#or India's water cup

[bumblebeeappletree]

Permaculture instructor Andrew Millison journeys to India to film the epic work of the Paani Foundation’s Water Cup Competition and Farmer's Cup Competition. We tour the village of Pemgiri, in Maharashtra, who competed in the 2019 competition to install the most amount of water harvesting structures in a 45 day period, and competed had farmer's groups compete in the Farmers Cup Competition in 2023. Guided by Paani Foundation’s chief advisor, Dr. Avinash Pol, we visit the work and see the effects of a watershed-scale groundwater restoration project that has dramatically improved the lives, economy, ecology and stability of this village, and experience the feeling of deep stability that comes with a healthy and abundant landscape.

Paani Foundation:

https://www.paanifoundation.in/

Digital Map Animation:

https://www.pearlriverecodesign.com/

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https://permaculturedesign.oregonstat...

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[najia-cooks]

[ID: A bowl of a bright yellow stew topped with cilantro, mustard seed, chili, and curry leaf. End ID]

ಉಡುಪಿ ಸಾಂಬಾರ್ / Udupi sambar

A sambar is a lentil-and-vegetable stew distinguished by the use of a particular spice blend (Hindi: सांबर मसाला "sāmbār masālā," "sambar spice"; Kannada: ಸಾಂಬಾರ್ ಪುಡಿ "sāmbār puḍi," "sambar powder"). Sambars are a staple of South Indian and Sri Lankan cooking, sometimes made in households for multiple meals a week. The word "sambar" can be traced back to the Sanskrit सम्भार "sambhārá," "collection of things required for a particular purpose”; “spices."

The lentil used in sambar dishes is usually tur dal (split pigeon peas), though arhar dal, tuvur dal, or even blends containing masur or mung dal may be used, depending on the cook or the region. Vegetables also vary between combinations of okra, potato, ash gourd (petha), bottle gourd (doodhi / lauki), drumstick (saijan ki phalli), beetroot, tomato, carrot, pumpkin, brinjal, and pearl onions, among others. The sambar masala fries chilis, curry leaves, dal, and various spices including cumin, coriander, and fenugreek, then grinds them into a spicy, earthy, fragrant blend.

This recipe makes a sambar in the style of ಉಡುಪಿ (Udupi) cuisine—a subdivision of the cuisine of the ತುಳುವ (Tuluva) people localised in the Udupi District of Karnataka, a southeastern coastal state of India. (Tuluva cuisine is also commonly found in Dakshina Kannada, Karnataka, and Kasaragod, Kerala). In the Udupi region, sambar may be known as "ಕೊಡೆಲ್" "kodhel"; perhaps related to "ಕಡಲೆ" "kadhale" "Bengal gram"; or "ಹುಲಿ" "huḷi"; "tartness." Udupi huli has coconut oil and jaggery as its primary distinguishing features: the jaggery's deep sweetness and the earthy pungency of unrefined coconut oil combine with the spice of the chilis and the sour fruitiness of the tamarind to create a complex, flavorful, well-balanced dish.

Udupi huli may be further divided into a few major types. ಮಸಾಲೆ ಹುಳಿ ("masāla huḷi") contains shredded coconut and vegetables; ಬೋಳು ಹುಳಿ ("bolu huḷi") contains vegetables, but omits the coconut.

Hotel-style masala huli recipes typically add a lot of jaggery to produce a distinct sweetness; cut back on the amount of coconut included; and contain onion and garlic. The other main type of masala huli—“temple style”—is sattvic (from Sanskrit "सत्त्व" "sattva": "goodness," "essence," "existence"), which in this context means that onions and garlic are excluded.

A sattvic diet in Hinduism centres around the concept of maintaining sattva by eating only pure and mild (sattvic) foods, and omitting tamasic (“dark,” "inert," "destructive"; from Sanskrit तमस् "tamas") and rajasic ("exciting," "passionate," from Sanskrit रजस् "rajas") ones. The concepts of sattva, tamas, and rajas (the गुण "guṇa" system) are central to the construction of caste: the degree to which each person innately inherits each quality supposedly determines their possession of characteristics including honesty, intelligence, and goodness (sattva), stupidity and lack of creativity (tamas), and passion and pridefulness (rajas); the possession of these characteristics in turn determines their rightful place in a professional and social hierarchy. The association of certain foods with certain qualities thus links diet to caste: a distinction in diet is one of the methods by which those belonging to upper castes maintain and police caste boundaries.

This recipe makes enough pudi for one pot of sambar. Traditionally, sambar pudi is created fresh each time the dish is made, but many households make large batches and store them. In this case, omit the coconut; or, use dried coconut and store the masala in the refrigerator.

Recipe under the cut!

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Ingredients:

Serves 4-6.

For the sambar:

2 cups chopped vegetables

1 red onion, sliced*

1 cup (200g) yellow split pigeon peas / tur dal / ತೂರ್ ದಾಲ್ (ಹಳದಿ ಸ್ಪ್ಲಿಟ್ ಪಾರಿವಾಳದ ಬಟಾಣಿ)

4 cups (1 litre) water, or as needed

1/4 tsp ground turmeric / haldi / ಅರಿಶಿನ

2 tsp table salt

2 tsp jaggery / gur / ಬೆಲ್ಲ*

1/4 cup (60mL) tamarind pulp (from 1 Tbsp dried tamarind / imlie / ಹುಣಸೆಹಣ್ಣು)

2 tsp unrefined coconut oil / nariyal ka tel / ತೆಂಗಿನ ಎಣ್ಣೆ

Ingredient list format is English / Hindi (Latin transcription) / Kannada. The Hindi is provided for convenience while shopping.

Udupi sambar usually uses any of: gourd, brinjal (Indian eggplant), pumpkin, dumstick (saijan ki phalli), and okra. Pearl onion is not usually used in this region, but you can add whatever you want, according to taste.

*For a hotel-style sambar, include the onion; increase the jaggery to 2 Tbsp.

For the spice paste / sambar masala / ಸಾಂಬಾರ್ ಪುಡಿ ("sambar pudi"):

1/2 Tbsp split Bengal gram / chana dal / ಹಳದಿ ಸ್ಪ್ಲಿಟ್ ಗ್ರಾಂ

2 tsp split black gram / urad dal chilka / ಸ್ಪ್ಲಿಟ್ ಬ್ಲ್ಯಾಕ್ ಗ್ರಾಂ

2 tsp coriander seeds / dhaniya / ಕೊತ್ತಂಬರಿ ಬೀಜದ

1/2 tsp fenugreek seeds / methi / ಮೆಂತ್ಯ

1 tsp cumin seeds / jeera / ಜೀರಿಗೆ

1 tsp ground turmeric

5-6 curry leaves / kari pati / ಕರಿಬೇವು

3-4 Byadagi or other dried red chilis / byadagi mirch / ಬ್ಯಾಡಗಿ ಮೆಣಸಿನಕಾಯಿ

4 cloves garlic, skins on*

Large pinch asafoetida / hing / ಇಂಗು

1 cup (100g) fresh coconut (about one coconut)*

1/2 cup (120mL) water

While the ratio of ingredients in Udupi sambar pudi vary slightly, the ingredients themselves are almost always consistent.

*For a hotel-style sambar, include the garlic, and decrease the coconut in the sambar masala to 1/4 or 1/2 cup (25-50g).

The grams and pulses in this pudi have many different names. You can find them in a halal or South Asian grocery store; look on the bag for the Hindi names (since they have been transcribed into Latin, the spelling may vary from what you see here).

The urad dal you find may be husked, and thus yellow instead of black; these will work just as well.

For the tempering / tadka / ಹದಗೊಳಿಸುವ:

2 Tbsp unrefined coconut oil

2 red chilis

8 curry leaves

1 tsp brown mustard seeds / rai / ಸಾಸಿವೆ ಬೀಜಗಳು

Recipes from north Karnataka may add cumin and whole, unpeeled garlic cloves to the tempering.

Instructions:

For the sambar pudi:

1. Break open the coconut and remove and shread its flesh.

If using a whole dried coconut, break into the shell with the wrong side of a hammer and pry open. Break into a few smaller pieces and peel with a vegetable peeler until the skin is removed from the white flesh, wearing something to protect your hand. Soak in warm water for several minutes to soften, and then grate or food process.

2. Heat 2 Tbsp of coconut oil in a skillet on medium-low. Add asafoetida and fry for 30 seconds, until no longer raw-smelling. Add dal and fry, stirring often, for 30 seconds until golden brown; add coriander, mustard, fenugreek, and cumin seeds and fry until fragrant.

3. Add curry leaves and fry until wilted, then add garlic and dried chilis and fry another 30 seconds to a minute, until fragrant.

4. Add coconut and fry, stirring often, for another few minutes until a shade darker. Add turmeric and stir.

5. Grind all ingredients into a paste in a mortar and pestle, then mix in about 1/2 cup water to loosen (if using dried coconut, you may need more water).

Or, put all ingredients along with 1/2 cup water into a blender or food processor and process until a relatively smooth paste forms.

For the sambar:

1. Wash tur dal to remove excess starch. Simmer dal with 2 cups water, 1/4 tsp ground turmeric, and 1 tsp coconut oil for about 30 minutes until very tender. Mash until relatively smooth with a wooden spoon or bean masher, or process briefly with an immersion blender.

You may soak the dal in water after rinsing them to reduce the cooking time, but it is not necessary.

2. Meanwhile, make the tamarind paste. Soak 1 Tbsp tamarind dried pulp in 1/4 cup hot water for 20-30 minutes. Squeeze the tamarind into the water to extract the pulp. Discard the tamarind seeds and husk. Optionally, depending on your preferred texture, push the mixture through a metal sieve.

