your legs.

“I’m just—I’m on my period.” You mumbled in response. You wait for the awkward tension to build but it never came. You glance at the two men and see the realization settle in them.

“And I have really bad cramps at the moment, that it’s just hard to do anything. So I decided to stay on the couch today.” You explain with a slight shrug. They didn’t understand the pain you were going through, but they understood what you meant. While the both of them had female friends and what not, they were somewhat aware of what you were going through.

Anthony claps his hands to his thighs, “Alright, it’s ok to give yourself some rest. You just relax and listen to whatever your teacher’s going on about.” He motions to your laptop and continues, “Is there anything we can do to help you?”

While taking down notes, you momentarily glance at them, “No it’s fine, you guys already brought me food. Thanks, by the way.”

They didn’t want to leave you alone, you were clearly not feeling well and they both wanted to do something. They couldn’t do anything about the pain from your menstrual cycle, but they can help distract you from the pain.

“No, we’re gonna help you. Have you eaten ever since breakfast? I’ll spoon feed you if I have to.” Sebastian insists. You thought he was joking, but when you looked at his face he was serious.

“I had a brownie—wait, aren’t you guys supposed to be filming?” You question the both of them.

“Something went wrong on set so now we have a few hours or something till they figure it out.” Anthony answers, scrolling through his phone. He abruptly stands up to his feet and heads towards the door. You and Seb send him a questioning look.

“I’ll be back.” With that he pulls your door open and jogs out, leaving you and Sebastian in your trailer. You decide to tune back into your class, resuming to take down notes from the slides your teacher shared. Suddenly, a large hand gets in the way of your notebook.

“Gimme that.” Sebastian takes the pencil and notebook from you, placing them on his lap and staring at your screen. His eyes scan the PowerPoint, looking for the part you left off on. He hums when he finds it and began to write the notes himself.

“What are you doing?” You raise a brow at him, scanning his appearance. He was dressed in Bucky’s clothes, minus the black and gold ‘metal’ arm. He was still sat on the arm rest, slightly slouching so he could bend down to use his lap as a table.

“I’m doing your notes for you.” He answers nonchalantly. He motions to the white take away box on your coffee table, “Eat your lunch, I got this.”

You hesitate to sit up, feeling bad that Sebastian was doing your notes. Though, he did insist on doing it and you weren’t feeling your best. After an internal argument with yourself, you decided to let it slide and let Sebastian do your notes. Besides, he looked like he was enjoying taking notes on agriculture regions and the different types of farming.

“Are you sure, Seb?” You ask him again, slowly sitting up on the couch. He responds with a distracted ‘mhm’, his eyes focused on your notebook and his tongue sticking out in concentration. You quietly thank him and get up to use the bathroom.

While you were gone doing your business, Anthony had entered your trailer again. This time he had a plate full of brownies, a medium sized cup of ice cream from the vending machine, and one of those red hot water bottles in his arms.

“Where’s the kid?” He balances the things in his arms while carefully placing the plate of brownies onto your coffee table. Anthony locates your mini fridge and stores the ice cream in the freezer.

“Bathroom.” Sebastian acknowledged, still focused on writing the notes correctly in your notebook. He made sure to write neatly and copy the way you organized your notes. Saving you the hassle of missing out on important parts of the lesson and from decoding his personally sloppy writing.

Anthony empties his pockets to reveal more of your favorite snacks from crafties and the vending machine. “So...what are you doing?”

“I’m in geography class.” Anthony snorts at his friend before taking a look at your laptop screen, “And what are y’all learning in geography class?”

“Pastoral nomadism.” Seb bluntly answers. With his arms now free of the items he brought, Anthony decided to tidy up your couch. He folded your blanket neatly, fluffed your pillows, and made space for Seb to actually sit on the couch.

“What the hell is pastoral nomadism?” Anthony thought out loud.

“It’s when people travel from place to place with domesticated animals. It’s usually practiced in dry land climates.” Sebastian explains, eyes never faltering from the screen or your notebook. Anthony let’s out a sound of approval at Seb’s explanation. When he was done cleaning up your couch, he took the white take away box and headed to your kitchen. Emptying the contents of the container onto one of your plates, heating the food up for you.

You walk into the kitchen section of your trailer, shutting the bathroom door behind you. A delicious aroma lingers in the air, your nose picks up on the smell, sending it straight to your stomach. In response, your stomach lets out a low growl, making Anthony snicker at you.

“I’m heating up the food.” Anthony mentions as you pass by him. You thank him with a small smile as he gently nudges his shoulder against yours.

“Want me to make tea or something? I heard it helps reduce the cramps.” You raise a brow at him amusingly, “Where’d you hear that?”

“I read it on Google. You know, research, gotta make sure our girl’s comfortable.” He proudly tells you. Your heart warms at the fact that both him and Seb were willingly helping you while you were in pain. The microwave dings catching both yours and Anthony’s attention.

As he gingerly takes the plate out he asks you, “You wanna eat at the table or the couch.”

“The couch, I still wanna listen in on the lesson.” For a moment you forgot that you were supposed to still be at school, taking notes, and listening to your teacher teach the lesson. You enter the living room and sit next to Seb, who’s hand was digging into your pencil case.

“Want me to take over?”

“Nah, I got it, I’m too invested to stop. Which one?” He held up three of your highlighters, one was light blue, another was a peachy pink, and the other was a typical yellow highlighter. You grin, picking the peachy pink one. He tosses the other two back into your pencil case and uncaps the highlighter. While your teacher wraps up class, he began to highlight the new terms from today’s class.

“Here ya go.” Anthony sang; grabbing a pillow, placing it onto your lap, and carefully setting the plate of chicken teriyaki fried rice on top of it. You happily thank him and began to dig in. He slumps onto the couch beside you, “Tell me if you need anything else. I’ve got ice cream in the freezer, brownies, a hot water bottle, and a whole box of tea.” He throws his arm around your shoulder, letting it rest against the back of the couch.

You pause your eating, pouting at the two men beside you, “You guys really don’t have to do this. But I appreciate it so much, thank you.”

Seb looks at you over his shoulder, sending you a sweet smile, “Anything to make you happy, fluturaș.”

Anthony squeezes your shoulder, “Anytime munchkin, starting today till you’re not a ketchup packet anymore, Seb and I’ll be your period buddies.”

You snort shaking your head at him, “Again, I appreciate it Ant, but please don’t call yourselves period buddies.”

“What’s wrong with period buddies? You’re on your period and we’re all a bunch of buddies. It makes perfect sense!” Anthony reasoned defensively. Seb looks at the both of you over his shoulder again, “I like period buddies.”

“See! Thank you.” You playfully rolled your eyes at the two. “Fine, period buddies it is.”

Your geography teacher wraps the lesson up and ends the Zoom call. Seb shuts your notebook and puts it to the side. Clapping his hands, he asks you, “Alright, what class do we have next?”

“Calculus.” You smirk, followed by the groans of Anthony and Sebastian filling your trailer.

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vampirefreakism · 6 years

Text

The Scientist (Chapter 26)

Summary: In the events following Asgard’s destruction, Loki finds himself on Earth seeking refuge to await the inevitable. Much to his surprise, it comes from a source he would never have expected.

AO3 Link

The Soundtrack So Far

Warnings: some fluff, some tension, idk ice? cold stuff?

Word count: 3.9k

A/N: Tell me something: why do I have to make these chapters so long? Why can't I be a more normal writer and release chapters that are, at most, 2k words in length? At this rate, I'll be 250k+ words before I'm done and omfg that's an "at least" prediction. Anywho, I'm seeing Captain Marvel tomorrow, and I am so excited. My soul might leave my body and transcend into the next dimension all from my love for women. Hell to the yeah, folks.

Masterlist

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The voice of the newscaster resounded about the shared apartment, holding the attention of one Norse god. His human companion sat near him, on the floor, still in the process of fixing his damaged armored suit. The rips and tears littering it were all stitched up using various techniques, and the scuffs and stains all distant memories. The boots and shoulder pieces, however, were a challenge. They were not ripped but scraped and frayed. Such damage to hard material could not be sewn back together or scrubbed clean with soap, water, and alcohol.

Luna grabbed a few extra items from her room – quick-dry epoxy, a scrap piece of cardboard, and a flat stick – she believed would work in laying down and repairing the tattered areas. Loki kept a watchful eye on her, as he always did when she handled his close personal belongings. She didn’t mind. It was the one time she meddled in the things she hadn’t bought him, so as per common decency, she handled them in front of him.

“You think that’ll work?” Loki chimed, his green gaze set on the woman seated on the floor.

She lifted her eyes to meet his. “In fixing it? I sure hope so.”

“And if it doesn’t?”

“I just keep trying different things until I feel like giving up.” Luna returned her attention to the shoulder piece.

She smoothed the clear epoxy mix firmly and carefully till it was too tacky to continue. Slowly, she switched to the other side. The layers made it tricky, but she had all evening if she didn’t want to leave the house. Loki was satisfied for the moment, the fridge was stocked with enough leftovers to last them the weekend, and, in case they were plagued by unwanted sleepless nights or the occasional dark emotion, the freezer had plenty of ice cream pints.

Loki stuck to his program. The subject matter interested him in a way Luna could not fathom. To each his own, she reminded herself. If he didn’t attempt to create unrest under her roof, he could do as he liked. She liked the peace in her home too much to let someone else disturb it. It seemed he liked it as well and took steps on his own to ensure it.

Satisfied with the job she had done, Luna slowly got up, suit top in hand, and walked it to the empty chairs by the counter. She set it down on one, resting the undried epoxy patches away from any surface. She dusted her hands. Another job well-done, if she said so herself.

Upon returning from putting her supplies back where they came from, Loki called her attention.

“Tell me, who is that?” He pointed to the television playing a local news station, in particular at the figure the story was about.

“Him?” Luna confirmed. “That’s our friendly neighborhood Spider-Man.”

“Oh, I know that but who is he exactly? Beneath the mask?” Loki was a tad perturbed.

Luna shrugged and lied. “I wouldn’t know. I don’t think anyone does.”

“They trust a hero they cannot see? Odd concept.” The master of lies believed her. Another victory of the day.

“I'm sure people are skeptical, but he's never done anything malicious, and he helps out the little guy. You know, the underappreciated.” A little slice of truth for him.

“Huh. I suppose he is appealing.” Loki crossed his arms and observed the individual clad in red and blue. “Is he an Avenger?”

Luna chuckled, shaking her head. “Oh, no. No, he is not. Good thing, too.”

“How come? He seems capable enough.” Luna paused.

“Because, uh, he, uh, that’s his job. You know, he’s more of a freelance vigilante than one tied to an organization like the Avengers.” She could see the look on Loki’s face. He didn’t believe her for a second. “You know, I don’t really know. You know I mainly keep to myself, so any newbies go right under my nose.” She waved a hand in the air.

“Mm-hm.” Loki eyed her, not sounding convinced, but he didn’t need to be yet. Luna feigned ignorance well enough.

The pair watched the rest of the program with Luna now perched atop the couch arm. She was at a loss for what to fill the rest of her afternoon and evening with. The oncoming snow storm looked to be getting worse each day it didn't show. There was residual fear of being snowed in, or at least cautioned to not venture outside. Shopping needed to be done, and additional activities had to be seen to, for either of the apartment occupants could easily succumb to cabin fever. Loki was a patient fellow and didn’t show his restlessness easily, but he hated being cooped up as much as Luna did.

An idea popped into her head, making Luna snap her fingers. “Hey, after we do some shopping, how about we do something?”

“What kind of something?”

“A fun something, at least before it snows. Like, uh,” she tapped her lower lip, “ooh! Like ice skating! If we go now, we can make it before there are too many people.”

“Ice skating?” Loki was perplexed. “Where would we be going?”

"Rockefeller Center," Luna said as she scurried to her room. “It's stunning this time of year." She called out. She shuffled back into the living room, phone in hand. “Ok, I can reserve some tickets online. So, yes or no?”

“This place is not in Manhattan…is it?” Loki asked tentatively.

Luna paused. “Yeah, but you’ll be fine. It’ll be fine,” she said quickly, waving a hand around. “Come on, let’s get ready. We need to at least get you a coat before we’re snowed in for a week.”

--------------------

“You know, I don’t even really need the coat. My jacket is enough,” Loki said, grabbing cradling his rental skates. The new garment reminded him a bit too much of his Stuttgart outfit, and it was wholly disconcerting.

Luna picked up her pair after him. “I am aware, Mr. The-Cold-Never-Bothered-Me-Anyway, but it is about 30 degrees out and getting colder, and since we’re going to be around a lot of people, you not wearing a coat would be cause for alarm.” She hastened over to a free bench and sat down. Loki followed suit and took his place by her side.

He watched as she pulled her boots off, stretched a foot out, and force it into the bladed skating boot. She repeated the action with her other foot and laced them up with practiced precision. Loki looked at his own and copied her to the best of his ability. The crisscross of the laces he was able to get, but their desired tightness proved more difficult.

Luna had tested her laces a few times – loosening them, retying them, standing up, and repeated the procedure – before Loki first finishing his. Luna stood upright and firm as though she were on the flats of her feet, not balanced on the edges of twin blades. She shifted her weight from left to right and felt satisfied. Loki mimicked her, but he did not feel the same.

With a stumble, he sat down and roughly undid his laces. Luna, noticing his agitated state, sat back in her spot.

“Aren’t you supposed to be an expert with the blade?” She joked, hoping to dissipate some of Loki’s frustration.

“Yes, in wielding them. Not wearing them.” He quipped back with an evident edge in his voice.

Luna knocked the edge of her boot against his. “You can wield these too. They can cause some serious damage if they’re sharp enough. I’ve pricked myself on my own skates more times than I can count when I was younger.”

Loki fiddled with the stray lace. “You did this a lot?”

“Oh, yes. I used to be quite the figure skater.” Luna smiled, recalling the memories from her youth.

“Figure skater?” Loki pondered, knitting his brows. None of his investigative endeavors have yet provided an inkling of this kind of information. He was curious.

“It’s like ballet, but on the ice.” Luna glanced down at Loki’s still-undone boots. “Here, let me do that for you.” She twisted around to straddle the bench they sat on and spun her hand around, gesturing for Loki to do the same. He did as she asked and faced her full-on.

Wishing to get on with the task, Luna gave Loki’s left leg two firm pats for him to lift it. She had to scoot back once he stretched it out. It was easy to forget how long he was. She maneuvered his foot into a proper resting position and got to work, loosening and retightening his shoe.

Loki felt the tap-tap of her fingers through the thick material, but her light touch barely preoccupied his thoughts. It was clear he did not know everything about her and his snooping could only take him so far. He wondered how much her Avengers knew. If they knew more than him. He felt jealousy grow at the prospect of missing out. However inconsequential it may be, Loki loved being the first in the know about everything.

Tentatively, he continued the conversation. “You miss it?”

Luna looked up from her task. “Hmm?” With his head, Loki gestured to the skate in her hand. “Oh. Uh, yeah.” She nodded, a little despondent. “I almost completed my training when I had to stop.”

“What made you? Stop, I mean.”

“School.” She jerked his foot a bit as she fastened the laces around the metal loops. “I had to choose between spending my time practicing triple axels and working on homework and, well,” she chuckled, “my three science degrees should be enough to tell you what my decision was.” A few more tugs and a knotted bow finished the job. “Alright, circle your foot around. You want it to feel firm on the joint, but not painfully so.” Slowly, Loki lifted his foot and rotated it clockwise, switching directions once he felt satisfied. “How is it?” Luna asked.

“It’s good,” Loki muttered.

“Good,” Luna echoed, smiling lazily and placing a hand on his opposite knee. “Now for the next one.”

--------------------

Loki, gripping the edge of the rink wall, stood as static as his body would allow. “So how on earth do you move with these?” He was capable on the ice, but the kind he has experienced in the past was always blanketed with a thin layer of snow. The surface beneath him now beheld no such traction.

Before him, Luna kept a watchful eye on his posture. “You just, you know, stand. Like this.” She presented her feet, the blades positioned in a small V. “And push with the edge.” Her foot facing away propelled her forward to Loki’s side.

“I've been doing that, and it's not working.”

“That’s because you’re treating it like you’re walking.”

“Oh, you make it sound so easy.” Loki sneered a little.

