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lena-in-a-red-dress · 3 years

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Notting Hill AU Snippet #8

"It happened. Feel it, and let it go."

Her therapist's words are easier said than done. Lena does her best, she really does, but every time she almost feels over Kara Danvers, she sees a film trailer or a tabloid headline and her world spirals again.

It's silly. Lena knows she shouldn't be so affected. She only knew Kara Danvers for a few days across a few weeks, but then again... as her therapist likes to say: Lena never learned how to love half way.

When news of a nude photo scandal breaks, Lena finds out about it with the rest of the world, but instead of watching in sick fascination, Lena feels only horror for the woman behind it all. Her heart, broken though it is, goes out to Kara, and the devastation she must be going through. Because Lena more than anyone else knows how carefully crafted Kara's image is, how carefully precise every word and movement is lest she lose the love of the audience and the industry itself.

But as much as Lena might want to, she doesn't call. She doesn't write. She doesn't even know if Kara is in Britain at all, until one morning there's a knock on her front door.

There, with an overnight bag, is Kara.

Her eyes are hidden behind large sunglasses, and her arms are crossed over her chest, tight with anxiety. Before Lena can think to do anything otherwise, she wordlessly steps aside to invite Kara into her flat.

"Thank you," Kara murmurs. Her voice quivers, her jaw clenched against brimming tears. Lena briefly scans the street outside before closing the door, relieved to find it empty of press.

They slowly migrate to the kitchen, where Kara pauses, uncertain of what to do next.

"Tea?" Lena offers.

Kara nods faintly. Over tea, the situation Lena had avoided reading about about in the tabloids comes spilling out as Kara vents, finally able to explain to someone-- anyone-- who would listen.

"I was young, and I was angry, and... and you want to know the saddest part? I enjoyed that shoot! It was one of the healthiest, most open working environments I'd ever been in. The level of trust, and respect... god-- they talked to me like a person, and I just-- for the first time, it felt like I had complete agency. Except I didn't, because they also filmed it, which they didn't tell me, and now... now my entire career, the only thing I've ever done in my entire life, might be over."

Lena listens to it all. She can't offer anything more than that. She doesn't know what to say, even if she could speak under the weight of being in Kara's presence again. Kara fills the entire room, even dressed down in jeans and a trim sweater.

The hurt of their last parting feels a million miles away for the first time since it happened, and all Lena wants to do is kiss her.

"What does your boyfriend think?" Lena blurts softly.

Kara blinks, staring at her. "I don't know," she confesses silently. "I haven't heard from him since before... I don't even know if I have a boyfriend anymore. I didn't even really know I had one then, until he showed up in my hotel room."

She pauses, finally meeting Lena's. "I am so sorry for what happened. I wanted to call so many times, I just-- I just didn't know what to say. And now-- now I'm invading your home like--"

"It's okay," Lena assures her, heading her off at the pass. She rises, taking Kara's hands in hers and offering a reassuring squeeze. "I'm glad you're here, and that you're safe."

Blinking away tears, Kara nods, sniffling.

"What do you need?" Lena asks. "Food, nap, bath...?"

"A bath sounds... really nice right now. And food. And a nap. Maybe in that order?"

Lena smiles. "Okay. We can do that."

---

After Kara's bath, they chat quietly over Notting Hill's finest fish and chips. It feels like no time has passed at all, like they didn't ever part that night at the hotel. Lena revels in it, and in the fact that Kara's nap is taken resting against her shoulder as Lena reads on the couch.

Her therapist would be so disappointed in her.

There's no boundary Lena could throw between them that Kara isn't already well past, and Lena finds she simply doesn't want to. As dangerous as she knows it is, she enjoys their time together. She's addicted to it, like a moth to flame.

The first night, Lena gives Kara her bed, and sleeps on the couch. The second night, after a day filled with running lines for Kara's next project, Lena's awoken from a light doze by a creak on the stair. Despite having a flatmate, Lena instinctively knows it's not Querl, and meets Kara at the foot of the stair.

"Is everything all right?" she asks.

In the dark, Kara nods, a dark shape bobbing in the shadows. "Yes, I-- I just wanted to say thank you. For everything you've done for me. I know you have no reason to help--"

Lena leans in and kisses her. Before her brain can catch up, Kara is kissing her back, burying her hands in Lena's tangled hair before slipping down to brush the edge of Lena's breast through the fabric of her tank top.

Lena covers the exploring hand, pressing it in place against her chest before it could go any further.

"Do you want this?" is all she asks.

Kara nods again, this time their noses brushing at the tips. "Yes," she breathes. "I want you."

----

Waking up in the morning, Lena feels as though she's still dreaming. Her body aches pleasantly, and today the sunlight streaming through her windows falls softly on the figure fast asleep beside her.

Kara Danvers' features are soft in sleep, unschooled for the first time Lena's ever seen. She looks younger, and impossibly more beautiful-- until Kara shifts, and wakes with a smile that puts Lena's previous observations to shame.

"Hi," Kara whispers.

"Hi," Lena whispers back. "Sweet dreams?"

"Mmmmmm," Kara hums, rolling to face her. "Remind me."

Lena obliges with a kiss, ignoring the sour taste of morning breath. Her hand cups Kara's jaw, her thumb brushing lightly against a soft cheek.

Before long, they're interrupted by a low growl in Kara's belly, prompting Lena to laugh against Kara's lips.

"Message received. Stay here," she urges, slipping out of bed.

She pulls on a pair of boxers and her tank top from the night before, wrinkled from being tossed unceremoniously across the room, before heading downstairs to make breakfast.

Lena barely has the bread in the toaster before warm arms encircle her waist from behind. Soft lips press against the join of Lena's neck, blonde hair tickling her skin. She hums low in her throat.

"I like that," she says. She leans her head against Kara's. "Butter and jam's in the fridge."

Kara grins against her and parts with another kiss, finding her way around Lena's kitchen as though she's always been there. Lena takes in the sight of Kara in one of her old oversized sweaters, barely enough to keep her decent. It's a pleasant sight, Kara's ease. Lena wants it to stick around forever.

Their peace is interrupted a moment later when the doorbell rings.

"I've got it," Lena says. "You stay here and butter the toast."

She hops down the narrow steps to the front hall, and opens the door without a second thought as to who could be behind it.

A barrage of camera shutters clicking and the bright flash of dozens of cameras going off at once stuns her. Blinded, she can barely make out the sea of paparazzi, and the questions she barely hears through the buzz of utter noise.

In the next moment, Lena regains her senses and slams the door shut. The heavy old door does well to muffle the sound, so that when Kara comes traipsing down the steps behind her she doesn't notice the hubbub.

"What is it?"

Before Lena can stop her, a shout on her lips, Kara opens the door and faces the sea of cameras with nothing but a piece of toast in her hand and an old sweater between them.

Kara reacts faster than Lena did, instantly whirling and shutting the door behind her. In that moment, Kara's ease disappears. Her body stiffens and her skin heats with flush of shame.

"They... you..." Kara stammers. She looks at Lena, then glares at her. "You told them I was here?!"

"What? Why would I do that?"

"Well, if it wasn't you, it was that weirdo of a roommate!" Kara exclaims, voice climbing in pitch and volume. "Finally decided to make a quick buck by giving a tip to the tabloids!"

"That's uncalled for," Lena counters. Querl is odd, but he'd only ever been kind to Kara, in his own strange way. "Let's just... let's just breathe for a second--"

"You breathe. I'm leaving."

Without another word, Kara disappears back into the kitchen. After an urgent call to whom Lena can only guess is her publicist, Kara disappears towards the bedroom. Lena gives her space, lingering in the living room long enough for Kara to catch her breath. By the time she finally pokes her head into the bedroom, Kara is already dressed and throwing her items into her overnight bag.

"Kara..."

"Don't. Don't say my name like you know how I feel."

Lena swallows thickly. "I don't... I don't know what to say. I'm sorry they're here, but I'm not sorry you are."

"Well, I am," Kara snaps, snatching her top from the night before and slamming it into her bag. "I never should have come here. I have a boyfriend for Christ's sake!"

Lena freezes, her blood running cold. "You do?"

"As far as they're concerned I do! And now pictures of us are going to be on every paper from here to Star City!!"

Kara lugs her bag over her shoulder and storms out of the room. "And your friend, your friend owes you a nice dinner. Lobster at least, if he's smart enough to get the going rate on betrayal."

"You leave Querl out of this!" Lena snaps, her temper fraying as she chases after Kara. "Okay? I understand that you're upset, and I am too, but we don't know that he has anything to do with this!"

Kara rounds on her with fury in her eyes. "All I know is that they didn't follow me here, and we didn't go anywhere. So if wasn't me, and it wasn't him, who was it? Hm?"

Angry tears burn at the backs of Lena's eyes. She blinks them away, and struggles breathe past the lump in her throat.

"It's okay, Lena," Kara continues firing, "I get it. Okay? It's natural to want your name out there, to drum up business. Come, get a boring book about Egypt from the chick who fucked Kara Danvers!"

The accusation drives all the breath from Lena's body. She stares, and sees the moment Kara realizes she's crossed a line. She softens then, but not enough.

"You may only get fifteen minutes of this, Lena, but I have had this my entire life. These pictures will last forever. They will follow me FOREVER, and I will regret this forever!"

The doorbell rings, cleaving through the moment of Lena's heartbreak. Surprisingly, Kara doesn't immediately leave, her shock at her own words evident in the gape of her mouth and the tears in her eyes.

Finally, Lena looks away, clearing her throat.

"You don't want to keep your team waiting," she grinds out, her voice full of gravel. It hurts to speak, to breathe, to even look at Kara. But watch she does as Kara's mouth closes to a resolute line before she turns and leaves without looking back.

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imjusthereforbatfam · 3 years

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Never-Ending Encore, ch 8

Chapters: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9

Chapter Summary: Yes, this is Gotham City but helping people isn’t a CRIME, Red Hood! Eden’s not afraid of some crazy nutzos! Er, well… Okay, maybe she’s a little afraid of some crazy nutzos, but… But that’s not gonna stop her from helping people when she can! 😤

Warnings: minor swearing, very minor mentions of suic*de and previous suic*dal behavior, very minor mentions of previous abuse, abuse forgiven/excused by victim (which I personally don't care for but this is how Eden currently handles/perceives her trauma so...)

---

Eden sat down at the table with a content sigh. The heavenly aroma of homemade garlic bread was more prominent now that the rolls were right in front of her. The scent, mixed with the expectation of company and the eagerness of having some Mad Mountain Fudge chilling in her fridge, made her feel incredibly at-home. Though, to be fair, it was more of a hope for company than an expectation.

Red Hood said he’d try to come this night or the next, but that didn’t necessarily mean he would. Admittedly, Eden's shier half – which vividly recalled Aaron’s earlier, uh… praises toward Red Hood’s… physique – wouldn’t entirely mind waiting a few days to see him. The rest of her was so excited, though, that she had to keep reminding herself it was okay if he didn’t come tonight. It wouldn’t be the end of the world. He was a busy man, after all, saving dumbasses like herself and doing… whatever an ex-mob boss might do to make a place like Gotham better.

Not that any of that stopped her from hoping he would come, of course. Nor would it stop her from being disappointed if he didn’t. Even so, Eden knew she was just one, very small person among a million other very small people in this city. She understood that visiting a random civilian like her, even with the world's greatest fudge in her fridge, couldn't rank very high on Red Hood’s to-do list. Especially in a city like this, filled with a thousand not-so-very-small people — many of whom were quite dangerous.

Still, taking in her surroundings, Eden couldn’t help but smile. She was excited for him to come visit. The entire one-roomed apartment – not just the kitchen space – was clean now. She was back in the habit of making her bed every morning, and— okay, fine, the chair by her closet still held her not-quite-clean clothes, but at least they were folded now! Which was an improvement from the misshapen pile of before!

The once-crowded coffee table had also been improved. Now, it only housed her laptop, headphones, and one book (and notebook) at a time. The rest of her books and notebooks – aside from the pair she kept on the kitchen table – had a new home, piled neatly along the wall dividing the kitchen from the main living/sleeping space. They still needed a proper shelf, but the current setup worked for now.

Two plants with tall, twisting stems stood guard on either side of her slow-growing book collection, while a small, mismatched assortment of baby foliage in tiny, colorful pots sat along the edge of her kitchen table near the window. It wasn’t anything compared to rows and rows of crops back on the farm, nor the nearby woods she dearly missed walking through, but it still felt good to be around some greenery again.

Biting into a roll, Eden continued penning ideas into the notebook she kept on the kitchen table; new ways to make her place even homier, things that needed her attention, different possibilities to look into. Though it was the mortifying thought of Red Hood coming back to her apartment in its previous state that had spurred her into action, Eden now found herself genuinely starting to enjoy the little space.

Now that she was putting in the effort, her apartment was actually starting to feel… pleasant. Welcoming, even. And even though her neighbors were still ridiculously loud at times, Eden was finding herself happy with her little home. Enjoying the fruits of her labor whenever she paused to take it in... It was a very nice feeling.

Eden suddenly stopped writing. Her heart leapt in excitement as she looked to the far window, the one that led to the fire escape. It could be nothing, but she could’ve sworn she’d heard— The soft tapping repeated itself.

Scrambling up from the table, Eden flew to the window – nearly slipping in her socks – and beamed at the sight of Red Hood on the other side. He greeted her with a short wave of his hand.

“Hi there, Mr. Hood!” she greeted the moment she had the window open. “It’s so nice to see you again! How are you? Your fudge is almost ready, but it needs another couple of minutes or so to finish chilling. I hope that’s alright? I remembered you said you might stop by tonight, but I didn’t think it would be until later on so I— oh! Where are my manners?” She moved out of the way, her cheeks warming. “Won’t you come in?”

“Don’t mind if I do.”

Eden smiled as he deftly climbed inside, pleased to find she could still easily recognize Red Hood’s humored tone.

“Smells good in here,” he said turning toward the kitchen.

She quirked a brow, glancing at his helmet. “You can smell with that thing on?”

“It has an automatic filtration system." He lifted his chin, apparently quite proud of it. "Keeps Fear Gas out, lets good-smelling food in.”

"Really?” She hummed, making a show of looking over his helmet. “It doesn’t look all that fancy to me, Mr. Hood."

He scoffed. “It’s a lot more high-tech than it looks, Cookie Girl.”

“Oh, yeah?” She turned up her nose, grinning, as she led him toward the kitchen table. “What kind of high-tech stuff does it have, then, hotshot?”

“All kinds,” he said unabashedly, not afraid to meet her teasing head-on. “There’s the obvious, like night vision, thermal imaging, incendiary devices, and high-frequency—”

“Hold on, wait.” She turned the words over in her head. “Incendiary devices? Isn’t that just fancy talk for bombs?"

“It might be,” he said confidently.

"You have a bomb in your helmet?" She made a humored face. “That doesn’t sound very high-tech, Mr. Hood. Or obvious.”

He hummed, leaning forward slightly, resting his hands on his hips. “You don’t believe me?” Eden could imagine him grinning at her.

She crossed her arms playfully. “No way. You’re just trying to get a rise out of me. There’s no way you have an actual bomb that close to your head. You’re not that crazy, Mr. Hood.”

He made an amused sound, tilting his head to one side.

Eden opened her mouth, then shut it. She looked him up and down, faltering. “Are… Are you? Mr. Hood, do you really have— Are you— Please tell me you’re joking. That’s— Do you?”

“Relax, Ede.” He said it comfortably, as if he called her that all the time. Eden blinked, trying to remember if he’d ever called her that before — or anything other than Cookie Girl. “It’s just for absolutely fucked situations where I don’t have any other options.”

Her eyes widened. “Wait— You don’t mean— You don’t mean—” She jabbed at her temples frantically, trying to sputter something out.

Red Hood watched her struggle until what she was trying to say finally clicked.

He jerked forward, his hands up. “Shit, not like that! It’s an escape thing, not a kill myself thing,” he explained. “I take it off and throw it like a grenade.”

“Oh. Cool. Okay. A grenade. That’s cool.”

“Breathe, Cookie Girl," he reminded her.

“I’m breathing! Totally breathing!” She took a huge breath for good measure. Then another. “Sorry, I just—” She shook her head, plopping into her seat. She looked at him, then, in realization, jolted right back up again. “Oh, sorry! Please,” she gestured to the spare chair in front of him, “have a seat.”

“I’m alright.” Red Hood leaned onto its back, watching her sit down again. Her face was red hot. “You okay?”

“Yes, fine, thank you.” She took a few slow breaths, her brows pulled together with worry. “Do you… end up in situations like that a lot? Where you have to blow up your helmet to get away?”

Just a few nights ago, there’d been an explosion on the Westward Bridge. One of her coworkers said a friend spotted Red Hood escaping the scene afterwards. Eden, becoming more accustomed to Gotham’s shenanigans than she cared to admit, hadn’t worried about him too much when she’d heard. In fact, oddly enough, she’d felt a bit proud. But maybe she shouldn’t have.

Maybe she was wrong to have assumed he was okay. Maybe he’d been in serious trouble. Maybe he’d needed help. Maybe she should’ve done something. Maybe she should’ve—

“Not really,” Red Hood answered, breaking her dizzying thoughts with a casual shrug. “It’s the last of my last resorts, and it’s pretty rare for me to be so off my game.”

“Oh. Oh, good. That's...” She sighed in relief, then smiled up at him. “I’m glad to hear it, Mr. Hood.”

Of course. What in the world was she thinking? Red Hood wasn’t some small-time, stumbling wannabe. Unlike her pitiful attempts at playing hero, he actually knew what he was doing. If she ever showed up to one of his firefights, she’d probably just end up causing him trouble and end up staggering home with a plethora of healing bullet holes and another encore under her belt. (Maybe two, if she was particularly unlucky.)

Red Hood pulled out his chair and turned it so that its back was nearly up against the wall beside them. When he sat down, angled the way he was, he had a clear line of sight of the entire apartment.

The move was familiar to Eden, but it surprised her to see it done so precisely and naturally. The only other person she’d seen do that – and do it like that – was Mama.

Mama always had to have an eye on her surroundings, so she rarely took a seat without her back against a wall or being tucked in a corner. The habit was one of many from her life before "Louanne Smith". They were so far ingrained into her psyche that if she ever tried to go against them the struggle was obvious to even the blindest fool. Though she feigned ignorance at having ever lived such a life, it had obviously taught her all the skills she now used to keep their “cousins” safe: how to observe and analyze even the smallest detail, how to fight and defend unflinchingly, how to disappear without a trace, how to… make other people disappear.

It made Eden curious to see Red Hood with a habit like that. On the bright side, it probably meant she didn’t have to worry about him the way she had been. If he was even half as capable as Mama was, chances were he could handle just about anything thrown at him — even in a place like Gotham.

But… on the not-so-bright side, she had to wonder...

Red Hood tilted his head slowly. “What?”

“Hm?” Eden blinked and realized she been staring. “Oh, sorry! I was just remembering my, uh… um… well, it doesn’t really matter, I guess. I just got lost in thought. Sorry.”

“You don’t have to keep apologizing.”