3. Prepare vegetables. Slice the onion; remove ends of okra and drumsticks and cut into 2-inch pieces; quarter tomatoes; quarter brinjal; peel pumpkin and cut into cubes; peel and cube potatoes.

4. If using onion, add a teaspoon of coconut oil to a large pot and fry until translucent.

5. In the same pot, boil vegetables in just enough water to cover, along with a pinch of salt, until they are beginning to soften.

Some recipes call for the vegetables to be boiled, and others call for them to be steamed. I prefer boiling, since it produces a nice savory broth.

6. Mix vegetables, dal, tamarind, jaggery, sambar pudi, and salt to taste and simmer 5-10 minutes to allow flavors to combine and vegetables to cook under tender. Add water as needed. Remove from heat and stir in cilantro. Taste and adjust salt.

The final sambar should be pourable, like a thick soup—Karnataka sambar is typically thinner in consistency than Tamil Nadu versions.

For the tadka:

1. Heat coconut oil in a small skillet on medium heat. Add tempering ingredients and fry, stirring often, until chilis and curry leaves are a couple shades darker and the mixture is fragrant.

2. Pour the oil and tempering ingredients into the sambar and stir in. If you like, retain some of the tadka as a garnish to serve.

3. Serve warm, in individual bowls, alongside long-grain white rice. To eat drumsticks, scoop the center out and eat it; the tough outer rind is left.

If you intend to save some sambar, it's a good idea to make just enough tadka for what you plan to eat that day, and then make fresh tadka to pour over the reheated leftovers.

[seonne]

Stuck With Her. Ch1 (Request)

Trader!Bakugou x Indian!Princess!Reader

Lols here it finally is T-T

Very sorry about the huge delay, I was travelling a lot as soon as my exams were over but HERE WE ARE!

Will have to make this into a series because it's quite long.

Summary: Due to a villain's quirk, Bakugou gets transported into the body of another version of him as a trader, in 15th century India. Little did he know, that the pretty princess of the kingdom he was in was actually his lover.

Word Count: 1765

"Fuck!" He grunted as he got up from where he had been thrown into the wall. The villain he was fighting chuckled, as he hounded his hunched over form.

"Not so strong now, are you, Hero Dynamight?" He shoved a boot in his stomach, causing Bakugou to reel from the pain. His carmine red eyes shot a disgusted look to the villain standing over him.

"You'll pay for this, you damn shithead!"

The villain laughed as he wrapped his hand around Bakugou's neck.

"I'd love to see you try. Good night Dynamight~"

He heard the voices of Kirishima and his sidekick calling out to him before the villain's eyes glowed a deep purple and everything went black.

Bakugou woke up with a cold sweat, gasping as he pressed his hand to his neck. He was fine, he was awake. He was fine. He looked around trying to see where he was. Maybe the others found him and brought him to the hospital. Only it didn't look like he was in a high rise hospital building in the middle of the city. He found himself in a small but tidy hut. The cot he was on was rigid and hurt his back as he sat up slowly, taking in his surroundings in confusion.

He was inside a hut that had red and orange bedsheets as were the curtains that were drawn apart to let in the sun. A small wooden table covered by a red embroidered table cloth stood beside his cot, with a clay pot of water and some other things he couldn't identify. There seemed to be a small makeshift stove in a far corner of the room that contained several clay pots and vessels. As he was racking his brain trying to figure out where he was, a familiar but unfamiliar face walked in.

It was Kirishima. But his hair wasn't red, it was black. And it wasn't its usual spiky up on his head, instead his slightly long black hair touched down to his shoulders. Kirishima walked in with a concerned face as he held a clay cup in his hand, filling it with the water from the pot next to Bakugou and handing it to him. Bakugou took the cup and looked at it suspiciously before looking back at Kirishima and gulping down the water. He wiped his face and looked back at Kirishima who looked like he was bursting with questions and worry. Bakugou sighed and before Kirishima could open his mouth, he beat him to it.

"Oi shitty hair, what's going on? Where are we?" He grumbled curses under his breath as he tried untangling himself from the blanket between his legs.

Meanwhile, Kirishima looked at him like Bakugou just asked to marry him.

"Bakugou… are you feeling okay? Should I call that apothecary again..?"

"Shitty hair, answer the damn question! What happened and where are we?"

Kirishima put down the clay mug and looked back at Bakugou with concern.

"We're in our hut in Agra. You collapsed on your way here in the caravan. We had an apothecary come check you. He said you had a high temperature and that you must've fainted from the sudden climate change. I told you it would be hot here in India but noooooo you wanted to see your princess" Kirishima rolled his eyes as he hid his soft smile.

"Hah? Are you out of your mind? Agra? India? Princess? What are you talking about?"

Kirishima paled where he stood. "Don't tell me… did you lose your memory?"

A vein popped out of Bakugou's forehead as his head throbbed with an impending stress headache. "The fuck you mean memory loss?! I remember just fine! I was fighting that damned villain and he used his stupid quirk on me!"

Kirishima looked way more puzzled than concerned. " Villain? Quirk? What are YOU talking about?"

As Bakugou opened his mouth to bite off Kirishima's stupid head he froze.

"The villain's quirk apparently transports people into the body of someone else. Basically a soul-swapping quirk. It's very rare, and the distances between the bodies who get their souls swapped is unidentified. Please be wary and do not make physical contact with him."

Fuck, he completely forgot All Might had said that. So, he's now basically inside another body? He brought up his hand to test out if he still had his quirk and sure enough, there were no explosions. Bakugou cursed under his breath as he lowered his palm and Kirishima stood there staring at him, bewildered.

"D-did you hit your head or something, Bakugou?"

The aforementioned blonde exhaled sharply and shook his head. "No there's nothing. I remember now. Now leave me alone, I need to sleep."

Bakugou rolled around in his uncomfortable cot and covered himself with the blanket, turning away from the prying eyes of a confused Kirishima. He shrugged and decided to leave Bakugou be for now and left the hut.

The blonde huffed as he brought his hands up to his face. He didn't have his quirk. He was in a world without quirks, if Kirishima's reaction was anything to go by from. Even Kirishima looked different. He was in a strange world, where everyone was a stranger, but all familiar faces. He didn't even know when the villain's quirk would wear out; or even if it would. He sighed. He was properly, utterly, miserably, stuck.

Bakugou grumbled all the way as he followed a tired Kirishima as the red-head (now a complete ravenette, which is going to take some time to get used to) dragged Bakugou kicking and screaming to the palace.

"We came all the way here to trade, and you're here complaining? I thought you'd atleast want to see your princess-" which procured him an iron grip to the face.

So here Bakugou was now, speaking with the prince about the copper coins and silver jewellery they brought in exchange for the textiles, food products and precious gems from the Indian traders. As their trade was set up in the kingdom, it was mandatory for them to talk out their business deals and goals with the monarch before their week started.

Of course Bakugou didn't know any of this until a very bewildered Kirishima explained it to him.

And of course Bakugou was smart enough to pull off a literal business meeting he previously had no idea about.

Even if the villain's quirk was going to fuck him over, he wouldn't let himself be the reason he lives in bankruptcy. As him, Kirishima and the prince arose from their seats after the meeting, he caught another glimpse of a blue shawl flowing next to the window and scowled.

The princess.

He had been relentlessly teased by the maids and attendants the moment he stepped foot into the palace and also by his companions on his caravan on his way here. Even Kirishima joined in on it until Bakugou told everyone to kindly shove their remarks up their own asses. He didn't understand what the hell was going on until he saw her with her maids loitering around in the gardens next to the window of their meeting room. Bakugou may be dense but he's not dumb and his observational skills are what helped him be the No.2 hero that he is today- well, in the future.

There was a little something going on with this princess and the him of this timeline.

And EVERYONE knew about it.

"See? I told you there's nothing wrong with him, he looks the same!"

"No, there's something off about him. He's scowling a bit too much."

"He's always scowling and he looks just the same. A simple heatstroke can't change him that much-"

"Quiet."

The maids all scrambled and shut their mouths as the cool voice of their princess cut through the room. You had been sat by your window, silent, as you stared out the window, wondering about your lover. He had seen you, but refused to acknowledge you.

Actually, no, he did acknowledge you.

But he seemed angry. Very angry. Almost like he was annoyed with you.

But that's impossible, what could've happened? Just a week ago, he had sent you a beautiful handwritten letter scented with your favourite perfume. He had written such heartfelt words that had you smiling into your pillow as you re-read it multiple times, etching the words into your brain before focusing on his promise of coming to meet you soon and put away the letter amongst the numerous others that he had sent.

So, according to you, nothing out of the ordinary had happened. He had kept his word and come to see you again, but he… he didn't seem to want to see you?

'I'm probably thinking too much. There's no reason for him to be mad at me or something.'

You shook your head and smiled at your maids.

"I appreciate your concerns and your efforts in brainstorming with me as a means to console me. However, I must clarify that the topic of discussion here is my relationship; one that you shouldn't concern yourselves with. Do I make myself clear?"

The maids gulped and slowly shook their heads.

"Yes, princess."

"Thank you." You smiled once again and looked out the window. Bakugou's caravan had been parked a few metres away from your window in the open space beside your garden and you watched with a frown as he walked out of the meeting room, still speaking with your brother. Your intense stare, though far away, did not miss Bakugou's periphery, but he decided to ignore it until he couldn't anymore. You huffed to yourself, realising that he was ignoring you on purpose (because there's no way he would refuse to look at you even after Kirishima pointed you out to him). So you, as the headstrong princess you are known to be, decided to face him and ask him yourself what his damn problem was. You summoned a guard into your room.