Luna let out a low groan and moved backward to stand face-to-face with him. "Pretend you’re dancing. Feel the ice beneath you and use it. Follow it as you would a partner. And, if you want,” she held her gloved hands out, “I can help lead you.”

Loki kept watch of her open hands as he slowly extended one of his towards them. Settling a firm grasp on the one he held, he let the other follow. “Don’t worry, I got you,” Luna sent him a sweet smile, careful not to lose her grip on him. Loki presented himself as calm. He had captured the attention of the right person and, though he loved attention, was intent on not drawing more.

“Now, stand up a little straighter and push gently.” Loki did as he was told and pushed with the blade at an angle. Luna glided backward, guiding him steadily over the shallow divots in the ice. “And again. And again. See?” With a pivot of her foot, she swiveled to stand beside Loki, still holding onto the hand furthest from the wall. “Not so hard.”

Loki looked down at her, smirking a little, and nudged her. “Well, I have an excellent teacher.”

Luna giggled and bumped him back. “Hey, don’t jinx it just yet. The last time these skates were sharpened was probably during the time of Lewis and Clark, and this ice is already pretty cut, so it’s very easy to trip on.” A glance down confirmed her feet to be at a safe distance from Loki’s. “Fresh, smooth ice is like heaven to be on, but you probably know that already.”

Loki hummed in response. He had an idea of how it would be. Being on the ice at this moment was pleasant. In tandem, they skated in silence, staying close to the wall for safety but far enough away to let other struggling patrons cling to it.

The cold crept up on Loki, quickly and quietly. It didn’t hurt him like it would a human, but he knew it was there. The air alone took less from him than if he came into contact with the ice itself. One touch from his bare hand may expose him. He wasn’t willing to take the risk. Not in a crowded area filled with people whose lives he had directly affected. He was lucky to be holding the hand of someone with a giving and forgiving heart. The couples and families around him would not grant him as much grace, no matter what pretty lies he may spin.

His eyes strayed from the people in front of him to the decorations above and around him. The settling darkness in the sky enhanced the brightness of the colored lights. The ice reflected them, making it seem like he was floating above a white sea of rainbow stars. The Christmas tree stood high above them, a beacon of glad tidings during a happy season. A sweetness settled within Loki’s heart, but it did not come without a thin lining of bitterness.

“Answer me something,” he asked Luna.

“Okay,” she replied, keeping her voice hushed.

Loki paused, feeling the words circle about, and spoke. “Was this place destroyed?”

“When?” Luna knew what he was referring to, but she had to make sure.

“During…,” Loki looked down, “my first visit.”

“Probably,” she stated, “but look how nice it is right now.”

Loki didn’t bother. Visions of destruction plagued his mind, obscuring his view. He enjoyed the place and his present company. Thinking of it no longer existing didn’t sit well with him.

Luna sensed the storm brewing inside him and squeezed his hand. “Don’t dwell on it.”

“Why not? It’s my wrongdoing.”

“Because it doesn’t do any good. Dwelling never fixes anything.”

Loki blinked and looked down at the crown of Luna’s head as he regarded her statement. The first time she had confronted any issue regarding his past, and it was over and done with before he could spare any additional words. And how nonchalant she was about it. Loki was almost convinced she had forgotten about the incident or never heard of it. No, she was worlds smarter than that. Loki was the one who forgot and took her for granted. She was as merciful as she was gracious.

Yes, dwelling doesn’t fix anything. He would follow her example and brush it off for a time when it is a problem, for it wasn’t now.

Carefully, Loki changed the subject. “You know, many centuries ago, people used these as a method of transportation.”

Luna peered up at him, eager to know the context with which he spoke. A tilt of his head towards the ground gave her what she needed to continue.

“And you traveled with them, I suppose?”

Loki snickered. “Heavens, no. That was well before my time, around the era of my grandfather Bor’s rule.”

“Did you know him?”

He paused. “Also before my time.”

“I never knew my grandfathers either. One died of cancer; the other, a stroke.” Luna caught herself. It was early enough to stop. “Sorry. You didn’t need to know that.”

Alas, more information Loki couldn’t find in her diaries. “What do you know about them?” He had to know more.

“Well,” Luna assembled her words, “I know I would have liked one more than the other. But isn’t that how it is with all family?”

Loki let out a laugh. “How right you are.” Memories of times passed surfaced here and there in his thoughts. Yes, how right she was. If she only knew how much.

Unabashedly, as his gaze fell elsewhere, Luna admired him. She had gotten him to smile out of genuine amusement. And his laugh. A reward in and of itself. ‘Tamed the beast,’ an onlooker might say. But such a statement couldn’t be farther from the truth. He was no beast.

The two skated further around the rink, passing straggling children trying to stay on two feet and teens doing their best not to get too rowdy. No one bothered to notice them. Glances were spared only to prevent any unnecessary collisions. They spoke naught for they felt no need to. The peace they achieved at home had extended out past the threshold. To say the least, it was nice. Others could do the chattering in their place. Until, of course, one decided to take the reins.

“So, is it true?” Luna asked, a slight smirk making its way onto her face.

“Is what true?” Loki asked back, not bothering to look away from the ice before him.

“About Sleipnir?”

Confusion passed over Loki, as such a thing had not crossed his mind in many a moon. But, he caught on to what she meant and snickered lightly. “Dear, no. He was real, yes, but he was another being from before me. I took a liking to the creature while in my youth and most people mocked me for it, aptly calling me his ‘mother.’”

Luna smiled at the sentiment. “That’s nice you gave him company, though. How beautiful he must have been.”

“Quite so. A magnificent animal. Odin didn’t appreciate him properly, but then again, he rarely did with anything." Rather than get into another tense topic, Loki dispelled any increasing strain. “However, perhaps in another universe, he would have been my true son.”

Luna paused and tittered a little. “Yeah, and you would have vibrant red hair and a whole wife.”

“My goodness, just imagine!” Loki bolstered, pulling a laugh from her.

Moments like these granted him a precious second to admire the beauty of his young friend. Could he call her ‘friend?’ As he thought on how delightfully warm he found her smile, he found himself treading back into dangerous territory. Friends, in his experience, were never around for long and he was so blinded by the wishful thinking he couldn't catch their lies until it was too late for his heart. Maybe they did like him, but they never preferred him. Then again, they were not her. None from his past were like her, and perhaps it would be alright for him. But, for now, only the Norns could tell.

Before long, announcements were made for all active skaters to vacate the rink for the Zamboni to makes its rounds. Luna and Loki took their sweet time, unlike a select few who thought it would be fun to race to the exit. The loud, rapid scraping of their blades alerted those around to their oncoming presence; a presence Luna did not keep track of.

Heads were turned, and gazes averted. The instance spelled disaster. Luckily, Loki possessed a distinct taste for it. He felt the moment coming a breath before anyone else did. One individual was going too fast, got bumped by a friend, and was careening towards the spot Luna was gliding towards. With a rough yank, Loki took hold of her and moved her out of the stranger’s path. He held her tight against the wall to prevent her from slipping and rendering his efforts naught. The stranger recovered quickly, threw them an apology, and continued on their way.

The two stood for a spell; Loki’s arms around her torso and Luna’s hands gripping his coat’s collar. Slowly and steadily, he leaned back.

“Are you alright?” He asked, a bit breathless.

“Uh-huh, yeah.” Luna moved her hands to the sides of his shoulders. “Thanks,” she whispered. He was closer than usual. Not something she was used to.

“Of course,” he whispered back as he stared into her eyes. They were full and dark from the night sky, shining in the lights from above. Again, they captured him. Inconveniently, at best, but it couldn’t be helped.

Time caught up, and Luna slid her hands down to his biceps with the sole purpose of gently pushing him off, but one touch and she stopped. The words of May Parker surfaced in her mind. Loki was indeed firm and strong by the way he held her. She knew so from her first dance with him but feeling him again like this was a whole other matter. Coupled with the intenseness of his gaze, he made her feel hot under the collar. A completely involuntary reaction. It couldn’t be helped.

Dragging herself back into reality, Luna gave his arm a tap. “We, uh, we should get going before we’re forcibly removed.”

“Oh, yes,” Loki muttered, pulling back and standing at his full height. He gestured to the ice in front of them on the path to the gate. Ever the gentleman, he allowed Luna to go first if she wished. Eager to escape the awkward situation, she took the invitation and skated off with Loki trailing behind her.

In the sitting area, they sipped on individual hot chocolates and let their minds scramble in different directions. No thought led gracefully to another. The abruptness of their proximity left no room for control. They faked it well, though. Luna gradually regained it by tapping out the beat to a song playing over the speakers.

The first thing she consciously felt was comfortable. A bit rattled from the experience, but not wishing she could get away from Loki. She didn't have to try with him, in the best way. She'd admit it was scary, for it might be too good to be true. She wondered how he was in his past. If anyone else felt like this around him. Perhaps they did. Maybe it was none of her business. No harm in imagining, though.

“You must have had a lot of friends on Asgard,” she said, snapping Loki out of whatever musing he was in.

He turned the cup around in his hand. “Why would you think something like that?”

“Because it takes no energy to hang out with you.”

Loki creased his brow. “Thank…you?” In all his years, never had he heard something like that.

Luna laughed, a little nervous. “No, no, it’s a good thing. It’s inviting, at least to people like me.” She fiddled with the plastic lid, trusting he could see what she meant. The growing grin on his face gave her a hint of what he felt.

“Well, for your sake,” he held up his half-empty cup, “I’m glad,” and tapped it gently against hers.

Cheers to someone who preferred his company. Cheers to someone he liked to be around. Cheers to his beautiful friend named after the moon.

----------

Taglist: @the-doctor-9-10 @pinkieperil @sherlockfan4life

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forduary · 6 years

Text

Forduary 2019 Week 1 - Recovery, Praise

AO3 link here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17957654

Summary:

Science owl is bullied. Crusty mackerel saves the day. Much angst, many comfort.

SLIDING INTO THE END OF FORDUARY LIKE MABEL ON A MAPLE-SYRUP SLIP-’N’-SLIDE

So I’ma do two things this year. One: All four stories are linked, like chapters in a book! Two: I. Brought. ANGST.

Trigger warning: Bullying

“Hah, he’s really squirming now!”

“Quit thrashin’ and get in there!”

“Whoa, check it out, he’s gonna fit!”

“Get off me – get off!”

Ford struggled as hard as he could, but Crampelter dragged him toward the supply closet of the science lab. His two neanderthal accomplices stood on either side of it, grinning. The closet was barely bigger than a full-length locker, its shelves stocked with microscopes and jarred mutant frogs.

Crampelter shoved him in. Ford braced a foot against a bottom shelf and pushed, but Crampelter grabbed the back of his head and slammed Ford’s skull against a shelf. Before Ford could recover, one of the troglodytes kicked at his legs. As he started to fall the closet door swung shut, hard, hitting his back and pinning him in with his legs half-collapsed beneath him. He felt an ankle give and gasped with pain.

The troglodyte laughed. “Teach him for tryin’ a build a satellite for aliens! He already is one!”

“Where’s your bodyguard now, huh, Pines?” Crampelter banged on the door. Ford was crammed in so tight he could barely breathe, and every hit on the door threatened to crack his ribs against the shelves. “You hear me, Freak? If you want out you better beg for it!”

“My thoughts exactly, unless you want me to pound your face in.”

Stan! Shouldn’t he still be at his boxing match?

Crampelter growled. “Back off, Meathead, or I’ll make that shiner the least of your problems. Although with your looks, it might actually be an improvement.”

“Where’s my brother?”

Ford didn’t have enough breath to yell. He banged his elbow against the door.

“Just a little cleanup,” Crampelter sneered. “Putting the freak with the other mutants where he belongs.”

“THAT’S IT!”

Stan yelled and there was a massive crash, like the entire stand of glass beakers had been overturned. Crampelter, Thug 1, and Thug 2 grunted and cursed, punctuating insults with loud bangs and the muffled thud of fists. Something huge and heavy fell against the side of the cabinet, jarring the door. Several frog jars toppled and a couple of them crashed over his head. Formalin and frog juice spurted over his his hair and soaked his shoulders. More jars hit his bent leg. Pain flared and Ford broke out in a cold sweat.

There was an especially nasty crack and a horrible yelp, then Stan was bellowing at the top of his lungs.

“YEAH YOU BETTER RUN, CRAMPY! I SEE YOU NEAR MY BROTHER AGAIN YOUR FACE IS GONNA GET REUNITED WITH MY FIST REAL QUICK!”

There was a second of silence, then something scraped in the door. Stan was picking the lock.

“Sixer? You ok?”

“I can’t breathe,” he whispered hoarsely. His chest was really starting to hurt. He couldn’t inflate his lungs.

“Gimme a second, almost got it.”

Ford closed his eyes and started calculating pi in his head. He’d only gotten to the sixtieth digit when the door swung open and he started to fall back. Stan caught his shoulders, but Ford tried to catch himself with his bad ankle and cried out.

“What? What? Sixer?!”

He took a shaky breath and glanced back. “Don’t worry, I – Stanley, your face!”

Stan’s face looked like someone had repeatedly bashed it with a hammer. He had shiners on both eyes, a cut on one cheek, and the other cheek was already swelling to twice its size.

Stan grinned. Which, all things considered, looked rather horrible. “You think this is bad, you should’ve seen Crampelter’ face, he looks like mincemeat! ‘Sides, mosta this is from the fight. Guess what? I won!”

“Good, that’s good,” Ford said, leaning on the closet. His ankle throbbed and his ribs ached.

Stan grabbed Ford’s arm and looped it over his shoulder. “C'mon, we gotta get you fixed up.”

“You’re one to talk.”

They had to move very carefully out of the classroom. Stan had turned it into a warzone: the beakers really had been knocked over, ceramic displays of neurons and plant cells lay shattered over the lab tables, and a few of the tables had been overturned themselves – one of them was even lodged in the ceiling.

Normally the sight of desecrated science equipment would have been deeply disturbing. Today Ford didn’t give it more than a passing glance. He just wanted to get home.

The two of them moved quietly out of the room and down the hall. At least the janitor was nowhere in sight. In unspoken agreement they bypassed the nurse’s office and headed out of the building for the side gate. They could always get ice at home, and it was just better if they could get to their rooms before Pa closed the shop for the day. The last thing Ford wanted right now was another lecture on being “a real Pines man”.

They were only a few blocks from home when Stanley finally spoke.

“Want to hang out in the Stan O’ War?”

“Maybe later, Stan.”

“I could bring you your nerd stuff. You know Ma ‘n’ Pa don’t care as long as we make it home by eight.”

“Not right now.”

Ford concentrated on moving his feet, concentrating on mathematical proofs as they went. He was pretty close to practicing Fermat’s Last Theorem, anyway.

“Uh, Sixer? What’s that gunk in your hair?”

“Formalin.”

“Like baby stuff?”

“Not formula, formalin. A solution of formaldehyde and water. From the frogs.”

“Oh. Uh, well…you make it work! Right?”

Ford looked at him.

“Yeah, okay, that was pretty bad. Listen, you know Crampelter is full of dog turd, pardon my French. Heck, the whole school is full of morons.”

“I just need some ice for my ankle.”

They’d reached their back door. Stan reached up with his free hand, got the spare key from the gutter, and let them in. Ford let go of Stan and hobbled toward the freezer.

Stan stopped him. “I’ll get it, okay? Just go upstairs and do nerd stuff.”

Ford wasn’t really in the mood to argue. He braced himself against the wall and limped into the hallway, sort of step-hopping up the stairs. He grabbed a cleanish set of clothes from the hamper on his way to the bathroom, cleaned himself off, and then made it to his room, where he collapsed on Stan’s bed. He knew Stan wouldn’t mind. He just wasn’t up to climbing the ladder at the moment. His ankle felt hot and nausea rose in his gut. He closed his eyes.

The Theorem. Just focus on the Theorem.

Something cold slapped him in the face and he yelped.

“Stan!” Ford pulled off the ice pack. “Are you trying to break my nose?”

“Tryin’ ta get your attention, sure. Move over.”

Stan shoved his way onto his bed and Ford quickly made room. Stan lay stretched out, his head on his pillow, and Ford rested his back against the wall with his legs over Stan’s stomach. Ford leaned over and put the bag of ice on his propped-up ankle.

“This too,” Stan said, tossing another ice pack at him. “For your face. You look almost as bad as me.”

“Gee, thanks. Where’s your ice pack?”