“Right, sor— I mean, uh, thank you. I guess.” Cheeks warm, she glanced around quickly for something else to talk about. “Um, would you like some garlic rolls, Mr. Hood?” She picked up the plate and offered it to him. “They’re stuffed with cheese.”

He leaned closer to the food, inhaling it. “So that’s what smells so good.”

She smiled. “Try some!”

He started to grab one when his head turned toward the kitchen. He looked into it a moment then lowered his hand, sat back, and said, “On second thought, I’m okay.”

Eden lowered the plate slightly, surprised. She glanced into her kitchen, wondering what he’d seen to change his mind. The space was perfectly clean and tidy, as she always kept it. The only thing “out of place” was the baking sheet cooling on her stovetop. Any other dishes were already drying in the sink wrack.

“Are you sure? I really don’t mind… I’m happy to share.”

“I’m not interested in stealing your dinner. Besides,” he added in a lighter tone, “I need to save room for the fudge.”

Eden nodded slowly and set the plate down. Glancing toward the kitchen again, she wondered what had tipped him off that the rolls were her meal for the night. The empty baking sheet? The drying dishes?

Always have more than you think you’ll need, she remembered. That was a tried-and-true rule on the farm. They never knew when they were going to have company, so there was always more of things than Eden’s family could ever go through on their own — more blankets, more clothes, more toiletries, more food. Especially food. If there were seven people in the house, they made enough food for ten, and those extra servings came in handy more often than not.

“Can I get you something to drink, then, Mr. Hood?” she asked, picked up her pen and writing the old rule into her notebook. “I have sweet tea, orange juice… uh, water…” She paused, thinking. “Milk?”

He snorted. “I’m good.”

She quirked an impish brow. “Does your fancy, high-tech helmet even have a way for you to drink things? Some built-in twisty-straw component or something?”

He shook his head, edging forward. “Nope. Sorry. No twisty-straws.”

“Your helmet can be an emergency grenade, but it has no cool twisty-straw thingy?” She tsk-tsked, trading her pen for a roll. “I’m disappointed, Mr. Hood. It’s like you’re not even trying to impress me.”

He chuckled. “I’ll get right on that, Cookie Girl,” he assured, a smirk-like quality to his voice.

Eden shook her head at him, trying to hide her grin behind the roll.

He nodded to the notebook in front of her. “What are you working on?”

“Oh, just some ideas.” She pushed it toward him, inviting him to look. “I haven’t been treating this place right,” she explained, pulling apart the roll. “Acting like it’s a prison when it’s a home in need of as much tender loving care as any other.”

Red Hood hummed, going over her lists. “Hard to make a home in a neighborhood like this,” he muttered.

“Doesn’t mean I need to let it sit and rot like I was. It’s nice to have a place you’re at least a little proud of.”

He gave a half-shrug and nodded.

He flipped to a previous page in the notebook, glancing up to see if she minded. Eden shrugged, knowing most of the pages were haphazardly filled with everyday nonsense that likely wouldn’t mean much to him. He looked them over while she ate and she looked over him, a little embarrassed when he started reading out random thoughts.

“‘Mary: Superfluous, plain but extra, well-meaning but unaware’?”

“Uh, that’s a… That’s a thing for work.”

“What do you do for work? Evaluate assholes?”

She laughed. “No, no, I’m a…" She fixed her posture, feeling a bit proud. "I’m an actress, actually."

“A professional liar? Great.”

“Wha—? No! Lying and acting are two very different skill sets, Mr. Hood!”

“Uh-huh. Sure, Cookie Girl. Whatever you say.”

“No really! I’ll have you know I’m an awful liar but a really great— er, uh, well, okay, maybe not a really great actor— I mean, maybe not a great actor either, but, you know, I— Well, actually—”

He snickered, then moved on to the next blurb he could tease her with.

“Are all your notebooks filled like this?” he eventually asked, glancing at her collection against the wall.

She gave a half-shrug as she finished the last roll. “Some are more coherent. This one’s mostly for stuff that pops in my head while I’m eating or in the kitchen. It’s easier to have my thoughts written down where I can see them instead of fighting through them all in my head.”

“Makes sense.” He leaned forward brazenly. “Am I in any of those thoughts?”

“Not any of the written down ones,” she said with a laugh, assuming that was the real question. “I’m not that dumb, Mr. Hood.”

“Good to know,” he said with a nod. “Speaking of dumb, though…” He leaned back in his chair and fished out a cell phone from inside his leather jacket. “I was wondering if you could help me connect some dots here.”

“Me? I don’t know what you could possibly need my help sorting out, Mr. Hood," aside from an urgent, impromptu lesson on goat milking perhaps, "but I’ll certainly try.”

“Oh, you can help a lot more than you think, Edie.” Red Hood set the phone down on the table and pushed it toward her.

Eden blinked again at his sudden use of one of her everyday nicknames, suddenly nervous. She looked down at the phone, at the picture on its screen, and her brows lifted in surprise. She immediately recognized the sleek, minimalist decor of Café Très Boissons and the slightly hunched, unassuming man who’d been taking her picture earlier that day. But more than that, she recognized the angle the picture had been taken from.

Turning to Red Hood, wide-eyed, she faintly recalled the faces of the boys in the corner booth. The younger two were obviously out of the running, but between the smiling one and the one in the red hoodie… It wasn’t exactly a hard leap to make.

“Wait, were you the guy—?”

“I have contacts all over this city,” he told her. “They keep me informed.”

Eden’s brow furrowed. She worked her mouth to say something, not really sure she believed him, but he leaned over the table and swiped the screen to the right, moving the conversation forward before she could. The new picture was taken closer to the scout and clearer than the first, better showing his face and overall frame.

“So imagine my surprise,” Red Hood went on, “when I learn a small-time heiress has a look-alike who can clock up a potential threat in a heartbeat, and it turns out that look-alike—” he swiped right again, this time to a grainy, blown-up picture of Eden, Veronica, and Aaron crossing the street “—is you.”

Eden stared at the picture: she and Veronica arm-in-arm, Veronica’s purse over her shoulder, a flippant expression on her face that didn’t seem to fit quite right. The picture was from an entirely different viewpoint, somewhere up in the air looking down on them, and of a far poorer quality than the first two.

“Security camera?” she guessed glancing up at him. His permeating stare was hard to meet through the angry “eyes” of his helmet.

“Traffic cam.”

Eden sank a little lower. “You’re making me feel like I’m in trouble here, Mr. Hood,” she mumbled.

“Aren’t you?” he accused. “You’ve practically got a flashing neon sign on your forehead that says In Deep Shit.”

“No, I—!” She huffed and moved some hair out of her face. “I do not. I meant trouble like a kid with her hand caught in the cookie jar.”

“Funny.” He moved to rest his jaw on his fist. “I didn’t.”

Eden lowered her gaze, unable to meet the unbreakable scrutiny of his “eyes”. “I’m not in any trouble,” she muttered, rubbing her socked feet together under the table. “Not like that, anyway. I’m fine.”

“Uh-huh. Sure. Y’know,” he half-teased, “I think I’m starting to understand what you meant about being able to lie and being able to act.”

She struggled with a response to that. “What… What even makes you think I’m in that kind of trouble anyhow?”

“You want the short list or the long?”

She stared at him. His certainty was unshakable.

There’s no way it was that obvious she was in trouble… But it wasn’t deep trouble like he seemed to think. Just… ankle-deep trouble. That she was slowly sinking in. No big deal.

Besides, it wasn’t any of his business. Her “trouble” was just between her and her parents. And her siblings, sort of. And… probably the people Frank worked with... and for… But, like, at its core, it was mostly just her and her parents.

“It’s nothing big,” she promised. “Nothing vigilante worthy, anyway.”

Red Hood tilted his head, silently encouraging her to continue regardless.

“It’s just… family stuff.”

Just a looming fight between divorced parents; their adult child stuck in the middle and trying to put out the fire before it sparked. A totally normal thing for a totally normal "family".

Only, like… kicked up to a ten because Eden was a metahuman, her father was a superhero-obsessed farmer-turned-geneticist who basically stole samples of her DNA, and her mother was not afraid to get her hands dirty. Especially if she perceived something as a threat to her daughter’s well-being — which Frank’s recent work and actions could definitely be perceived as.

Plus, everyone in that facility seemed to know about her powers. Mama would not like that. That Eden regretted helping them – that she’d tried to rescind her consent, been denied, and her DNA taken anyway – just made the whole thing even messier.

The only way to hide any of it from her mother was to literally take the money Frank gave her for her "donation", run off, and hide away while she tried to string everything together. Because once Mama knew, Frank was a dead man. Unless Eden could figure out some way to cushion the information and keep her from digging deeper, there was no doubt in her mind that Mama would wipe every last trace of him – and his colleagues – off the face of the earth.

And Eden… Eden didn’t want that.

Despite everything he’d done and put her through, despite all the hurt and tears, part of her still thought of Frank as her father. As the man who read her stories every night and taught her to ride a bike and a horse. The one who called her “Champ” and always carried her up on his shoulders when they went into town. Who told her she was meant for great things, encouraged her compassion, always put her back on her feet… told her he loved her every morning and every night when she was young…

They were both older now, and him colder. He’d abused her trust and love in pursuit of his own goals. Again. This time with intent. But he was still the man who, above all else, wanted to help others. Eden knew that. He just… didn’t seem to mind hurting her in the process. And a part of her hated him for it, but she still loved him, too. She couldn't stand the thought of him getting hurt, or worse.

Which, you know, with her mama a hairpin trigger away from… removing him… sorta left Eden caught between a rock and a hard place. But, again, that wasn’t any of Red Hood’s business.

“It’s not that big a deal,” she stressed. “And anyway, Veronica’s the one with the scout right now, not me.” She swiped back to the picture of the man in the suit and pointed to him firmly. “He cared about getting her picture, not mine. Even if he mixed us up, it still means she’s the one in real trouble here.”

Red Hood hummed. The disharmony was hard to interpret, but she was willing to bet he was neither fooled by nor satisfied with her answer.

“What?” she shot back, crossing her arms, acting defensive to force the conversation forward. “It’s not my fault he confused me for Veronica.”

“No, but you wanted to keep him confused. In fact,” he reached over and swiped back to the traffic cam picture, “you did everything you could to make sure he thought he had the right girl.”

Eden lifted her chin, waiting for the real question. Red Hood studied her, possibly waiting to see if she’d answer it herself. Maybe blubber out something as she was wont to do. But she was determined to keep her mouth shut this time.

She tipped her head, politely prompting him to continue. When he didn’t, she huffed.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Hood,” she said rubbing her forehead, “but I really don’t know what you��re trying to ask me here. I’m not a mind reader.”

He stayed quiet for a few more beats. His consideration shifted from her to the picture on his phone. “For now, I guess my biggest questions are why and how.”

Eden sat up a little. “Why?” she repeated, not sure she understood.

“Yeah. According to my source,” he said slowly, “you two,” he nodded toward her and Aaron in the picture, “figured out the scout was there for Veronica before she’d even entered the building and that he’d mixed the two of you up.”

“Right,” she agreed cautiously. “And?”

“And?” He gestured in front of him as though he’d clearly laid everything out on the table itself. “Didn’t it occur to you that if he saw the real Veronica, the scout would’ve pieced it all together and left you alone?”

Had that occurred to her? She couldn’t remember. Probably not.

But even if it had, Eden wouldn’t have wanted him to leave her alone if it meant throwing Veronica under the bus like that. Eden at least knew how she was supposed to act in that kind of situation, which was more than Veronica could probably say. And besides, no matter what might’ve happened, she would’ve been fine in the end. Veronica didn’t have that guarantee. Nobody did. Except Eden.

“It was better for him to bother me than her,” she said firmly. “At the very least it threw them off her scent for a bit. Hopefully, she can get some sort of security team or something before they get too wise.”

“They?”

“Whoever wanted those pictures in the first place,” she explained. “I seriously doubt that scout was taking them for his own sake, or he would’ve left the moment “Veronica” started noticing him.” She tilted her head at Red Hood and gave him a wicked smile. “Or did your source not mention that part of my theory?”

“He did,” he said simply. “All the more reason to want to stick your head in the sand, though, don’t you think? It’s what anyone else would’ve done.”

She frowned, finally realizing what he was saying. “You Gothamites are so weird. I’d have thought a vigilante would at least understand..."

“Uh, rude?”

“Sorry, I don’t mean to be, but… It’s just I think I figured out what you’re really asking me, and Aaron and Veronica asked me the same thing earlier, too, and it’s just…" She shook her head, finding it hard to wrap her brain around. "Y’all…” She huffed. “Y’all’re just so weird to me.”

Red Hood didn’t say anything.

“Sorry,” she said again, more genuinely. “But you’re asking me why I helped her, right? Even if it wasn’t… oh, how did Veronica say it?” She turned her head, trying to remember. “Wasn’t my problem, I think? Something like that…” She refocused on him. “Anyway, my answer to you is the same as it was for them: because it was the right thing to do.”

Red Hood made a short, unamused noise. “The right thing was pretending to be that girl? Putting yourself in danger?"

“The right thing was helping her,” she corrected. “And that scout had already taken my picture anyway, so…” She swiped between the pictures. “At least I stopped him from taking the real Veronica’s picture, too.”

“But now he’s got your picture.” He sat back and crossed his arms. “Which means his employer’s going to have your picture. If they don’t already.”

“Which they probably do, since he was using a cell phone," she pointed out.

He threw his hands in the air. “Exactly! And he could be some sick, psycho fuck!"

"Well—"

"This is Gotham, Ede," he went on, imploring her to listen. "Even if they know you're not Veronica, they'll know you tried to fuck with their plans for her, whatever they are. People get themselves killed for way less here. You know that, right?”

“No, I... I guess I hadn’t really…”

So that was why a lot of Gothamites didn’t go out of their way to help others! Of course! There was no guarantee offering their hand to one person wouldn't put a huge target on their back with another. And nobody in their right mind would want to risk gaining the attention of one of Gotham’s scarier characters. It all made perfect sense now. Gothamites kept their heads down and only focused on their own problems because they had to. If they didn't, they could very well be signing their life away. And when people asked her why she was helping others, they weren't really asking her that; they were asking her why she was so willing to put her own life in danger for someone else.

But Eden wasn't like them. No matter what happened or what anyone did to her, she would be fine. She was always fine. It didn’t mean she had to throw on a cape and go looking for trouble every day like Frank had wanted her to, but it also meant she didn’t have the same excuse as everyone else. If she could step in and help somebody, she should. She was one of the few in this town who probably could. And, most importantly, she wanted to.

“I still would’ve helped her,” she decided. “Even if someone scary thinks I’m her for a little while, or gets mad at me, at least Veronica is safe for now.”

Red Hood stared at her, unmoving. It wasn’t clear what he was thinking or feeling, but Eden could imagine he might not like what he was hearing. After all, as far as he knew, Eden was just a totally normal, would-die-and-stay-dead civilian.

“I mean, if they have any brain cells at all, they should realize pretty quickly “Veronica” doesn’t look like she should, right?” she said trying to reassure him. “And even if they don’t, all they have to do is follow me home once and they’ll realize they’ve got the wrong girl.” She pointed out the window. “Even a total rock-for-brains moron would start scratching their head if Veronica Bradford came to a neighborhood like this.”

He followed her finger, seeming to consider her words. “Maybe,” he acknowledged. “But they’d probably just say fuck it and stick around anyway. Especially if it was some goon following orders.”

Eden bobbed her head from side to side, agreeing with the possibility. “They’d still figure it out eventually, though. Veronica’s a socialite. And I’m definitely not. Eventually, she’d post a Snapstagram story or go somewhere fancy while I’m hanging about here and things wouldn’t add up. And if they were still convinced I’m Veronica after something like that, then I don’t think they’re smart enough to be considered much of a threat to anybody but themselves.”

“Everybody is a threat in this city,” he warned her. “And the last thing you want is some twisted mother fucker knowing where you live. Especially if they think you messed with them.”

“I’d rather someone like that know where I live and make my life difficult than let someone else get hurt or killed because I didn’t help them,” she said stubbornly.

Red Hood let out a gruff, half-groaning sound as he sat back to stare up at the ceiling. "Of course you would," he grumbled. He stayed like that for a minute, perhaps trying to gauge how serious she was. He sighed, apparently finding his answer. "I don't get you. You freak out when a stranger shows up to warn you inside, but the idea of some asshole coming here and actually trying to fuck with you? That doesn't scare you?"

"In my defense, this is the ninth floor and it was my private fire escape. I had every right to freak out when some big stranger with guns and a mean-faced helmet suddenly showed up out of nowhere."

He huffed.

"And I'm not completely helpless, Mr. Hood," she told him. "I have a little fighting know-how under my belt."

"Uh-huh, yeah, sure. And how's your neck, again?"

"My...?" She blinked at him, then remembered the healed cut and frowned. "Hey, I'll have you know I was doing very well for myself until I got stabbed!" she said pointing at him.

He looked up again, this time as if asking a higher power for help. “So if someone broke in here with a gun or another knife, you think you'd be able to fight them off?"

“I'd be fine."

"So you do think you could."

"Not really, no."

He stared at her. “Y'know... a little lie might be nice right about now.”

"I could 100% fight them off no problem, Mr. Hood."

He groaned, covering his eyes. "God, you are an awful liar."

Eden tried very hard to suppress her giggles. “If it makes you feel any better," she offered, "I wasn’t planning on it. Pretending to be Veronica, I mean."

Red Hood sighed, but he lowered his hand and gave her his attention anyway.

"Veronica’s not very… Well, let’s say she’s not the most observant person around. And I know my foresight’s not exactly great in the heat of the moment, and I might end up paying for it eventually, but… I couldn’t just... not do something when that scout noticed her, you know? She needed someone to help her and she didn't even know it. So I just… did.”

Red Hood let out a sharp laugh, which sounded sharper with the distortion. He looked away, subtly shaking his head. “So you just did,” he muttered to himself. He turned to her again. “Didn’t you agree not to do anything stupid before I came by again, Cookie Girl?” he teased.

Eden smiled apologetically, then turned coy. “I did try, Mr. Hood,” she said sweetly. “And I promise that that was the stupidest of the stupid things I did. Which I’m willing to bet is still a million times better than the craziest thing you’ve done since the last time I saw you.”

He put a hand on his chest. “Who me? Do something crazy? Never.”

“Uh-huh. You sure about that? Because I’m pretty sure I heard someone say something about a red vigilante being involved with that big explosion Friday night.”

“Nope. Wasn’t me. Must’ve been Red Robin. I’m completely innocent.”

Eden nodded along, not admitting she only knew of the other vigilante because she’d thought Red Robin was just another of Red Hood’s names until somebody corrected her.

“Oh, completely innocent, I’m sure,” she goaded. “And what was it that you were doing oh-so-innocently while the bridge was blowing sky high, Mr. Hood?”

“Hey, the bridge is still standing, isn’t it? He made sure there wouldn’t be any structural damage. Just a little mess of things. He knows what he’s doing with shit like that.”

“Uh-huh. Yeah. I sure hope he does. Especially if he also has a helmet full of explosives.”

“Not to worry, Ede," he assured her. "I’m the crazy Red.”