"Let the merchant named Bakugou Katsuki know that I await his presence in the ballroom."

Firm. Demanding. It was an order.

The guard nodded and bowed, before scurrying off to fetch Bakugou. You stood up from your seat next to the window, smoothening down your skirt as you watched the guard rushing towards Bakugou who stood dumbstruck next to your snickering brother, and made your way down the halls to the ballroom. Any maid who tried to follow you stayed back at your ice cold glare. They looked to each other with a knowing look. You were….quite angry.

There we have it folks, finally after three weeks I think T-T

Again, apologies for the delay but I hope you liked it and I'll try to get the next part done with as quickly as I can too. So until then;

Toodaloo~

tagging @maple-syrup-with-strawbewwies cuz they reblogged the answer to the request <3

[two-red-lungs]

Pick Your Poison

Paul/Fem!Reader

Content: Slow burn, stoner!Paul, he’s the Drugs Guy and I love him, unresolved tension, the Lost Boys are SO toxic

Word Count: 2.9k

The neon sign in Saigon Soul’s window hummed, luminous and red, casting vermillion’s feather-soft hue across the rapidly cooling colors of the night. The last rays of the sun had faded less than an hour ago: but as soon as they did, like clockwork, your new favorite entertainment emerged. Just like he did every night. A reverse Cinderella.

Red looked good on Paul. It haloed his product-stiff blonde mane in a ruby glow and glittered like pomegranate seeds in a marching line down his gilded row of medallions. Turned his off-white eyes and teeth pink, too. He huffed, smacking his lips obnoxiously in an effort to puff away the heat of his extra-spicy beef noodle pho, flapping his hands about. The piles of bracelets on his wrists jangled.

“Fuck me, man. That’s good.” He said in his usual laid-back, loose tone after a gulp of iced tea from his flimsy paper cup. 

“Mmm.” You hummed and picked up a heavy shrimp spring roll with your chopsticks. Maybe it was the thick seaside summer air, or the heavenly deep-fried smells that wafted your way every time the narrow restaurant door opened, but the damn things smelled amazing. “Told ya. This place is a total hole in the wall but their food’s primo.”

“Uh-huh.” He sucked pepper oil off the pad of his thumb and scratched his stubbly cheek contemplatively. Even like this, reeking of sweat and looking like a cat got lost in his hair somewhere, he was so beautiful it was almost ridiculous. Damn those baby blues. “My man Dwayne’s gonna dig on this stuff. He’s one bona fide heat fiend. Eats the fuckin, the… the uh…” He snapped his fingers a few times, brows furrowed in utmost stupefied contemplation. “The little spoons, with the red powder on top, you know—”

“Tamarind candy?”

His face lit up like the sun. Jesus Christ. That smile was a flashbang, a dynamite stick, a stun baton. Made you go all stupid. “Yeah! Yeah, man, the tamarind candy! Gotta get him some of that stuff.”

You looked down at your paper plate of food and worried at the inside of your lip with your teeth. Somewhere down the street dance music was playing. Car lights ghosted over your and your dinnermate, lighting up the strangers that walked by on the sidewalk next to you. It was by all means a perfect night: balmy wind and the distant sound of the boardwalk rides on the air. But Paul bringing up his brother… it sent an uneasy sensation down your spine and you couldn’t quite pin down why. 

Paul had stumbled into your life three weeks ago, completely drunk on the beach. You’d been a good samaritan: held his hair back while he puked, tossed him a bottle of water while he reeled and slurred out that his brothers had dumped his ass for being too intoxicated. But the whole while, he grinned. Like he could enjoy anything. Like no matter what situation life put him in, he’d find some way to have fun. 

He sat by your little bonfire in the grassy dunes and you chatted. You showed him some of your stick-n-poke tats and he’d insisted on getting one himself. And (in a decidedly less good samaritan way) you’d given him one, india ink blackening your fingers and his inner arm skin cold under your fingers. And that’s how you’d gotten to know him, how you’d continued to know him over the last collection of days. Alone, just him. His weird, easily-distractible, impulsive, entertaining self. He mentioned he had three brothers, once or twice, and you took it in stride. 

Then you’d seen him with them. 

He was like an entirely different person. 

Across the sea of beach boardwalk heads you’d spotted him. But it didn’t feel like him. He sat lazily up on a railing surrounded by equally eccentric young men, and they watched the crowd like tigers. Like mad kings looking down on their kingdom. A beautiful young woman passed and they all jeered, whooping and whistling and clapping: even Paul. With an aggression and odd hunger in his eyes you’d never seen before. They all moved in tandem, like wolves, wordlessly communicating in a way that made your skin crawl. 

You left. 

Now he was Paul again tonight: just Paul, the Paul you knew and hoped to god was the real version. The guy who couldn’t talk and chew gum to save his life. The guy who declared a thumb war with you and proceeded to lose six times in a row. The guy who delighted in rocking the sky-glider that slowly trundled over the pier until you were shrieking and clinging to his coat.

Either way, real Paul or not, you were glad you’d yet to meet his family. 

The blonde stretched, yawned, and hopped out of his seat, digging a hand into his dingy riding pants pocket. When you moved to counter, pulling your wallet out of your bag, he uh-uhed you and flapped his own leather-bound one in your face. “Not a chance, girl. Paulie’s good for it.”

You raised your brows. As far as you knew, he was a surf bum with a penchant for partying. No way was he holding down a nine to five to pay for dinner. 

Paul scoffed at your look. “I got a freebie from a real charitable dude.” He flashed the corner of a hundred at you and stuck out his tongue with a smile before wrestling two fives out of his cash-thick wallet. 

“Uh-huh. Someone just… handed you what, looks like… six hundred bucks?”

“He didn’t need ‘em anymore.” Paul didn’t even watch his wallet fall, he just dropped it to the table, flattening the bills to presentability with his fingers. “Try not to miss me, ‘kay?” In a whirl of pungent sea salt and old-timey coattails he was inside the little eatery, the bell on the poster-covered door jingling. 

You idly scratched at the hem of his leather wallet with your thumb nail while you waited. Real charitable dude, huh? You weren’t stupid. Paul was a street fiend. Ran trades and exchanges from the pockets sewn inside his coat with practiced ease, like he was born to sell ditchweed and glass-cut coke to summer-break college students. No doubt that’s where the money came from. Hell, the way he was standing around with his brothers… you wouldn’t be surprised if they were his suppliers. 

Something crunched under the edge of your nail. You brought your thumb to your face. There was a line of red, deep and nearby brown, trapped between the keratin and your skin. Dirt, obviously. 

It was dirt. 

Had to be dirt.

Like a category three hurricane, Paul was back, and before you knew it you were on your feet and moseying down the bustling town avenue. One of his long, lithe arms was draped almost crushingly over your shoulder, holding you to his side. He jingled with every footfall. Golden strands of hair blustered in the corner of your vision and you felt his ribs, pressed against your side, swell and contract with a contented sigh.

Two could play at that overconfident, wild-child game. With a little effort you extracted a pinned arm and shoved it under his coat, grabbing his waist over his mesh top and holding him much in the same way he held you as you jaunted down the avenue. He threw his head back and laughed, his stride never wavering. 

“You kinda got guts, girl.” He cackled into the coastal breeze. 

“So, Paulie.” You ignored his needling, crossing the crosswalk and ambling past seemingly endless pizzerias and cinemas and smoke shops. “Level with your good, kind, very honest and transparent friend. How many acid tabs did you sling to get that sorta funding?”

Paule shook your shoulder with a strong hand. “Wasn’t lyin’ to you, c’mon. I really did get that green for free.” The walk sign nearby turned from stop to go and you crossed another street. “Me and my brothers, we got ways, y’know? Not gonna be strapped for cash any time soon.”

Sometimes, when Paul looked at you just right, you thought your damn heart was gonna beat out of your chest. Like he saw right through the bullshit into your soul. But other times, times like now, you realized just how little you actually knew the guy. 

“I got ‘bout an hour before I gotta jet, girl.” Paul started talking again and you blinked: you’d arrived in front of the bulb-studded Casino Arcade arched entrance at the boardwalk without even noticing it. When you looked up at him, he was already looking down at you, eyes crinkled in kiddish mischief. “You down for a puff ‘n play?”

“Just an hour?” You mockingly pouted, extracting yourself from him and crossing your arms broodingly in the small ever-flowing crowd of young adults going in and out of the noisy arcade. “Geez, Paul. What am I, a time-killer till you can go have real fun?”

He laughed and there was a bark to it. “If you could handle real fun I’d take you with me.” A little of his usual spaced-out bliss receded. “But I, uh. Don’t really think the guys would appreciate a plus one at our… parties.”

“Wow.” You deadpanned. “Not vague and condescending at all.” With a conceding huff you punched his shoulder playfully, making his body rock like an inflatable car-sale mascot. “Fine, blondie. I’m game.” Paul was grinning from ear to ear and dragged you by the sleeve off to the underside of the pier, fishing around in his inside pockets. “But none of that skunkweed, you hear me? And if I kick your butt at Speedway again you gotta gimme your ring like you promised last time!”

He stopped short so quickly you nearly collided with his tall, narrow back. Paul whirled around. “Yeah? What do I get if I win?”

You were very acutely aware of how close he was standing, nearly chest-to-chest, and how the shadow-painted back side of the arcade by the barnacle-stippled pier was much less crowded than the arcade. You swallowed and his sharp, playful gaze tracked the motion of your throat reflexively. “It’s— augh, um— mystery prize. Can’t tell you what it is till you win. Which you won’t.”

He was silent for a few seconds, sucking on the inside of his cheek. Thinking. Then he grinned. “Alright.” He flicked a lighter across his knuckles and pressed the button down. The little firelight flickered wildly in the turbulent air. “Let’s get toasted.”