“It popped. Besides, people see me looking like this, they know not to mess with Stan Pines, Master of Punches!”

“You really need a different title.”

“Hey, I won my sixth boxing match in a row! I got all the titles!”

Ford made a sound of agreement and leaned back against the wall, closing his eyes. His head ached. He’d forgotten where he’d left off with the Theorem.

He felt Stan shift under him. “Look, Sixer, you’re smart enough to know they’re just pickin’ on you because they can. It’s how idiots like them get their kicks.”

“It’s how you get your kicks with Roger Morris.”

“He started that rumor about you, he was asking for it. Why don’t you just read a nerd book or something? Want me to get you one?” He gestured to the bookcase in the corner of the room, so laden with texts the shelves were sagging.

“No, no. I’m – I’m fine.”

Stan sat up, dumping Ford’s legs onto his lap. “You don’t want to read? Did you get body-snatched or something?”

“Would you just leave me alone?” Ford snapped. He struggled to get up, but the angle was too awkward to manage.

“Hey – ow!” Stan caught Ford’s wrist and he couldn’t squirm away. “Geez, Ford, what’s gotten into you?”

“What do you think?!” Ford burst out. “You keep telling me I’m smart, but that’s the whole problem! That’s exactly why I’m getting picked on! Because I stick out like – like my stupid sixth fingers! If I’m so smart, why haven’t I figured out a way to keep Crampelter off my back? Thanks to him I got beaten up and you look like someone stuck you in a meat grinder face-first!”

“Yeah, and I still look handsome! Eh? Eh?”

Ford jerked his hand away. “This isn’t a joke, Stanley! Being a freak is bad enough. Being a smart freak just draws a massive target on my back.”

“C’mon, Sixer, I love that you’re smart!”

He snorted. “Sure, because you get great grades sitting next to me.”

“That too! But look, you’re not the only one with a target on their back. You’ve seen how Pa looks at me. Plus Crampy and the Goon Patrol liked beating me up all the time before I got good at boxing, and I only had the regular number of fingers.”

Ford stared down at his hands. “If I could just - just hide my intellect the way I try hide my hands…”

“Then I would be the smart twin, and we both know I’d get us into way more trouble than I already do.” Stan punched Ford lightly on the arm. “Bein’ smart is part of what makes you you, Sixer. If you weren’t so smart, you wouldn’t be my nerdy book-lovin’ poindexter of a brother.”

“Gee, thanks,” Ford said drily.

“Point is, I wouldn’t change anything about you, ever. You don’t have to change just to make some morons happy, at least not around me. And I don’t feel like I hafta change myself when I’m around you, either. So what if they call us a freak or the bad twin? You’re a genius, and I’m a six-time boxing champion, and I wouldn’t trade that for anything.”

A lump rose in Ford’s throat. “I…don’t feel like I have to change, either, around you.”

“That’s what I’m sayin’!” He grinned and laid back. “You just wait. One more year a this stupid town and then we’ll be out on the open ocean. Beaches, babes, smooth sailin’, maybe a kraken or two for you and a smokin’-hot mermaid for me!”

“Stan, mermaids are reported to drown sailors.”

“Plus you’ll come up with the best treasure-hunting equipment on the planet!” He swiped a magazine off his nightstand and shoved it at Ford. “Speaking of which, I saw this amazing picture of a doohickey that can detect mermaids underwater!”

“It’s called 'sonar’, Stanley,” Ford said. He tried to sound annoyed, but a smile was tugging at his lips.

“It's called the awesomest of awesome! We’re gonna be out on the ocean for months at a time, Ford. I’ma need some hot dates. You think you can make one a those puppies?”

“Yes,” Ford said immediately. He opened the magazine, but he knew already he could make decent sonar equipment. He’d already read the entire selection on naval technology at their local library, actually, not to mention doing a good deal of extrapolation on how to use advance the current sonar capabilities. He opened the magazine.

“I knew it, I could practically build this in my sleep. But we’ll need supplies.”

Stan sat up eagerly. “Done! What supplies?”

“A sheet of metal, a blowtorch, wires, an ultrasonic sensor…”

#submission #week 1 #extra prompt: recovery #long post

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gosecretscribbles · 6 years

Text

Forduary 2019 Week 1 - Praise, Recovery

AO3 link here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17957654

Summary:

Science owl is bullied. Crusty mackerel saves the day. Much angst, many comfort.

SLIDING INTO THE END OF FORDUARY LIKE MABEL ON A MAPLE-SYRUP SLIP-’N’-SLIDE

So I’ma do two things this year. One: All four stories are linked, like chapters in a book! Two: I. Brought. ANGST.

Trigger warning: Bullying

“Hah, he's really squirming now!”

“Quit thrashin' and get in there!”

“Whoa, check it out, he's gonna fit!”

“Get off me – get off!”

Crampelter shoved him in. Ford braced a foot against a bottom shelf and pushed, but Crampelter grabbed the back of his head and slammed Ford's skull against a shelf. Before Ford could recover, one of the troglodytes kicked at his legs. As he started to fall the closet door swung shut, hard, hitting his back and pinning him in with his legs half-collapsed beneath him. He felt an ankle give and gasped with pain.

The troglodyte laughed. “Teach him for tryin’ a build a satellite for aliens! He already is one!”

“Where's your bodyguard now, huh, Pines?” Crampelter banged on the door. Ford was crammed in so tight he could barely breathe, and every hit on the door threatened to crack his ribs against the shelves. “You hear me, Freak? If you want out you better beg for it!”

“My thoughts exactly, unless you want me to pound your face in.”

Stan! Shouldn't he still be at his boxing match?

Crampelter growled. “Back off, Meathead, or I'll make that shiner the least of your problems. Although with your looks, it might actually be an improvement.”

“Where's my brother?”

Ford didn't have enough breath to yell. He banged his elbow against the door.

“Just a little cleanup,” Crampelter sneered. “Putting the freak with the other mutants where he belongs.”

“THAT'S IT!”

There was an especially nasty crack and a horrible yelp, then Stan was bellowing at the top of his lungs.

“YEAH YOU BETTER RUN, CRAMPY! I SEE YOU NEAR MY BROTHER AGAIN YOUR FACE IS GONNA GET REUNITED WITH MY FIST REAL QUICK!”

There was a second of silence, then something scraped in the door. Stan was picking the lock.

“Sixer? You ok?”

“I can't breathe,” he whispered hoarsely. His chest was really starting to hurt. He couldn't inflate his lungs.

“Gimme a second, almost got it.”

Ford closed his eyes and started calculating pi in his head. He'd only gotten to the sixtieth digit when the door swung open and he started to fall back. Stan caught his shoulders, but Ford tried to catch himself with his bad ankle and cried out.

“What? What? Sixer?!”

He took a shaky breath and glanced back. “Don't worry, I – Stanley, your face!”

Stan's face looked like someone had repeatedly bashed it with a hammer. He had shiners on both eyes, a cut on one cheek, and the other cheek was already swelling to twice its size.

Stan grinned. Which, all things considered, looked rather horrible. “You think this is bad, you should've seen Crampelter' face, he looks like mincemeat! 'Sides, mosta this is from the fight. Guess what? I won!”

“Good, that's good,” Ford said, leaning on the closet. His ankle throbbed and his ribs ached.

Stan grabbed Ford's arm and looped it over his shoulder. “C'mon, we gotta get you fixed up.”

“You're one to talk.”

Normally the sight of desecrated science equipment would have been deeply disturbing. Today Ford didn't give it more than a passing glance. He just wanted to get home.

The two of them moved quietly out of the room and down the hall. At least the janitor was nowhere in sight. In unspoken agreement they bypassed the nurse's office and headed out of the building for the side gate. They could always get ice at home, and it was just better if they could get to their rooms before Pa closed the shop for the day. The last thing Ford wanted right now was another lecture on being “a real Pines man”.

They were only a few blocks from home when Stanley finally spoke.

“Want to hang out in the Stan O' War?”

“Maybe later, Stan.”

“I could bring you your nerd stuff. You know Ma 'n' Pa don't care as long as we make it home by eight.”

“Not right now.”

Ford concentrated on moving his feet, concentrating on mathematical proofs as they went. He was pretty close to practicing Fermat's Last Theorem, anyway.

“Uh, Sixer? What's that gunk in your hair?”

“Formalin.”

“Like baby stuff?”

“Not formula, formalin. A solution of formaldehyde and water. From the frogs.”

“Oh. Uh, well...you make it work! Right?”

Ford looked at him.

“Yeah, okay, that was pretty bad. Listen, you know Crampelter is full of dog turd, pardon my French. Heck, the whole school is full of morons.”

“I just need some ice for my ankle.”

They'd reached their back door. Stan reached up with his free hand, got the spare key from the gutter, and let them in. Ford let go of Stan and hobbled toward the freezer.

Stan stopped him. “I'll get it, okay? Just go upstairs and do nerd stuff.”

Ford wasn't really in the mood to argue. He braced himself against the wall and limped into the hallway, sort of step-hopping up the stairs. He grabbed a cleanish set of clothes from the hamper on his way to the bathroom, cleaned himself off, and then made it to his room, where he collapsed on Stan's bed. He knew Stan wouldn't mind. He just wasn't up to climbing the ladder at the moment. His ankle felt hot and nausea rose in his gut. He closed his eyes.

The Theorem. Just focus on the Theorem.

Something cold slapped him in the face and he yelped.

“Stan!” Ford pulled off the ice pack. “Are you trying to break my nose?”

“Tryin' ta get your attention, sure. Move over.”

Stan shoved his way onto his bed and Ford quickly made room. Stan lay stretched out, his head on his pillow, and Ford rested his back against the wall with his legs over Stan's stomach. Ford leaned over and put the bag of ice on his propped-up ankle.

“This too,” Stan said, tossing another ice pack at him. “For your face. You look almost as bad as me.”

“Gee, thanks. Where's your ice pack?”

“It popped. Besides, people see me looking like this, they know not to mess with Stan Pines, Master of Punches!”

“You really need a different title.”

“Hey, I won my sixth boxing match in a row! I got all the titles!”

Ford made a sound of agreement and leaned back against the wall, closing his eyes. His head ached. He'd forgotten where he'd left off with the Theorem.

He felt Stan shift under him. “Look, Sixer, you’re smart enough to know they’re just pickin' on you because they can. It’s how idiots like them get their kicks.”

“It's how you get your kicks with Roger Morris.”

“He started that rumor about you, he was asking for it. Why don't you just read a nerd book or something? Want me to get you one?” He gestured to the bookcase in the corner of the room, so laden with texts the shelves were sagging.

“No, no. I’m – I'm fine.”

Stan sat up, dumping Ford's legs onto his lap. “You don't want to read? Did you get body-snatched or something?”

“Would you just leave me alone?” Ford snapped. He struggled to get up, but the angle was too awkward to manage.

“Hey – ow!” Stan caught Ford's wrist and he couldn't squirm away. “Geez, Ford, what's gotten into you?”

“What do you think?!” Ford burst out. “You keep telling me I'm smart, but that's the whole problem! That's exactly why I'm getting picked on! Because I stick out like – like my stupid sixth fingers! If I'm so smart, why haven't I figured out a way to keep Crampelter off my back? Thanks to him I got beaten up and you look like someone stuck you in a meat grinder face-first!”

“Yeah, and I still look handsome! Eh? Eh?”

Ford jerked his hand away. “This isn’t a joke, Stanley! Being a freak is bad enough. Being a smart freak just draws a massive target on my back.”

“C’mon, Sixer, I love that you’re smart!”

He snorted. “Sure, because you get great grades sitting next to me.”

Ford stared down at his hands. “If I could just - just hide my intellect the way I try hide my hands…”

“Then I would be the smart twin, and we both know I'd get us into way more trouble than I already do.” Stan punched Ford lightly on the arm. “Bein' smart is part of what makes you you, Sixer. If you weren't so smart, you wouldn't be my nerdy book-lovin' poindexter of a brother.”

“Gee, thanks,” Ford said drily.

“Point is, I wouldn't change anything about you, ever. You don’t have to change just to make some morons happy, at least not around me. And I don’t feel like I hafta change myself when I’m around you, either. So what if they call us a freak or the bad twin? You’re a genius, and I’m a six-time boxing champion, and I wouldn’t trade that for anything.”

A lump rose in Ford's throat. “I...don’t feel like I have to change, either, around you.”

“That's what I'm sayin'!” He grinned and laid back. “You just wait. One more year a this stupid town and then we’ll be out on the open ocean. Beaches, babes, smooth sailin', maybe a kraken or two for you and a smokin'-hot mermaid for me!”

“Stan, mermaids are reported to drown sailors.”

“Plus you'll come up with the best treasure-hunting equipment on the planet!” He swiped a magazine off his nightstand and shoved it at Ford. “Speaking of which, I saw this amazing picture of a doohickey that can detect mermaids underwater!”

“It's called 'sonar', Stanley,” Ford said. He tried to sound annoyed, but a smile was tugging at his lips.

“It's called the awesomest of awesome! We’re gonna be out on the ocean for months at a time, Ford. I’ma need some hot dates. You think you can make one a those puppies?”

“Yes,” Ford said immediately. He opened the magazine, but he knew already he could make decent sonar equipment. He'd already read the entire selection on naval technology at their local library, actually, not to mention doing a good deal of extrapolation on how to use advance the current sonar capabilities. He opened the magazine.

“I knew it, I could practically build this in my sleep. But we'll need supplies.”

Stan sat up eagerly. “Done! What supplies?”

“A sheet of metal, a blowtorch, wires, an ultrasonic sensor...”

#forduary 2019 #forduary 2019 week 1 #week 1 #praise #recovery #stan pines #stanley pines #stanford pines #ford pines #stan #ford #sixer #crampelter #bullying #comfort

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thatsnotwhoifuckingam · 6 years

Link

Chapters: 1/? Fandom: Supernatural Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Castiel (Supernatural)/You Characters: Castiel, Castiel (Supernatural), Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester Additional Tags: Human Castiel, Human Castiel in the Bunker, Nearly Human Castiel, Castiel Deals With Human Emotions, hunter reader, Castiel Learns to be Human Series: Part 1 of Being Human Summary:

The Reader has been living with Dean, Sam, and Cas in the bunker since her mother's untimely death during a hunt. She doesn't need to stay there but she's proven useful and has developed a mild crush on a mostly human Castiel. He's awkward and easing into the new feelings he's having and the way his life is changed. Sam and Dean have decided a relationship may be just what Cas needs, but is it what she and Cas need?

Y/N had been living in the bunker with the Winchesters for several months, since her mother died on a hunting trip with them. Hunter’s took care of their own, she knew, but she just felt like a burden. She was 18 now, old enough to take care of herself but hesitant to leave and they hadn’t acted as if she should though Dean sometimes behaved like he didn’t appreciate her presence. She hunted with them and dispatched calls at times when they were separated. Now that Cas was here full time, she was really conflicted. Maybe it wasn’t that they needed her, maybe she needed them and that was making her uneasy. The attraction she was feeling toward Cas wasn’t exactly helping things.

Castiel had been sulking around for days, grumbling to himself and tossing sarcastic barbs at anyone who had the nerve to speak to him. Sam and Dean had left him alone for the most part, tired of being verbally assaulted and unsure of how to handle him. Y/N could hear him coming through the living room toward the kitchen as she poured herself a cup of coffee.

“Morning Cas.” She mumbled, not even turning around to see him come in. The rhythm of his footfall was enough to make her sure it was him. She’d subconsciously memorized that sound a long time ago though it had changed just slightly a couple months ago when he’d lost most of his grace. Being almost human had taken its toll but no one could quite get through to him to help, not that they knew how.

“Is there any more coffee or did you drink it all?” He dropped into a chair at the table and rubbed irritably at his scalp. Y/N turned abruptly, her eyebrow cocked in mock irritation.

“Oh, I’m terribly sorry. Was I supposed to be serving his majesty coffee this morning? I had no idea. Would you like cream and sugar or are you taking it black like your mood?” She grabbed a mug down from the shelf and began to pour.

“I’ll take it black, please.” He chuckled under his breath at her sarcasm, something he’d enjoying lately. Her sharp wit was refreshing and always seemed to pry him from his moodiness.

Y/N smirked to herself realizing she’d gotten a chuckle out of him. She loved his little laughs, they were one of the many perks of his being more human, though there was a bit of guilt attached to feeling that way. He was really struggling and she wished she could make it easier on him.