“Oh. Good. I feel so much better now. Thanks."

He laughed.

“Wait.” She pointed at him. “Do you both go by Red?”

“We do," he nodded, "but Double R’s usually Red if we’re using shorthand,” he said crossing his arms. “They call me Hood to keep it simple.”

“Oh, well, that’s not confusing at all. Though I suppose y’all can’t exactly call him Robin. That’d be even more confusing.”

Red Hood scoffed. “Demon Spawn would have an absolute fit if we did that.” He looked to the side. “Then again…” He rubbed his chin, seeming to consider it.

“Um,” Eden lifted a tentative finger to catch his attention. “I’m sorry, but this is Gotham City, so I’m gonna need you to clarify: do you mean, like… a real demon spawn or…?”

“I mean I think he is,” Red Hood joked, “but, no, not really. That’s just what I call Robin ‘cause he’s a little shit.”

She perked up. “You mean Robin like… Batman's Robin?” He nodded and Eden scoffed with certainty. “Well, he can’t be that bad, then.”

Red Hood let out a short, sharp laugh. Something about it a bit painful. “Are you an expert on Robins now, Ede?”

“Well… no,” she mumbled, a little embarrassed. “But if he’s a Robin then… I dunno. He can’t be all that bad.”

“Have you ever met the brat?”

Eden shook her head slowly, fighting the urge to scowl.

No, she hadn’t met the boy Red Hood was talking about… But she’d met one of his predecessors. And that Robin? He’d saved her life. Not just from a fight or another encore. She could handle those things on her own. Poorly, sure. But she could.

No, what he’d saved her from was a life full of fights and encores. And pain. Endless, endless cycles of pain.

Without him, who knows where she’d be today. Who she’d be. Certainly not the person she was. Not the civilian trying to make the best of an awful situation by following her theatrical dreams. If he hadn’t knocked some sense into her, she would probably be what Frank wanted her to be. A… A hero. A constantly struggling, hurting, dying, pitiful attempt of a superhero.

Robin saved her from that. From a life of wishing every day, every death, would be her last.

As far as she was concerned, she owed that boy every good goddamn thing in her life. So to hear Red Hood call her hero a brat or a demon spawn, even if it was a completely different boy, even if Red Hood obviously knew him a thousand times better than Eden knew the one she’d met… Well, it upset her. In her heart, “Robin” was still the boy from her childhood.

Though, even she could admit it was hard to remember him clearly after so many years. She could remember the way he’d spoken to her and how it had impacted her, but not most of what he’d actually said. She could remember him joking and laughing with her, but not the way it sounded. She could remember the way he’d smiled and offered his hand before lifting her up into the air, but the scene was fuzzy.

“Sorry,” Red Hood grumbled, rubbing the jawline of his helmet. “I guess you’re more of a Gothamite than we thought.”

“Huh?” She squinted at him, confused. “No, I’m not. What do you mean?”

“Well...” He leaned back, spreading out slightly. “People these days tend to be pretty protective of their Robins. Even when this one first started out and was swinging his sword everywhere—”

“This one’s got a sword?” she blurted out, shocked.

“Yeah, a katana. He hacked up a couple of goons pretty good with it, too. Which I thought was great,” he said gesturing to himself, “but B didn’t.”

“B? As in… Batman?” she whispered.

He snorted at her. “He’s not the boogeyman, Ede. He’s not gonna jump out of your closet if you say his name too loud." Despite saying this, he was clearly doing a quick survey of her apartment.

“Wow. I feel so reassured,” she droned. “Anyway, no, I should be the one apologizing. You clearly know this Robin well, so if you think he’s a—” her mouth twitched slightly “—a brat then... you… probably have your reasons for it. I suppose. And I should... respect that,” she half-snarled.

Red Hood clapped slowly. “Wow. What a beautiful performance, Edie. How’s it feel to be such a great actor?”

“Oh—” she reached over the table and shoved him “—shut it, you!”

He just laughed her off.

“You better start being nice to me, Hood," she said standing and moving toward the fridge.

“Or what?” he asked confidently.

She grinned at him. “Or you’re not getting any Mad Mountain Fudge,” she teased right back.

---

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#jason todd #red hood #jason todd fanfiction #jason todd x oc #red hood x reader #red hood fanfiction #jason todd fluff #red hood fluff #silly #fluff #Never-Ending Encore #chapter 8 #oc: Eden Smith #red hood x oc #cross posted on ao3

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howtosingit · 4 years

Text

Fic: An Open Heart is an Open Wound to You

Days after the solar storm, Carlos and TK spend another night under the stars.

Basically, a re-do of the 1x02 disaster dinner, taking place just after 1x10.

4.1K | Also on AO3

——————

Carlos can’t help but to let out a deep sigh as soon as he steps foot into his apartment. There’s a stillness to the space, a quiet that comforts him. It’s been so hard for him to find that kind of peace in the past two weeks; between the shooting, the lack of sleep from the fallout of the shooting, the solar storm, and the additional work following the solar storm, he feels like he hasn’t had a moment alone to catch his breath. It’s making him feel off-balance, like he hasn’t been able to fully adjust to everything going on around him.

So, he takes a shower, and it helps. He can feel waves of tension flowing off him as he stands under the hot water. He breathes deeply, taking in the heat, cleansing his lungs. He massages his eyelids, his neck and shoulders, his arms, driving away the tightness that he’s felt building. It’s relaxing, and he stays under the shower head much longer than he planned to, swaying in and out of full consciousness.

What feels like an hour later, he returns to his kitchen, opening the fridge to see what he can pull together to eat. He’s much calmer than before, but there’s still something off about his apartment. He looks around the room, trying to spot what might be making him feel on-edge, but nothing looks out of place. He can’t pinpoint what it is, but he feels like something’s missing.

He’s staring off into space, brows furrowed in thought, when his phone buzzes on the counter next to him. The name on the screen brings a sudden smile to his face, one that drives his current concerns to the back of his mind.

Wanna come over?

His eyebrows raise slightly in surprise; in the many months that he has known TK, the man has never invited him over to his place. Sure, their moment on top of his Camaro only two nights ago seemed to imply that they might be moving in a different direction, but still... This feels big, in a way, and Carlos is ashamed to admit it, but he didn’t think TK would be taking big swings this soon.

His delay in responding becomes obvious when his phone buzzes again in his hand.

I miss you.

His eyebrows raise even higher, this time accompanied by a soft smile. It’s not that TK has been constantly emotionally distant, but he’s not usually this forthcoming either, especially through text. Carlos huffs out a laugh, thinking about how it’s only been a couple of days since they had some alone time, but how much he has also missed his… whatever they are now. And since Carlos has never really been one to hide his true feelings, he doesn’t hesitate to tell TK that.

I’ve missed you too. Be there in 20 minutes, that okay?

20 mins is perfect! No speeding, Officer Reyes ;)

Fondly, Carlos rolls his eyes, dropping his phone on the counter and moving towards his bedroom. If he’s going to see TK, he’s going to need to wear something other than his faded sweatpants.

--------

Eighteen minutes later, he’s pulling up outside the Strand house, tapping his fingers nervously on the steering wheel as he comes to a stop. He doesn’t even know why he’s feeling anxious; he’s known TK for months now, and he’s seen a lot of different sides of the man that he’s come to care for deeply. For some reason, this invitation feels like a turning point for them, and the pressure of what that could mean causes him to rub at his forehead, trying to lessen the stress he feels building there. He just really wants this to work out, probably more than he’s ever wanted anything, if he’s being honest.

Shaking himself, he gets out of the car and moves up the front path towards the house, noting the absence of Captain Strand’s truck in the drive. With a deep breath, he raises his hand to the door and gently knocks.

It must be only seconds later when the door opens, almost as if TK was standing there in wait. Their eyes immediately link, a gentle softness that pulls a breath from Carlos. He just saw TK earlier this week, but that doesn’t stop Carlos from feeling like he’s seeing him for the very first time; it happens more often than he will probably ever admit.

“Hi,” TK says gently, cutting through the silence. Carlos feels his smile widen slightly in response. He takes a chance and steps through the doorway, sliding his arms underneath TK’s to wrap him in a hug, mindful of his shoulder. TK tenses in surprise before huffing out a laugh, wrapping his own arms around Carlos’s shoulders.

“Hi,” Carlos replies, pressing his face into TK’s neck. He’s quickly discovered that it’s his favorite place to be.

“Hi,” TK breathes out, nuzzling Carlos behind the ear. He shivers in response, feeling a little ridiculous, but he kind of doesn’t ever want this moment to end. Before he can say anything further, his stomach lets out a small groan and he feels TK begin to shake with laughter as he pulls away slightly, giving him an amused look. “Either you're hungry, or I’m awakening some very strange parts of your body.”

Carlos rolls his eyes. “You awaken every part of my body, cariño” he says, knowing full-well how stupid it sounds as it comes out, but he also notices how TK’s eyes darken just a bit, so he can’t be too embarrassed. “I am a bit hungry, though,” he admits. “Work was a little crazy and I skipped lunch.”

TK grins, letting out a small noise of understanding. “I just may be able to help you with that,” he says, grabbing Carlos’s hand and turning to lead him further into the house. He follows, gripping tightly to TK’s hand as he looks around. The decor doesn’t surprise him — it’s very similar to the remodeled firehouse, and he recognizes Captain Strand’s commitment to his personal style. It makes Carlos smile, happy to see a little further into TK’s world.

TK leads him to the back of the house and through the sliding patio door into the backyard, where he stops abruptly, Carlos jerking quickly to the side to avoid running into him. He looks out at the small, fenced-in area, and can’t help the sharp breath that steals into his chest.

The yard features a picnic table, currently ladened with a full dining setup. He can see multiple candles at both ends, dishes of food next to those, and two plates at the center. Near the middle, he sees two champagne flutes and an ice bucket with two bottles sweating in the mild Texas heat. Carlos’s gaze shifts upward, above the table, eyeing the string lights that criss-cross over the table, twinkling softly. He grips TK’s hand tightly, intertwining their fingers as he feels himself vibrate with overwhelming emotion. TK never fails to surprise him, and it knocks him back every time.

He thinks the other man understands, as TK rises up to press a soft kiss to his cheek before dragging them closer to the table. Carlos allows TK to drop his hand as he reaches for one of the bottles and pours two glasses of sparkling golden liquid for them. He’s confused as he silently watches, taking his glass with a small shake of his head, TK clinking them together and raising his eyebrow to indicate that Carlos should take a drink.

The minute the liquid hits his tongue, Carlos recognizes the definite lack of alcohol. “It’s grape juice,” TK confirms, a small blush on his face as he takes a sip. “I know it’s kind of childish, I just wanted to recreate the—”

Carlos cuts him off with a kiss, smiling as TK lets out a small gasp, causing Carlos to push closer, parting his lips. TK does the same and as their tongues brush against one another, Carlos can faintly taste the juice, but mostly he just tastes TK. It’s kind of his favorite taste in the world.

They get lost in each other for a moment, Carlos reaching up to grip the back of TK’s head when he senses TK’s hand on his waist. He feels like he could spend the rest of his life kissing TK and never regret a single second of it, but at some point they both need air. “I really like grape juice,” Carlos says when their lips part, pressing forward to rest his forehead against TK’s. He watches as TK’s lips raise into a soft smile.

“I hope it goes well with dinner, which I have to be honest with you, I did not make” TK says, pulling back to gesture down at the table. Carlos follows his lead, moving to sit as TK stands across from him, grabbing his plate to begin serving the food. Carlos recognizes the baked red snapper, and his heart immediately swells in his chest. “First big thing to know about me: I burn water. You do not want me to cook for you.”

Carlos lets out a sound of disagreement, staring up at TK as he moves along the table filling the plate with salad and bread and asparagus. “I’d be happy to give you some lessons,” he says. “I love to cook.”

“I remember,” TK says, a slight grimace on his face. He doesn’t let it linger though. “You really think you could teach me a thing or two? People have tried before.”

“I think we could at least get you past the ‘burning water’ phase,” Carlos jokes as his plate is placed in front of him. “This all looks incredible, TK. All of it,” he says, gesturing to the entire set-up.

TK blushes down at his plate before reaching for his glass, raising it to hover between them. “To surviving a solar storm,” he toasts, and Carlos responds, taking another sip. “Speaking of, how’s work? You said today was crazy?”

Carlos nods, diving into his day as they begin to eat. It’s easy, comfortable conversation, with TK responding with his own insight into what’s going on at the firehouse. He may not be back at work, but his team texts him constantly in their group chat, and he’s stopped by to hang out with Buttercup a couple of times. When TK speaks, Carlos can’t help but stare openly, watching as his bright green eyes reflect the twinkling lights above them. The thought of TK is usually enough to make his brain short-circuit, but seeing him here, so relaxed and happy as he shares a story about Marjan and Mateo and a prank gone wrong, Carlos can’t help but to admire his radiance. He’s unlike anyone that Carlos has ever seen.

“This was delicious, TK, thank you,” he says, tossing a napkin onto his now-empty plate. “It means a lot that you did all of this for me.”

TK, who at this point is completely relaxed, stares across the table at him, tapping his fingers along the wood grain. For a minute, they just sit in silence, staring at one another, happy to be sharing time and space. Carlos watches as TK rises and moves around the table, leaning down to press a short kiss to his lips. He grabs his hand and moves away, pulling Carlos up from the table. “Come sit with me.”

Carlos happily follows TK over to a garden bench off to the side that he had missed when he first entered the yard. They sit side-by-side, TK immediately folding himself into his side as Carlos puts an arm around his shoulder, careful of his healing injury. TK grips the hand in his lap, caressing his fingers, almost as if he’s distracting himself. Carlos waits with bated breath, unsure what he might be building to say.

“I used to dream about moments like this,” TK says into the silence. Carlos glances down at him, but TK is looking off towards the table and the twinkling lights, lost in thought. “My high school friends used to laugh at me all the time about my high aspirations for romance.

“I think I blame my parents. They may have gotten a divorce, but the minute I heard how they met, I knew soulmates were real. Something about the idea of a young firefighter and a stressed-out law student meeting because she forgot about her dinner in the oven while studying and nearly burned her building down, it just screamed everlasting love to me.”

Carlos huffs out a laugh, somewhat in response to the story but mostly in response to what TK is doing; he’s never openly shared so much personal information before. He can feel TK’s smile against his chest.

“Even when they separated, I convinced myself that it wasn’t because they didn’t love each other, it was just because the world wasn’t built to support their love story. And then, years later, when I realized I was gay, I couldn’t help but wonder if the world was built to support mine.”

Carlos grips TK’s hand in his own, feeling the pain of his words. He remembers feeling similarly when he discovered the truth about himself. It’s a feeling that he knows will probably never go away completely.

“But my parents were completely supportive,” TK continues. “I never doubted their love for me, not about that. So, with all of that support surrounding me, I kept believing in love. In the fairytale of it all, the earth-shattering romance. Even when things got harder, I still believed in that dream.

“I dated a lot in college. I put myself out there, I charmed boys, I wooed them. I did everything I could to make it feel big, make it feel like that dream that I wanted. The problem is, you can’t just create a big love story out of nothing. I tried really hard to do that, too hard. Like, ‘dated a user and used with him because I thought it would bring us closer’ level of trying. Turns out, pills can help fill the gaps that you’re trying to fill with guys who don’t give a shit and dads who choose their work over you.”

Carlos can feel TK shaking, and he tightens his grip on him, learning down to press a kiss to his temple. TK turns his head just slightly, pressing his lips against Carlos’s shirt, near his rapidly beating heart. He knows it’s impossible to actually feel it against his skin, but Carlos can’t help but feel like TK has branded him.

“My addiction got bad enough that my parents couldn’t ignore it anymore. I went to a rehab place upstate the summer after my graduation. When I came back, I enrolled in the academy. I’d always wanted to be a firefighter, and Dad was happy to have me close, to watch me. It worked for a few years. I fell in love with my job, with the high that comes with saving people. I stayed away from pills, I did the casual thing with guys. It wasn’t my old dream, but it felt okay. And then I met Alex.”

TK pauses, pulling away with a sigh to lean back against the bench, looking up at the night sky. Carlos adjusts himself to accommodate the sudden change, his nerves spiking at the movement, but also at the heavy way that TK speaks the name.

“He was a nice guy,” TK says, still looking upwards. “Better than any of my college boyfriends, better than the casual hookups. He was a photographer, we met at a first responder fundraiser. He was nice to look at and we looked good together. I felt good with him.

“My dad didn’t care for him. He thought Alex was too self-centered, too interested in who he was going to be and not at all interested in where he was or who he was with. I don’t really know if that’s true. Looking back, I can see that I fell into my try-too-hard behavior from before: I planned all of our dates, I introduced him to all of my friends, I bought him nonsense gifts just because, I said ‘I love you’ first. I was always the one putting my heart out there. I didn’t see all of that then, though. I thought he was my soulmate. I thought he was my dream, and I wanted to marry him.”

TK closes his eyes, heaving out a heavy sigh. Carlos itches to hold him again, but he doesn’t know where this all is going, and he wants to respect TK’s need for space. He scoots over just a bit, pressing their sides together again, but he doesn’t reach out, choosing instead to leave his palm lying flat against his thigh. It feels like forever, but finally, TK reaches out and takes his hand again, interlocking their fingers.

“You know the rest,” he says with a sigh. “Nuclear breakup, at the dinner where I was going to propose. He had been seeing someone else for months. It’s so obvious to me now, he was always pulling away, filling his evenings with ‘work.’ There was this distance between us, and I didn’t see it. Or I didn’t want to see it. And then it all just collapsed around me, this fairytale idea of what our relationship was, and I couldn’t handle it. So I tried to fill the gaps again, and I went too far.”

Carlos shutters out a small gasp at the reminder of TK’s overdose. No matter how many times he thinks about it, he can’t get past the idea that he was this close to never meeting the man sitting next to him. He was so close to never experiencing everything that TK makes him feel and want. TK turns, his eyes full of concern, and pulls their bodies together, caressing the back of Carlos’s neck as they both breathe deeply in each other’s arms.

“You weren’t supposed to find me so soon, Carlos Reyes. When I got here, I wasn’t anything like myself. I didn’t know who I was anymore. I couldn’t feel anything, and I didn’t want to. I was so tired of trying. I was tired of losing myself to this idea of something that, clearly, I could never have.

“And then you walked up to me in that bar and I… Carlos, men like you are not supposed to exist,” TK says with a laugh. Carlos rolls his eyes, opening his mouth to speak, but TK cuts him off before he can say anything. “Don’t argue with me on this, I’m right. I’ll ask every single person in Austin, and they’ll say the same thing. Even the straight guys.

“But there you were, and I may not have wanted to feel anything, but you didn’t give me a choice. You were otherworldly. And you have to know, you’re the best partner I’ve ever had in bed.”

Carlos can feel himself blush as he turns to hide in TK’s uninjured shoulder. He hears the firefighter laugh, and feels him press his cheek against Carlos’s curls.

“I mean it! I’ve never had anyone give so much of themselves to me before. It was overwhelming, in the best way. You lit me up, Carlos. And I couldn’t stay away, even when I really wanted to.”