Sitting down in the shadow-dark sand between the pier legs, watching him roll a joint right then and there on his narrow knee, you reeled. Sometimes you really couldn’t tell what his deal was. Were you a time-killer? A listening ear? A friend? The way he looked at you, sometimes— it didn’t feel friendly.

If it was good or bad, though… the jury was still out on that one. 

So. It wasn’t skunkweed.

It was nice and palatable and bright. Absolutely top-shelf stuff he was handing out to you pro-bono. The world was a delicious blur: arcade lights were multihued and the speaker music was pop-y and completely grooveable. Your skin prickled in the hot interior air: fabric just felt better after a few puffs. And god, Paul was the funniest, weirdest, most oddly endearing beanstalk of a man when he was on the stuff. 

He had his forehead pressed so hard to the claw machine it was going to leave a red halo: he beat the side with his fist and howled in breathy, entertained frustration when the wimpy claw let the neon green monkey plush slip from its grasp under your careful joystick management. “Ahh, you dropped it again! Unbelievable!”

“It’s not exactly made to be easy, doofus! I’d like to see you try.” You half-chuckled, half-grumbled, feeding the hungry quarter slot more change. You missed the slot a few times before you succeeded. 

Paul reeled back and rounded the machine like a big cat, waving jingly arms. “You’re an amateur, girl. Let a pro show ya how it’s done.” 

You assumed he’d push you out of the way: god knows he'd done it before. But no, of course now he decided to act exactly like the Paul you’d come to know. He pressed up behind you, chin tickling the crown of your head, and put a hand over yours on the joystick when the machine popped back to life, revitalized by the loose change. It chirped out a happy eight-bit tune and Paul hummed along to it, guiding the claw around and back. His fingers were cool over yours. You could feel his belt buckle biting into your back over your shirt. 

You held very, very still, mouth pressed into a thin line. He jammed the drop button. The claw lowered, clamped over the green monkey, and hauled it over to the prize chute. It dropped it without a hitch: the plush clunked into the deposit receptacle.

Paul’s mouth was behind your ear, cold breath on the shell of it. “See? Pro.”

Then he was gone, crouching like an animal by the chute and wrestling the monkey free, and god you were reeling again: collecting your very high nerves with hands still clutching the sweating joystick plastic. 

“What’s my prize?”

“...Huh?” 

Paul doubled down, resting his weight against the Blasteroids arcade machine and wiggling the monkey at you. “I won. What’s my mystery prize, hmm?”

You collected yourself enough, finally. At least enough to scoff dismissively. “Please, I basically wiped the floor with you in Speedway and Super Mario—”

“You can’t argue with evidence, girl.” When you lunged to snatch the green ‘evidence’ out of his grip he reached upwards with it, holding it over your head mockingly, a cheshire smile on his face. “Cough it up. I want my prize.”

You jumped for the monkey and it went even higher. Grumbling and hopping and face starting to grow very flushed with an ‘I don’t have a fucking mystery prize’ panic, you rambled and cajoled at him, flipping between wheedling and threatening. It took you about fifteen seconds to realize he was no longer staring down at you, but rather over your head. 

“Paul.” A laid-back, low male voice said evenly from behind you. 

An icy knot formed in your stomach. You turned, slow as a glacier, and yep, it was exactly what you thought it was. Two of the brothers you’d spied the blonde hanging out with before. The tall, dark, and brooding one, and the peroxide-spiked trench coat model.

The latter lifted his eyebrows at you when he caught you staring. A tight, cold smile graced his lips for a moment before he turned his cutting gaze back to his brother. “Thought we all agreed to be at the statue by ten. We missed you.” His eyes slide back to you. “Who’s your friend?”

You stood as tall as you could in the given circumstances, feeling rather like a park ranger making himself as big as possible to frighten off a bear. An introduction was on the tip of your tongue. It got knocked off of it when Paul abruptly elbowed past you, shoulder-checking you hard enough to offset your balance. When he stood by his brothers, he looked exactly in place. Like he was meant to be there. 

He glanced down his nose at you. There was a different sort of smile on his face. An insider smile. One you didn’t feel like was for you. “Just some chick, David. Y’know how it is. Where’s Marko?”

“Scoping out dinner. Probably waiting on us, now.”

“Shit man, then let’s go!” Paul crowed, snapping his fingers and grinning, tongue trapped between his teeth. “I’m starvin’.”

The whole while they talked, the tall, dark-haired one watched you with crossed arms. Taking in the way your face shifted, the confused, hurt pinch in your brow. The pac-man machine illuminated half his face, like a skull of amber-yellow. You caught his eye. The intensity of his gaze forced yours down to the multicolored carpet. 

“After you.” David gestured broadly with a gloved hand towards the arcade entrance, and Paul flounced towards it without so much as a goodbye or a sparing glance in your direction, even after an entire evening together. David looked at the dark-haired one. “Dwayne. Time to roll.”

A long-drawn out pause. You refused to look up. 

“...Comin’.” Dwayne eventually said. The trio disappeared between arcade machines, tops of their heads barely visible, then vanished into the crowded Santa Carla night. 

The green monkey was abandoned on the floor, limbs splayed. You picked it up, its glassy plastic eyes blankly reflecting the arcade lights. Like it was mocking you for being there, alone, after that. 

“Fucking asshole.” You breathed in disbelief to yourself. Far more hurt than you thought you’d be. You’d hung out with him for what, six days, tops? Were you even friends? Was he not just some nighttime stranger, a weirdo who emerged from the woodwork to show you a good time once in a while? Paul was good. Paul was fun. He was a fat blunt and a shot of tequila and a roller-coaster ride all wrapped up into one person. 

You’d picked him as your poison of preference. It was a good poison. Now you were starting to wonder if you’d picked wrong. 

[weirdly-specific-but-ok]

Hii!! Apologies you got Kidnapped into the fandom.

just wanted to let you know it's really rare to come across another Indian Lgbtq+ being on here and it's sort of......uplifting I guess? To know that you're not really alone in that sense.

I really love your sense of humor, and your posts, keep up the good work!!

Also, congratulations on being mutuals with @neil-gaiman on here.

Anyways, its not much of an ask, moreso an attempt at an appreciation post, but I hope it doesn't get lost in your ask box.

Also you should try Old Monk.

I bet your commentary on that would be hilarious!!

Stay fresh and hydrated!!

Hellooo maggot! Thank you for the apology, most of the fandom is extremely unrepentant for their crimes. A true tragedy. Shakespearian.

Thank you so much, and I'm so happy that you feel happier and seen. It's so easy to feel alone as a queer person in India, isn't it? It's horribly isolating and feeling unsafe all the time is exhausting. Which yeah is the queer experience worldwide too, to a lesser degree or in a different way. But here... it's a whole new level of fucked.

But we aren't alone. Remember that when it gets shitty, yeah? There are so many Indian queer people. I know many myself. There are so many queer Indian maggots, too (hey y'all give this maggot a wave so they know they're not alone!) and it's incredible to see how people come together to shelter under the fandom umbrella.

Especially good omens, though in good omens it is actually an awning to shelter under while it's raining, wet and looking into each other's eyes. Although not vavooming. I think. *Looks around alarmed* Have I missed something are we all vavooming???

Thank you for tempting me to write more posts with alcohol, the fandom is an amazing influence, 1000/10 job at parenting me. One thing I will say though, every single of you have ensured that I keep drinking water. I went and drank a cup now just for you.

More water so more tears over Crowley!

Take all the love, we're not alone. That's what I love most about good omens. How much I feel seen, not just as a queer person, but as a person.

[the-vixen]

𝐆𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐨𝐜𝐨𝐥 : 𝙀𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙣 𝙃𝙪𝙣𝙩 𝙭 𝙍𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧

PART 8 PART 9 PART 10

-------- MASTERLIST

When you are sent on a mission to rescue Ethan Hunt from prison, the events that domino will force you to face the ghosts of your past and your guilt tied to Ethan.

This takes place throughout the events of ghost protocol. There will be a change in the story and the events of the mission impossible 2 and 3. Ethan and Julia never got married, a certain amount of information will be changed that will be revealed in the story. 

"You've been to Mumbai right?" 

You turned your head away from the sea and looked to see Ethan standing there, looking out as he leaned against the railing similarly as you did. 

You watched him, "you're talking to me now?" you asked, before looking back out to the water. You fiddled with the rings decorating your fingers, trying to keep a steady expression. 

Ethan looked at you before taking a breath. "I went to look for a new alternative." he began, "Hendricks needs a tactical satellite to use the codes..." he spoke quietly as he looked around, "the only one he'd get outside of russia, is one in Mumbai...and the only way to disable the satellite before Hendricks uses it, is through a certain multi media billionaire..." he said. 

You were quiet, considering his words. "so?" 

"I need someone who knows the city...knows how to get through to him." he looked at you. 

"You and I both know you can get that kind of information without my assistance." you spoke carefully. 

"Y/n."

You didnt turn to him, watching the waters. 

"Y/n look at me." he took your arm and turned you gently. 

You looked up at him as he stood close to you, his other hand cupping your other arm. Your skin lit up as he touched you, his thumb tracing the edge of the bandage on your arm. 

"I'm sorry." he whispered

You blinked at him, taken a back by his words. 

"You dont know how much things have changed.." he looked at you. "I just...need you to trust me." he said softly. 

You watched him, his expression grave. You bit your lip, watching his eyes follow your action, his gaze stuck on your mouth before you asked; "do you trust me?" 

Ethan watched you, not responding. 

You closed your eyes and pulled away, disappointed but not surprised. 