Y/N turned to make her way to the table but slid as her sock slipped across the linoleum. The hot coffee sloshed out of the cup and over her forearm. Her pained yelp thrust Cas from his seat to grab the mug from her so he could help her to the sink. Her grey eyes welled as the burn began to sting.

“Are you alright? I don’t know what to do - I can’t - ” the words came in a panicked rush. He swallowed thickly and groaned his frustration.

“Cas, it’s just a burn, I’ll be fine. It would have been silly for you to heal something so minor even if you were at full power.” She turned on the cold water and slipped her forearm under the soothing stream, letting out a relieved sigh.

“I know, I just feel so - useless.” Leaning his back against the counter, he sipped from the dripping mug, swearing when he burned his tongue. He set the mug down on the counter a little harder than necessary and fanned at his wounded mouth.

“Watch out, it’s hot.” Y/N side eyed him and giggled to herself. Cas couldn’t help but laugh with her. He’d grown fond of Y/N. He felt warm when she was around, distracted. He moved to the freezer and pulled out an ice tray, tossed a few cubes into a plastic bag and banged it on the counter to break them up. Pulling a shard from the bag, he popped it into his mouth and then wrapped a towel around the rest and turned off the sink.

“Here, put this on it. Sam said it helped when he burned his hand on the oven last week.” His fingers took her arm gingerly as he placed the ice pack against her raw skin. Y/N sucked the air between her teeth in pain and he immediately began apologizing.

“I’m sorry, Y/N, I can’t seem to do anything right.” The slam of the freezer door punctuated his irritation.

“No, Cas, that’s perfect. Really, you did good. It just takes a second to start working.” She smiled reassuringly at him. Her full cheeks reddened with the strain of ignoring the sting.

When she shut the door behind her she breathed a sigh of relief though she felt the absence of Cas’ touch more than she wanted to admit. The intensity of his gaze had started that familiar pounding in her heart. She always seemed to fall for the ones who were utterly unattainable and he was definitely out of her reach. Cas would never go for someone like her if he even was able to care for someone at all. Who knew how deep his humanity even ran?

Feeling like she just needed to have a good cry she turned on her favorite sappy chick flick and proceeded to mope. The guys usually left her alone when she was in her room and especially if she was in a mood but she wasn’t five minutes into it before there was a knock on her door.

“Hey, it’s Sam, can I come in?”

“Yeah, yeah, come in.” she tried to hide the irritation in her voice but wasn’t really successful.

Sam popped his head in and gave her a once over.

“You sure? You don’t sound like you want company.” He waited and eyed the TV with apprehension but she couldn’t tell Sam no.

“Get in here and shut the door before Dean shows up too.” Y/N winced and adjusted the ice again as Sam plopped down on the corner of the bed, his long legs folded beneath him and immediately jumped into what he needed.

“What the hell did you do to Cas? He’s worse than normal today and when I asked all I got was a grumble about you and coffee and then he stomped up the stairs and slammed the door.” His hazel eyes rolled in frustration before noticed her nibbling her lip in pain.

“I’m fine, thanks for asking. As far as grumpus is concerned, I didn’t do anything. He should be feeling like the savior of the world as far as I’m concerned. He made me an ice pack after I spilled his coffee on my own freaking arm and I was consoling him the whole damn time.” The tears started to well again as she ranted, frustration making her emotional and she hated that more than anything.

Sam stared back at her, mouth agape, not sure how to respond. “Whoa, I’m just not sure what to do for him, that’s all. He’s been pretty out of control lately. Maybe we need to talk to him.”

“I don’t know Sam, This morning I got him to laugh a couple times but I guess he sunk down into his mood again when I left or something happened that I don’t know about. I’ve been trying to keep my distance but I can’t help but worry about him.” She wiped the tears that she couldn’t hold back and looked away. The knowing look on Sam’s face made her feel exposed and she didn’t want anyone knowing about a pointless crush on Cas.

The bed frame creaked slightly as Sam took his cue to leave. “Dean and I will talk to him. You don’t have to have anything to do with it. Then, if he gets super pissed, at least he won’t kill one of us.” She smiled up at him, glad for the break in the tension. Sam let himself out and Y/N curled up a little tighter in the chair, letting the tears overwhelm her until she slept.

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His phone began to vibrate in his pocket, Cas sighed to himself as he answered Dean’s call.

“Hello Dean.”

“Cas? Where are you?” Dean seemed annoyed but Cas couldn’t be bothered to care.

“I went for a walk Dean, is that a crime now?” He could hear the soft groan on the other end of the line and realized he was on speaker. “Hello Sam.”

“Cas, we need to talk.” Dean’s tone didn’t really allow for him to say no so he begrudgingly agreed to meet them in the kitchen and dropped the call.

When he returned, he slipped into the same chair he’d sat in earlier and clasped his hands on the table. “What’s wrong? You two look like you’re preparing for battle.” Cas eyed them cautiously as Sam nodded at Dean with a look that said, ‘you first’.

Dean cleared his throat and shifted uneasily in his chair. “Cas, buddy, you’ve been really - angry lately and - well - it’s annoying the hell out of everyone around you.” Cas glared in response as Sam interrupted Dean’s bumbled attempt.

“What Dean’s trying and failing to say is, it’s getting pretty tense around here and we’re not sure how to help. What’s going on? Help us, help you…” a weak laugh cut off Sam’s words as Cas scrubbed his face with his hands.

“I don’t know, ok, I don’t know! I’m so frustrated and just….” he growled his inability to articulate his feelings. “Being human is - I don’t like it.”

“You know, maybe we should make another attempt at getting him laid.” Dean smirked at Sam as Y/N walked into the room and huffed.

“Not everything is solved with sex, Dean.” she mumbled as she walked into the room, tossing the ice bag aside and hung up the towel. She leaned against the sink and glared at the back of his head in frustration. The idea of Cas spending the night with some random Dean found in a bar got her hackles up and she couldn’t stop herself from snapping at him.

“Everyone is pissy today! What do you think we should do smartass because I’m out of - ideas.” He spun to look at her as he bellowed and softened when he saw her glare. He cocked a questioning eyebrow before turning back around to look at Cas. Y/N opened her mouth to fire back at Dean in frustration but stopped when Cas moved to speak.

His brow furrowed as he stood and walked to the kitchen doorway. Stopping just short of leaving the room he turned locking his deep blue eyes with her grey ones. He nibbled his lip nervously for just a second before speaking softly to Y/N as if she was the only one in the room. “When and if that happens, it won’t be with some woman I don’t know. It doesn’t seem to be how I’m wired, from what I can tell. I would want it to be someone I cared about. That much is important to me, ok?”

She nodded and looked away as her cheeks burned a crimson flame all the way to her chest. Cas turned and headed for his room. Grabbing a bottle of water out of the fridge on her way, Y/N headed out of the kitchen quickly not making eye contact with either of the Winchesters. She just wanted to get back to her room so she could curl herself around the look that he’d just given her. She needed to hold it close and let it linger a while. It almost felt like hope, if she’d let her head go there.

Sam and Dean had watched the exchange without making a sound. As soon as Y/N was out of earshot Dean grinned and turned to face Sam who was still looking a little shell shocked.

“Unless I’m mistaken, I think someone’s developed a bit of a crush.” Dean’s mischievous grin was contagious as Sam caught on to his line of thinking.

“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” the younger brother whispered.

“Yep.” Dean nodded, then stopped and questioned,”wait, what are we thinking?”

“Jesus, Dean.” Sam rolled his eyes and proceeded to bring Dean in on his plan to get these two together.

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Y/N was in the library flipping the worn pages of an old lore book when Cas found her. Her auburn waves were wound on top of her head with a couple pencils shoved through to hold it. Most of it, anyway, it was pretty unruly and endlessly frustrating. Her knee bounced under the table as she concentrated on her research while twirling a piece of it around and around a finger. His eyes drug up the back of her neck, taking in the softness and he wondered how her skin might feel against his fingertips. Would she smell like the soap she used in the shower or the perfume she sometimes wore? His mind’s wandering shocked him. He rubbed at his unruly hair and cleared his throat to announce himself.

“Hello Y/N.” His voice sounded odd to him, deeper. He cleared his throat again.

The lore book dropped with a thud when he spoke. She tried to look relaxed but the way her heart pounded was anything but.

“Oh hey Cas, what’s up?” she stared a bit at him as he crossed the room in what was obviously a pair of Dean’s jeans and a flannel shirt that looked similar to one of Sam’s. “And what are you wearing?”

He shrugged and pulled at the waist band of the jeans. They looked to be a tad too tight in more than one area. Y/N had to fight to avert her eyes.

“Sam and Dean think I should try finding my own style. I don’t think they approve of my vessel’s clothes. I guess I should admit I seem to notice the weight of them more than I used to and they do seem a bit warm. Do you think you could help me? Dean thought you’d know what to do.” He looked nervous and unsure like a kid. She stood and walked over to him to adjust his slightly cock-eyed collar.

“I don’t know why they think I know anything about men’s clothes. Sometimes I think they forget I have breasts.” she groused under her breath.

“I don’t know how that would be possible.” he quipped, painfully aware of how close she was and realizing that the scent in the air was neither the soap from the shower or the perfume. She smelled of something clean and floral, something new.

Y/N laughed and crossed her arms across her chest without thinking. “Ok mister, you made your point. You know I’ll help you with whatever you need. When do you want to go shopping? I don’t really have anything going on today but I can make time anytime.”

She stopped talking abruptly when she realized she was rambling and a bit overeager. The idea of extended time alone with Cas was making her insides puddle into a nervous gooey mess. She either loved Dean for this or wanted him dead but she couldn’t tell which.

His nostrils flared slightly as he took in one more whiff of whatever that smell was on her. He liked it. A lot.

“Cas?” Y/Ns eyes widened in concern as Castiel took a step back and apologized.

“I’m sorry, um...I’m ready whenever you are. Sam and Dean left, they said they didn’t need us for the case they’re working on.” He fidgeted with his sleeve and backed up a little more.

“Ok, just let me grab my purse. You can drive, right?”

He nodded and headed for the door.

“Hey Cas, put your own clothes back on, those pants look a bit uncomfortable.” Her face flamed as he covered his zipper and hurried from the room. She stifled a laugh as she let her gaze linger on the curve of his rump before she grabbed her things.

Not an hour later they walked in to a local clothing store chain. Cas had left the flannel and jeans behind in favor of his dress shirt, tie, and pants. The sleeves were rolled to the elbow and Y/N found herself a bit distracted with his forearms. Since when did she have a forearm fetish?

He looked around completely overwhelmed by the choices and wasn’t sure where to go next.

“I have no idea what to do first.” His eyes were huge and bright. The idea that he could make his own choices was growing on him. Something so simple made him feel less trapped and he was grateful.

“Why don't you just look around and see if anything appeals to you. I’ll see if I can find someone to measure you for pants. I’m pretty sure shirts would be a large.” She turned to find a salesperson as he roamed around looking at the oddly posed mannequins and fingering different fabrics.

When Y/N returned, beautiful blonde saleswoman in tow, Cas had an armload of shirts. His eyes were wide with excitement and he grinned like a child when he handed the pile to her. The saleswoman laughed and smiled warmly as she took Castiel’s hand. She was obnoxious and flirty if you asked Y/N, but they just needed a measurement and then hopefully she’d leave them alone.

She followed them to the fitting room area and dropped the stack of t-shirts and hoodies onto a bench in a small room in the corner. The saleswoman, who’s name was Tammy apparently, giggled and cooed at him as she stripped him of his tie and began to unbutton his shirt. Y/N huffed and objected a bit louder than she intended.

“Is THAT really necessary? I thought measurements could be taken with clothes on ” She tilted her head toward the fitting room causing her wild tresses to come undone, pencils askew and sliding down the back of her hair. Her face flamed.

Cas looked at her with relief in his eyes as he buttoned his shirt back up. Y/N fussed at her hair and eventually gave up and let it lay. Tammy eyed her with jugement written all over her face.

“I apologize honey, I didn’t know you all were together.” The words left her mouth but it was obvious she didn’t believe it for a second. Y/N bristled. Cas opened his mouth to speak but Y/N jumped in.

“I’m not...he’s not…” Y/N sighed. “Just measure him please.” After taking and retaking the measurements “just to be sure” Cas headed for the fitting room to start trying on shirts. Tammy wrote down his size on a slip of paper and tucked it into his hand before she walked away. She threw a smirk at Y/N as she passed her, the smell of her perfume leaving a cloud in her wake.

Y/N called to Cas from outside the curtain, “Hey, what size did she say? I’ll go grab some pants for you to try on.” The fitting room curtain slid open abruptly, he stood in his white boxers and socks and nothing else with a look of total confusion on his face. Y/N wasn’t sure where to put her eyes but back in her head might have been a good start. She locked on to his face, willing herself not to look any lower.

“She gave me her phone number.” He mumbled. “Why would she do that? And why does she smell like a morgue?”

“She likes you, Cas. Hasn’t anyone ever flirted with you before?” Poor guy was clueless but at least he thought she smelled like death. “Just give me the paper Cas, I’ll go get some jeans.”

Cas passed the paper to Y/N and slid the curtain closed as he glanced at the pile of t-shirts and hoodies.. Hurrying off to grab pants for him, y/n fought the urge to ball up the paper in her fist. That woman would eat him alive and it made her feel ill to think about Cas spending even one unsupervised moment with her. If she was honest, she didn’t like the idea of him with anyone really. She shook off the thought and grabbed up a couple different styles before heading back to the sea of dressing room curtains.

He couldn’t help but to have noticed her reaction to his state of undress so he decided to be more careful when he came out of the dressing room the next time. Poking his head out, he took the pile of denim from Y/N and pulled on the first pair. When he finally stepped out of the dressing room in a pair of black skinny jeans and a black hoodie looking really uncomfortable, she couldn’t help but laugh.

“What?!” He grinned at her as he turned to show her the back of the sweatshirt, emblazoned with a ridiculous looking wolf. She doubled over in peals of laughter at how silly he looked and he just stood there smirking at her waiting for her to stop.

“I’m so sorry, I wasn’t ready for that.” she wiped tears as she plopped down onto the chair in the waiting area. “If you love it you should get it. Don’t worry about what anyone thinks, especially me, this is your decision.”

He pulled it over his head with a chuckle, the shirt underneath rucking up in the process. Y/N’s eyes couldn’t help but watch his muscles move as he tossed it in her direction. “I just wanted you to laugh..” he smirked as he turned to look in the mirror.

The dark gray t-shirt underneath stretched just right across the back of his shoulders and rippled when he pulled at the legs of his jeans. “I don’t think I like these pants. They’re too...small. My undergarments are all bunched.” She giggled as he danced around trying to straighten himself out. She definitely wasn’t going to admit how much she liked them.

“Yeah, I’m not so sure you’re a skinny jeans kind of guy. Why don’t you go try the other pair on, I think you’ll like them better.” He returned a couple minutes later in a pair of relaxed dark wash Jeans that fit him like a glove, a soft, distressed navy blue t-shirt and a brown belt that looked equally worn. His hair was mussed and standing in all directions and Y/N was breathless.

“You look...amazing.” She fumbled the ridiculous hoodie he’d lobbed at her in her haste to get to her feet. “How do you feel?”

He smiled, relaxed and warm, a genuinely happy smile. “Good. Really good.” he breathed as he turned to look in the mirror again.

“Alright then, grab what you want and I’ll pick up a couple more pairs of those jeans on our way to the check out.” Y/N grabbed for her purse as she headed back the shelves. Cas reached for her as she rushed to get by him and she stopped without turning to face him. Redness creeping back up her neck for what felt like the millionth time today.

“Thank you Y/N. I didn’t know how much I needed this.” She smiled her response and headed for the shelves trying to swallow the lump in her throat. Not falling for Cas was going to be harder than she thought.

“Hey, when you’re ready, why don’t you go get the car and I’ll check out and meet you outside.” He nodded his agreement and retreated to change into his clothes.

Y/N grabbed a couple pairs of linen pajama pants for him and some boxer briefs. Maybe he wouldn’t like them but it could be more comfortable. That and she couldn’t stop herself from imagining him in them. Her face was bright red when she reached the cashier. Worrying her lip, she fussed with her purse, trying to think of anything but Cas. The last thing she needed was to get back in the car looking like this.