Carlos closes his eyes, knowing what TK’s going to say next.

“That night,” TK says, squeezing Carlos tighter as his voice stutters. “Carlos, you have to know that I have so many regrets about that night and the way I reacted, the way I treated you. I’m so sorry.”

“Ty, I know,” Carlos says, raising his head to look TK in the eye. He cups his cheek, trying to rub away the stress that he can see on TK’s face. “You’ve already apologized for that, and I forgave you.”

“I know, I know,” TK replies, covering Carlos’s hand with his own. “But let me explain, okay. It’s important to me.” When Carlos nods, he goes on. “No one, and I mean no one, that I have ever dated has done something like that for me. Cooking me a full dinner after midnight, just because you wanted to see me, talk to me, get to know me?”

“It was ridiculous, I can’t believe I did that,” Carlos huffs, shaking his head.

“It was my dream, Carlos,” TK whispers. Carlos’s eyes widen at his candor as they stare openly at one another. “That dinner was like something out of every dream that I have ever had about romance. The idea that someone would go to such lengths just to spend time with me? That they would understand my life in such a way that they wouldn’t be put off by my weird schedule? That they would light candles, and dress nicely, and serve me dinner? That was everything that I ever dreamed of, and something I had never had. And it scared the hell out of me.”

“Ty, you don’t have to be scared of me,” Carlos tries, but TK keeps going.

“I know that now,” he says, “but then? Then I didn’t want those feelings. I didn’t want the dream. The dream had hurt me, the wound felt too fresh. I didn’t want the big, romantic fairytale. I just wanted simple and easy, and I hurt you. I was selfish and I made a mess of everything, and I’ll always be sorry for that.”

Carlos pulls away then, breathing deeply as he clutches TK’s hand in his. This is so much more than he expected for this evening, and he needs a moment to process. He looks at the night sky, the stars twinkling along with the lights hanging in his periphery. He wants to tell TK that he doesn’t have to keep apologizing, but he doesn’t think that his words would be enough. He realizes now that this dinner was TK’s way of making amends for that night. It means a lot to him that he would go this far to show how much he cares, even if Carlos forgave him months ago. A gentle breeze rustles the leaves on a nearby tree in the backyard, and Carlos gets an idea.

He rises from the bench, pulling his phone out of his back pocket and opening his music app. He clicks play on a song, keeping the volume low as he turns back towards TK. The other man is looking up at him, his face concerned as his eyes continue to twinkle in the lights. Carlos holds out his hand. “Can I share something with you now?”

TK doesn’t hesitate before taking his hand and following Carlos to the middle of the backyard. He turns and gathers TK into his arms, pressing him close as he starts to sway to the gentle guitar music. TK seems confused at first, but he slowly allows Carlos to turn them in a slow circle.

“I’m not a dream, Ty,” Carlos speaks softly into his ear. “I’m a person, just like you. And I’m not a perfect person, as much as I try to be. I’m going to make mistakes. You’ll make mistakes. We’ll make mistakes together. We’ll fight sometimes, we’ll scare each other. It’s going to be a lot. I’m not a person who feels things casually. I’m an all-in kind of guy.”

Carlos pulls back, cupping TK’s face in his hands. His eyes are shining with tears that have yet to fall, and Carlos can’t help but press his lips to TK’s forehead in comfort.

“There are going to be more messes,” Carlos adds, staring directly into the eyes of the man that he probably already loves. “But I already know that I would rather make a million messes with you than live a mess-free life with anyone else.”

A tear falls onto TK’s cheek as he raises his hands to grip Carlos’s wrists, keeping his palms pressed against his face.

“I’d rather be scared with you than have it easy with anyone else,” TK whispers, his eyes heavy as they refuse to break contact.

Carlos feels every part of him melt as he closes the gap between them, pressing his lips to TK’s in a kiss that feels like a seal, binding them together. He can taste the salt from the other man’s tears, and he pulls him closer, wrapping him in all of the love and support that he has to give.

Later, possibly minutes or hours or days even, they break the kiss, but they don’t stop swaying in each other’s arms and, in TK’s hold, Carlos realizes that he’s finally found what he had been missing all along.

#tarlos #tarlos fic #tarlos fanfic #911lonestarweek #future canon #(it technically fits so why not)#tk strand #carlos reyes #I wrote a thing #911 lone star

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cupcakemolotov · 4 years

Text

Universal Language

It has been a rough couple of weeks, and I know some people have been needing some fluff, so here we go. No monsters just yet, but I am working on it! And I will probably change this title, but I cannot brain.

The flat was dark as Caroline stood in the kitchen, lip tucked tightly between her teeth. A quick glance out of a window told her what she already knew. The rain that had hit as they’d staggered into Klaus’ super fancy building was still going strongly outside, leaving the city hazy and cold. Tugging the edge of her borrowed shirt a little firmer over her knuckles, she debated her options.

She was really starting to regret leaving the bed, but she really needed a few minutes to herself to sort some of her mental floundering. She hadn’t been sure if she could keep her hands to herself if she’d stayed cuddled up to Klaus, and if he had woken up and looked at her like he had last night, she was going to end up distracted real fast. Pressing her fingers to her burning cheeks, she took a centering breath and pushed aside the hotter memories from last night.

Though they were really, really good.

She’d flown into London three days ago to wrangle some press for Enzo, her rockstar best friend determined to keep her life interesting. Three tours, two high profile relationships before he’d gotten around to realizing Bonnie was perfect for him, and a lifetime of coordinating his band practices and wrangling shows until he had hit it big time had made her very good at her job. But even she had her limits. But since he’d just brought home his first Grammy and also recently celebrated his first wedding anniversary, she’d give him some slack. Not much, but a little. And when he’d invited her to a small party he was throwing to celebrate both events, she’d shown up.

And so had Klaus.

The Mikaelson’s were old tour friends. They’d been the first group to really take a chance on Enzo as an opening act, and he and Kol had hit it off. They’d stayed in touch for bar crawls and club hoping, and other activities Caroline was pretty certain would give any PR worth their salt early wrinkles. She and Elijah had become professional acquaintances very quickly, and she’d always liked that he’d taken her seriously, even fresh faced and the ink on her degree still wet. Where Elijah understood the inner workings of the press far better than anyone she had ever bet, Caroline brought a social media game that was rock solid.

These days, Elijah even wrote the note on her holiday cards himself.

But Klaus. There had always been something about the lead singer and guitarist that left awareness skating down the back of her spine like a touch. He’d made a move early on, with wicked dimples and curlings lips, and hadn’t so much as blinked when she'd turned him down. She wouldn’t lie to herself and say that she hadn’t sometimes regretted that decision those long hours on the road watching him perform, but she had goals and Enzo had dreams. She hadn’t been willing to let even a hint of distraction slow them down. Even if the distraction tended to remove his shirt part way through a performance, and was built.

But last night he’d shown up at that hole in the wall pub, and she’d found herself wondering. All the things she had ignored as she built her career, all the possibilities that she’d let go because her ten year plan had so little wiggle room for any of them. This morning she had a lot less to wonder about and so much more to ponder. The way he’d looked at her when she’d asked him to take her to his home, how good it’d felt and how ridiculously easy he had read her cues. She’d have loved to get her hands on a pad or pen so she could put her thoughts in order, a list right now would really be helpful, but she didn’t want to risk waking Klaus by rummaging through his things.

Well, rummaging anymore than she already had.

Her dress had been crumpled at the foot of the bed, but she hadn’t really wanted to put it back on. Sneaking into Klaus’ closet to find something warm to pull on when she couldn’t locate a robe had been an exercise in ninja-stealth she was surprised had worked. He had made it clear last night that she was welcome to stay, and the idea of leaving had been momentarily tempting, but she was no longer in her early twenties and she’d known Klaus for over a decade.

If she couldn’t stick around with breakfast with him post-sex, she was probably never going to manage it with anyone. Plus, it was raining. There was no way she was walk of shaming it back to her hotel in the rain.

Caroline bounced on her toes for a moment to warm up and tried to decide what her most pressing issue was. What she needed right then was a cup of coffee. However, being friends with Enzo had taught her that finding a normal, American coffee pot in this city would be near impossible. Huffing at the thought, she snuck another glance at the darkened bedroom.

Klaus probably wouldn’t sleep much longer, he was an annoyingly early riser most of the time, and she really needed to be firing on all cylinders when he made an appearance. Shaking her head, she spun on her heel and determinedly, quietly, started snooping through his cabinets. He had spent enough time with her to know that she was a snooper. He’d even lent a helping hand once or twice when she was getting even with Enzo and Kol, so it would hardly be a surprise if he caught her. And she really wanted to know what a rockstar who wasn’t Enzo kept in his kitchen.

What she found was a surprising amount of high end pots and pans, a few gadgets she didn’t recognize straight off the bat, an impressive collection of wooden spoons, and most importantly, a small french press. It was the exact same one that Enzo kept for her, and she punched the air in silent victory. She’d already spotted his electric kettle, so it wouldn't take long to put together a cup. Rising up on her toes, she was about to open another cabinet, surely if he had a french press he had coffee, when a sleep rough voice interrupted her.

“Two cabinets over, love. Top shelf.”

She slammed down on her heels, hand pressed against her chest and turned to toss a glare. “Geez, scare me to death.”

Caroline had to catch her tongue between her teeth, hard, as the sight of him. He’d clearly just rolled out of bed and pulled on a pair of pants, and they were slung low on his hips. His hair stood up in all directions, and she was pretty sure the bruise just beneath on his collarbones was a lingering reminder of her teeth. His smile was slow, dimples cutting deep as he wandered closer.

“I was wondering where that shirt went.” Klaus’ smile deepened, gaze tracking down her body, the rest of of the clothing she had borrowed. “Comfortable?”

She shrugged, ignoring the way she could feel her cheeks heat. “It's cold.”

“You could have stayed in bed,” he pointed out as he obligingly stopped by the controls for the air, turning the heat up. “It was plenty warm.”

She really, really could have but there was no point in inflating his ego more than it needed to be. “And listen to you snore?”

He poked at a particularly ticklish spot on her ribs as he moved by her to reach for the coffee grounds and Caroline jerked away from him with a glare, but accepted the bag as Klaus started the kettle. It was weirdly domestic and easy, and she had no idea what to say to any of it. Thankfully Klaus didn’t seem to be suffering from the same internal struggle and opened the fridge, hand running through his hair.

“I wasn’t expecting company, but I have eggs if you’re hungry. I’m not sure we can trust the bacon.” His eyes flickered to her, brow arching. “Delivery is also an option.”

Caroline wrinkled her nose. “No one wants soggy pancakes, Klaus. I’ll take the eggs, maybe toast if your bread isn’t molding. Also, I can’t believe you cook.”

“Self-preservation,” he said easily. “After a tour, the last thing I wanted was more takeaway. It's not always good, mind you, but at least I don’t have to deal with people.”

She thought about that as he moved around, seemingly completely at ease with her. Klaus didn’t let people in his personal space, was very private when he wasn’t on tour, and she was standing in his kitchen wearing his clothes after she’d spent the night in his bed. Brows tucked together, she mechanically set about making her coffee, turning over everything that had and hadn’t been said in the last twelve hours. The stay, he’d murmured against the nape of her neck after they’d showered and staggered back into bed.

She kept her voice carefully casual. “We both know how much you love people.”

He shot her a look, but his lips twitched. “Should you really be taking a jab at the person making you breakfast?’

“You like it,” she dismissed, finally pouring herself a mug of coffee. She took the first sip with a little sigh of relief and leaned against the counter. “Need help with anything?”

“I like a great many things about you, Caroline,” Klaus murmured as he reached for the half of a loaf on his counter. “The bread should be okay. I pulled it out of the freezer yesterday.”

“Yesterday?” She repeated as she checked the bread before moving closer to the toaster, dodging his earlier comment. “Kol mentioned you guys had been traveling, but he wasn’t exactly coherent when he was giving me details. I think Enzo had goaded him into something like eight shots at that point. I’m not entirely sure how he was standing.”

Klaus made a low noise of amusement as he cracked eggs into the frying pan. “How do you want your eggs, love?”

“I’m not that picky,” she assured him. “Well, about eggs. As long as it's not soft boiled, I’ll eat it, though it’d have been better if there was cheese.”

“I’ll make a note for my assistant,” he said casually. “I’m sure she can find something to meet your standards.”

Caroline glanced at him to find him watching her, eyes intent. “Planning on me sticking around?”

“I did ask you to stay,” he pointed out, gaze leaving her face only long enough to flip the contents of the pan. “That hasn’t changed just because its morning. You’ve never been shy about telling me where we stand, Caroline, and I hope that remains the same as well.”

She flushed, momentarily ignoring the toast popping up. “I didn’t have time for a distraction back then.”

“I remember,” Klaus said lightly. “I believe your exact words were ‘you’re pretty, but not worth Enzo’s career.’”

Caroline scowled when his gaze dragged along her pink face. “You took it well.”

He tipped his head and opened a cabinet, pulling out a plate and sliding the fried eggs onto it. “It helped my bruised ego when you shut everyone else down with even less consideration for their feelings.”

“Some of them were decidedly less charming than you,” she pointed out as she finally reached for the toast, dropping it onto the plate he offered her before going back to cooking his breakfast.

“So you think I’m charming and pretty,” he murmured. “That’s two points in my favor, but not enough that you’d have let last night happen ten years ago.”

“No,” she admitted. “I wouldn’t have.”

“Eat,” he said as she continued to watch him. “You might not be picky, cheese non-withstanding, but cold eggs are terrible.”

Laughing a little, she hosted herself onto one of the bar stools at the kitchen island and wolfed down her food. Last night had been quite the workout, and she was definitely hungry. Klaus didn’t rush through his food, but he was quick, and by the time she was pouring the last of the coffee into her mug, he was loading the dishwasher. He shut it with his hip, quickly washing his hands, before he turned and faced her.

“Now,” he said, stepping close to where she was sitting and reaching up to push a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Before we settle in for the rest of the weekend, there are a few things you should know.”

“Arrogant,” she muttered, even as she gave in to the need and pressed her palm against the heat of his side.

Klaus looked entirely unbothered by her comment. “The traveling that Kol mentioned? We’ve been scoping out real estate in New York City.”

“We,” she repeated carefully, heart thumping into her throat.

“We. Marcel has been pitching that as a band we start spending more of our time stateside in between tours and recording, and we’ve agreed to it on a trial basis.” His hand came up and he brushed his thumb across the angle of her cheekbone. “I have heard from Enzo and Kol that you might be considering a similar split lifestyle.”

Licking her lips, she nodded and felt a jolt of something warm that he had been asking about her. “It's one of the reasons for this visit.”

His smile was slow and pleased, and his gaze dipped to trace the curves of her mouth. “I’d like to take you dinner.”

Caroline blinked. “Like a date?”

“Exactly like a date. Assuming of course, that I’m still pretty and that Enzo’s career is no longer more important,” he teased lightly, but his eyes were serious. “I plan on being quite the distraction, Caroline.”

She pushed to her feet and tried very hard not to give in and feel up the expanse of bare skin on display. “You’re still really pretty, and I’d love to go to dinner.”

His hand slid to the small of her back and he pulled her closer. “But not tonight.”

“No?”

He shook his head, fingers tugging lightly on the edge of her borrowed shirt. “I have plans for the weekend. And they do not involve us leaving the apartment.”

“Does these plans involve a spare toothbrush?” Caroline asked. “I can probably survive the dreaded takeaway, but there will be no kissing if I don’t get a toothbrush.”

“I imagine I have a spare or two floating around,” Klaus murmured. “I can probably even be talked into making a quick run to your hotel to pick up a few things if you really want them, though clothes are optional and you are welcome to mind. As for food, if you want something more than cheese, you should speak up soon.”

Laughing, she finally gave in and looped her arms around his shoulders. “So magnanimous.”

“For you?” He smiled against her temple for a moment before he stepped back and caught her hand with his, bringing it to the heat of his mouth. Laughing, she untangled herself, and he pulled her with him towards the bedroom. “I’m sure I can find it in me. Let’s find that toothbrush, love, and you can make whatever lists you want, and then you’re mine for the rest of the day.”

Caroline’s smile widened behind him, teeth digging into her lip to stop a giddy laugh. A man with a plan who didn’t mind that she was going to make lists, who was very shortly going to be living much closer to her than she had ever thought possible. Klaus was going to make it very difficult to not fall in love with him, and that thought wasn’t nearly as scary as she’d thought it would be.

#my fic #klaroline #klaroline fanfic #klaroline drabble #fluff #morning after #mostly sfw #did i mention fluff #because there is fluff #and its AH

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chaoticdean · 4 years

Text

Forever and a day.

For week 7 — prompt: thunderstorm

Bonus point for anyone who’s able to guess where the title came from! (hint: it’s a song, and it has a lot of meaning for Dean)

Host : @bend-me-shape-me, @helianthus21 & @pray4jensen ♡

(I know I’m pretty late on this! I’m gonna try and pick up the pace, maybe even write for every prompts I’ve missed before!)

READ ON AO3

It’s still dark when Castiel awakes. The sun doesn’t seem to be up yet, and a quick glance at the clock on his nightstand clearly displaying 5:36am in wide red characters confirms that yes, it is early. The former angel rises from his comfortable position to sit on the bed, proceeds to rub his eyes and ruffles his hair — these are a lost cause, no matter what he does they still stick in a hundred different directions like some kind of wild party animal. He’s about to get up from his sitting posture, taking into account the way his stomach grumbles — he really should’ve eaten something last night, but he’s still getting the hang of being human again and quite frankly, this “humans got to eat at least 3 times a day crap” is a daily struggle — when an arm makes its way across his waist and roughly pulls him back against the mattress (and as it turns out, a very warm, living body).

“Where the hell do you think you’re going?” Dean says, voice still rough with sleep, brushing his lips against Cas’s throat and peppering kisses here and there, which gets the angel’s arousal to rise instantly.

“Well, I was about to go get coffee for your sorry ass, but I guess I’ll stay now that you’ve made me your prisoner” Cas responds dramatically with a wide grin, unable to repress a deep moan when Dean decides to bite the soft skin of his neck.

“It’s not even 6am and we’ve got nowhere else to be, so keep that tight ass of yours in bed. I don’t need coffee, I need you” the hunters says, in a way that makes Cas shiver a little.

Dean tightens his grip around Cas’s waist, his other arm quickly wrapping around his other side, hand landing on his stomach. Cas doesn’t move (although he’s not entirely sure he could, given the way Dean is literally wrapped around him), his back pressed against Dean’s chest, his head tucked below the hunter’s, letting him have the space he needs to essentially worship Cas’s skin between his neck and shoulder. He sighs in content, closing his eyes and raising his left arm to bring Dean’s face closer, entirely giving himself up to the sensation.