At least...you tried to pull away. 

Ethan held onto you, one hand going to cup your cheek as he made sure you looked at him. "I do..but right now it's not about trusting you.." he whispered hesitantly. "please."

"please what?" you looked up at him, meeting his soft gaze. 

You watched Ethan look over your face with an unreadable expression, his eyes half lidded as he leaned closer to you. You swallowed thickly as your eyes fluttered closed, feeling his breath touch your lips. 

Soon you felt his nose touch yours, before his lips planted themselves on your cheek. 

You were surprised at the action; again disappointed as butterflies fluttered in your stomach as his cheek rested next to yours. You felt childish to expect such things from Ethan at such a sensitive time; making you close your eyes and shove those expectations deep down. 

"We should go...you need to stop Hendricks.." you muttered, avoiding his gaze as you stepped back. 

This time, Ethan let you go from his grasp. He watched you carefully before you shoved your hands in your pockets and headed back to the location of the safehouse; mind too foggy to even care if Ethan followed back or not. 

----

You're on a plane to India. 

Assumed Asleep. But on a plane and vigilante enough to shoot someone who doesn't feel familiar. 

Ethan briefed the team on the plane not long after the jet took off. Benji and Brandt would enter the exhaust vent to the computer array, with Benji guiding Brandt using a metal plated suit. You, Ethan and Jane would infiltrate Brij Nath's party and get the codes from him using the most obvious weakness of a man; lust. 

You didnt really expect much from this mission. Your complaints weren't really going to get you anywhere other than seeming like a still childish agent; you stayed quiet and in your seat, fiddling with something or the other as Ethan did his thing and concocted a plan to save the world. 

Your expectations was to either run minor interference or stay as back up. You didnt believe Ethan would trust you enough to let you even do reconnaissance. You had no hope of Jane backing you up or advocating for you to be of more use. Her murder--accidental or not--of Moreau left her feeling uneasy and questioning her own instincts. 

You felt for her; you've been there.

Hell, you never even left. 

You went there and have been there for a while now. 

But then Ethan expressed that it would be yours or Jane's job to hook him in, depending on whom his eyes catch first. 

Yeah, solid plan. 

Very Ethan hunt. 

Your eyes were closed but anything other than sleep was on your mind. You gave yourself exercises to handle your thoughts and doubts; keeping the criticism at bay while also fighting off the questions of why Ethan asked you to trust him and how your feelings for him are coming into play and running interference. 

Faintly, a conversation with Ethan and Jane's hushed voices came through. 

"I dont see why y/n can't do this alone.." Jane said softly, hesitance evident in her voice.

Ethan was silent for a minute, "I trust you..you can do this." he reassured. 

"A week ago I would've believed you." 

There was a pause. 

"i..I dont blame you...for what happened." Ethan spoke softly, his tone gentle. An arrow of envy flew and pierced your heart, a juvenile question of why he's never spoken to you in that tone. "She hurt..and took someone you cared about--thats not just something you just...let go." He spoke, his voice tinged with familiarity and experience. 

The envy dissipated into empathy. You didnt know what happened after Julia's abduction. You didnt know if she made it out alive; if she made it out okay; if it was her decision to separate from Ethan or not. 

You only knew that Ethan and Julia were no more. 

There was another quiet moment, emotions palpable in the small space of the jet. You could feel Ethan's gaze in your direction. 

"Did it make you feel better?" Jane muttered, "When you killed the men who killed your lover?" 

Ethan's silence represented the shock and sorrow you felt at the news of this information. 

Here you were, wallowing in your self-hatred, self-pity and juvenile feelings while Ethan had to deal with prison and loosing the love of his life. You could've been there for him if you were any less self absorbed. 

"It wasn't just about her." he muttered. 

Jane followed his gaze to you, before looking back to him. 

"We can't change what happened...we can't fix it...no matter what we do.." He looked back to her. 

His words echoed in your mind, bouncing around until they settled themselves in your thoughts permanently. 

We can't change what happened.

We can't fix it.

No matter what we do.

[chosovixen]

What Happens in the Dark  

Summary: your family decided it would be nice to visit your aunt and cousin in india for summer break. after struggling with trying to be a good stepsister and the weight of reality, you meet a certain someone that makes it a bit bearable. 

Warnings!!: dark theme, 18+, mature theme, non/dubcon, reader is 19, creepy/aggressive stepbrother, abuse, smoking, angst/comfort ending?

Word count: 4.3k

pt.2, pt.3, pt.4

feedback and reblogs appreciated!!

"Come on, we can't be late," your mom shouted downstairs.

The flight wasn't until 1 AM—but knowing how overly prepared your parents are, they wanted to arrive hours earlier. So as you rushed packing whatever essentials you had left, you shouted back an "okay." 

The time was 9:30; you went to the kitchen and grabbed a cup from the cupboard—moving the cup underneath the faucet, you twisted the nob open to let some cold water fill the cup. Unfortunately, before you could take a sip, your stepbrother Jonathan walked in, making you tense up. 

Your mother was not too recently divorced; it had been about five years since she left your father, slowly creeping on the two-year mark of her and your stepfather's marriage. There wasn't any bad blood between your mother and father; they just fell out of love and had to choose better for themselves. Your father kept his promises and visited you every other day, every birthday and holiday, to prove that he still cared and wanted to be a part of your life. 

The day your mother introduced her new boyfriend and his son, you instantly felt a disconnect. The man's name was Colin; he wasn't very welcoming and never tried to converse with you outside of 'family' dinners—but you didn't care since you liked keeping any interactions to a minimum. Colin had slick black hair and was tall and intimidating; his stance alone would make anyone shutter. He walked around confidently, chest constantly puffed out, adding to the intimidation. His son Jonathan was three years older than you, about 6'1, and practically mirrored his father, but when he spoke—it was as if a demon crawled next to your ear, whispering evil doings. He could convince you to do about anything upon request, and you did it negligently; just the idea of having a sibling made you submissive. You wanted to be the best little sister you possibly could be. Besides, your parents were too involved with each other to care what you two were up to—so when Jonathan told you to kneel between his legs and take his cock in your mouth, you did. Or when he suggested that having it buried deep inside your warm walls would help you concentrate on your studies—you subconsciously agreed. 

This arrangement had been going on for almost seven months, and as much as you wanted to achieve the beat sister status, you couldn't help but feel it was a little wrong. Deep down in your gut—you knew something was wrong. 

"Ready to go?" Johnathan asked, making his way around the counter to reach you. 

"Yup, just—" you began.

Johnathan had taken the cup from your hands, making sure to give your hand a little squeeze; he brought the cup up to his lips—gulping what was left of the contents. He rinsed out the cup putting it on the rack to dry before he turned to you, offering you a wink.

Without noticing, you rolled your eyes and stated that you weren't finished with your drink pushing past him to head towards the car. However, Johnathan was sure to catch it and grabbed your wrist—forcing you to turn and look up at him. 

"If you have an attitude, I could fix it for you," he growled. 

His voice sounded emotionless yet stern, sending shivers down your spine. You didn't want to annoy him further—so you flashed him that cute innocent smile he was familiar with, getting him to settle, and loosen the grip on your wrist. 

"I'm sorry I didn't mean to upset you." soft-spoken and calm, you apologized. 

"Good, hurry along now," he commanded,

Finally letting go of your wrist, he watched as you ran out to the car, admiring how your ass moved in the leggings you wore. It was as if you wanted him to look or, better yet, grab it. 

•.¸¸.• •.¸¸.•

The flight from New York to Hawkins wasn't too bad—but you had to sit next to Johnathan, and he didn't make it easy. He would constantly grab your thigh, and when you'd try to move his hand, he only gripped it harder; at one point—he pulled a blanket over him and then leaned over, whispering in your ear that he had a problem only you could take care of. Other than that, the flight was pleasant. You caught up on some reading though you thought you never would. Unfortunately, the plane landed a bit after you flipped the page of what now was the juiciest part of the book. So immersed in the plot—you couldn't hear Johnathan calling out to you. It wasn't until a harsh sting was left on your fingertips that you noticed the book wasn't in your grasp anymore but in Jonathan's—dangling in front of your face.  

"What are you waiting for, a miracle or something?" he joked, stepping over you and into the isles before following the crowd heading off the plane; you trotted behind him, carefully tapping his shoulder. 

"May I have my book back?" you kindly held your hands out and pleaded.

Johnathan spoke over his shoulder, not looking at you. 

"I'll think about it." he proposed. 

"Johnathan I—" 

"I said I'll think about it." he stopped abruptly and turned to face you, driving you to bump into him at the sudden stillness. 

There was a slight pause as you two looked into each other's eyes, unlike usual—this time, it was almost hateful, and you couldn't figure out why. Then, noticing a line was forming behind you, Johnathan quickly apologized and exited the plane.  

The car ride was silent primarily as your parents tried to make small talk. All you wanted to do was get to your aunt's house and relax—to get the horrible day you were having out of your head. 

As you stared out the window, you smiled as you watched the kids riding past on their bikes giggling to themselves; it made the town look so innocent and peaceful. You rolled the window down—getting a wif of the sweet air; it was nothing like New York and made you feel comfortable. Everything you saw made you want to stay—from the greenery to the simple houses; it was all ideal. 

"We're here." your mother squeaked—you broke from your daydream. 

Before the car could make a complete stop—you quickly hopped out, grabbed your bags, and ran up to the door to knock on it. Eagerly waiting for the door to open, you heard Colin laugh, saying he's never seen you so excited. Then, finally, it swung open—and in front of you stood your cousin Kim screaming as she held her arms open, gesturing to hug her. Moving inside—you set your bags down before grabbing her and holding her tight.