By the time she made her way outside, Cas was waiting at the curb, engine running. She popped open the door and sat down trying not to look his direction. His gaze was lingering on her and traffic was backing up behind him.

“Cas?” Y/N gave him a questioning look and motioned to the street ahead of them.

“Are you ok?” His brow furrowed as he pulled into traffic. “Did that woman treat you badly again? She was really unpleasant.”

“No, I’m fine.” The thought that her cheeks were giving her away only made them burn brighter and further down her neck.

“Y/N are you sure? You’re quite red. Are you not feeling well?” She sighed as he continued to question her.

“I’m ok Cas, I just get flushed when I’m nervous or embarrassed.” Immediately after the words left her lips she regretted them.

“Are you nervous? Does shopping make you nervous?” He was so confused and Y/N couldn’t help but chuckle at how intense he was being.

“I just bought you underwear, Cas, OK? It feels a little weird to me but I figured they may be more comfortable than the kind you wear.” His frown deepened slightly but that didn’t stop the questioning that Y/N hoped would just die.

“You don’t like my underwear?” His face looked a bit hurt, like she’d attacked him personally.

“NO! Oh, Cas, no. They’re perfectly nice. I really just thought these maybe wouldn’t bunch up but, what do I know? I’m just guessing.” They sat in silence until they got back home. Cas lost in thought and Y/N regretting her life choices.

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Y/N had hidden in her room after dinner. She was still kind of embarrassed and needed to have some peace and quiet so she could relax and maybe even sleep. She’d just gotten undressed and put on a tank top and panties when there was a soft knock on her door.

“One sec!” she called as she scrambled into the bed and covered herself with her comforter. Sitting up against the headboard, she felt semi-presentable. “Ok, come in…” she yelled again.

The door popped open and there stood Cas, shirtless in a pair of blue low slung pajama pants. He took a couple steps into the room and then stopped abruptly. Y/N’s hair hung down her back, her eyes were wide and slightly more blue than gray, and that familiar pink blush had begun creeping up her neck. Cas suddenly felt self-conscious, wondering if Sam had been right to send him into her room. He scrubbed at his hair with his right hand and looked away.

“Y/N, I...um...I just wanted to thank you for the pajamas. They’re really nice and I think you were right about the underwear too.” He put a hand to his waist as if he were going to show her and she interrupted him.

“OH, no, no. You don’t have to show me, I believe you.” She would love to see but not for the reasons he was thinking.

“Oh no, I don’t have them on now, it’s bedtime.” As if at the same time, they both realized what he was saying and Y/N bit at her lip in an effort to control her groan.

“Um, well, you’re welcome Cas. I’m here to help, any time, just ask.” She was torn between begging him to take those pants off and climb into bed and telling him to get the hell out so she could...sleep?

“I should be going, it’s getting late. G’night Y/N.” His soft smile stole her breath for just a moment before she found the words she needed.

“Night Cas, sleep well.” The door shut entirely too soon and she was left to sit with her own thoughts. The idea of Cas in her room, half naked was overwhelming. She slid under the covers further and let her hands wander everywhere that she wanted his hands to wander. She fought back each moan but when her body closed in on release she couldn’t help but let his name fall from her lips.

Cas stood in the hallway outside her door, his hands pressed to the front of his pants as he debated walking back through her door. He could hear her gasps. He was naive but not stupid, he’d seen enough of Dean’s porn to know what was going on in there. When he heard his own name, he shuddered and headed for his own room. He didn’t have the nerve to interrupt her but he had some very human needs to take care of too.

#fanfic #castiel x reader #Supernatural #Human Cas

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arrghigiveup · 7 years

Text

I love how we've been getting all these comments on the "greatest prank Fleury's ever played" and they're somehow always different:

When Tom Kuhnhackl was a rookie during the 2015-16 season, he noticed Fleury leave the Penguins' practice facility more quickly than normal but didn't really think too much of it.

His mistake.

Turns out Fleury had swiped Kuhnhackl's car keys, attached a few liquid chalk markers to his vehicle and parked it in front of where the autograph seekers gather and wait for players to leave the parking lot.

"Every single fan there signed my car," Kuhnhackl said, shaking his head. "I couldn't see out of any of the windows."

"Thank God there's a GetGo with a car wash down the road. It only took me a minute to get there, but I remember driving with my head out the window, trying to figure out where I'm going."

The legacy Fleury left in Pittsburgh involves equal parts pranks and good deeds done.

Bryan Rust remembers the time Fleury hung his clothes from the rafters at PPG Paints Arena, while former backup Jeff Zatkoff loves to tell the story of the time Fleury changed the labels on the hairspray and deodorant cans.

Bullano said Fleury once got Evgeni Malkin good when, after Malkin bought a new sports car, Fleury attached pop cans in hard-to-see places so it sounded like there was something seriously wrong.

"He's one of the funniest guys I've ever met," Kuhnhackl said. "A great character guy."

[source]

[img source]

(more under the cut)

During the AMA, Schultz was asked by a fan (Reddit User McCowan-) if he was part of a prank war within the team and what was the best prank that happened to him.

Schultz responded with a wonderful story about being pranked by Fleury shortly after being traded to the Penguins.

"I'm not a part of any prank war. I try to stay away from that stuff so it doesn't happen to me. The best prank that happened to me was right when I got here, my first or second practice. I go out for practice and all my street clothes are hanging up in the rafters thanks to Flower. I would say that was a good one."

[source]

[img source]

In addition to a decorated résumé—he has won more Stanley Cups (three) than the rest of Vegas’s roster combined (zero), and his 115 playoff games outpace any teammate by 35—this joie de vivre made Fleury perfectly suited for an expansion franchise. If the Golden Knights were indeed destined for a rocky maiden voyage, might as well have someone cracking jokes in the galley. (Or performing Fleury’s favorite prank by ducking under table cloths and dumping pasta sauce onto sneakers; rumored victims of the daring “shoe check” include NBC Sports announcer Pierre McGuire in a Philadelphia steak house and actor David Spade over dinner at Penguins owner Ron Burkle’s Beverly Hills mansion.)

[...]

Fleury is again sprawling, pokechecking and cart-wheeling as much as ever. His goals against average (1.77) and save percentage (.942) both rank second league-wide. “He’s a great leader,” Marchessault says. “It’s been 14 years, and he acts like he’s here [in the NHL] for two months.” Pranks were shelved while he healed, but Fleury is coming around there too. Returning to his hotel room during a recent road trip, Marchessault discovered water leaking onto the bathroom floor. Someone had sneaked inside and unscrewed the toilet pipes.

[source]

Crosby on his favorite Fleury prank: "He got stink bombs... They reek. He got at least 4-5 guys' hotel rooms with those. He found a way to pretty much evacuate a floor of the hotel with those stink bombs. He had so many. He kept it loose. There was something like that every day."

[source]

IAN COLE: “We were in L.A. last year. A large group of us went to dinner, and maybe six of us started to walk home, six of us wanted to go somewhere else. [Fleury] was in the group of six that walked home, and they were walkig by a skating rink, an outdoor skating rink. He went and rented some skates, kind of stiff-legged around the ice. Then went really fast, full-speed over the wall, tumbled over the wall and dropped like three feet to the ground, just to see what the security guards would do. They all come flying over, diving over the boards to make sure he’s OK. The other five guys are standing there just cracking up. Got a video of it, showed the boys. It was one of the funnier things I’ve seen, the security guards’ reactions. These high-school kids freaking out thinking somebody killed themselves on their outdoor rink in Santa Monica. It was pretty funny. He’s a character.”

[source]

youtube

[vid source]

Plenty of other prankster personalities have preceded Fleury. His first NHL roommate was current Montreal GM Marc Bergevin, a luminary in the field of hijinx. But few possess greater guile or wider diversity than Fleury. Over the years, his greatest practical jokes include:

Filling towels with shaving cream.

Nailing shoes to locker stalls.

Tying Coke cans to the bottom of Penguins center Evgeni Malkin’s new Porsche.

Stuffing Pittsburgh strength coach Mike Kadar’s car with packing peanuts.

Drenching teammates’ clothes in the shower and sticking them in the freezer.

Taping the spray button on a deodorant can, then lobbing that can into an occupied bathroom stall like a grenade. “Not ideal when you’re taking a No. 2,” says Devils assistant coach Alain Nasreddine, who played in Pittsburgh for bits of three seasons.

Hanging new players’ clothes from arena rafters. “If you know the rink security guys,” former Penguins forward Eric Fehr says, “you can accomplish quite a bit.”

[source]

Just. I love him so much.

Bonus #1:

Ok...can’t make this up. 15 minutes before he takes the ice a very emotional game, Marc-Andre just snuck up behind me and SMACKED me in the back of the head!!!! Different jersey...same man (...jerk.) -DP

[source]

Bonus #2:

Fleury on if he will prank his old teammates: "I had one in Vegas. I laughed. I can’t say it though, it’s not appropriate. Nothing so far. They should be out of their locker room now right? We’ll see." -SK

[source]

Bonus #3: Not a prank, but a great story all the same

I only spoke with Marc Andre Fleury three times during his tenure with the Penguins. Spending most of my time on the 7th floor while he rarely left the 1st didn’t afford me many chances beyond those few. But we had a funny connection that I can now share with you.

Starting in my first season anytime I introduced the team to the ice, Marc would without fail run down the runway. It took me half a season to realize he was timing his skate hitting the ice with when I said “Penguins”. To be certain, I tested him over two games. I varied my delivery. He changed his pace. Without fail, he nailed it each time.

Once I was certain, I no longer tested. In fact I took great pains to make sure we timed it without him having to kill himself. If we missed for some reason and he had a poor start I would blame myself.

By my rough estimate of four times a game over nine seasons, Marc Andre Fleury and I were in sync a little shy of 900 times.

He and I never once spoke of it. I will miss it greatly.

~Ryan Mill, Penguins public address announcer

[Source: 1, 2 and you can see a video of it happening here]

#hockey #Marc Andre Fleury #Pittsburgh Penguins #Vegas Golden Knights

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im-the-king-of-the-ocean · 6 years

Note

For the pride month thing: could you do one with one of the kids accidentally outing themselves to the trolls only to find out troll culture is 100% supportive.

(since I was allowed to choose kid and label for this one, I went with demisexual Toby)

(Un)Certainty

There were certain things, certain truths, known throughout the Arcadia High student body. What the various cliques and friend groups were. What passing gossip was popularly spoken of. What was only whispered when it didn’t seem like anyone was listening. Where to find the ice cream sandwiches in the cafeteria’s freezer. How to get there when none of the faculty was looking. There were some things that always remained the same. Other things, fluctuated on a weekly basis.

A prank involving the school’s mole costume that got its regular wearer temporarily suspended (through the next game) from wearing it would be forgotten after a few days. But an ongoing, clearly evident feud between two best friends who everyone knew had been close since their diaper days? Talked about for the entire week while it lasted. Mostly on the grounds of curiosity of what exactly had caused such a rift. Well, that, and it was a slow period for gossip. Even Mary Wang hadn’t been able to get a good scoop anywhere. The kids needed to talk about something.

Toby wished they’d all just go back to ignoring him (and Jim) already.

No, he wasn’t avoiding Jim. He was avoiding what Jim wanted to talk about. Jim just didn’t get It. Get how bad this was. Nobody tried to say Jim’s sexuality was something he was making up or that it didn’t really exist. Not in the same ways they talked about Toby’s demisexuality. That it was just normal.

Look, Toby had tried to be normal. He’d tried for years, even before high school when things really set in with crushes (or lack thereof), figuring out the whole “dating” thing, and all that. He’d watched as his classmates stumbled through their first romances and relationships. Witnessed Jim’s crushes and failed attempts to talk to those he had crushes on. Toby had wondered when Those Feelings would set in for him. They never did. Not really. He just didn’t feel that way about anyone.

And he couldn’t really imagine himself with Those Feelings for anyone either. Not unless he already knew them rather well (cause appearances and first impressions really wasn’t enough to go on with that kind of thing). Toby knew he would like to be in love, but he wanted there be to be a deeper feeling. One you couldn’t just have with someone you didn’t really know and then happened to get a crush on anyway. An emotional connection, he realized at some point, was the missing piece he’d been looking for.

It took Toby a while to find the word demisexual, but when he did, he realized it fit.

For a while, it didn’t matter that no one else really got It or accepted him. Except Jim, because Jim was, well, Jim. The idea that Toby’s best friend would leave him over his sexuality was unimaginable. Jim had been the first person Toby texted when he found his label and, so far, the only one to celebrate outright with him at its discovery. As long as he had Jim, everything would be fine. Awesome sauce, even.

And then the trolls had found out.

Toby and Jim had been relaxing in Blinky’s library after a particularly rigorous training session. Joking around. The usual. Since they were alone and safe, they’d started joking about the lack of straightness between them.

And then Blinky had walked in.

Right as Toby was saying something about demisexuality.

Blinky had asked what that was.

Toby had bolted.

He hadn’t been back to Trollmarket since. He knew he should, but he just couldn’t bear the thought of the trolls being…being like Nana, who didn’t really understand it and always looked puzzled whenever he tried to explain. She loved him no matter what, she told him regularly. But it would just be nice if she got It.

And ARRRGGGHHH!!! and Blinky?

His wingman, Toby was scared would be too much like Nana. He was one of the smartest trolls Toby knew. But it still took him a while sometimes to sort out new ideas in his head. What if he didn’t get there with this one? What if—sometimes it felt like ARRRGGGHHH!!! was the only one who truly understood him. Toby didn’t want to lose that.

Blinky. Blinky was even worse. He’d probably want to dissect every last bit of Toby’s identity. He’d ask ten thousand questions and try to poke holes in it. Blinky would probably try to tell him it didn’t make sense. That demisexuality couldn’t be real because of x, y, or z reason. Because of some troll story or something that didn’t really translate to humans. Toby would start to doubt himself again and, and it would be worse than chicken surprise day in the school’s cafeteria.

Yeah, no. Toby wasn’t going to even consider that one. At all.

So Toby avoided the trolls and Trollmarket, and Jim who wanted to talk to him about it. While everyone around them at school gossiped about what could have gone wrong between them.

It wasn’t exactly a fun time of his life, to be sure.

Toby was relieved when he didn’t see Jim in the yard at lunch that day. It was the hardest to avoid him there. They didn’t have all their classes together and Toby could generally ignore Jim’s notes in the ones they did. When they were both home, Jim generally gave him his space. Though, that one Toby was a bit guilty about. With his mom’s work schedule, Jim didn’t exactly have anyone else to talk to unless he went to Trollmarket.

A part of Toby knew he should just talk to Jim already. Longed for that, really. Toby missed his best friend. He honestly kind of hated what he was doing. But a stronger part of him liked Trollmarket and the trolls and all the adventures. If he didn’t address the fact he’d been outed, nothing had to change. Not really. Toby wouldn’t have to deal with the fact they potentially wouldn’t accept him. He could just pretend like nothing, nothing at all, had happened and…he didn’t know. He was making this up as he went and he had a bad feeling he wasn’t doing a very good job of it.

Toby felt a tap on his shoulder. He nearly jumped, but it was just the school’s mole mascot costume. Or rather, Darci in the costume.

“Oh. Hey, Darce.” He tried to make his voice lighthearted, but didn’t really manage it.

The person in the costume maneuvered one of its arms so it was handing Toby a piece of crumpled paper. Toby took the paper. It read:

Meet me by the soccer field after school.

“Um, ok. Can’t we just talk now? While—” Toby looked all around, but Darci was gone. “Well, that was weird,” he said to himself. “Wonder what’s going on?”

“Hey, Darci? You here?” Toby walked around the soccer field, but no one was there. “This better not be a prank.” He added a bit louder. And there better not be some kind of mud monster, either. I’m definitely not in the mood to deal with one of those. He added mentally.

Movement caught Toby’s attention. One of the mole costume’s arms waved at him from behind one of the trees at the side of the field. He started walking over.

“Seriously, Darci? You’re being really weird. What’s going on…” He trailed off as the mole costume’s head popped off and it was Jim underneath instead of Darci.

“Sorry, Tobes, but I couldn’t think of a better way to do this.” Jim shrugged sheepishly.

Toby turned to go. So that was it, huh? His best friend had resorted to trickery?

“Wingman.”

Toby froze at ARRRGGGHHH!!!’s voice. Turned around. The big troll was hiding in the shade the trees provided from the sun, but it was still dangerous for him to be here while sunset was still hours away. How had he…?