The sound of the rain quietly falling down on the bunker’s roof strengthen the cozy feeling of the room that was once Dean’s but has now been theirs for more than a year. There seems to be a storm coming, Castiel can already hear the low rumble of thunder still afar. He used to be unconcerned by weather, back when he was still an Angel of the Lord. It didn’t matter if it rained, if it was below 32°F or if the sun was shining too hard. Now is a different story, and he learned to catalog everything about the weather. He likes the sound of rain, but he also really like when the sun shines on his face while riding shotgun in the Impala after coming back from a hunt. He gets cold really fast, and he learned the hard way that his beloved trench coat wouldn’t be enough to keep him warm anymore (“who the fuck comes to freaking Minnesota with nothing else but a trench coat, you idiot” Dean had said, shaking his head in disbelief but getting his partner one of his winter jacket from the trunk that Cas had kept to this day), but he doesn’t really like when it gets too warm and he’s sweating “like a goddamn trucker after a ride through the desert” courtesy of one Dean Winchester. Sweat is a whole new feeling as well, and he despises it (except when it involves “mind-blowing sex”, as Dean calls it). He likes the rumbles of thunder, but what he loves the most is watching the lightnings fall, cozied up at the back of the Impala next to Dean.

He never thought he could have this. 12 years of buried feelings, heartbreaks, pain and misery let him think that he would never, ever experience any of this. Yet here he is, the fallen angel, inside the arms of the man he saved from Hell years ago.

Now his husband.

Yes, for someone who never wore a last name, Castiel Winchester does have a nice ring to it, he’ll admit.

The loud sound of thunder suddenly rips through the silence of the bunker for half a second, apparently approaching Lebanon quicker and quicker, and Castiel can feel Dean arms tighten lightly around him as the storm begins to crack around them.

Truth be told, it still feels surreal. It’s been an actual process, from literally yelling their mutual feelings at each other’s face after dealing with yet again another “I will kill myself so that you can live” situation, to trying to make this work between them. Dancing around each other and a decade of repressed thoughts and feelings was hard enough, try throwing “how about going human again after being an Angel of the Lord for several millennia” into the mix and see how it goes.

And despite all the troubles that comes with being human — do you know how infuriating it is to remember you’ve got to pee all the damn time?! Or how humans get cold so damn easily? —, despite Castiel being a pain in everyone’s ass trying to come to grip with humanity again, Dean was there alongside him everyday. He wiped every tear, took every bad dream away, woke up at the crack of dawn just so that he could make a different breakfast for Castiel to try every single day. “We need to figure out if you’re more of a regular pancakes and bacon guy, the weirdo type who only eats Lucky Charms with milk, or a plain black coffee and white bread dude. Hell, we can even go wild and have tacos and waffles for breakfast, see how it goes” Dean had said the first morning. Castiel made him come so hard that particular morning that Sam couldn’t face any of them for 2 days after that.

And then, there was the proposal. It came in as sort of a surprise, for Castiel first but almost for Dean as well. Getting married was the epitome of human custom by definition. Cas had never really thought about it, never really had a desire for it and certainly never expected for it to happen to him. Dean being human, the idea of marriage was almost carved into his mind and it obviously came to mind several times before, but it hadn’t for a while for quite obvious reasons — the end of the world, the self-loathing that clung to his entire soul and dripped through the creaks sometimes, the fact that he didn’t think he’d find anyone willing to spend the rest of their life with a broken up loser of a hunter, anyway he was in love with his best friend who was an angel and who certainly did not share his feelings — pick your poison.

But that specific night, after spending a certain amount of time mapping the edges of Dean’s body with a fierce determination in the backseat of Baby, when Dean snuggled closer dropping his face into the crook of Cas’s neck and asked if he would marry him with that husky voice of his that made the former angel go crazy, he didn’t hesitate. It took Cas exactly half a second to whisper “yes” into the hunter’s ear, and that settled it.

They had a quiet ceremony that Bobby officiated, Sam and Jack were their best men, and they were only joined by their closest friends which consisted of Eileen, Charlie, Jody, Donna and the girls (surprisingly enough, Claire was thrilled) , Garth and his family. Cas wore a navy blue suit that made his baby blue eyes look even more deep, and Dean looked like he was out of an episode of the Bachelor with his black tux, black bow-tie and white shirt. They looked perfect. It took them a grand total of 5 minutes before they shared their first kiss as a married couple. There were tears, both in the assistance and on both grooms face. It was perfect. And it looked surreal to Dean.

But good.

Right.

Everything he asked for.

They went to Hawaii for a week on a Honeymoon, but still took Sam and Jack with them (“because they deserve a goddamn break and little umbrella cocktails as much as we do, Cas, and we owe it to them. Besides, we’ll book that honeymoon suite on the other side of the resort and they won’t have to suffer through our nights” Dean had said with a cheeky grin)

Another loud thunder sound rips through the bunker, and Cas knows that Dean’s going to feel relieved that he got Baby into the garage last night instead of leaving her outside by the door like he usually do when they get home in-between hunts.

“You do know” Cas starts but Dean interrupts him right away by sucking on his earlobe and boy oh boy does that makes Cas’s body react, “that the walk from this room to the kitchen is roughly 20 seconds, give or take?”

“So? What’s your damn point?” Dean adds, his mouth mapping that soft spot behind Cas’s ear that tends to make the former angel whimper

“So I can be back in, say, 3 minutes with two cups of coffee and even a slice of that cold pizza you left in the fridge yesterday” Cas manages to say before Dean gets back on attacking his throat with his lips

“You know I love it when you try and talk dirty to me, Angel, but I really don’t care about any cups of coffee or even cold pizza right now. Besides, I’m almost sure Jack chomped that pizza up last night.”

Dean’s mouth lands on his cheek as Cas turns over to face him, finally locking eyes with the hunter — his hunter, he thinks.

“What happened to the ‘I can’t function properly until I’ve got my third cup of coffee’ motto that I’ve seen you go through for the past 12 years, Winchester?” Cas teases, his left hand cupping Dean’s face. “Was it all a lie?”

The hunter closes his eyes, pushing onto the touch, the cold feeling of the silver wedding band Castiel is wearing on his ring finger attacking his senses.

Meanwhile, Cas gazes at his husband, realizing he hasn’t shaved in at least two weeks, and his jawline gets even more glorious with that dirty blond scruff all over it.

Dammit, get it together, Winchester.

“Besides”, Cas adds, his lips brushing lightly against the corner of Dean’s mouth “I’m no angel anymore.”

“You’ll always be my Angel, Cas” Dean responds softly, his green eyes looking even more bright as he says the words.

“Aww, you’re such a sap.”

“Okay” Dean grumbles, looking slightly offended but sporting a wide grin on his face, “When did you become a sassy son of a bitch, and what have you done with my husband?”

“Learned from the best” Cas chuckles, nuzzling his way along Dean’s jaw toward his ear “and Chuck was technically my father, so you’re like, halfway right on that assumption” he whispered.

“Will you shut your damn mouth and give me a kiss, for heaven’s sakes.”

Cas smiles at the use of these particular words and immediately leans closer, his lips brushing Dean’s lightly before the hunter captures his mouth with a thoroughness bordering on savagery.

For a former angel who’s known thousands of languages, has been to many different worlds and lead Armies through (literal) hellfire, Castiel can’t find any words or feeling that could do justice to what it feels like to kiss Dean. Words won’t do justice to the rollercoaster of emotions it embodies. It feels both like the universe is exploding inside his chest, but the waves are quieter with Dean’s lips on his.

Cas finally pulls back just enough to whisper against Dean’s lips.

“Coffee.”

“Okay, Angel. Go get that coffee. Get me that slice of cold pizza you promised” Dean answers as Cas gets up.

He’s only wearing black boxer briefs that Dean is almost sure belongs to him. His hands behind his head, he quietly watches as his husband picks up Dean’s shirt to wear — a Led Zeppelin ’73 tour black shirt that he owns since God knows when — and exit the room to the bunker’s kitchen.

“I’m so damn happy” Dean thinks to himself, and despite 4 decades of thinking he’s not allowed to feel like this, he really wants to believe that everything will be fine, they’ll be okay, they have each other and the future doesn’t look so dark anymore.

And when Castiel comes back, 3 minutes after he’s left like he advertised before, with two cups of coffee and a plate of waffles and bacon (“Babe, Jack did eat that pizza you left in the fridge yesterday, but apparently Sam made breakfast before he left for his morning run” “it’s 6am, how the hell did that animal make breakfast and left already? How are we even related?”), Dean’s convinced he won the fucking lottery.

(If you enjoy reading this, please consider reblogging/liking, and leaving kudos on AO3!)

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milk-lover · 4 years

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Easy Ass Bread

During this void in space/time we refer to as Quarantine, I have decided to tackle my greatest baking fear: yeasted bread. Now, after a few months of sporadic baking frenzies, I have come here to this hell site to share my findings. I am in no way a bread baking expert; there are a lot of variables that go into good bread, and I’m honestly not that good of a baker to begin with, but I have made a few discovers that have led to me being more or less satisfied with the resulting loaves. So without further ado, here is Aud’s Recipe for Easy Ass Bread. (Under the cut to avoid LONG POST tm)

3 cups (360 g) Bread Flour

1.5 teaspoon salt

2 teaspoons (7 g) Instant Yeast (or 2.5 t (8.5 g) Active Dry Yeast)

2 Tablespoons (27 g) Olive Oil (I sometimes use Avocado instead)

1 cup (250 g) water

somewhat specialized things that make it easier, but aren’t 100% necessary: pizza stone, cast iron skillet, spray bottle, wire rack

Combine the flour and the salt. Dissolve the yeast in the water (if you are using Active Dry Yeast, warm up abt 1/4 cup of the water to 110F (43C), or to about bath temperature, add in a small teaspoon of sugar, stir in the yeast, and leave 10-15 minutes, until the yeast starts bubbling, then add that to the rest of the water and continue as normal). Add the yeasty water and the oil into the flour and stir it together with a wooden spoon (or, like, your hands, it doesn’t matter). Once it starts coming together, dump it out on your (clean!!!) work surface, and knead it together until it is more or less smooth (i do 8 minutes but it might be more or less depending on your level of rage). Then, shape it into a ball and put it in a bowl or tuppaware large enough for it to expand by about 1.5 times its size. Cover it tightly and put it in the fridge at least overnight, and up to about 4 days, opening the lid once a day to let out the built up CO2.

The next day (or whenever you decide to bake it), take out the dough, shape it into a ball, and place it on a piece of parchment paper. Oil a piece of plastic wrap and cover it, then let it come up to room temperature. Preheat the oven to as hot as it can go (mine does 500F), with a pizza stone on a bottom rack, and a cast iron skillet on the top, with plenty of space in between the two. Let the dough rise for about half an hour, while the oven preheats, then remove the plastic wrap, and spritz the dough with water. Slide the parchment paper directly onto the pizza stone (with the dough still on it, obviously). Pour about an inch of water into the cast iron skillet, and spray more water on the walls and floor of the oven, and then close the oven, and reduce the heat to 450F (230C). Bake until the sides of the loaf start browning, then CAREFULLY!!! remove the cast iron, and switch the oven to broil, and bake until the top of the loaf is deeply browned. Remove the loaf from the oven and cool on a wire rack. Once cooled, ENJOY!!

Now, this is definitely not the best bread recipe in the world. But it does definitely scratch the “I really want crusty, chewy bread” itch that I was feeling, and its also hecka satisfying to make (plus, kneading bread is a great way to get out some excess rage at the state of the world). This recipe specifically is the result of me trying out a ton of recipes and figuring out all the cut corners and short cuts I can take and still have a decent loaf at the end of it.

If you don’t have a pizza stone, you can bake it on a regular baking sheet, but it won’t cook as nicely. You can also use a different container than a cast iron skillet for the water, but I like to use one bc it can get nice and hot all by itself in the oven without cracking or warping, unlike say a glass or aluminum container.

(Some explanation for why some things are like they are if you’re curious:

You want to wait for Active Dry Yeast to bubble up (aka ‘Proof’ it) before using it bc you need to check that its still alive. You can technically do that with Instant as well, but Active Dry Yeast is put through a harsher treatment to make it shelf stable (? I think) so its more popular to proof it just in case.

If you don’t put this dough in a big enough container, it Will Explode all over your fridge trust me I Know From Experience.

The longer the dough is in the fridge, the more time the yeast has to Get Busy and make the Funky Yeast flavors. The low temp + long rest = many fun flavor. A quicker (1.5 ish hour), warmer (room temp) rest would also be fine in a pinch, but it would be less fun yeast flavor. I don’t do more than 4 days, however, bc it also changes the texture of the dough a lot, and makes the loaf flatter. I don’t know the Real Science why, though, I only know bread. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

You gotta put the pizza stone in the oven BEFORE preheating bc that heats it up gradually. Rapid temperature change can cause it to crack. (also dont like.. put it directly into the fridge after bc it Will crack and also why would you do that?? basically no rapid temp change ok)

The pizza stone helps the oven retain a lot more heat (you basically make a mini oven within the oven its great) and more heat = better bread. I don’t know the real science but it happens ok trust me.

The reason for all the cast iron w water and spraying the loaf w water and spraying the oven is bc Bread needs STEAM! Real bread ovens have steamers in them but we don’t have one o those so we gotta improvise! Steam causes the hard cronchy crust on the bread which is practically the best part so if you can maximize the amount of steam you introduce to the environment while minimizing the amount of heat the oven loses, thats poggers.

Also I know we all wanna eat that chhronchy bread straight outta the oven, but you gotta let it cool down for like at least 20 minutes bc if you tear/cut into it while its still hot you’ll ruin the texture and like the yeast did so much work to make the bubbly texture don’t ruin it for them.

Alright gamers i’m out have fun w bread lov u)

#bread!#fuck it we're posting the bread post #no lie this has been sitting in my drafts for like a month and the only reason im posting it now is bc i lost the sheet w the recipe on it #and remembered i had it written down here #bread recipe #:D #reply if the instructions are confusing or you have any tips bc tbh i am not v good at this i just having fun #its good to dip in olive oil w basil and garlic #tho most things are good to dip in olive oil w basil and garlic

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styledeficit · 4 years

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I was doing this anyway (sourdough tips for a cold house YMMV)

TLDR; you will have trouble making sourdough in a cold house. Even more so if you don’t have an airing cupboard. You will also have trouble getting ordinary bread to rise. Here is a tip: if you have a microwave, cover whatever it is that needs to rise with a tea-towel and put it in the microwave with 2 mugs full of boiling water. Close the door and leave it. Replace the hot water when you can tell the temperature in there is dropping. If you don’t have a microwave you can do it in the oven - maybe add another mug of hot water, if the oven is big. You don’t need to turn the oven or the microwave on. Just use them as smaller, insulated spaces to keep the heat in, and use hot water to make the heat. It’s not perfect but it does work.

(Mini-tip - just keep boiling the same water. Pour it back into the kettle. You’re not making tea with it, so it doesn’t matter if you’re boiling out the oxygen. There’s no point wasting water.)

Other useful tips for making sourdough in a cold house:

Your sourdough levain/starter might not rise like everyone else’s does

Once you’ve fed it, when you check it however many hours later, look for even the tiniest bubble on the surface. Hopefully you’ll spot one. Then, take a spoon and stir the mix slowly - does it look sort of thready, or frothy, and feel airier as you stir? It might even sound a bit different as you stir it. It should feel very different to when you started - you might not see the same bubbles everyone on the internet has but it should look like you’re stirring something airier than your original mix. If you are, and you feel like you’ve fed it enough and left it long enough, you might be ok. Give it a go.

Mine hasn’t risen above any marker I’ve made on the jar yet, if I’m completely honest. But it does feel very airy and look thready/frothy under the surface when I stir it. So I’ve used it.

If it isn’t active fry it and make a pancake

I have mixed up a bunch of levain/starter that didn’t form a single bubble. Nothing. Nada. If yours doesn’t work, don’t just chuck it. Google for ‘fried sourdough starter’ and make a pancake. It’s pretty good.

(If you don’t have any mother left, keep a bit of this back - you might be able to bring it back to life next time, with different flour.)

If it is all working you can cold proof it

I’ve tried the bulk-fermentation in a warmed microwave (as described in the first paragraph above) and it does work. To be honest, my no-where-near-as-active-as-everyone-else’s dough rose really well.

To get it to that state I did everything as described in this excellent video of the Tartine method.

But I’ve had a lot of trouble getting it out of the banneton. Which is infuriating – it’s like falling at the last hurdle as you have to drag the dough out and ruin all your hard work. You can still bake it but it looks like a goddamn mess.

After reading around a bit I think it’s because the moisture from the hot water used for warming the space makes the surface sticky. So last time (last night, in fact) I cold proofed it in the fridge. And for the first time didn’t use the linen liner in the banneton either. When I looked this morning, the rise was minimal. Actually I was pretty disappointed. I took it out of the fridge for an hour had a small crisis, and then just decided to bake anyway – and both loaves turned out fine.

Next time though, as the house really is cold, I think I might just cold proof on the counter overnight, and not do it in the fridge. Cold proofing is a great idea generally though, because it means you’re not spending your entire life worrying about the dough. You can just ignore it for 12 hours.

The second photo was taken when it was out of the oven for about 10 mins. You’re supposed to wait longer than that before you cut it but I was hungry. That might be why you, a possible expert, is thinking it looks a bit doughy. Or honestly, I could just be crap at this - I’ve only been doing this for about 5 bakes.

And that’s all the tips I got. I’m not a baker baker, I’m a person that lives in a cold house. And none of the tutorials ever seem to mention that as a possibility.

Side note: I’ve been baking non-sourdough bread and tea cakes over the last few years. Usually when I’m bored, or to stop me baking cakes and biscuits, which were causing me to put on weight. (I really like raw cookie dough. Raw bread dough? Not so much.)

On a whim, a while ago, I asked someone I work with for some of his sourdough starter. I don’t even know why I asked, now I think about it. I guess I’d heard people talking about sourdough so thought, ‘yeah, why not? Sounds interesting’ - and holy crap it’s a pain in the arse. It just so happened that about 4 bakes in, everyone started to self-isolate and now everyone is baking sourdough loaves. So now everyone gets to find out what a pain in the arse it is. If you can get flour and you want an easier life, google ‘no knead bread’. The first loaf I ever made was no knead bread. It’s really easy, but it takes a while. Or just bake a white loaf - like this recipe by Paul Hollywood. I’m keeping going with the sourdough for now because I feel bad about letting it die. Also, if I’m completely honest, it does taste nice. Also, I sort of want to get it right. (Damn you, baking gods!)

#sourdough #sourdougbread #baking

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sheliesshattered · 4 years

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Recipe: easy cream puffs

I know a lot of us have turned towards baking during The Great And Terrible Lockdown Of 2020. I am not one of those people baking loaves and loaves of bread (I’m living under a yeast curse, I can’t bake anything but quick bread, it’s a whole thing), and my sweet-tooth has been off the charts during lockdown, so I’ve been finding and fiddling with more dessert-type baking recipes.

I’m also an incredibly lazy baker, I want recipes that come together quickly, easily, with minimal finessing and as few dishes as possible. Recipes that don’t make a ton at a time (it’s just me and my husband in lockdown) and require only basic ingredients are ideal. I’m starting to collect a few recipes that I swear by, so I thought I would share them here on days when I’m baking, in case anyone else enjoys them!