"Oh my God, I missed you so much." your grip only got strong as Kim tried pulling away. 

"I can tell," Kim replied—giving you a few pats on the back. 

As you let go, the rest of your family walked in—your aunt emerged from the living room upon hearing all the commotion and looked a little stunned.

"I thought you guys weren't coming till late evening." puzzlement was written all over her face. 

"I did too, but we caught an earlier flight." your mom explained.

"Well, you should've let me know; I would've come to pick you up."

"It's fine; the cab ride was short anyway." ending the conversation there, your mom embraced her sister—giving her compliments on the house.

There was a brief introduction between your stepdad, stepbrother, and cousin. She hadn't met them, but she'd heard about them occasionally. Your aunt had met them on a trip to New York a while ago and decided that if your mother was pleased, then she was pleased. 

"Kim!!" You heard a deep yet serene voice yell from upstairs. Whipping your head in Kim's direction—you wondered. 

"Oh!!" She gasped, slapping her hand on her forehead. "You have to meet this dude. He's the coolest person ever." Then, before you could even think, she grabbed your hand—nearly dragging you up the stairs. 

Halfway up the stairs, you felt the hairs on the back of your neck stand; it was chilling. Glancing over your shoulder—you noticed Johnathan grimly look at you. Not overthinking it, you persisted up the stairs, and his face disappeared—giving you some relief as you made your way down the hall. 

You stood in front of Kim's bedroom door; she turned to you, biting her lip and bouncing on the balls of her feet as she held the door knob. 

"Ready?" She egged on.

Giving her a low chuckle, you shrugged.

Twisting the knob, she pushed the door open—pulling you in before dropping your hand to raise hers in the air. 

"Eddie, Eddie, Eddie!!" She chanted, fist bumping the air after each call. 

On her bed lay a boy; he looked roughly around your age. This Eddie guy looked comfortable—so you'd guessed he was a close friend of Kim's. He wore black ankle socks, ripped black jeans, and a black graphic tee to tie the theme together; the shirt had something written on the front—but you couldn't tell with how he lay on the bed. Glossing over him, you noticed a few tattoos and piercings. Did your aunt honestly allow this guy to come over and spend time in your cousin's room? You thought. His hair then caught your attention; it was big and slightly curly—and the way it framed his face made him look mature and well-kept. 

"Take a picture; it'll last longer." the boy spoke, flashing a small smile. He examined you for a few seconds, looking you up and down before that smile became a smirk. 

"Oh, I didn't mean—I was just—" you stumbled over yourself before quickly getting it together and starting over. "Hi, I'm y/n," you said, walking up to the bed—arm stretched out to shake his hand. 

Eddie jumped up before you reached him, swiftly snaking his arms around your shoulder and pulling you into a warm embrace; he had a sweet, almost vanilla-like scent with a hint of tobacco that couldn't go unnoticed. 

"I'm a hugger." he amused, resting his chin on your shoulder. It certainly surprised you, but you didn't mind; it felt comforting, and lord knows you need a little bit of it.

"No worries, it's fine," assuring him you tucked your arms under his, making the hug more comfortable. 

You two pulled away, letting out a breathy laugh.

"Well, I'm Eddie," he smiled. "So you've heard." Brushing his hair back—he stood straight, fixing his posture to look more presentable. You nodded, giving him the same dopey smile he'd shown before.

"I'm y/n," your mouth got the best of you. "oh shoot, I already said that." you chuckled nervously.

"And I'm Kim!!" she mocked, waving to you both from her vanity mirror. Eddie rolled his eyes—and you giggled while moving to take a seat on the edge of Kim's bed. Eddie plopped down next to you, making the bed jump a little, causing you to fall flat on your ass. 

Geez, could you be more embarrassing? You thought.

Eddie quickly hopped off the bed—lending you a hand as he crouched to your eye level. For a moment, it felt as if you two were the only ones in the room; one arm was around your waist while the other held your hand firmly. Shyly looking away, your eyes searched for something or someone to shift your focus to. What little 'fun' you were having all crumbled away—and in crept Johnathan. Feeling your chest tighten, you swiftly got up, pushing Eddie away from you, adjusting your clothes—and straightening yourself out. 

"Hey," Johnathan mumbled. He stepped inside slowly, ensuring it was okay with Kim to continue. 

After getting a wave from Kim, signaling him to come in—he didn't hesitate. Jonathan resided in the bean bag chair Kim had placed in the corner of her room, never breaking eye contact with you; you don't think he ever broke eye contact since he walked in. 

"Eddie, this is Johnathan. Johnathan, this is Eddie," Kim briefly introduced—turning back to her mirror and continuing to paint her nails. They both exchanged a simple wave as you moved to sit on the floor.

Eddie sat back on Kim's bed and grabbed his pack of cigs from his pocket. He took one out and placed it between his lips, then reaching over to her nightstand, he held the lighter—pulling it to the butt of the cigarette. Eddie flicked the lighter open—and you watched as the flame sparked up the end making the cigarette sizzle. 

He took a puff blowing out rings before extending his arm to you and offering you some. You glanced over at Johnathan, who just sat there, giving you a blank stare.

"No thanks, I'm fine." you shook your head, declining his offer.

"You sure?"

Taking one more peak at Johnathan, you pushed eddies arm away, repeating your 'no.'

Eddie shrugged, then offered some to the others in the room; they each had a bit before letting him finish the rest. 

As the hours passed—you all remained in the room chatting about your favorite bands/musicians, snacks, and other stuff. Eddie was surprised that your favorite band was Black Sabbath and proceeded to show off his t-shirt. Now that you could see the material properly, it was a Black Sabbath world tour t-shirt—the same your dad had gotten you for your 18th birthday. Without even realizing it, you and Eddie began a conversation of your own—and you had much more in common than you thought.

It was getting late, so Kim decided to take Eddie home. Your aunt didn't mind and told her to take the car and get back safe.

"It was super nice meeting you, y/n," Eddie said, reaching out to hug you.

"No, it was nice meeting you, Eddie!" you chirped, hugging him tightly. As he walked to the front door, he paused—snapping his fingers in the air before turning to you. "I almost forgot, Kim and I are heading to the lake tomorrow; wanna join?" Not giving it a second thought—you agreed, smiling cheerfully. Then, after hugging him once more, you waved him goodbye.

"See you tomorrow!" you nearly shouted before closing the door.

You made your way back up the stairs heading to your room without noticing Johnathan standing at the top of the stairs. Coming to a halt, you looked up at him, your smile slowly fading away.

"It was really nice meeting you, Eddie!" he mocked.

"Huh?"

"Don't act like an idiot; you were practically all over that guy."

"I was just being nice" trying to defend yourself, you moved past him, making it to your room. Johnathan followed not too far behind, pushing you inside and locking the door. 

"You think just cause we're in an unfamiliar place, you get to act different?" he questioned.

"No." 

"Then why are you trying to fuck with me?" he pressured, stepping closer, forcing you to back up against the edge of the bed. 

"I'm not." almost whispering, you assured him.

"But you are." 

Everything happened so quickly; you were on the bed gasping for air. Johnathan had one hand around your throat—squeezing tightly as the other caressed your cheek fondly. The room fell silent for a moment; all that could be heard was the rustling of the sheets as you struggled to get him off.

"It's okay, you're okay." he cooed.

Your vision was getting blurry, and the room started to spin—before passing out from the lack of air, he leaned down and whispered in your ear.

"I am going to make you remember who you belong to." 

Then everything went black.

•.¸¸.• •.¸¸.•

The glints of sunlight beamed through the slightly opened curtain; you squirmed, moving your hand in front of your face to block it. Then, while sitting up—you winced at the sharp pain in your lower back and pelvic area. Throwing the sheets off, you placed your feet on the cold hardwood floor and attempted to stand, but the discomfort was too much to bear—making you fall back on the bed. After a while, you decided it wasn't worth it and crawled back underneath the sheets tucking yourself in—you brought your knees up to your chest, squeezing tightly and wept, eventually drifting off to sleep. 

A soft knock woke you up from your sleep.

"Y/n, it's almost noon. Don't you want some food?" it was your aunt shouting from the other side of the door.

Now fully awake, you climbed out of bed once more—and the pain subsided, making it easier for you to continue. While stretching your arms out into the air, yawning, you swung the door—greeting your aunt with a sweet 'good afternoon.'

The laundry basket that was once cradled in her arms was now on the floor with a loud thud. She reached up, hesitating to put her hand on your neck. 

"What happened?" she quaked while pointing at your neck. You tilted your head, confused at the vague question. Then you remembered. Touching your neck softly—you looked at her and shook your head.

"M-my neck was super itchy last night, so I must've scratched too hard." It was a silly response, but you were hoping she bought it.

"You must be allergic to something," she pitched in, slightly tapping her foot on the ground. She thought a moment. "It might be the sheets. I'm using this new detergent." 

"Must be." You shrugged.

Bingo!

"Well, wash up, so it doesn't spread, then come eat when you're ready." she picked up the laundry basket and headed downstairs, leaving you.

The shower was short but sweet; the warm water helped you feel cleansed of last night's horrific events. After throwing on a loose shirt and some shorts, you headed downstairs to the kitchen. You didn't think that anyone would be in there since breakfast was long over, but when you entered, you stopped dead in your tracks as eyes peered over at you.

"Well, look who's out of bed." Colin amused. 

You gave a soft smile before walking over to the table, taking a seat between Kim and Johnathan. Your mother handed you a plate loaded with pancakes, eggs, and bacon. Thanking her—you picked up your fork, getting ready to dig in.

"The fuck happened to your neck," Kim asked. 

"Kim!!" Your aunt gasped.