“Miss wingman.” ARRRGGGHHH!!! continued. “Sad you gone. Want make things better. Talk?”

Toby opened his mouth to tell his friends to go away. That there was nothing to talk about. But, but he was tired. And he really didn’t want to do that. He wanted to be able to be with them again. How exactly did he say as much, though?

Blinky stepped forward from beside ARRRGGGHHH!!! before Toby got the chance. “Both ARRRGGGHHH!!! and I would like you to know we fully support you and your identity. Master Jim has not explained anything to us. He said that was yours to tell, if you so wished to. Just know, whether or not you do, we support you.”

Though ARRRGGGHHH!!! didn’t say anything, he nodded. Toby had known him long enough to be able to read concern and care from the big troll’s body language too.

Toby heaved a sigh. Looked between the two. “But you don’t even know what it means.”

“No, we don’t. I would like to ask you a few questions to help clarify that. But only if you’re up for answering them.” Blinky went on, “I do not need to fully understand a subject to accept it. I do not know the full mechanical and magical process that’s required for making a gyre work, but I am able to see the gyre exists and functions regardless of my lack of knowledge. Though, I could, I suppose, research the subject and…I’m getting off topic. You have my apologies.” Blinky folded both sets of hands. “Master Tobias, over the time we’ve gotten to know each other, I have come to see you as a friend. I am deeply sorry that I have helped to create an environment where you felt unsafe opening up to us about a part of yourself that is of great importance. I hope to rectify that starting this very moment. You will always be welcome and accepted by us.”

“Yes, wingman.” ARRRGGGHHH!!! came forward. “No fear us. Love Toby. Always love Toby.”

“Awww, guys. You’re gonna make me cry.” Toby began to tear up. Then the old thought about Nana came back. Unease settled in his gut. The fact was, Toby did want them to understand. A lot. “But if I let you guys ask questions you aren’t like gonna try and prove to me that demisexuality doesn’t exist or anything? That I’m actually fooling myself and I’m really something else. Cause I mean, yeah that would…it wouldn’t be very cool. I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about it. I know it’s what I am. I mean it might change later cause anything might change later. Like The Taco Shack may actually use one of my suggestions for once. Actually, that would be kind of awesome but totally not related.” Toby took a deep breath. “I know I’m demisexual right now and that feels good. I don’t need you guys trying to convince me otherwise or something.”

“Goodness gracious, no. You’re demisexuality, as you put it, is not, under any terms, up for debate.” Blinky answered. “However, I would like to have a definition so I may add it to my Human Dictionary, which, as you know, I’ve been trying to grow for quite some time. Actually, this is splendid. Now that I think about it, there has to be a parallel troll term. It would be fascinating to see if there’s more shared history between our worlds. Our communities share so much already—”

“Hey guys,” Jim finally spoke up, interrupting Blinky. “This may be a conversation best had in Trollmarket. Not at the side of the soccer field. I’m fairly sure there’s going to be a game later. We don’t want to be here when that happens.”

“Ah. You certainly are correct, Master Jim. Should we reconvene at Trollmarket?” Blinky looked between everyone in their small group.

“Hmm. Meet other trolls? Like Toby.” ARRRGGGHHH!!! looked to Toby.

“There’s trolls like me?” Toby asked. That was…he hadn’t expected that.

“An excellent idea, ARRRGGGHHH! I cannot say for sure if there are trolls like you specifically, Master Tobias, but Trollmarket does have a thriving community based around gender identities and sexualities.” Blinky turned to Toby. “I am sure you will find some who are welcoming there. We trolls may not be the most welcoming bunch to outsiders, particularly to humans. Though since Master Jim became the Trollhunter, I do feel that is changing. If very slowly. But our culture has accepted those of any gender and sexual identity for millennia.” He grinned. “So shall we head for Trollmarket?”

“Yes, let’s go.” Toby finally smiled. Things definitely were looking up. He breathed out and let go of his anxieties. It felt good to be back.

Jim asked Toby, “We good?” as they walked.

Toby answered, “We awesome sauce, dude.” He paused. “but you might wanna return that mole costume before Coach Lawrence realizes it’s gone.”

“Oh, right.”

#trollhunters #pride month ficlets 2k18 #toby domzalski #jim lake jr #blinky #arrrgh #demisexual!toby #queer jim #being outed #support #Anonymous #whirls writing

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justlookfrightened · 7 years

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NHL!Bitty, Part 5

This is it for this fic. I had a request to maybe continue this from Jack’s POV. Watch for that in a week or so. In the meantime, Part 5 is the longest yet ... Bitty likes to ramble.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Sequel: NHL!Jack

Bitty still had his key to the Haus, so after graduation, after Chowder got a ride to the airport from Dex and Nursey’s moms took him back to New York, Bitty sat in the quiet of the backyard and contemplated the rest of his summer.

It was too late for him to want to start driving towards Georgia that day. Heck, it might have been too late for him to think about going back to Georgia at all. His time there after the season ended had been suffocating in a way it never was before. It wasn’t only the way Mama and Coach talked around his sexuality; it was that they still treated him like a child, and he allowed it. What would they do if he walked in the kitchen door and said, “Hi, folks, I’m gay”? Even if they kicked him out, he made more money in the last year than his parents had in the last two years combined. He could pay for a place to live. He didn’t think they’d do that anyway. He just didn’t want to lose their emotional support. But how real was that support if it would evaporate if he said he was gay?

It was a question that had never occurred to him before he came to Samwell, and one that had been gnawing at him one way or another ever since. Maybe he shouldn’t be worrying so much about it now; with his position on the Aeros, he couldn’t exactly go looking for dates, even if his teammates didn’t seem to mind. The only people who would understand would be those in similar positions.

Once or twice he’d thought Jack … but there was no way Jack had been flirting with him. Not in front of Mashkov and Marty and Aeros he didn’t even know. Besides, Jack had made it painfully clear the other night what he thought of Bitty. Had he been amused that Bitty was pathetic enough to come and watch another team play after the Aeros were booted from the playoffs?

Then he was so annoyed that the boys had invaded his precious dressing room. Maybe their presence stopped Jack from giving his own team a massive dressing-down. No one seemed to mind that they were there, except Jack, who decided to take it out on Bitty by reminding him of his own team’s failure.

Still, it had felt good, those last three months or so, to occasionally see Jack’s name pop up with a text notification. It felt good, Bitty supposed, to have someone who was undoubtedly one of the best players in the league notice him, encourage him, act like he thought Bitty actually could play hockey. Bitty knew he could play; he’d been drafted as a sophomore and called up during his first season, hadn’t he? But somehow, Jack’s opinion carried more weight.

It had also felt good to glimpse the man behind the image. Somehow, that poster of Jack in his underwear concealed his personality more than a full suit did in person, at dinner after a game. The pre- and post-game interviews never included Jack’s sly smile when he got a good chirp off, or his laugh, especially when a chirp was at his expense.

Well. Jack didn’t exist to make Bitty feel good, and Bitty could be generous enough to admit it had been a bad moment after the game for Jack. That’s what Bitty told Chowder on the way back to Samwell, when Chowder left off praising Holtby and Snow long enough to say, “Jack Zimmermann didn’t seem very friendly when you were talking to him. Have you met him before? He always looks like he’s about to yell at someone.”

“Not always,” Bitty had told Chowder. “But no, he wasn’t very friendly tonight.”

Now Chowder was gone, owner of a newly minted CS degree and an invitation to the Schooners’ training camp after a stint at home in northern California.

Tomorrow Bitty would start the drive back to Georgia, but not until he called the Aeros conditioning coach. He would ask the coach to set Bitty up with someone to work with over the summer -- maybe work with Bitty himself -- and when Bitty got back to Madison, he’d pack the truck and move himself to Houston. Sure, he might be heading back to Baton Rouge in the fall, but showing enthusiasm for the Aeros wouldn’t hurt.

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

Bitty folded his lawn chair and brought it into the kitchen as the sun moved further west. The Haus was empty except for Bitty, and no one would be here until a couple of last year's frogs arrived to take up summer residence next week.

Bitty wanted to bake something, but he’d have no one to share it with, and the nutritionists would not look kindly on him eating a whole pie because he was lonely. They wouldn’t know, really, but Bitty would. Mini pies maybe? He could eat one or two and put the rest in the freezer for the summer frogs.

That sounded like too much work. Bitty wished he still had his vlog. That way he could bake something to leave in the freezer and moan about his life at the same time. Not that he had any right to moan, but still.

Maybe he could call Ricksie, find out how his time in suburban Toronto was going. That was another point in favor of spending the summer in Houston: Ricksie had announced plans to move south after a few weeks at home with his parents. He also wanted to get away from being treated like a child, although his motivations were a little different.

“Dude, I mean, it’s not like I can bring anybody home to my parents’ house,” Ricks said. “I still sleep in a twin bed with my peewee trophies on a shelf.”

Ricks was a year younger than Bitty, but he’d been in the Aeros system for longer, having gone pro right out of junior hockey. Still, he reminded Bitty of his SMH teammates more than anyone else he’d played with since graduating.

Ransom and Holster were on their annual pilgrimage to Niagara Falls now that Holster’s season was over. Bitty had seen the snaps to prove it. Maybe Shitty and Lardo were in Boston. The last time Shitty had weighed in on the group chat, he’d been complaining about exams. That was last week. Maybe he was done now.

Bitty reconsidered his plan. If Shitty was done, and he and Lardo were in the Boston area, Bitty could take at least another day or two before leaving for Georgia. He missed his old team.

Bitty found his phone on the counter where he’d left it when he went outside. There was a missed call from Mama -- she’d want to know his plans, the better to worry over him driving that old truck by himself. There was also a text from Jack, the first contact since two nights ago.

Can I call you?

He checked the time: 6:30 p.m. Jack was due on the ice for Game 2 in a hour and a half.

Bitty texted him back.

Sure. Whenever you have time. Good luck tonight!

Before Bitty moved away to forage for dinner from what was left in the kitchen, his phone rang.

“Bitty,” Jack said. “Thanks for talking to me. I have to apologize for my behavior the other night. And I do know,”

“Um, ok,” Bitty said. “Apology accepted, I guess. Don’t you have a game to play?”

“Yes, but Marty said I should call before the game if I could,” Jack said.

“Marty said?” Bitty asked. “What does Marty have to do with this?”

“He kind of said I was being an asshole to you,” Jack said. “And he’s right. That game was bad, but there was no reason to take it out on you.”

“Ok,” Bitty said.

“And I do know what it’s like to watch other teams move on,” Jack said. “We didn’t even make the playoffs my first year. I’m kind of impressed that you were willing to bring your friends by -- I don’t think I’d be able to do it.”

“It really wasn’t a chore,” Bitty said. “I like those guys and I like hockey, so it seemed like a good plan. Now go play your game, Mr. Zimmerman.”

“Are you somewhere you can watch?” Jack asked.

“I’m still in Samwell,” Bitty said. “Everyone left after graduation today, so I was going to tidy the Haus up a bit and get back to Georgia tomorrow or the next day. But I’ve got my laptop and NHL Network, so yes, I’ll be watching.”

“Good,” Jack said. “Can I talk to you after the game?”

“Sure,” Bitty said. “But …”

“But what?”

“Look, I don’t want to say anything negative, and I’m sure you’ll play well, but if you lose, don’t feel obligated,” Bitty said.

“No,” Jack said. “I won’t feel obligated. But I will want to talk to you.”

“All right,” Bitty said. “I’ll make sure to stay up a while after the game.”

Jack ended the call, and Bitty looked around. If he was going to stay up, he should be doing something besides sitting on Chowder’s old bed with his laptop.

There were still apples in the kitchen. Mini pies it was.

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

Two hours after the game, Jack hadn’t called.

It couldn’t be because he was upset; the Falconers had put on a clinic, winning 5-0. Jack had a goal and and an assist, and 10 different players made the scoresheet, not to mention Snow’s shutout.

Maybe the team was out celebrating. They had an extra day off before their next game in DC.

If Jack was celebrating with his team, Bitty couldn’t begrudge him. It was a big win to even the series, to build confidence in the team, to head into the opposition rink with momentum.

But there was a limit to how late Bitty should have to stay up and wait for Jack’s call. He’d go to bed with his phone on Chowder’s desk (what used to be Chowder’s desk) and if Jack called, if the phone woke him, he’d answer.

Bitty finished wrapping the mini pies in freezer paper to store them away. He hadn’t eaten any after all. Without his regular training regimen, he wasn’t as hungry. Another sign that it was time to get back to it.

Before he could put the tray of pies in the freezer, there was a knock at the door.

It was past midnight, and no one should be here. But a burglar wouldn’t knock, and Samwell was kind of empty right after graduation, and maybe someone needed help.

So Bitty flipped the porch light on and peeked around the curtain, ready to open the door as long as it looked ok, although even a teenage girl could have a gun … and he’d been listening to Mama too long.

There was Jack Zimmermann.

“Oh my Lord, Jack, what are you doing here?” Bitty said while he was still pulling the door open. “It’s the middle of the night. You shouldn’t have driven all the way up here after your game. You must be exhausted -- have you eaten anything?”

Jack, still in his game-day suit (which had to have been custom made to fit like that), waited for Bitty to run out of words.

“I’m fine, really,” Jack finally said. “I ate at the arena before I left, but I could eat a little more. It’s not that far -- a lot of the guys live at least this far from the arena. But if you’re heading back to Georgia tomorrow or the next day, I didn’t want to miss my chance to talk to you.”

Jack looked down. He was still standing on the welcome mat that Bitty’s mother had sent up with him the year he moved in, the one that had, “Hey, y’all!” in cursive script carved into the sisal fibers.

“Where are my manners?” Bitty said, finally stepping back to let Jack in. “I just made some mini pies. Let me heat some up. You can sit in here if you want --” Bitty gestured toward the living room, then winced -- “but you might want to avoid the nasty couch.”

Jack just kept following him, so Bitty said, “Or we could sit in the kitchen. Much cleaner.”

Bitty busied himself by turning the oven on and unwrapping four of the small pastries.

“Good thing I hadn’t put these in the freezer yet,” he said. “It’ll only take a few minutes. Do you want -- not coffee, it’s too late --”

He rooted through a cabinet that had three kinds of protein powder. What had these boys done to his kitchen? Then he found a box of orange herbal tea with no caffeine. Orange tea and apple pie. Not ideal, but not too bad.

“Do you want some tea?”

Jack was leaning against the counter just watching him.

“Sure,” Jack said. “Tea would be fine.”

Bitty checked the water level in the electric kettle -- he wasn’t sure who had brought it, but he’d decided it was a valuable addition to the kitchen -- then flipped the switch. “That should just be a minute. Please, have a seat.”

Jack sat at the rickety table and Bitty pulled out plates and mugs, forks and spoons.

“I heard that you baked,” Jack said. “Marty said that you promised him a pie for the tickets.”

“I did,” Bitty said. “But I figured it would be better if I sent it after the season. Do you know what his favorite kind is?”

“No idea,” Jack said.

“I’ll have to ask him, then. Or ask Pops to ask him,” Bitty said. “I don’t have his number.”

“I can give you that,” Jack said. “I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t mind.”

Jack didn’t seem to be any closer to explaining why he’d driven to Massachusetts at midnight.

Bitty poured hot water over the tea bags in the mugs, then turned to pull the tray with the mini pies from the oven.

“What’s your favorite kind of pie, then?” Bitty asked.

“Uh, I don’t really know,” Jack said. “I don’t eat a lot of pie. Do you ask everybody that?”

Bitty shrugged. “People I like,” he said. “I keep a list for people on my team. Figure they might want to keep me around longer.”

“I don’t think you really need to worry,” Jack said. “The Aeros winning percentage went up as soon as you got there, and the team scored more and gave up fewer goals with you on the ice.”

“You looked me up?” Bitty said, taking the seat opposite Jack.

“I try to keep up with my opponents.”

“You haven’t played the Aeros since February.”

It was Jack’s turn to shrug.

“You’re a better player than you give yourself credit for,” Jack said. “You’d be better if you didn’t try to hit so much, but you’re good.”

“Is that what you drove all this way to say?” Bitty asked.

“Not really. I wanted to apologize for being rude,” Jack said.

“You already did that, on the phone,” Bitty said.

“I wanted to explain,” Jack said. “I know it was only one game, and I know we didn’t play that badly. But when Marty pointed you out, I wanted to impress you.”