Today I’m making my second round of super simple cream puffs, and I really like this recipe. I’ve adapted it from the recipe written up here, reduced to a size that results in four cream puffs, two for each of us. But it would be super simple to double or triple this recipe or even more.

Ingredients: 1/4 cup water 2 tbsp butter, cut into chunks pinch salt 1/4 cup flour 1 egg, room temperature

Instructions:

Combine water, butter, and salt in a medium saucepan over medium-high heat and bring to a rolling boil.

Once mixture is boiling, remove from heat and add flour. Stir continuously until moisture is absorbed and mixture forms a ball that pulls away from the sides of the pot. Break dough into smaller pieces, and move pan away from stove to cool.

While dough is cooling, preheat oven to 415F* and line baking sheet with parchment paper. Set aside. *(My oven runs cool. If you know your oven runs accurate or hot, this temp can be reduced to 400F, but heat is what makes the puffs rise, so don’t skimp on the temperature. Better to go hotter for less time.)

Once dough is cool, add egg, stirring very well until mixture is smooth and velvety.

Scoop dough onto lined baking sheet in 4 equal mounds about 2” wide by 1” tall, spacing each mound at least 1 ½ inches apart. Lightly dampen your fingers with cold water and gently press down any peaks on the pastry mounds. Perfection is not needed here, just eyeball it. (If you double/triple/quadruple the recipe, you can pipe the puffs instead of scooping them out, but for just 4 puffs it doesn’t seem worth it to me to fuss with a piping bag.)

Transfer to 415F oven and bake for 22 minutes or until cream puffs appear dry and light golden brown.

Turn off oven and let pastry sit in the oven with the oven door cracked for another 10 minutes.

Once 10 minutes has passed, remove from oven and allow to cool completely on baking sheet. If you are piping a filling in, poke a small hole in each puff while they’re still warm, so you have a place for your piping bag later. But for any thicker filling (chopped fruit, etc), slicing them open is easier.

Allow to cool completely before slicing open to add filling.

Serve in a bowl with a spoon -- these get messy!

Filling can be just about anything you like. These aren’t sweet on their own, so really the sky’s the limit when it comes to adding filling. My current favorite is a combination of fresh whipped cream (unsweetened), chocolate pudding (from pudding cups), and chopped strawberries. If you slice the puffs open you can put anything in there easily, so let your heart and your fridge contents guide you.

Here’s some pictures of how today’s batch turned out:

#recipes #baking #my recipes #my baking #cream puffs

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tallat-of-thralls · 5 years

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3 Simple Flour Recipes

Having to improvise and make food using ingredients i have because of budget and limited space has forced me to use old recipes i learned from my grandmother.

****Skip past story time for recipes****

My grandmother grew up during the Great Depression and i would always inquire on the menu that she had as a child. How they were cooked and why she had so little She would tell me about her father getting a bag of flour or unmilled grain and sometimes cans of tomato paste. Nasty recipes like ketchup soup and baked onions. To stale bread and old stew. She would sing in her gritty voice the nursery rhyme peas porridge hot. Peas porridge cold and go into detail about the watery old stews made to keep her and her siblings alive in a time of economic and civil woe. She would interject on the persecution of her mother (my great grandmother) back in old country during the rise of nazi germany before ww2 and the saving marriage to her polish father during their flee for the states.

My nana would speak about how much of a better diet we had (when i was little) compared to what she had growing up in the depression.

Well, i didn't realize economy and several unfortunate circumstance would lead me to needing several of these recipes. To which i thank on a daily basis for my grandmother sharing these with me.

If this gets enough likes/reblogs i will include more simple depression recipes like for soups and other dishes meant to have a full belly for a low price in other posts. This one is just 3 staple foods that use mainly flour.

**Disclaimer: The recipes i will be posting are Not inherently gluten free nor vegan friendly. If you want to include a vegan friendly version or gluten free one feel free to reblog with your own addition ***

Pancakes:

You can buy premade pancake mix if you want to but this is the recipe for when you have ingredients but no premade mix.

Its easy to make a ton of pancakes and over the years i have switched up the recipe by substituting or adding ingredients for more than just these typical pancakes. (Like pumpkin, cinnamon roll, cheesecake, blueberry etc)

What you will need:

2 cups flour

1-2eggs (depending on egg size)

2 Tablespoons Baking powder

1/3 cup Sugar (granulated or confectioners)

1 tablespoon Vanilla extract (optional)

Milk or water (about 1cup to start with)

2 tbsp Cooking oil (i use corn)

3tspns table salt

To begin, sift or mix with fork or whisk together baking powder, salt and flour.

Crack the eggs into a separate cup or bowl (just to avoid shells in the flour). Mix in cooking oil, vanilla and beat the eggs until yellow.

If you used granulated sugar mix the sugar with the milk or water until it dissolves. If you used confectioners sugar(powdered) mix it directly into the flour.

Now, mix the egg into the flour first followed by the milk/water. You want the mix to be thick but not sticky and also not watery. If the mix is too sticky mix in a tablespoon of milk/water until properly thinned. If its too watery, add a tablespoon of flour until properly thickened

Cook in a pan on medium heat about 1/4-1/2 cup of mix per pancake.

Plain Egg noodles or Knodels

One of the most simple recipes ever. I use this egg dough recipe for noodles/knodels in a variety of soups or casseroles.

They are very bland but you can always spice them. However, they usually take up the flavor of whatever theyre sitting in. I recommend cream sauces (like stroganoff) and stocks or broths (like chicken soup).

What you will need:

2 cups of flour (plus extra)

3-4 eggs

1-2 teaspoons of salt

1/4 cup chilled or room temp water

Firstly, sift the flour with the salt.

Beat the eggs in a seperate bowl to watch for shells.

Mix the water and eggs withe the flour.

The dough should be sort of sticky. If not add a tablespoon of water at a time until it is sticky. You dont want the mix watered down at all. It should be doughy.

Once properly sticky you're going to have to flour your hands and knead a lite extra flour into the mix until it can hold it shape. The dont shouldn't rise. There is no leavening in it.

For knodels, have a tiny pile of flour on one side of the bowl with the dough or in a seperate bowl (i have only one mixing bowl so it is usually halved with worked dough on one side and the other is flour). Start pinching off small pieces of the dough and dropping it into the flour.

Knodels should be bite size pieces if cooked dough. Remember the dough will swell once cooked so make them smaller than usual.

Once you started pinchin off pieces, powder your palms and roll the dough pieces into tiny balls. Keep them well floured or else they will stick to other pieces of dough inside the pot or bowl (if you plan on storing them).

Drop them into the pot of hot fluid (water, broth, or sauce) and cook until firm.

For noodles, you need a flat lightly floured surface to flatten out the dough and cut them into ribbons. Cook them the same as the knodels.

Pizza bread dough

Easy to make, easy to cook. Good side dish and you can get fancy by stuff them with cheese and meat for a complete meal. This is just the recipe for the bread.

What you will need:

2 cups of flour

1 yeast packet (they sell quick rise yeast for pizza at stores but im assuming this is not quick rise.)

3 tablspoons olive oil

2 teaspoons salt

1 teaspoon of sugar or honey

1/4 cup HOT water

Firstly, i use a tea kettle.to heat my water. But you can use a sauce pan (pot) or the microwave. I suggest if you use the stove to start heating the water on low to give yourself time. Also, preheat the oven at 425 degrees (f).

Next, sift the flour with the salt. Mix in the olive oil.

Dealing with the yeast: if you have the quick rise. Mix the sugar and one yeast packet in with the flour. If not, mix the yeast packet and sugar into a separate bowl. Once the water is heated, carefully pour it either in to the yeast dish to activate it or directly into the flour yeast mix. Once the yeast is activated mix it in with the flour.

The dough with be hot. If you have sensitive fingers like i do, let it cool down before handling it. On a lightly floured surface, you will knead the dough until it can hold its shape.

With the instant yeast, its ready to bake. Make your shapes or roll it out for pizza and bake it for about 30 minutes.

The original yeast, youre going to have to oil a bowl and place the yeast ball into the bowl and cover it with plastic wrap or a lid. Stick it in the fridge for about an hour or two and allow it to rise. Once the dough doubles in size, make your shapes and bake it for about 30 minutes.

(Protip, melted butter with herbs like oregano or basil and parmesan cheese can be slathered over the dough during the baking process to make it tasty)

These are just my main three recipes. I have others but i feel this post grew too long to add anymore.

Let me know what you think!

#witch #witchblr #witchcraft #witches #kitchen #kitchen magick #kitchen witch #recipes #economy cooking #nanas recipes #food #great depression #great depression recipes

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no-reaction · 4 years

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Mocha Bread - bread making at home during covid

It’s been a while since I updated this blog. Well life’s been busy, when one has to be an adult... Last time I was here (June 2015?!), I just gave notice for my old job, and went back to school to complete my master’s degree in communications. A year later, I took on an events and engagement position at the largest charity foundation in Hong Kong. Another four years, despite the terrible hours and amount of (really meaningful) work, I am still with the company (with 2 promotions!), and I am glad to still be offered a new contract in times like these.

Yes, the coronavirus... In Hong Kong, I’ve been working from home right after the Chinese New Year holiday. Luckily for us, after a short period of madness where people were hoarding TP and rice, things have *kinda* gone back to ‘normal’. It’s been a rather surreal two months (and ongoing) of work-from-home experience, but that also means I actually have the time to start playing with recipes again!

Bread is not something I am very confident with, mainly because Hong Kong is rather hot and wet climate-wise. I always had trouble getting doughs to properly rise in “room” temperature. Three years ago, I actually purchased a mini oven with a dough fermentation mode, so that should solve the problem? Since I have plenty of time, I could even make bread in a leisurely manner. (Funny though, after all these years, I still have not caved in to get myself an electric mixer, because I really have no space for that. Someday my friends, someday...)

Well, the bread recipe today in fact is not my first stay-at-home experiment. I started off with a yeastless recipe, Irish Soda Bread, just in time for St Patrick’s Day, then I went on to do an overnight pizza dough from the Smitten Kitchen (because I’ve actually never tried fermenting dough in the fridge). So officially, this is my third bake, the Mocha Bread. Again, I did part of the fermentation in the fridge overnight to see what will happen (hey, I did say I am experimenting!)

Mocha Bread (Makes 2 large-ish loaves)

Ingredients:

375 g strong white flour

2 1/2 tsps instant dried yeast (I use Saf-instant Gold - it’s so much easier, no need to proof or dissolve, just throw it straight into the flour mixture)

55 g superfine caster sugar

1/4 tsp salt

20 g unsweetened cocoa powder

10 g instant coffee powder

70 g roughly chopped dark chocolate

50 g unsalted butter

1 egg, lightly beaten

1/2 tsp natural vanilla extract

90 g dark chocolate chips

185 mL warm water (around 40ºC)

Steps:

Chocolate mixture - melt chopped dark chocolate and butter in a bowl, either over a saucepan of simmering water (don’t let the base of the bowl touch the water!) or if you are lazy like me, you can do it in the microwave in short bursts of 30 seconds, stirring in between). When fully melted, add egg and vanilla into the mixture

The dough - combine flour, yeast, sugar, salt, cocoa powder, coffee powder, then add in the chocolate mixture. Use a large wooden spoon/spatula to combine the wet and dry ingredients, and mix until the coarse and sticky dough comes together. You can then start using your hands to knead the dough for another 5-10 minutes or until the dough is smooth and elastic - add extra flour if necessary (If using a mixer, use a dough hook, and set to lowest speed to mix for 1-2 minutes, then increase the speed to medium and knead for another 5-10 min until a smooth dough is formed).

Proofing - grease a large bowl and transfer the dough into it and ensure the oil lightly coats the whole dough. Cover in cling film and leave the dough in a draught-free place for 1-2 hours, or until the dough is doubled.

[Here I placed my dough into the oven and tried the fermentation mode, which kept the temperature at around 30-ish ºC - half an hour later, the dough rose quite a bit already, but to experiment, I left dough in the fridge and went to bed. The next morning I took the dough out and left it in room temperature until the afternoon to continue the rest of the proofing and it turned out quite ok! Generally speaking, if proofing in the fridge, remove the dough from the fridge about 3 hours before you plan to bake it, to give the dough enough time to reach back to room temperature,]

Shaping the dough - knock back the dough and turn it out onto a floured surface, and divide it in half. Flatten each half to around 1 cm thick and scatter chocolate chips onto it. Roll up the dough into logs and transfer them onto a greased baking tray. Use a knife to make three diagonal slashes across the top of each dough.

Second proofing - cover the doughs with a damp cloth and leave them for an hour in room temperature, or until they double in size.

Baking - preheat the over to 180ºC (350ºF). Bake the bread for 45-50 minutes. When done, it will sound a bit hollow when tapped. Transfer to a wire rack to cool.

The bread turned out pretty well. Taste-wise it’s bittersweet though I wouldn’t mind a stronger coffee flavour, and it goes really well with a cup of coffee or tea in the morning or as a snack in the afternoon. Since I live with my mum, with two people, the bread could last quite some time. It freezes pretty well too, so I suggest slicing them after cooling, wrap it up and leave one of them in the freezer until you are done with the first :)

#baking #homemade #home cooking #recipe #sharing #chocolate #coffee #tea #breakfast #snack #bread

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storytimefromthecreed · 5 years

Text

Assassins As Roommates: Thanksgiving 2019

Arno extended a hand and Ezio tossed the vanilla extract. Catching it easily, he fiddled with the top and poured a bit on the dish. The sweet potatoes were cooking nicely, shout out to Shay. Aveline was keeping track of the rising bread, her final task, Ezio and Arno were working on the turkey, and Edward was off to the side waiting for the water to boil.

Maria ducked her head into the kitchen. “Lads need anything before we set off?”

“Who all is still here?” Aveline grabbed a mitt and Connor opened the oven door so she could safely extract the rolls. The kitchen smelled heavenly. Setting them aside to cool, Aveline continued, “I’m done if you need help with anything.” Swatting Connor’s hand from the food, she added, “And Connor has his truck.”

“We’re good on food.” Ezio voiced, looking at Maria and already knowing she would ask. “Take them. We three will hold down the kitchen.”

Edward dropped in the green beans just as Arno instructed and watched them shimmer. “Ave, you can also take mine.” He jut his chin to his coat from which Connor produced his car keys.

“Yusuf and Claudia land in a few hours, Kassandra and Alexios as well.” Maria said.

“Who do you want us to get?” Connor asked, and she shrugged, throwing up her hands. What with Assassins and Templars running in and out of the house, it was beginning to get hard to keep track. But she kept a clear head, one of them had to because, you see, gatherings always made Altair a little....on edge.

“Whomever you want. Elise, Shay, and Liam are on their way back with Gerard, Demetri, and Phillip; your parents are setting up the backyard with the Fryes.” Maria pointed at Connor. “And Altair and Malik are about to leave for the airport. Bayek and Aya are grabbing a ride from their AirBnB.”

Malik ducked his head into the kitchen. “Ah, Maria, apologies, but he’s getting....” Maria rolled her eyes, already picturing her husband, arms crossed, cheeks heated, scowling at the door. Maria nodded to Aveline and Connor, and they left. In their place, Altair entered. Exactly how she’d thought. The red at his cheeks couldn’t be hidden no matter how much he tried to appear pleasant.

Under his breath, Arno said, “Hide all the chairs! Can’t let people know we sit!”

Ezio and Edward hid their laughter. Altair’s stress for the holidays had become an expectation, and they’d all learned the best way to deal with it. Comedy.

“Habibi, is there anything else we need to do?” His words were controlled and huffed. He was getting better at this.

“Altair, I told you not to call me that in front of Maria.” Malik feigned shock. “Let’s get out of here before we stir gossip.” Maria blew a kiss to Altair, and he relaxed upon recieving it.

“Love you!” She called after them. With the kitchen team busy and the decorating team done, there was nothing left to do but wait. Stealing some rolls and butter with cooks’ blessing, she headed to the backyard to feed Haytham, Ziio, Henry, Evie, and Jacob.

It was comical the way Ziio had Haytham in the tree stringing up the lights, Jacob in a similar state with Evie. Maria pulled up at chair beside Henry and they waited.

The start of the holiday season. Each year was getting more difficult as their family grew. More to love, Maria thought fondly.

Claudia and Yusuf were the first to arrive, and Ezio was waiting with open arms. “Ezio!” Claudia ran up the drive way and leapt into his arms. Ezio caught her easily and gave her a spin.

“You’re here! You’re finally here!” He beamed and set her down. “How was your flight? I’ve missed you so much!”

Claudia’s smile completely covered her face, revealing her dimples. “I’ve missed you more! I’ve so much to tell you!”

“After we put the bags down, yes?” Yusuf displayed his cheeky grin and Ezio gave him a hug.

“Don’t think I’ve forgotten about you.” Ezio clapped him on the back. “Good to see you. Have you changed your...” Ezio combed his beard and Yusuf beamed. Claudia rolled her eyes.

“Don’t get too attached,” She said, “We’re getting rid of it soon.”

Yusuf leaned to Ezio. “That’s what she thinks.” And received a raised brow. Louder, he continued, “Don’t I get spun around too?”

Ezio rolled his eyes. “I’m not that strong.”

A few hours later, Claudia and Yusuf comfortable in the backyard, there was a knocking at the door. “Desmond!” Maria threw her arms around him.

Desmond hugged her back. “I hope surprising you was ok.”

“When we said this house is always open to you, we meant it. Come in!”

“Desmond?!” Ezio popped his head out from the kitchen. Arno and Edward were already setting the table. Taking him into a hug, Ezio stole him from Maria and ushered him to the back. “I have someone you must meet.”

Arno held his phone between his shoulder and his ear, helping Edward put the finishing touches on the table. “Uh huh, uh huh, that sounds great! Thanks darling, just whenever you can.” The table set, Arno put away his phone and admired their work. Clapping Edward on his back and massaging his shoulders, he stared proudly. “Good work! See! Knew you had it in you this whole time. Just in time too. Elise let me know the Frenchmen are set up at our house, and they’re heading our way.”

“Good job, Edward.” Maria grinned. “Now that we have another cook in the house, don’t think we’re letting you go any time soon.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” Edward wiped his brow and undid his apron. “Just in time to get ready.” Dashing up the stairs for a much needed shower, Edward disappeared.

Adewale arrived with bottles of rum and his signature mac and cheese. “I love you, Ade.” Maria’s stomach growled. Insisting on carrying them in himself, Adewale followed her to the table.

“Now it’s a party.”

“Always a party when you come to town.”

Claudia, Desmond, Yusuf, and Ziio were catching up while Haytham, Connor, and Ezio were taking pictures when Maria and Adewale heard the door and saw this. Elise ran to Arno, or tried to, Demetri beat her to it.

“Arno!” Demetri attacked both his cheeks with kisses.

Phillip ran right behind him and leapt into his arms, tackling him into a hug. “Arno!”

Gerard slapped his back and gave him a hug so strong that he lifted Arno, who was still carrying Phillip, an inch off the ground. “You ol’ bastard!” Arno couldn’t catch breath with how hard he was laughing. Shay, Liam, and Elise couldn’t contain their laughter either.