Kim ignored her outburst and looked at you. The whole table turned to you, waiting for an answer. From the corner of your eye, you could see Johnathan staring.  

"I um," you crocked.

"She got a nasty rash from the bedding." your aunt chimed in. "I'm switching the detergent, so it doesn't get worse."

"Yeah." you agreed. Your aunt gave you a slight nod and then passed you a cup of tea.

"That's gross," Kim expressed. "I hope this doesn't interfere with our trip to the lake. Eddie said he was excited."

"Yeah, sorry, I can't go."

"What!!"

"I'm sorry. I...don't want anyone else to get what I got." lying came so effortlessly to you—at this point, it was like second nature. 

You finished the last of your brunch and washed whatever dishes were left. Your mother and father decided to help your aunt grocery shop and headed out early. Kim fixed herself in the mirror one last time before heading out a few minutes after them. 

Johnathan didn't feel like going out, nor did he have any plans—so you two were left alone till someone got back. Ultimately, neither of you spoke for the first few hours—but nothing good lasts forever. So when Johnathan approached you, you were sitting on the living room couch, flipping through channels.

"Um...can we talk?" he asked tenderly, sitting beside you.

"I just want to be left alone for a moment," you replied.

"That's why I didn't say anything for a while."

"Please, Johnathan, leave me alone." you moved over to another cushioning—putting some space between yourselves.

"If you didn't act like such a brat, then shit wouldn't happen to you." 

There was a long pause as you tried to process the words that left his mouth. You believed that trying to be a good sister and giving him everything he wanted would be good enough—but now it was overwhelming, and you wanted it to stop—you wanted him to be stopped.

Quickly sprinting past Johnathan, you ran up the stairs—to your room, locking the door behind you. He kicked and pounded on the door, yelling insults and threats—though you were terrified to step out, you stood your ground—not once reaching to open it. Instead, with your back against the door, you covered your ears and hummed to yourself—trying to drown out the noise. 

•.¸¸.• •.¸¸.•

The ruckus from the other side of the door caused you to sit up and look around; you hadn't realized you'd been in your room for hours—as it darkened outside. Then, slowly and cautiously—you reached for the doorknob, twisting it slightly before growing the courage to open it. After poking your head out to look left then right—you stepped outside, leaving the door ajar behind you. Finally, reaching the bottom of the stairs—you peeked around the corner holding your balance with the wall. Everyone except Kim was standing in the kitchen, taking groceries out of their bags and putting them away. 

"Is Kim coming home late again?" you whispered.

Your aunt closed the fridge to get a better look at you. 

"She's staying over at a friend's; you wanna call her?"

"No, it's fine—just wondering." 

"Well, I'll be starting dinner soon—" your aunt began.

"Oh, I'm not really hungry." you lied.

You just wanted to stay in your room since the only person you were comfortable around wasn't here. 

"Sweetie, you're getting so thin you need to eat." your mom expressed.

"I ate throughout the day. So I'll just go to bed early if that's okay." 

Your mother couldn't get an answer out as you were already heading to your room. Shutting the door behind you—you walked over to the nightstand, picked up the alarm, reading the time.

"Ten, great," you mumbled sarcastically to yourself. Then, flopping onto the bed, you closed your eyes—immediately falling asleep.

It didn't last very long, or so you thought. Small tapping sounds filled your room, waking you from sleep—looking around, you realized the room was incredibly dark now. As you reached for the the lamp switch and flicked it on, you glanced down at the clock—reading the time currently as 12:30. 

Again you heard the tapping or whatever it was—sitting still; you listened for it once more. What the hell? You thought to yourself. You got up and started walking around the room, trying to pinpoint where the sound was coming from. A face appeared in the window the second you opened the curtain—making you flinch. After regaining your composure, you opened the curtain again. 

"Eddie?"

He responded with a muffled 'hey,' waving for you to unlock the latch—you did, and he slid the window up, climbing in with ease. You sat on the bed, and there was a short silence before he pulled the chair from the small desk in the corner—placing it in front of you. He sat in front of you, offering a simple smile, and you gave him one back. 

"Welp, I'd like to see the rash." he requested.

"What?" you responded with a giggle.

"Kim said you couldn't come to the lake because of a rash on your neck—I'd like to see it."

Oh.

"Well, I don't want you to get it so—"

"Bullshit, I'm already here. Might as well take a look, plus I live in a trailer park—so much nasty shit is down there I've gotten plenty of rashes, might even be able to help you get rid of yours." he countered.

"Eddie, seriously, it's fine." 

"Come on." he stood up—grabbing your hand, making you flinch and yank it back.

"I said it's fine." 

Eddie surrendered, sitting back in the chair. He examined you for a moment and could tell something was off—even though you two only met less than 24 hours ago, he felt as if he knew you, and you did him. Moreover, both of you had so much in common that it was impossible to hide from one another. So he had to ask when you continuously avoided his gaze.  

"Is everything okay, y/n?" soft-spoken, he scooted closer, checking if you were comfortable. You didn't respond but stared at the ground, fiddling with your fingers. 

"It's okay, everything is okay, just talk to me." he reached out again—this time, you took his hand, squeezing it softly but never looking up at him.  

"It's not okay." you sniffled.

"I'm right here; just please talk to me." he used his other hand to caress your cheek—you flinched again. Eddie whispered a small sorry, but you shook your head, saying it was alright. He did it again, then moved down to hold your chin—he turned your head every so softly, compelling you to look at him. His eyes glossed over your face taking in every detail of you. Then, trailing down to your neck, he froze—darting between your eyes and neck. Though Eddie wasn't the brightest person, that didn't mean he was a complete idiot. 

"That's not a ra—"

You knew he knew, but you didn't want him to finish that sentence, "If I tell you, do you promise not to say a word to anyone else?"

He thought for a moment, then took both your hands in his—and gave you a quick nod.

"Nothing leaves this room, I promise." 

[chemlock]

Waiting room observations

Currently in urgent care waiting for an opening, and I'm working on being more observant, so here's some stuff. I'm new to deductions and things, so this is just me logging things I can see as an exercise :) I'm in quite a state so my observations are probably shit but I'm unbelievably bored and I need imminent distraction so here

The counter nurse is very tired. She's drinking what looks like iced coffee out of a disposable coffee cup, and she looks and seems exhausted. She's been rubbing her eyes quite a bit as her mascara has come off a bit and smudged greatly. She's also got a little bit of lipstick on, but a lot of it's gone, so she probably applied it a while ago and hasn't fixed it. She's also got a wedding ring on, a fairly nice one with what looks like 2 gems and a missing one on the left. It looks like she has yellow stains on her fingers, and pretty yellow teeth, so smoker, probably a lot by the looks of it.

Apparent neo Nazi in one of the seats, with his son, who appears to have a broken arm. The guy is covered in vikingy tattoos and has a swastika on his right palm. The swastika could've been another religious symbol (the Germans aren't the only people to use them, swastikas originated in India) but the other tattoos combined with the blonde hair and blue eyes and german flag tattoo leads me to believe he's most likely a neo Nazi. (I was not aware my small southern town had neo nazis, what is this place)

Teen girl, a couple of seats away, has a very bad cough and is wrapped in two coats, despite the warm weather. She's also wearing pajama pants and boots. She's frequently blowing her nose and appears to have a sore throat, as she's slowly sipping water and cringing in pain as she does. There's a Dazai sticker on her phone case, so BSD fan, and her coat is pink, and seems fairly new. It's been very cold recently so I think she would've worn it by now if it wasn't, it looks very fresh. Could be something she pulled out of the back of her closet, but in her state I doubt she would go through the trouble to find something she hasn't worn in a while, and it looks definitely brand new

Older guy with a fair burn on his right arm, he was called quickly, so I didn't get much there. Noticed he had a cool lord of the rings shirt though

Lady drinking quite a lot of cranberry juice. Her name is Diane (as said by her husband), and my first thought was possible UTI, confirmed later by listening to their chatter, she's also got a sweet tooth apparently

I'm not feeling good so that's all I'm gonna go for for now, farewell

[bumblebeeappletree]

Permaculture instructor Andrew Millison journeys to India to film the epic work of the Paani Foundation’s Water Cup Competition and Farmer's Cup Competition. We tour the village of Savargaon Tal, in Maharashtra, who competed in the 2019 competition to install the most amount of water harvesting structures in a 45 day period, and competed had farmer's groups compete in the Farmers Cup Competition in 2023. Guided by Paani Foundation’s chief advisor, Dr. Avinash Pol, we visit the work and see the effects of a watershed-scale groundwater restoration project that has dramatically improved the lives, economy, ecology and stability of this village, and experience the feeling of deep stability that comes with a healthy and abundant landscape.

Paani Foundation:

https://www.paanifoundation.in/

Digital Map Animation:

https://www.pearlriverecodesign.com/

PERMACULTURE DESIGN COURSE LINK:

https://workspace.oregonstate.edu/cou...

Andrew Millison’s links:

https://www.andrewmillison.com/

https://permaculturedesign.oregonstat...

JOIN THIS CHANNEL to get access to uncut video content and live Q & A sessions:

/ @amillison

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[najia-cooks]

Cranberry chutney

Sweet, tart, jammy cranberries evolve into the subtle aromatics of cumin, mustard, and bay leaf before rounding off into a smooth, even chili heat in this Anglo-Indian-style chutney. It's excellent in place of cranberry sauce on all kinds of roasts, meat pies, flatbreads, sandwiches, and charcuterie boards.