“I don’t think that’s something you need to worry about,” Bitty said. “I mean, look at the two of us.”

“No, I mean --”

Jack stopped and took a bite of the pie on his plate.

“Damn, that’s good,” he said.

“I know,” Bitty said. “Go on.”

“Please don’t take this the wrong way,” Jack started again. “But Marty said he heard that maybe you weren’t straight?”

Bitty felt himself straighten up. This could be very bad, or it could be very good. Very, very good. But he didn’t need other teams targeting him, which was why the first words out of his mouth were, “I’m gonna kill Pops.”

“No,” Jack said. “I mean, it’s ok, whichever way, I’m not going to tell anyone.”

“Ok?” Bitty said, still not willing to give anything away.

“I think Marty and Pops were trying to be the world’s most interfering wingmen,” Jack said.

Bitty noticed that Jack hadn’t quite given anything away either, although it looked like …

“And you drove all this way to apologize … for their interfering?”

“I’m not doing a very good job of this,” Jack said. “Look, I’m going to trust you, because I like you, and Marty said Pops said you were a good guy, and I know you went to school here, and I know the reputation, and even if you are straight you wouldn’t be an asshole.”

Well, there weren’t too many other ways to interpret that.

“I’m not,” Bitty said.

“Not an asshole?” Jack said.

“Not straight,” Bitty said. “I’ve known I was gay since before I knew the word for it.”

Jack released a breath Bitty hadn’t known he was holding.

“I’m not either,” Jack said.

“Not an asshole?” Bitty arched a brow, suddenly feeling more sure of his footing.

“My behavior the other night notwithstanding?” Jack gave a rueful laugh. “Not straight. Bi, actually.”

Bitty nodded. “And there’s a reason you’re telling me this?”

“I like you,” Jack said again. “Not just as a hockey player. I like talking to you and listening to you and looking at you. If you’re willing, I’d like to get to know you better.”

Bitty felt himself melt a little bit inside, watching this beautiful man watch him while he spoke so earnestly. He reached over the table and fit his hand over Jack’s.

“I like all those things about you, too,” Bitty said. He tightened his hand. “And I like touching you. I’m pretty sure I’d like kissing you, too.”

Jack pushed his chair back from the table to make room, and Bitty got up and let himself be pulled in. The first kiss was a just a brush of lips, the second was a brief press. Then Jack tugged Bitty closer, encouraging Bitty into his lap. Bitty kissed along Jack’s jaw, coming back to Jack’s mouth when gasped and Bitty could take Jack’s lower lip and suck on it.

He pulled back briefly and said, “Yep, I was right. I do like kissing you.”

Then he let Jack gather him back in.

They stayed like that, Bitty perched on Jack’s thighs in the kitchen chair, until Jack groaned and Bitty remembered that Jack had played a game that night and must be ready to collapse.

“Come on,” Bitty said, standing up and extending a hand to Jack. “Let’s go upstairs to bed. You need to sleep.”

“Just sleep?” Jack said.

“Well, there’s always morning,” Bitty said. “But you need to rest. Just don’t look in the hallway bathroom.”

@cyn2k

@fifty-shadesofgay

@ontheavalanche

@oceansideopus

#omgcheckplease #omg check please #zimbits #nhl!bitty #my fic

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mywebfoot · 7 years

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Suspicious Partner fanfic

So, wow, it was in there after all. All it took was a prompt from anon. Tonight, I opened up the piece I wrote and asked myself… why am I struggling with it? Why does it sounds so stilted, like I am trying too hard. Isn’t Noh Ji Wook a beloved character?…. and no, the answer was no. For the first time, I want to write the female lead. There’s something about Eun Bong Hee that I adore. She’s real, she’s droll and she’s witty, mostly at her own expense. So here is my version of her. Nam Ji Hyun is perfect in this role, and I believe she inspired this fic.

Thanks for waiting! Have fun!

Title: That Man. These Eyes. Description: Eun Bong Hee’s point of view, from her confession to the day after. Spoilers up to Ep 13.

“I like you.”

Was that my voice? It didn’t sound like it. Most days, my voice sounds like a dignified chicken, I like to think. That voice I just heard? It sounds like a howling amoeba. If an amoeba could howl. Amoebas have one cell. One cell to think, eat and poop with. One cell to lust after the boss with.

So no. That couldn’t have been me.

That was me.

Now, it’s also me, awkwardly standing where I’ve launched myself in his arms, waiting for him to get over his shock. Come on, come on. This is the part, Lawyer-nim, where you say Great, yeah, let’s do the horizontal tango, Aegi-ya.

No?

Silence is an awful thing. It’s the thing that fills the space between plea and judgement, between sentencing and when the guard moves to take you away into jail. I should just spend the silence enjoying the chance to be close to him. I can smell his cologne. It tickles my nose whenever he walks by my desk. The scent always slithers up into my brain, and slips down to zing my woman bits to full attention. I should report inhumane work conditions. Especially at the end of a long day, like now, it’s mixed in with his personal scent - some sweat, some breezy ocean, and all bedsheets-wrapped naked man.

“Don’t… like me.”

Squish. Sound of a flattened amoeba.

I can’t breathe. Something blows up in my chest, taking up all the space in there, squeezing my heart, shoving my stomach down, down, down. I step back. I leave his arms. I try to breathe but that thing inside keeps growing. It’s compressing my lungs. I can only pull in tiny, short gasps. It sounds very much like hitching sobs.

At least I have no tears. This is good. I can hold it in.

Ok.

If I can hold it in, I’m still in control. If I am in control, I can think. He said no. Well, he’s put the amoeba where it belongs, for a lifetime sentence in Solitary Confinement.

Ha. Lawyer love joke.

Lawyer. I’m a lawyer. Lawyers can plea bargain.

“I don’t regret liking you,” I croak. Great. No dignified chicken here.

“I’ll deal with my feelings…. but…”

His beautiful eyes go carefully blank. He thinks I’m going to beg. All I really want is to run away, but honestly, what do I have to lose anymore?

“Can I ask for one favour?”

He looks horrified, but I plough on. That thing in my chest expands.

“Just… just one more hug…” I try for one last gasp of air.

“…before…,” I choke out, because I don’t want to say it’s the end.

He pulls me close. I put my arms around him. Just one more second. For courage. One more second. I press closer, because, curse my chicken heart to hell and back, it feels so right. I just don’t touch him with my hands. I have control. The time for no more touching has started.

I pull back. Turn. And escape.

***

My eyes. They feel like balls of pork gristle on a blackened barbecue pan the day after the drunken party.

In the bathroom mirror, one eyeball is red-streaked. Medium rare with a crusty edge, I judge. The other eyeball I have not seen since I woke up. My right eyelid is glued shut with dried tears.

At least I won’t have two eyes to look at the deranged birds nest that is currently my hair.

I turn on the tap. Warm water flows out and I bypass the ladylike cupping of hands and stick my head under the stream of water. I stay there. That way I can say that it’s only warm water on my face, and not fresh tears.

Water is medicine, as Omma says.

Later, the shower fixes my hair and gives me life. It doesn’t solve my swollen eye problem though, and I will NOT have That Man see them. I may have thrown my pride away last night, but it came slinking back overnight with its tail between its legs. I let it back in, because I missed it.

What I need is in the kitchen. Ice. But, out there lies the big, bad hunk who said no.

I crack open my room door. That Man must still be peacefully snoozing the morning away. I scuttle to the freezer, and wrench it open, then stick my head into the freezer, far deeper than it needs to be. Just in case he pops up.

There’s no ice. Actually there isn’t much left in the freezer. It’s been cleaned out, which is strange. That Man usually has food for weeks. The ice tray has nothing in it. Lawyer Byun, that old geezer ‘forgot’ to refill it again, I guess. I briefly consider just leaning my eyes against the cold plastic, but hurriedly discard that idea. Who knows what meat bacteria I will be pressing onto my eyelids.

I pull my head out again to do a quick check to see if he’s anywhere, but the house remains blissfully quiet. He must have had a good night’s sleep after ramming through my hopes. After slaughtering my dreams and staking them on a post as a warning to all women who dare enter these gates…

I see the spoons in the drying rack at the sink. An idea pops up between my violent fantasies. That should work.

***

Of course, it works.

Of course, That Man sees me wielding spoons like a broken-hearted, crazy woman.

“It’s good for swollen eyes from sleeping too much,” I blurt. Great excuse, Bong Hee, I congratulate myself. Brilliant mind, you have.

He doesn’t buy it. Then he does the Thing.

He gets kind. He offers me a cool cloth, and scuttles to get it. Like he cares. Like he gives a damn what happens to me. How dare he be kind. It’s the worst treatment for the open, weeping wound that is my heart. It’s grating, harsh, and tears open the tender new scabs I have.

I didn’t know I could get this furious this fast. I feel this wave of lava, rising, swelling upwards and spilling out of my mouth in a fiery snap.

“Don’t.”

At least I clench my jaw fast enough to stop the rest of the fury. I want to yell and curse. I am not sure where I find this well of calm, but I reach for it and it steadies me. It helps me explain.

“Don’t. Don’t be kind. It doesn’t help.”

To his credit That Man tries. He reaches for the time when we were strangers. He even finds the right tone. It hurts, but it’s the right one - cold enough, distant enough.

“Are you still staying here in the kitchen?”

I should congratulate him for trying, too. I will, once I get over that tone.

I’ll put a memo on my desk.

END

#suspicious partner #nam ji hyun #eun bong hee #ji chang wook #no ji wook

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adulting-with-autism · 7 years

Video

youtube

Hi there friends! Welcome to episode 4! Transcript under cut

Nick: Welcome to another stirring installment of Adulting With Autism

Liz: I’m here this time

Nick: Yes there is another human with me. Things are back to normal. It’s nice. We only have one question this week so I’m going to assume that everything is fine and dandy for most people, everybody’s having a swell time

Liz: Or our advice was so good nobody needs to answer any more questions

Nick: I think we’ve solved life, we’ve solved being an adult which is great but it means the follow-up is going to be a tough one. It’s like, you know, Orson Wells made Citizen Kane but then Magnificent Ambersens. People don’t talk about that as much

Liz: Never heard of it. Is it bad?

Nick: It’s alright actually, but it’s no Citizen Kane. Unlike Citizen Kane.

Liz: You can say that about all films, like the Rugrats movie. It’s no Citizen Kane

Nick: That’s because it’s better than Citizen Kane

Liz: I first watched Citizen Kane at the age of 12, at that point I did prefer the Rugrats Movie

Nick: What’s important to note is the much broader palette of colours the rugrats movie uses

Liz: More variety in outfit design as well. You wouldn’t see a Citizen Kane character in a nappy

Nick: You would most likely not, except at the very end of his life just before he uh…

Liz: No spoilers

Nick: Yeah. Just in case anybody out there

Liz: In case anybody does’nt know what happens at the end of life, we’ll just leave that until you watch the film

Nick: Keep things a mystery, you know? we seem to have been temporarily rebranded into a film podcast by accident, which is great. That’s what everybody’s here for.

Liz: Yeah if there’s one thing the world needs is more film podcasts

Nick: There’s just not enough of them. We have a question…

Liz: We do, we have exactly one question and it’s from anonymous

Nick: I like them, they’ve given us a lot of material over the past weeks

Liz: I prefer their early work

Nick: Me too

Liz: Well, The Legion would like to know how to keep up with household chores if you get tired or executive dysfunction

Nick: That is a good question

Liz: There’s multiple options, Option 1 you don’t. Option 2 you have housemates and they don’t mind you not doing much

Nick: Option 3 is, you’ve got to make compromises with yourself. At least say ok I’m not going to be able to get on top of everything today. But today’s dishes, tomorrow’s vacuuming or something like that. Just take it bit by bit and you might sometimes be behind it’ll at least be behind in the sense of oh this place could do with a bit of a clean rather than this place is a dump

Liz: One thing I find is quite useful for me is sometimes you might get a sudden burst of energy that’s directionless even if youre’ completely exhausted. What I do is set a 10-15 min timer on my phone and keep going until it stops. That’s enough time to do a load of washing up, tidy up a small section of a room, put some laundry in.

Nick: That seems to be something that works for you. I find I’m not a morning person but I find I start off with more energy when I do wake up

Liz: Yeah you’re like an iPhone. You charge overnight, you’re full of energy and you do something and very quickly lose all your energy

Nick: My energy levels are very very strange things. I find that I don't know if this is just me personally but I find it’s important to say “I’ll take it easy today” but I find saying that I always do the opposite

Liz: Yeah, and that’s by no means an autism thing, my mum does that. She’ s the worst person at being ill. She will have the flu and say I won’t do anything and will go and hoover the living room, do some gardening, do 3, 4 loads of washing up.

Nick: I don’t tend to tire myself out in that way I don’t tire myself out doing useful stuff.

Liz: [sneeze] sorry about that loud noise

Nick: It’s always like “ok I’m not going to write anything I don’t need to do that, I’ve done plenty lately. Oh no I’ve done 10 pages I messed up”

Liz: 10 pages? Last time you did that you wrote an entire sitcom pilot

Nick: Well, potato, po-tah-toe, p-ilot

Liz: P-ilot?

Nick: Yeah. P-ilot. Thank you for that question anon, and if anybody has any questions please do send them in because we are bereft.

Liz: We’re not even at 7 mins

Nick: Not even at 7 mins.

Liz: One thing that might be good to talk about today is surviving summer with sensory issues

Nick: Ooh that’s good because we’re dying, we’re absoluitely dying today

Liz: It’s the mid-high 20s with 70-80% humidity, which is what I like to call the death zone

Nick: I don't know where our listeners are from

Liz: According to the youtube stats we have France, Germany, the US and Canada but not the UK oddly enough

Nick: That’s interesting

Liz: Youtube says no-one from the UK has listened to our podcast. It may be incorrect but that’s interesting.

Nick: Okay, I need to explain at this point everything in this country is built to maintain heat. It’s like the country is wrapped in blankets all the time, so when it gets above 15 everyone just starts dying

Liz: Thing is when you live in cold and windy land the majority of the year your houses and buildings are desgined to keep heat in and you don’t have air conditioning except very modern buildings so when it does get hot there’s no escape

Nick: And we live in quite a traditional terraced house so we are toasty

Liz: But not in a fun cheesy way, though we can be fun and cheesy

Nick: [groans]

Liz: You are not allowed to complain about puns NickBlake

Nick: Ok

Liz: You are the one person whos not allowed you know this, for you are the font of puns

Nick: I am. Fun Times New Roman.

Liz: I have no words

Nick: I have plenty that’s everyone’s problem with me.

Liz: So yes, surviving heat.

Nick: We’ve been opening all the windows and back door and that. We’ve stockpiled a reasonable amount of icepops to keep us cold

Liz: If you have the freezer space I highly recommend going on amazon and buying 150 Mr Freeze icepops, so you know you're getting the good stuff, for 16 pounds. I don't know what that converts to in whatever currency but it’s not a lot of money

Nick: For what you get it’s pretty good

Liz: It’s pretty much wholesale

Nick: We got wholesale price iced pops, so that’s good

Liz: It does take up an entire freezer drawer but you could always not freeze all of them at once

Nick: It’s kinda great. We’ve been taking as many pajama days as possible

Liz: You’ve been having pajama days because your pajamas are not wearing clothes. I’ve just been wearing tiny skimpy outfits

Nick: Yes, light clothing as much as possible, open the windows, get 150 ice pops

Liz: Eat ice and be sexy is how to survive the summer

Nick: That’s exactly how you survive the summer

Liz: Cold foods as well. Thing is there have been studies that show things like apple juice and milk hydrate you after exercise better than water does, so logically things like that would also hydrate you better when it’s hot right?

Nick: So what you're saying is you should be a good milky boy

Liz: Or girl or non-binary person. Yeah. Or a juicy boy if you prefer. But also we had pea and mint soup yesterday. Which is apparently not a thing in the US? I have been told this

Nick: I’m very confused because I distinctly remember in my early childhood watching Rescuers Down Under and pea soup was explicitly referenced in one fo the opening scenes.

Liz: Maybe they never thought to combine peas and mint or maybe this person’s never heard of it and they’re the anti-soup Georg

Nick: Thing is it’s we’re talking about Americans thinking to put seasoning in the dish so…

Liz: To be fair though a lot of Americans are good at seasoning, it’s WASPs who are bad at seasoning. Though my friend is a WASP, they live in Upstate New York.