Aya and Bayek were the next to arrive. “I’m so sorry we were late.” Aya kissed one of her cheeks and Maria walked into Bayek’s hugs. “Someone couldn’t decided what he wanted to wear.”

“What my wife means,” Bayek chuckled, “is that it’s hard to pick an outfit when everything looks good on you.” Aya gave him a look. Bayek produced a beautiful bottle of wine and handed it to Maria. “I hope this is well.”

“Your presence is enough, you know that. Thank you.” Maria took the bottle and put it in the fridge to chill.

The evening was going well. Phillip had really taken to Yusuf and Adewale and the trio talked of their travels and similar interests all night. In the same manner, Demetri, Aveline, Shay, and Henry were deep in conversation. Connor, and Jacob were goofing around with Bayek, Desmond, and Edward. Evie, Liam, and Aya were excited to find another with similar thoughts. Maria and Arno were mid-talk when Malik entered the backyard. And thus, the party was complete. Altair was followed with Kassandra, and behind her a man who could only be her baby brother, Alexios.

“Altair!” Gerard mock bowed. “Many thanks, Great Master, for getting the gang back together.”

“You know I love a good party.” Altair’s demeanor shifted happily, and he smiled a true smile. Raising his voice to get the attention of the entire backyard, he began his speech. “Everyone, we all remember the lovely Kassandra. We are blessed this evening with the presence of her brother, Alexios.” Various cheers and calls sounded. When they died down, Altair held up his hands. “We are so thankful for our family. This huge family.” His arms waved to the entire backyard. “Not by blood, well, not always.” Chuckles. “But that has never mattered. Maria and I,” he looked at Malik, “and Malik, want you to know that we love each and every one of you. That we are so lucky to have you in our lives. We’re thankful for everyone here. A huge thank you for the Kenways and the Fryes for tirelessly creating a space where we can enjoy each other comfortably. Thanks to our cooks, Arno, Ezio, and Edward, for their dedication and patience to express their love through food. For Aveline and Connor and Shay and Elise and Liam gladly being everywhere we need, no matter the need. That’s what family does. We stick together. Might not always agree, but we stick together, and there is no one else I would rather call my family than everyone in this backyard. Each and everyone of you.”

“Now let’s eat!” Malik shouted, and the backyard errupted into cheers. Maria watched the group with a smile and contentment in her heart. Thankful.

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hattywatch · 5 years

Text

Jeff Skinner - Home

A/n: Any time I ever think I am capable of writing a blurb, point me to this, right here. I had the idea for this before I wrote the part 2 to Back Road, but I couldn’t focus on two things at once, so this took a back seat since so many people asked for a sequel to Back Road! This is 13 pages, a little over 5k words and is CLEAN. Totally sfw.

Requested by my bae @hockeyandtaylorswift, and I would like to thank her and @xolilyxo for reading it and being my fav hockey biddies <3

“I can't keep staying with you guys. I feel like I'm living with an old married couple,” Jeff shimmies past Reino and gets to his seat at the kitchen island, where Eichel is leaning, munching on an apple and watching the toaster.

Jack grabs his bread from the toaster as it pops and Jeff watches as he slides open a drawer for a knife and switches spots with Sam to get to the fridge, neither of them thinking about the motion, it looks so practiced.

The way him and Sam move around each other in their apartment is so comfortable. It was really nice of them to ask if he needed a place to stay when he first moved to Buffalo, but it's going on a month now and he just wants a place to go home to that's his; with a spot on the couch that's his, and a mug that's his, and a bathroom cabinet that's filled with his stuff. He's sick of living out of a suitcase.

“Still haven't found anything, then?” Jack asks in between bites of toast while Jeff sips at his juice and shakes his head no.

Reino shuts the cabinet above his head after pulling a plate out of it and sliding his omelette onto it, “Eichs, you still have the number of the chick who found us this place? She was awesome.”

It's Jack's turn to shake his head as he scrolls through his contact list, “I don't think I do, maybe an email? I'll look through them later and see what I can find.”

Jeff nods and makes a mental note to remind him about it later; he's lived with his new teammates long enough to know that Jack's a scatterbrain about everything that isn't done on skates.

_______

You get the email late on a Monday while you're nestled into your couch with a glass of wine watching The Bachelor.

Hey (Y/N),

I wanna send a new teammate to you bc he's having trouble finding his own place and you really helped me out when I was looking. I lost your phone number but had your email so send me your number and I’ll have him set something up. He's sick of crashing with me and Sam lol.

Thanks,

Jack

You roll your eyes and scroll through your contact list to, Client Jack and text him:

It's me. Just got your email. Send him my way, I’d love to help.

_______

You get a text from a number that isn’t saved to your contacts two days after you responded to Jack’s e-mail.

Hi, I’m Jeff, Jack’s friend. He gave me your number and said that you’re the best realtor around. Do you think you could help me start looking for something this weekend? I have to get my own place before I kill a teammate 😑.

You call him, instead of responding to his text, because you’re a professional adult, and also you’re driving and that’s a dangerously high ticket that you don’t really want to deal with right now.

He sounds confused when he answers, with a whispered, “Hullo?”

“Hi, this is (Y/N) calling for Jeff?” You hear him scramble around a little, before he clears his throat, still speaking lowly but sounding a little more awake.

“Oh, yeah, hi! I didn’t think you’d get back to me so soon.” You laugh because your entire paycheck banks on you getting back to people as soon as possible and being at everyone’s beck and call 24 hours a day.

“I just wanted to set something up for this weekend. I already have a few places in mind I could show you. If you wanted to give me some times you’d be free I could schedule a few showings so we can find you a place before the season starts.” You hear him close a door and he finally raises his voice above a whisper.

“That’d be awesome, I love these guys, but I really need my own space asap. I’ll clear all weekend for you. This is my top priority right now.” He sounds tired and you smile, because you know enough about Jack to know he could be a little bit of a diva and honestly, bless Sam for being able to live with him. But you know it's tough to be thrown into it due to a trade or whatever Buffalo is doing right now, shaking up their team.

“I’ll text you a time for Saturday morning. We can meet at a Starbucks or something? I’ll drive, you’re new to the area, don’t want you getting lost! Does that work for you?”

“Sounds like a plan. See you Saturday.” You say goodbye and hang up. You make a mental note to look up this Jeff character, to see if you could get any information that may help you in finding him a home and so you know what you’re getting yourself into.

_______

You’re not exactly sure what you were expecting when you typed “Jeff Buffalo Sabres” into the Google search bar hours later, but what you found wasn’t it.

You learn the basics, that he was traded from Carolina, and like most hockey players- is from Canada. You click on a video, against your better judgement, and you hear voice, new but becoming familiar, giving canned answers about getting pucks on net and playing hard. What you didn’t expect to learn is that he’s adorable, positively boyish. His smile is wide and his eyes crinkle up with it. He seems like the type of person everyone wants to be friends with.

Quickly you close out of the window on your computer. As easy as he is on the eyes, this isn’t really productive to your pursuit of finding him the right apartment, and stalking is illegal in all 50 states.

_______

The next two days are a blur of showings with other clients and searches for apartments suited for one twenty-something male. You’re pleased that you find three to show him, and hope that he’ll take to at least one of them.

You send out a text Friday afternoon, telling him the time you’ll meet him and to be ready for you to knock his socks off.

Client Jeff: At this point I’d live in a box on the street to get my own space. It isn’t going to take much.

You send back a speak-no-evil monkey and the address of the Starbucks where you two plan on meeting.

_______

When Saturday morning comes, you’re grumpy to say the least. You try your best to get a lot of your showings done during the week to avoid the weekend traffic and get some time to sleep in, but you really liked Jack and Sam and don’t mind doing them the favor of helping their buddy out. Plus, who are you to say no to any new clients you can get.

You dress business casual; smart jeans and a navy-blazer over a plain white tee with some red flats, most of the apartments have stairs anyway. You also manage to get your ass into gear on time and are sitting drinking your coffee when you see Jeff stroll in, 2 minutes to 10.

Quickly, you realize he has no idea who he’s looking for, and you take a minute to observe him undisturbed. He looks around, presumably for you, and checks his phone, laughing at something before fast thumbs fire off a message. He walks up to the empty counter and orders his drink; you hear him say both “please” and “thank you” before he pays and throws his change into the tip jar. You decide you like him already.

When he moves to the other counter, waiting for his drink to be made, you decide to make yourself known. As you tidy up your table, your phone vibrates and you look down at your texts,

Client Jeff: I just realized I have no clue who I'm looking for. I'm here and wearing a Sabres sweatshirt if that helps?

After throwing out your trash, you step up behind him and tap him on the shoulder, “Jeff?” You ask it as a question, even though you know that he’s exactly who you’re looking for. He looks up from his phone and spins around with a media smile on his face, unsure of who he’s about to run into.

“Hi... (Y/N)?” he says with an unfailing smile, but crinkled and uncertain eyes. “Yes, that’s me,” you shake his outstretched hand, “Ready to find your new place?” His smile shifts a little and a dimple pops into his cheek, “You have no idea. Let’s go.” He grabs his drink off of the counter and follows you to your car.

_______

You keep the music on the light channel, soft pop playing from the speakers. Jeff seems content to drink his coffee and sit quietly in your passenger seat, but you’ve never really been one for silence.

“How have you been finding Buffalo so far?” He smiles again at your question, “It’s been good. The team’s really nice, the people who recognize me on the street have been really encouraging. It’s definitely a change in scenery and weather, but it’s closer to home.”

You’re happy to hear that Buffalo has been welcoming. Moving is tough, especially alone. “You enjoying living with Jack and Sam?” The light is red and you catch his eye and smile.

“They’re two of the greatest guys I’ve ever met. It was really awesome of them to let me stay as long as they have. They’d probably keep letting me, but they both have routines and I feel like I’m in the way. I just want my own space, ya know? Nothing against them.”

Nodding, you turn onto the block for the first apartment. “Well, I’ll do my best to help you out. I’m with you ‘til the end now.” He unbuckles his seatbelt as you pull over and put your car into park. You get out and open up your folder to give him the first listing. “This is a newer building. It’s really nice and they cater to a slightly more upscale client and have loads of amenities,” you tell him in the elevator on your way up to the unit.

“This place looks too nice for me, are you sure they’d even let me live here?” You laugh out loud at that, Jeff is clearly the kind of guy who holds up well under scrutiny, the kind of guy every parent wants their daughter to bring home, wholesome looking and polite.

“According to Jack, you’re about to be Buffalo’s golden boy. I’m sure they’d beg you to live here, Jeff.” A red flush rises from his neck straight up to his hairline. “I hope so,” he mumbles out as the elevator dings and he motions for you to exit first.

Outside of the unit, you do your best to feature dump and sell him on the place, “There’s a fitness center, a lounge, a study center, reserved parking, a concierge, 24 hour maintenance, and electronic keys, which is kind of cool. You’d basically be living in a hotel.” Waving the card in front of the knob, you can hear the mechanical whirring of the lock, indicating that the door is opening, so you step in and hold it open for Jeff.

He whistles low and walks past the kitchen through the dining area and into the living room. It’s your turn to laugh, “Okay… I’m guessing you don’t cook much then?”

He shakes his head, looking out of the windows that line the living room wall. “You’d be absolutely correct in that assumption.”

“Well then, not that you care, but these are granite countertops and they’re gorgeous,” you sweep your hand in a flourish towards the counters. He does his best to look sheepish and puts on a smile and nods, “They look…. Very nice?” He rocks back on his heels and shrugs a shoulder up.

“Thanks for trying. Don’t pretend to care for me, you’re the one who has to pick a place or keep living with the dynamic duo,” you smile snidely at his stricken face.

“No dishwasher though, which could be a downside for a guy living on his own,” you look at him thoughtfully, trying to figure out if he’s messy or tidy, as if you could tell from a cursory glance.

“I have siblings, we did chores growing up. I know how to clean up after myself,” you’d almost assign his tone as sassy, but he’s far too sweet for you to do anything but keep smiling at him at try to change the subject.

“No significant other will be living with you? I just realized I didn't ask, rude of me.”

“Nah,” He walks through to the bedroom, “I don’t have a girl right now.” He manages his own subject-change now, “One bedroom?”

You nod, “Uh, yes. Only one, but this building has it all; studios and units with one, two or three bedrooms! I didn’t consider that you may be having visitors. That’s my fault; I should have asked.”

He doesn’t let you berate yourself for long though, “I don’t know if I have a preference. My last place had an extra room and my family never wanted to leave, maybe this would be the hint they needed.” He winks and checks out the closet, laundry room, and bathroom before the tour is over and you get back to your car.

“Okay give me feedback? Love it, hate it? Is it missing something integral?” He buckles his seatbelt once more and looks over at you, “Honestly?” you nod and motion for him to continue.

He heaves a sigh and turns to make eye contact with you, “I have no idea what I’m looking for. When I got my last place I was so young and everything seemed awesome because it was all mine. This time around it’s so... different.” It’s an honest answer and you appreciate that, but it doesn’t really help you figure out if he’ll like the next two places any better than this one.

As you drive to the next apartment, you decide to do some digging, maybe it will help figure out what he's looking for. “You said you have siblings that visit, how many of you are there?”

He turns to look over at you, putting his coffee back in the cup holder, “There’s six of us, plus my parents.”

“Woooow” you let out as you flick your turn signal on. He’s polite and asks, “What about you, anyone come and crash at your place uninvited. Shaking your head, you tell him no, “I’m an only child. Probably better off that way. I can’t imagine having to share with five other people. I don’t think that’s my style.”

“I think if you're raised with it, it's different. You're just used to it.” You nod along because nurture versus nature and all that.

_______

The next two apartments aren't in buildings; one is the whole top floor of a house and the second is the main floor.

Jeff is polite, but you have been doing this a long time and you can tell he doesn't like them as much as the one inside of the complex, but he does seem to prefer the one on the top floor, with the extra bathroom and guest room. You watch as he takes in the dark hardwood floors, but wrinkles his nose at the downstairs apartment lacking a tub, and you start fleshing out a more robust image of what he’s looking for.

As you're driving him back to Starbucks to his car, you decide to ask again, “Okay, I don't expect you to know everything you like, but maybe if you see something on Pinterest or Instagram or anything that strikes your fancy, send it to me and I can get an idea of your tastes? I'm sure you'd prefer turn-key?”

“That's a really good idea. Give me your handle.” You spell out your Instagram name for him and your pocket vibrates with the notification. Your car crunches into the parking lot and Jeff adjusts the hat on his head, “Thanks, I know it's your job, but I really appreciate it. Jack and Sam try to help, but...” he trails off with a shrug.

Laughing, you assure him, “You don't have to tell me. I'm the one who spent 5 months finding them that place.” Jeff's eyes open wide and his smile dims, “5 months? I can't live with them for 5 more months.” You try to head him off at the pass.

“Jeff, if you promise to send me some more things that you like, I promise that I will not leave you stranded with Jack and Sam for 5 more months, deal?”

He opens the car door and gets out, leaning back in with that big smile sticking his hand out to shake. “It's a deal. Just text me whenever. I'm free all this week and next weekend. So if you want me to come see something, I'm all yours.”

You tell him will do and he hops in his car and starts it before you drive away.

_______

He doesn’t contact you for a few days. It’s Tuesday when you get a message late at night, snuggled deep into your bed watching old Friends reruns. The text makes your pillow vibrate and you tear your eyes away from Phoebe attempting to teach Joey French to unlock your screen.

When you see Jeff’s name you’re a little thrown off.

Client Jeff: I think I like this...

You wait, as you assume there’s an image that’s coming along with it.

When it finally comes, the photo is blurry but you make out a marble bathroom. It’s simple and stark white, offset by dark grey floors. It’s something to go on, albeit blurry and small, but it’s something.

Just tell me what it is that you like, and I can def go off of that.

The response comes quicker than you would have expected.

Client Jeff: Tbh, I’m a little drunk at one of Eichs friends house. Idk what I like. It’s clean and open? Different than living with a bunch of slobs I guess.

Before you can send a text back to him, your phone buzzes with another.

Client Jeff: I’m drunk texting my realtor. This is what it’s like being a grown up, huh?

You know that feel, that’s for sure, so you cut him a break and text him back.

Seemed a lot more glamorous as a kid, I know.

You fall asleep with your phone next to your pillow and your laptop on your nightstand, searching for open, bright, clean-lined bathrooms.

_______

After his drunk texts, Jeff opened up a little bit. He sent you tons of posts from @ApartmentTherapy, interspersed with some cute dogs, and funny memes. He started texting more frequently too, asking for restaurant recommendations in the city and making some small talk. You have similar taste in movies and TV, so you have a lot to talk about, but you didn't want to be the one to break the boundary, it's not professional. The second weekend you meet him for showings he has your coffee paid for and ready to go when you walk into the coffee shop.

He ends up breaking the boundary first. You assume it’s because you’re one of about 5 people he knows in the state. He's a really sweet guy, so it isn't like you mind at all. He suggests meeting at iHop for breakfast before your third weekend of showings in a row. It seems like a fine idea, you have to eat anyway and you really like talking to Jeff.

Breakfast is spent with him regaling you of his time training in the gym with Eichs and Reino earlier this week. His impression of Jack has you in stitches as you almost spit your coffee out across the table, smacking your hand over your mouth just in time. It sends him into his own peal of laughter, and ends with him face down on the table, pointing at you and silently laughing.

You head to the bathroom to fix your running mascara and he meets you at the door with your purse and tells you it’s on him when you try to shove money at him for your food.

_______

Obviously his house-mates have picked up on your new-found friendship. Jack had messaged you once to ask you to stop, as he deemed you interruptive to boys night.

Client Jack: Listen, I know you guys are like, besties now… but it’s guys night and we’re bowling and Jeff literally can’t stop looking at his phone. he’s really bringing the team down. I wouldn’t mind if he wasn’t on my team, fuck i’d prob encourage it. But tell him you’re going to bed or something so he can focus! Loser has to pick up the bar tabs, so you can understand where i’m coming from right now, (y/n).

You'd never admit it, but you smiled indulgently to yourself, pleased that Jeff really seemed to value you as a friend and not just someone he was forced to be in contact with.

Oh, so sorry that I’m ruining your night Jack. I’ll tell him I’m going to bed. At 830. On a Saturday.

Client Jack: That’s all i ask.

_____________

All the chatting helped though, each weekend you were able to fill your showings with apartments that were increasingly Jeff’s style. You both discovered that he was decidedly more modern; into clean lines and neutral colors.

You start meeting for breakfast every weekend before your first showing. It’s quickly coming up on two months before you even notice. You get along really well, so working the weekend is almost as enjoyable as your shared breakfasts. The two of you commiserate over summer months quickly coming to an end and laughing easily over people's decorating choices in apartments that are decidedly not the one.

The last listing you showed him had been especially cringe worthy, photographing way better than it looked in person. You step inside and instantly realize your mistake.

Jeff hadn't been looking up and barrels into the back of you, spewing red-faced apologies before he could even peel himself away from your back. “Sorry!” he has a hand wrapped around your waist to keep you from toppling forward under his bulk and you snort, because with his accent it comes out “sore-y” and that always gets you laughing.