Nick: Ah. Maybe I think there are a lot of people in America who are good at seasoning but they’re all in the south. They’ve clumped, like chili powder when you’ve had it too long.

Liz: Not that they would understand that reference, the WASPs. I say that I am technically a WASP but it’s different

Nick: Yup, a whole nother thing. Well, we’ve dispensed some nice advice

Liz: Soupy advice

Nick: Nice soupy advice.

Liz: If you want to make pea and mint soup by the way really easy for 1 person you want 250g frozen peas you cook them in stock you add however much mint you want and you blend it. That’s it.

Nick: You can add an onion

Liz: Some people also add a potato but we didn’t

Nick: Too much potato can make it a bit starchy I think

Liz: And don’t worry if it ends up looking like green paint, it still tastes good

Nick: You're on the right track if it looks like it’s not edible

Liz: A lot of soups and stews look like that. I’ll say it a lot of my Mums cooking looks like vomit it’s delicious.

Nick: A lot of old English food doesn’t look pretty, it’s not designed to be appetising. It’s brown liquid with things in it. It’s good and keeps you going.

Liz: It coats your bones as they say

Nick: Yes it coats your bones which sounds so gross

Liz: You don’t want that you want pea and mint soup

Nick: You want bleached bones

Liz: You don’t that’s just a thing that happens in the sun

Nick: Don’t die, don’t have your bones be bleached. That’s my survival tip. Don’t die

Liz: Good survival tip, I like it

Nick: I might write a book one day.

Liz: On how to not be dead

Nick: You just put your lips together, then put some food between them. Followed by liquids

Liz: It’s probably easier if you open your lips a little bit

Nick: And I think a combination of meats and various legumes and don’t have poison.

Liz: I think we should possibly end there because we’re degenerating into just mindless rambling

Nick: I maintain my survival tips are solid

Liz: Maybe you should start your own podcast where you just talk for half an hour, see what happens

Nick: I’ll have a straw poll on that. See what listeners would want. Speaking of rambling and voices and talking and natural segues, we had an offer from one of our listeners to come on our show and chat. Nothing came of it but I think that might be an interesting angle to pursue, talking to people about how they adult with autism.

Liz: Maybe have them help answer questions. Could be fun

Nick: I think what I’m doing here is setting the floor. If you feel self conscious about what you’re saying, remember I suggested meat and legumes and not dying as survival tips. You can’t get worse than that. So yeah, if you’ve got questions let us now, if you might want to guest on the show also let us know.

Liz: If you want to contact us personally, at invisible-goats

Nick: And Nightwarbler

Liz: That’s all one word

Nick: Yup.

Liz: We’re not doing too badly for length

Nick: We’re not. Slightly shorter than usual but we have a hefty big proud boy, big nice…

Liz: Are you hoping if you keep talking like that they’ll let you on Maximum Fun?

Nick: Now you’ve rumbled me, that was my secret plan

Liz: Just call me Rumblestiltskin

Nick: Niiice. If you have any kind of oddly specific products for me to endorse for money like I’ll definitely do that. Send me some underwear or mattresses and I’ll just record all the podcasts on my nice new mattress in my nice custom underwear.

Liz: Custom underwear?

Nick: You’ll have to go one better than the others, you know

Liz: I wouldn’t turn down custom underwear it’s hard to buy bras

Nick: Send us your custom underwear and I will heartily endorse it. Just…yeah. Bespoke…coverings, that’s what I want…or...

Liz: A mattress is not a covering

Nick: It’s a covering for a floor

Liz: Only because we don’t own a bed

Nick: Send us your questions and offers to be on the show. Don’t send us underwear come to think of it that doesn’t sound like an ok thing

Liz: And we’ll be back in a couple of weeks, hopefully with more questions and less about underwear and poison

Nick: Yeah, don’t send us underwear don’t eat poison

Liz: And don’t kiss your dad square on the lips?

Nick: Yeah that’s weird. That’s a bad thing to do. Yeah, see you next time.

#adulting with autism #episode 4 #podcast

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venn364 · 8 years

Text

Basic Heatwave Survival Guide

Ok kids the first heatwave of the year is almost upon us. I’d love to say this should be the worst it gets but it’s only early January and February is usually much worse...

A bit of advise for those not old enough to properly remember our last lot of utterly brutal heatwaves or who have never really needed a heatwave survival guide because until now they’ve always lived somewhere with air conditioning or with a readily available pool.

This isn’t a comprehensive guide, the goal is just to increase the odds of everyone coming out of this unscathed. If you’ve got anything you think should be added feel free.

First of all, drink water. I cannot stress this enough, you are going to sweat so much in the next five days you should probably be aiming at around 4 litres throughout the day if you don’t want to wake up terribly dehydrated the next morning after a long and lovely *cough/horrible/cough* 32 degree high humidity evening. Better some extra trips to the bathroom than hurting yourself through dehydration. If you’ve got a collection of plastic soft drink bottles ready to the recycled I highly recommend rinsing/washing them out, filling them most of the way full with water and popping them in the freezer. Refrigerated water isn’t going to stay cool long in the daytime heat but that 2L block of ice is going to melt in it’s conveniently shaped plastic container and get sipped up by pretty much everyone as wonderfully cold water.

Second, you’re going to be losing a lot of electrolytes in your sweat so while you may not feel like eating make sure you’re still getting your three square meals a day as much as possible. Lemonade ice blocks are also a great replenishes and they keep you cool as well!!!

Third, and a lot of you are going to hate me for this, it may be prudent to sleep in your lounge room if possible during the heat. This is often (not always, but often) the coolest room in the house, especially in old houses. Your body is going to need time to recover from the extreme heat in the day and it can’t do that if your bedroom continues to boil you alive well into the am’s. If you think you can stand the kink in your neck the next day this is definitely a good move

Fourth, keep an eye on each other! If safe to do so talk to your neighbours and arrange to check in on each other at predetermined times. This is especially important if you have any medical conditions or if yourself or a neighbour are a part of Australia’s elderly population.

Fifth and Sixth, stay in the shade! Make sure your kids stay in the shade! And for the love of whatever god or deity you happen to believe in if you must expose yourself to the sun shove on a shirt and hat, slather yourself in sunscreen and reapply it every hour or so because be UV index is going to be brutal and whatever sunscreen you have isn’t likely to survive its advertised term thanks to the sheer amount of sweating we’re all going to be doing. Gross? Yes. Inconvenient? Yes. I’ve had a sunburn that not only fried but blistered to the point that the spot scarred thanks to missing a spot when I did my legs. The damage isn’t always apparent until hours later ffs USE YOUR SUNSCREEN!

Seventh, avoid vigorous exercise. Do you seriously want to be raising your body temperature even further during a heatwave? No? Good decision.

Eighth, try and save your showers for the evening. Depending on where the pipes supplying your water are you could inadvertently end up burning yourself when you try to take a shower to cool down. These bursts of hot water can be very sudden and the last thing you want is to be enjoying the nice cool water only for the supply that’s been baking just under ground level for the last six hours to suddenly hit your household supply and scald you. It’s rare but it does on occasion happen. If you want to sit in water and cool down I recommend a bath or a little shell pool set up in the shade.

Ninth and last on my list, stay under or in front of a fan (depending on the type you have) if at all possible and keep your wooden doors (including bedroom doors) and glass windows open with your screen doors locked for security. The relief provided from the fan’s breeze and the airing out of the house isn’t going to be great in some places but it’s better than nothing and may be the difference between being heat-sick and having actual heat stroke.

So there we have it, one heatwave survival guide written mostly for others and partly to remind myself that there isn’t too much need to panic about a heatwave since I still remember what to do.

Feel free to add to this yourself if you can think of anything I’ve forgotten :)

#Heatwave Survival Guide #I hate the summertime #Bring back the winter!#Please #Deathworld aka Australia

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consulting-celiac-in-the-tardis · 8 years

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5 Secrets to Eating an Energizing Breakfast When You're Working Full-Time

New blog post! There are two kinds of eaters: the people who skip breakfast and the ones who wish they could eat it for every meal. I've always been part of the latter group; even when I was taking 17 units of classes in college, I never went without some oatless oatmeal or a big smoothie bowl! However, now that I've started my first "real" job - as Senior Editor to Entity Magazine - I'm starting to understand why 31 million Americans skip breakfast everyday. In 2011, a survey by NPD Group found that 10 percent of Americans skip breakfast, reportedly because they aren't hungry, don't feel like eating or don't have time. And, considering how hard I find it to "slow down" and make time for breakfast when I'm working at home, I can only imagine the challenges the average commuter faces.

What's a workin' gal to do? Get some help from these five secrets to eating an energizing breakfast - whether you're working full time, a busy college student or anything in between! 1. Prep ahead of time as much as possible. There's no better party than a preppin' party...okay, that's a lie, but prepping your breakfast ahead of time can make your mornings ten times easier. You don't have to make your entire breakfast either. If you're going to eat a yogurt parfait once you get to work, cut up your fruit, put your granola in a bag and put your yogurt and other cold toppings close together in the fridge. This way, all you have to do is grab your bags in the morning and throw everything together in the office! If you do want to have a breakfast buffet waiting right when you wake up, some of my favorite prep-ahead meals include:

Overnight Quinoa Flakes: if you want a breakfast similar to oatmeal but packed with even more protein, this is what dreams (and happy tummies) are made of...

Cozy Cacao Oatless Zoats: zucchini has never tasted so sweet - and breakfast has never been more easy to eat on the go!

Eat Yo' Greens Mini Baked Pancakes: these gluten free and vegan pancakes stay good for over a week in the fridge, which makes them perfect to make on the weekend and eat all week!

Zucchini Bread Nana Ice Cream: this is my favorite breakfast to make ahead. Simply blend your smoothie as usual and store it in a glass container/jar in the freezer. When you want to eat it, pop it in the microwave on defrost until melted through and enjoy!

Berry Coconut Granola or Green Smoothie Granola: really, any of my granola recipes make delicious breakfasts with a fruit and little (plant based) milk or yogurt. Both recipes boast some hidden veggies, making them a healthier way to start your day.

Superfood Coconut Banana Cookies: cookies in the morning? Luckily, these are just healthy enough to count as a well-rounded breakfast!

Bliss Balls: these taste like candy, are packed with superfoods like coconut flour, dates and nuts, and are easily personalized. What more could you want?

Some of my personal faves!

Some nights, the last thing you want to do is spend time in the kitchen, prepping for the next day. Just try to remember how happy you (and your taste buds) will be the following morning! 2. Use naturally energizing ingredients. While I wouldn't classify myself as a night owl, calling me a "morning person" would be a bit of a stretch. So, even though I don't drink coffee, I need all the energy boosts I can get when I wake up. Luckily for me - and others who want to lower their coffee intake or don't drink it at all - there are plenty of other naturally energizing foods, including: fresh fruit (yay natural sugars!), water (with studies showing that dehydration can often make people feel fatigued), nuts (which are packed with magnesium and help convert sugar to energy) and cardamom (which promotes blood flow by expanding small blood vessels). If you want a coffee-like drink with none of the energy crash, you may want to add Macaccino to your grocery list. I recently got the chance to taste this superfood drink and fell in love with the chocolatey flavor. The Original Roasted Maca Blend that I tried boasts a mix of organic roasted maca, cocoa powder, mesquite powder, cinnamon, and nutmeg. As I've written before, maca has been shown to improve immune function, memory, focus and stress management - while also helping to balance hormones. As a result, this drink is about as healthy an energizing drink as you can get.

Hot cacao in smoothie form! ;)

Since I'm a total smoothie addict, I added a scoop of Macaccino to my morning nana ice cream. While I won't claim it made my work productivity double, I definitely enjoyed the rich, chocolatey flavor. Any energy boosts were just a bonus! You can also brew Macaccino like hot chocolate or coffee by just adding hot water. No matter how much of an early bird you are, we all need a little help from time to time. Whether it's fresh fruit, trail mix or Macaccino, just don't forget to include ingredients that will set your energy levels up (no pun intended) for success! 3. Know what processed foods are your friends - and don't feel guilty for using them! Maybe if I had my own personal chef, I'd always eat from scratch for breakfast - but that isn't my reality, and it isn't most of Americans'. In fact, a recent study found that more than half of Americans' calories come from "ultra-processed" foods. As I've mentioned before, processed foods is an umbrella term that can include a variety of foods - and some are way healthier for you than others. The key is learning which of these foods to avoid - like "ultra-processed" foods that contain ingredients like extra colors, sweeteners, emulsifiers and flavors - and which can be part of a healthy diet.

The perfect morning start...or night snack!

So what processed foods aren't as bad as their title might imply? Think of minimally processed products like whole grain breakfast cereals, pre-cut fruit or veggies, no sugar added yogurt, packaged trail mix or even pre-made granola. Lately, one of my favorite (and, full disclosure, sponsored) breakfast additions is Frontier Bites. These snacks boast eight natural ingredients - like nuts, seeds, brown rice syrup, organic honey, puffed rice and millet, and fruit - and no refined sugar. I'm particularly addicted to topping my So Delicious yogurt - or a green smoothie bowl - with some Macadamia Pineapple Coconut bites for crunch. Add some fresh fruit, nut butter and chia seeds for a well-rounded - not to mention super delicious - breakfast. The truth is, not everyone has the time, money or energy to make all of their own food, and we shouldn't feel ashamed to reaching to processed foods for a little help...especially when those products are as nutritious as they are delicious. 4. Stick to what you know works. Of course, maybe what kinda "works" for you is skipping breakfast altogether. However, when you're trying to introduce a new healthy habit into your life, don't go farther out of your comfort zone than absolutely necessary. As a blogger, I love trying new products. As a foodie, I love trying new recipes! Yet, I rarely miss having a smoothie bowl for breakfast (unless I'm traveling, in which case I just eat all of the smoothie toppings and lots of fruit!). Why? I know that smoothies won't upset my stomach and that they'll give me the fuel I need for a busy day.

My brunch at the airport!

My mom is also gluten free, but she has a very different daily menu. Her days start off better with a simple bowl of buckwheat flakes cooked in the microwave with water. Add one sliced banana, a little cinnamon and a drizzle of honey, and she's one happy eater - and so is her belly. The moral of these stories is basically to show that everybody is different and, well, every body is different too. No one wants to go into work feeling nauseous, overstuffed or still hungry, so keep experimenting until you find the breakfast that is "just right," in the words of Goldilocks. And when you find your edible soul mate? Make it a committed relationship and stick to a breakfast you know works for you! 5. Treat yo' self...while treating your body right! Now, "treating yourself" doesn't necessarily mean kicking off every morning with a bowl of ice cream. Maybe that's A-OK on your birthday - but you also need to regularly focus on treating your body to the fuel and nutrients it needs. When I'm working, taking a break for brunch can seem like an annoying interruption. However, I know that if I don't feed myself right, I won't be able to write "right" either!

Taking a trip on the sweeter side!

Your ultimate goal should be finding a breakfast that tastes like dessert but is healthy enough to be a main meal. My recent secret weapon is Heavenly Organics's raw honey. Compared to processed honey, their products offer a variety of health benefits - ranging from antioxidants to Vitamin C to properties that help stabilize blood pressure, aid digestion, fight cancer, lower bad cholesterol and decrease inflammation. And, of course, their honey tastes pretty scrumptious on everything from pancakes to oatless oatmeal. Some days, brownies are acceptable breakfast material. Other days, your body needs a green smoothie. Treating yourself - and your body right - means both breakfasts are allowed to land on your weekly menu, because feeding our cravings can be just as important as feeding our bodies. The definition of "treat" is up to you...and you and define it differently every day! Before I turned into a (pretty legit) "working woman," I never understood how so many people could regularly skip breakfast. Now, I have a better grasp on how difficult eating an energizing breakfast can be - and way more respect to the expert foodies who've already managed this feat for years!

Cheers to delicious work day mornings!

With the right prep time, healthy ingredients and mindset, though, eating breakfast while working a full time job doesn't have to be complicated. In fact, it can just be incredibly delicious! *I received these products free of charge in return for a written review. However, all thoughts and opinions are my own.* What is your favorite breakfast to eat before or at work? Have you ever tried Macaccino, Frontier Bites or Heavenly Organic honey before? Tell me your thoughts below! via Blogger http://ift.tt/2joik4i

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