You realize it before he does, the fact that his hand is still firmly wrapped around your middle, and you’re starting to get a little self conscious of the way you know your jeans are snug against your tummy under his hand. So you clear your throat and he apologizes again before removing his hand and keeping them firmly in his pockets. The tension doesn’t last long as you go through the rest of the apartment and laugh as Jeff raises his eyebrows at the shag carpet that is inexplicably in the bathroom, and you both hightail it out of there as soon as you can.

_______

It’s not out of the ordinary when he texts you late on a Friday night:

Jeff: After we go to the apartments tomorrow do you have any other clients?

You have been saving your Saturdays exclusively for Jeff's showings for the past two months, so you tell him that.

My Saturdays are solely dedicated to finding you a place to live, doll.

Did you find something specific you wanted to see?

Bubbles indicating he’s typing out his reply pop up, but it stops abruptly. They start and stop a few times, before a message finally comes through.

Jeff: Not an apartment, but there’s this new waffle house that just opened? We can change up our routine, lunch instead of breakfast...

Jeff: If you didn’t have anything else going on.

You don’t, and that sounds like the type of relaxed weekend that you’re into, so you peck out a reply.

Sounds like a plan.

You send it over and before you can stop yourself you send a smiley face too. _______

The next day you’re positive Jeff will take to one of these units.

They all have two bedrooms, which you've learned he leans towards, just in case his parents or a sibling decide to pop in. They are all turn key- painted and furnished (he hates furniture shopping and doesn't have the time to paint)- very sleek and modern, his preferred style.

Even better, all of them come with in unit laundry. He claims laundry is his favorite chore and prefers to do it himself rather than send it out. And to top it all off, one has a balcony off the master bedroom. You think he'll choose that one, but you don't want to jinx yourself.

When you get through all three without Jeff so much as considering placing an offer, you're confused at best and irked at worst. You know he needs to find a place soon and it’s starting to feel like you’ve shown him every apartment in Buffalo and its surrounding towns. You try to take it in stride, but it’s been two solid months of multiple showings every weekend and you just want a break from it.

The rational side of you also knows that it isn’t Jeff’s fault. It’s a very important purchase and you don’t want to rush him into something just because you want a lazy weekend, but you're still a little disappointed. Jeff drove to all of the listings, “to give you a break,” he had said. He even showed up with coffee and croissants to hold you over until you go to lunch- so you’re annoyed with yourself for being cranky when he’s been so lovely.

_______

You’re clearly doing a good job of hiding your disappointment, so he pulls up to the waffle house all smiles, the dimple on his right cheek digging straight into your heart, and you feel bad for ever being vexed with him. He hops out of the car and walks up to the door and even holds it open for you, holding 2 fingers up to the hostess.

Sitting in the booth bolsters your mood, unused to waiting until after the showings to eat. It smells like heaven, and you look over the menu, already sticky with syrup. Jeff is his happy self, nudging your foot under the table to get your attention.

“What are you getting?” You look up from the menu at Jeff's rosy face and shrug. You love that he's always blushing. He's never really shy with his emotions because he's so easy to read anyway. It seems like a freeing way to live.

“I'm not sure, there's a lot of options. Banana chocolate chip? Red velvet? What are you getting?” You take the time to nudge his foot back.

He confidently closes his menu, “Cinnamon roll, for sure. With bacon.”

You close your menu at the sight of the waitress approaching, “Okay then, red velvet it is. But I'm trying some of yours, too.” Jeff says 'obviously,’ like it's something that you guys always do, and isn't pushing the lines of a realtor/client relationship.

After you place your orders and the waitress returns with a carafe of coffee for you to split, you feel a happy warmth settle from the tips of your toes to the top of your head. You take turns sharing the creamer and sit in a companionable silence before Jeff starts in.

“I’m so nervous for this season,” he stirs his coffee with a spoon distractedly, you see your opening to bring up his living situation, but he continues before you can interject. “D’you think you’d like to come to the opener?”

He sips his coffee with his eyes closed, and you wish you could make eye-contact with him. “Yeah, sounds like fun. I’ll make myself available.” His eyes open at that and he flushes from his neck up to his forehead.

“Did you think I’d say no or something,” he opens his mouth to answer you, but the waitress sets your plates down in between you so he stops. As soon as she walks away you lean over and steal a piece of bacon from Jeff’s plate.

He smiles and it’s wide and bright and beautiful, and as always- punctuated by a deep dimple. He won’t meet your eyes and spends way too long cutting into his fluffy waffles and dousing them with syrup that is surely not trainer approved, “Yeah, something like that.”

You’re halfway through your own plate, starting to get full and sated, when it starts to make sense, you’re spending every week together, bonding over movies and restaurant recommendations. You’re probably the person he’s spent the most time with since his big move. Jeff’s still plowing away through his own plate though, so you try your hand at subtly broaching the issue on your mind.

“Jeff,” he looks up mid-bite. “You know we’re like, kinda friends now right.” He looks like he’s been caught doing something he shouldn’t and he flames up again immediately.

“Are we?” You nod and stuff another bite of waffle into your mouth to keep yourself from smiling at his embarrassment. He draws in close to you, leaning over his plate.

“If put in an offer on the one with the terrace off the bedroom will you still hang out with me on weekends?” You perk up and lean back against the booth laughing at how dumb he is, nodding and trying to catch your breath.

“Yes you dope!” You have another bite on its way to your mouth when another piece of the puzzle clicks together. The waffle drops off of your fork as you try to control the volume of your voice, you want to yell but you manage to contain it down to a hiss, “Have you not been putting in offers on apartments because you have no better weekend plans, you jerk!?” He has a decency to look chagrined at being caught.

“I didn’t know if I was allowed to keep talking to you after I found something,” he sputters out, shrugging.

“You could have just asked. I haven’t had a day off in months!” You steal another piece of his bacon, you feel like you’ve earned it at this point.

“Are you showing anything tomorrow? We could go out,” Jeff’s fork makes its way onto your plate, you barely notice; did he just-? He’s on it before you can respond.

“I mean- shit.” He takes a deep breath before putting his fork down onto the table with a metallic clank, “Fuck it, yeah tomorrow. What are you doing, let me take you out?” He’s so far from smooth and it’s so endearing you can’t help but smile.

“I’m helping a client place a bid on an apartment. Really nice, eat-in-kitchen and a balcony off the master. Then I have a date, I think? Nice guy, kinda slow, but he’s cute. Lots of curb-appeal, if you catch my drift.”

Jeff’s smile is beatific, “You’re not so quick yourself, so it’s probably a perfect match.” You kick him under the table without malice, too wrapped up in the sugary sweet fullness from lunch and his warm gaze.

“I’m starting to think he’s a fixer-upper. Luckily I’ve got some time.”

#jeff skinner #jeff skinner fic #hockey fic #nhl fic #buffalo sabres fic #nhl imagine #hockey imagines #jeff skinner imagine #plus size hockey imagines #i have been working on this 5 EVER #writing

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corneliusthesourdough · 4 years

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Master Recipe

This recipe is very similar to the master recipe on foodbodsourdough.com, but with some added helpful tips from my gracious Mother, who has been my sourdough guide through this entire journey. I have had nothing but success with this process, but I am in no way an expert. I recommend checking out other recipes and resources for more inspiration and guidance!

Total time is about 24 hours (or longer depending on how long you cold-ferment) from start to finish but requires very little time hands-on. Makes one big loaf.

When starter is at its most active, weigh 50g starter into a bowl and add 350g water. Mix them with hands until starter is mostly dissolved.

In another larger bowl, weigh 500g unbleached flour and 11g salt. Combine well.

Pour the liquid starter into the flour and fold/smush together in the bowl until all the flour is mostly combined. The dough will be ragged (shaggy) and a bit wet. Cover the bowl with plastic wrap, a plastic bag, or shower cap. Let sit for about an hour.

After an hour, and while still working in the bowl, go ahead and do a fair amount of stretch-and-folds (I haven’t counted, but something like 20-30). You don’t need to get it super tight, just until you’ve got a smooth-ish ball of dough. For the next 2-4 hours, come back to your dough every 30-60 minutes and do a few stretch-and-folds. After the first round, you will only need to do a few stretch-and-folds each time (I do about 4-6 per round). There’s no golden rule for time in between or amount of folds, but the more the merrier! Cover and leave on counter between rounds.

Now your dough is ready to be covered again and bulk-ferment. At room temperature, this takes about 8-12 hours. Warmer goes faster, colder goes slower. I usually put it somewhere colder overnight and then bring it to room-temp or warmer at the end. You’re looking for your dough to at least double in size and be nice and jiggly. Its fun to ferment in a glass bowl to see the bubbles!

I test it by poking a hole with a wet finger and looking for it to spring back at least halfway, leaving just a little divot. If you made a double recipe, you should divide your dough into loaves after this fermentation.

Now you do a final round of stretch and folds, either in the bowl or on the counter is fine. You don’t want to overwork the dough at this point in order to preserve the air pockets and bounciness. After that round, I plop it on the counter to develop the skin. You can either dust the counter with flour or wet it. Both prevent sticking, but I find that a little bit of stickiness helps push the dough together, so don’t keep adding flour. I find my scraper works great for this process by pushing under the edge of the dough towards the center while turning it gently against my hand. You can also just use your hands, which may work better in a bowl. You’re trying to stretch the top of the dough outwards and down to get a tight skin and a more spherical shape. Basically, the goal is to create tension in the dough for it to rise into. If bubbles form near the surface, just gently pinch them. I do this skin-tightening until it’s a great little bouncy ball, then let it sit for 20-60 minutes, then repeat once more. I’m sure you could get away with just one round though. Now your dough is ready to go in its proofing basket (banneton)! Lift it gently and place it in the rice-floured banneton/basket with the nice skin facing down, lumpy bottom facing up. You can dust with some more rice flour to make sure nothing sticks. Cover and pop it in the fridge.

If you want to roll your dough in seeds, do this before it goes in the banneton. (Wet the top of the dough and roll in seeds before placing seed-side down.)

This part is the final proof or cold-ferment, where the dough develops its signature flavour and stability. I’ve heard minimum is 3 hours, but I usually aim for 10 hours. If I’m not super confident in my dough, I let it sit for closer to 24 hours in order to develop more stability. You’re ready to bake! A good trick to keep the bottom of the dough from burning is to preheat the oven to 500˚F and reduce it to 450˚F when the dough goes in. This is so the bottom element of the oven won’t come on for a long time. I also pop a baking pan on the rack below to protect it from direct heat.

I preheat the roasting pan as well, but many bakers don’t. Enamel pans heat up and cool down very quickly, so it doesn’t make as much of a difference as with cast-iron.

From your banneton, place a sheet of parchment paper overtop and then a cutting board or plate. Flip the whole thing over so your dough is right-side-up, on the parchment paper. Another dusting of flour (can be wheat flour) will make your score-patterns stand out more for purely aesthetic reasons.

Now you need to score your dough to allow it to open up and expand! Don’t be shy and cut deep, at least ¼ inch. You’ll want to do at least one big score that is surprisingly deep so it has lots of space to grow. My personal favourite is three big scores towards the middle, but I’m getting bolder with more intricate patterns now. After the big scores, feel free to get creative with designs such as leaves (which are just tiny little scores). Look up examples of patterns!

Now, without burning your knuckles, lift the parchment paper and drop it in the roaster. I like to pop a couple ice cubes between the parchment and the roaster to keep it moist. Lid (or tinfoil tent) on, and in the oven she goes!

Now for the hardest part… No peaking!!! You want to maintain moisture and even temperature. You do get to open the oven once, after 30-35 minutes, to take the lid off and let it brown. Once the lid is off, it should take about 25-30 minutes to finish baking. If you have a proper thermometer, the internal temperature should be 205-210˚F, but I have never had to bake it longer.

Carefully lift the parchment paper and place on a cooling rack, then slide the paper out from underneath.

Okay I lied. This my be the hardest part! Do not slice too early! Seriously, it will likely be gluey and sad. I would say wait for absolutely a minimum of 2 hours, but I usually leave it overnight. Once it has cooled a bit, wrap in a clean tea-towel and let it finish cooling all the way. To store bread, I keep mine on a cutting board under a glass bowl for the sole purpose of displaying it to myself. After a few days of this I put it in a bread-bag before it gets too dry.

Congratulations! You did it! A long, but incredibly rewarding process of love, patience, creativity, and confidence. Keep sharing Cornelius with the world! Find recipes for things other than loaves of bread like pizza crust, cinnamon buns, pancakes, focaccia, etc.! Go explore the internet, ask friends and family, find inspiration everywhere! Sourdough Facebook groups have tons of inspiration, tips, and can answer any other questions. Tag your creations with Cornelius’ hasthag #corneliusthesourdough and check out his other babies around the world! Cheers to you both!

#corneliusthesourdough #sourdough #sourdoughrecipe

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myeongchokrp · 5 years

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PROFILE LOADED • • • 《 CHAE JIWOONG 》

“On the surface, CHAE JIWOONG is a seventeen-year-old STUDENT at SEUNGRI HIGH SCHOOL and BARISTA at BREWED AWAKENING. Dig a little deeper and you’ll discover that he’s also a THIEF that goes by the alias LUAN. His allegiance lies with COLUMBA.”

TW FAMILY DEATH, ABANDONMENT

《 WHO ARE YOU? 》

“chae ‘woong, high school senior and barista,” swallowing another chunk of bread, his cheeks deflating from his now empty mouth, he quips, “although, i’m sure you’d mistake me for kim soohyun—happens all the time. so many people have mistakenly asked for autographs that i’ve started giving them fake ones—try to see them sell that online, heh.”

with that, he takes another large bite of what was the third sweet yam-filled bun that had made its way into his hands, ripping a giant hunk off.

( for someone with facial features that harken to that of a deer’s, he has a monster’s appetite. )

after a momentary pause, jiwoong swallows again, and tilts his head, eyes glimmering.

“but that’s not why you’re asking, is it? how about this: as a favor to ‘ya out of my own good will, i’ll say it. i’m actually luan, columba’s official cat burglar. i’m the one that stole those pertinent documents on your most recent crime investigation, and all the transaction receipts that you were this close to getting ahold of after months of chasing leads. i’m also planning on stealing all of your hidden snacks in the mini fridge outside this interrogation room in the near future—better keep one eye on that leftover tteokbokki on the top shelf before you open the door one day and it’s nowhere to be found.”

he laughs, a quick burst, vibrating with a youthful energy that’s overwhelming enough to seem a bit too over the top, maybe even volatile.

“that’s what you wanted to hear, right? ‘m afraid to say, you’ve wasted both your time and your food. if i really was a thief, you’d be here and i’d be gone along with all the tteokbokki.”

he sees the thin line of tension connecting him and the officer, how it twists and splinters and snaps fiber by fiber. luckily for jiwoong, he had always wanted to try tightrope walking—the more worn away the rope, the better.

“but hey, let’s play a game. i’ll make it real easy f’r you, just ‘cause i love giving myself a challenge. there’s a lie surrounded by truths somewhere in what i just said. figured out which one it is yet?”

《 HOW DID YOU GET HERE? 》

leaning back in his seat with no more space to rest his arms amongst all the plastic wrappers littering his side of the table, jiwoong grins.

“well, i was eating my daily ramen at the convenience store when one of your officers approached me. to be honest, i’m still not sure why i’m here. the biggest crime i’ve committed is drawing on the bathroom stalls with a permanent marker in middle school—you didn’t need to know that, did you?”

at this point, he can’t tell nor bring himself to care about whether he was lying or not. all he knows is that he sees the stern lines of his uncle’s face in the man sitting across from him, and he suddenly feels like seven year old woongie again, making up whatever ludicrous excuse he can to smooth out the wrinkles of disappointment and replace them with lines of laughter. he hates it.

“got here by police car, don’t you know? you saw me get dragged out of the back seat like some kind’a convict. even brought the bread in for me when i said i wouldn’t talk unless i got some kind of compensation for the noodles i had to leave behind.”

there’s no longer any bile that rises in his stomach when he says the last word, trying to blot out the sentimentality that wells up, blurring vague images of a warm hand patting down stray tufts of hair on his head and the softening edges of a hard-cut face. it’s getting harder and harder to curb his spite the longer he stays here. feels suffocating. he wants to go back to his little corner, hidden away from the view of that tired middle aged lady at the cashier who always gave him a sad-eyed smile with too much motherly affection for his tastes. hidden away from his actual mom—or aunt’s—apathetic gaze.

( ironic how the one closest to his heart was the most distant. sometimes, the spiteful voice in the back of his head asks him if it’s because he genuinely cares about her, or because she’s the only person who took enough pity on him to come back after the only person who ever loved him was taken away from him. )

the look of sheer disappointment is what ticks him off the most—it’s a sign the officer could give two shits about him, as if he’s some kind of misled kid that’s never had a real family. no matter how true it was, he despises how it feels like he could be seen through so easily. it’s too late for him to turn back around and spill all his secrets, come clean and cry for all his crimes, all the things he’s stolen without a second thought, all the times he’s laid in bed as a child looking up at the ceiling all night, wondering what it’s like to be tucked in and told stories and helped with homework. he was too old to cry for his uncle, to mourn over the invisible body that was already buried six feet under. all he remembers crying over is yellow caution tape and strong arms that push him back from the flashing lights, faces covered by police caps.

blinking his eyes a couple of times to readjust to the white lights that engulfed the interrogation room, jiwoong shakes his head, playing it off with a chuckle.

“anyways, if you’re asking about this columbus-whatever because y’ still think i’m part of some gang, you’re not gonna get anything out of me. now, if you’ll excuse me, i have to get home. m’ aunt’s worried sick.”

surprisingly, the rest of the transition is rather peaceful as he is allowed to stand up and head towards the door, not looking back once. as he finds himself leaving the station, he scoffs to himself in the cold night air.

worried sick? no, probably enjoying his longer than usual absence from the apartment.

he killed himself. that’s what the lady told him, her cold hand there on his arm but her eyes somewhere distant.

his first true taste of reality was at the ripe age of eight, when his uncle’s ex-wife briskly told him that his only anchor in this world ended itself because of money troubles as they left the funeral. that’s what you get for making a deal with gang members.

his second taste of reality came the next day when he learned about how his real parents didn’t want him—they disappeared without a trace after leaving him on his father’s brother’s doorstep. and now, here he was, in the hands of someone who could barely be called his relative or anyone remotely connected to him except for by a no longer existing contract.

aunt, big sister, mother, whatever—unlike uncle, auntie didn’t care what he called her. he could pretend she didn’t exist and she’d just continue on as usual.

all he woke up to every day was a wad of cash on the dining room table for him to buy breakfast and anything else he wanted that day, the price being that he stayed out of her way, kept quiet enough for her to not deal with any troubles he might cause.

there had been no one to witness all of his important milestones, how he slowly grew out of baggy jeans into skinny ripped ones, how he slowly shifted from gangly limbs and skin into a lithe, adept machine. no one to watch him steal everything from those bastards that had taken everything from him.

an eye for an eye makes the world go blind, but he’s already got nothing left to lose except for someone who couldn’t care less about his existence. might as well go out with a bang.

#mi:accepted #mi:columba #han jisung #stray kids #krp

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