The cooked fruit-and-vinegar chutneys made by English cooks during the British colonization of India were inspired by the fresh and pickled Indian condiments that English traders and soldiers—including those in the East India Company's military arm—had acquired a taste for, but substituted locally familiar produce and cooking methods for Indian ones. "Indian" recipes began appearing in English cookbooks in the mid-18th century, inspiring and fulfilling a desire for the exotic and, effectively, advertising colonial goods. The domestic kitchen thus became a productive site for the creation and negotiation of colonial ideology: the average English housekeeper could feel a sense of ownership over India and its cultural and material products, and a sense of connection to the colonial endeavor desite physical distance.

This sauce, centered around a tart fruit that is simmered with sugar and savory aromatics and spices, is similar in composition to an Anglo-Indian chutney, but some Indian pantry staples that British recipes tend to substitute or remove (such as jaggery, bay leaf, and mustard oil) have been imported back in. The result is a pungent, spicy, deeply sweet, slightly sour topping that's good at cutting through rich, fatty, or starchy foods.

Recipe under the cut!

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Ingredients:

1/2 cup dried cranberries (krainaberee), or 1 cup fresh or frozen

5 curry leaves (kari patta), or 1 Indian bay leaf (tej patta)

1/2 tsp cumin seeds (jeera)

1/2 tsp black mustard seeds (rai)

3 Tbsp jaggery (gur / gud)

1-3 small red chili peppers (kali mirch), to taste

1/2” chunk (5g) ginger (adarakh), peeled

1 clove garlic (lahsun)

1/2 red onion (pyaaj) or 1 shallot

1 Tbsp mustard oil (sarson ke tel)

1/3 cup (80 mL) water

Pinch black salt (kala namak)

Curry leaves can be purchased fresh at a South Asian grocery store. If you can't find any, Indian bay leaves can be used as a substitute (the flavor isn't per se similar, but it would also be appropriate in this dish). Indian bay leaves are distinct from Turkish or California laurel bay leaves and have a different taste and fragrance. They will be labelled “tej patta” in an Asian or halaal grocery store, and have three vertical lines running along them from root to tip, rather than radiating out diagonally from a central vein.

Instructions:

1. Pound onion, garlic, ginger, and chili to a paste in a mortar and pestle; or, use a food processor.

2. In a thick-bottomed pot, heat mustard oil on medium. Add curry leaves or tej patta and fry until fragrant.

3. Add cumin and mustard seed and fry another 30 seconds to a minute, until fragrant and popping.

4. Lower heat to low. Add aromatic paste and fry, stirring constantly, for about 30 seconds, until fragrant.

5. Add cranberries, jaggery, black salt, and water. Raise heat and bring to a boil. Reduce to a simmer and cook uncovered, stirring often, until thick and jammy. Remove from heat a bit before it reaches your desired consistency, since it will continue to thicken as it cools.

Store in a jar in the refrigerator for 2-3 weeks.

[writinggayprompts]

Aziracrow but crowley has asthma please I need the whump and the h/c I need worried az I need scared Crowley I need it all please

Title: Experiencing the Fragility of being Human

An unnatural feeling crept through Crowley’s veins as he awoke from his week-long slumber. His throat felt dry, stumbling out of bed he walked into a brightly blue painted kitchen. Scowling at the bright sun shining through the open window Crowley raised an eyebrow at his angel’s obvious handiwork. Aziraphale must have been quite bored while he slept, seeing as the kitchen went from a muddy brownish color to a periwinkle blue.

As he filled a cup full of water a gentle breeze sent a chill down his spine. The glass in Crowley’s hand slipped, shattering on the ceramic floor. Shards of glass littered the ground as Crowley’s body shook under a coughing spell.

Leaning against the counter his shoulders shook as it became harder to breath. Panic took hold as he grabbed his chest, feeling it grow tighter. Trying to clear his throat Crowley felt himself begin to wheeze between breaths.

Aziraphale, hearing one of his precious antique cups shatter, walked into the kitchen with a disappointed frown on his face. “I know you may not like the color I chose, darling but-,” concern took over Aziraphale’s expression as he quickly made his way over to his demon,” My love what is wrong?!” Resting a hand between Crowley’s shoulder blades Aziraphale tried to miracle away his love's distress.

However, the warmth Aziraphale normally would feel between his fingertips felt cold as the light in his palm flickered out of existence. Dread filled Aziraphale’s entire being in an instant. Unsure what to do, Aziraphale turned Crowley around so he could face him directly.

Crowley, feeling light headed, put up zero fight, almost ragdolling in the process. Aziraphale carefully lowered Crowley to the ground, resting his back against the cabinets. After brushing away shards of black stained glass Aziraphale kneeled down as he gently held his demon's face with the utmost care.

Speaking softly Aziraphale tried to stay calm,” N-now dear, it sounds like you're having t-trouble breathing. I need you to do your best to take a few deep breaths for me.”

Through hazy vision Crowley could still make out his heavenly partner in crime in front of him. Wheezing he tightened his grip holding his hand closer against his chest. Gritting his teeth Crowley nodded, as he tried to take a deep breath his body shook through another coughing fit.

A whimper left Aziraphale, unsure how to help he tried to mimic a deep breathing technique he had learned from a friend long ago in India. Crowley scowled as he tried to copy Aziraphale, after a few more attempts he was able to breathe a little better. Not perfect but better.

Confused Aziraphale ran his fingers through Crowley’s hair, worry still etched across his features. “Are you alright dear? What happened?”

Drained Crowley closed his eyes, the feeling of his angel doting on him comforted him as he took another shaky breath. “ Hell if I know, why didn’t you just miracle me better?”

Horrified Aziraphale looked at his right hand as he whispered,” I-I…couldn’t.”

Opening one of his eyes slowly Crowley spoke, his voice barely above a whisper,” What?”

[ranveer--singh]

The nights are tasteless without you ~ Ari Levinson Fic

A/N - This is my first proper multiple chapter story which came to me while watching a Bollywood movie. It is set in Mumbai India where Ari is a professor at a university meets a person of colour - Marathi girl at the train station. There will be other Chris Evans characters as professors and Henry Cavill characters as professors

Warning: Please read this before reading the story. 18+, smut, sex… etc

I want to thank the amazing @madbaddic7ed2pointoh​ for encouraging me to write this fic, helping me with few plot lines and making it progress. So far I have written 14 parts and see where the story takes me. Hope you all enjoy this, make sure to like, comment and reblog.

Ari rushed onto the platform, pushing the strap of his dark brown satchel back onto his shoulder. He found it hard to sleep last night; with all the traveling, checking his bags in, and trying to find his apartment, he only managed to get 4 hours of sleep. Ari cursed under his breath, seeing the time on his apple watch, and knew he would be late for his first day as Professor teaching Hebrew at the International University in Mumbai.

He squeezed his eyes shut, cursing once again as he heard the announcer say the train was delayed by 25 minutes. Ari wished he had gone with the first option of renting a car so he would get around Mumbai quickly. Now he had time to kill; he saw a bench near him and sat down, opening his satchel to grab his flask of coffee and notebook to read his notes for the day.

Ari took a few gulps of the hot coffee, looking at the university map, hoping not to get lost on his first day. It was such a large university, like in the Bollywood movie Mohabbatein he watched with his Indian friend back in Israel. After familiarising himself with the map, he folded it back into his notebook and went over his notes for the day. Ari had only four classes today, and each class had 15/20 students, which wasn't as daunting as he thought.

The silence got disturbed by a lady wearing a small jhanjhar on her feet which chimed while she walked. She looked confused, expecting the train to arrive. Ari just watched; a small smile appeared on his lips, looking at her outfit. She was wearing black trousers, a mock neck keyhole green blouse, and of course, green and white vans as she was a physiotherapist who was on the way to meet a few patients. Her hair was long and braided with a few flowers in between the braids; she had a black backpack on her shoulder with her water bottle sticking out.

The lady looked around, trying to find someone to ask about the train; most were watching videos on their phone or scrolling through social media. She looked across from her, Ari sitting on the bench reading his book. She walked over to him, clearing her throat to see him look up from his book and give her a big smile. Her body tingled, and she moved slightly away from him; the aftershave he was wearing lingered over her making her swallow hard.

“Sorry to disturb you while you're reading. I wanted to know if the train has left already,” she asked, biting her lip and looking at Ari with long brown hair. The look he spotted was dark brown linen trousers, a blue mustard short-sleeved checked shirt, and white Adidas original trainers.

“That’s ok, ma'am, I arrived at the platform 10 minutes ago, and the announcer said the train is delayed by 25 minutes,” he said, making her moan and curse in Marathi, having to grab her phone and text her patient that she will be late. Ari could see she was stressed, so he grabbed his flask of coffee and poured some in the lid, and handed it to her. “Drink this; it will keep you warm as you wait for the train,” he said, giving her the cup.

“No, no, it’s ok. I'll get one from the vendor outside,” she said, looking at Ari stretching his hand out, the vein popping on his arm as he offered the coffee cup.

“Please, I insist. It is a little chilly here; why don’t you sit next to me,” Ari says, moving his back to the other side of the bench. She takes the coffee cup and has a few sips, feeling the hot liquid go down her body.

She sat down on the space on the bench and looked at him with a smile, “Thank you for this; I was in such a rush and didn’t have time to make coffee or eat,” she said, looking at him grab his bag and rummage through it and gets out nutrition bar and hands it over to her to eat.

“We can’t have a pretty girl like yourself not to eat or have coffee in the morning,” Ari says, concerned; she frowns at him, looking very suspicious. Never has she had a man offer her food and drink and not want anything else?

“I’m fine,” she said, handing him the coffee cup and standing up, and grabbing her phone and headphones to play some music. Ari was bewildered; what just happened? All he was doing was helping her out in the most innocent way. He was about to walk over to her when the train had just arrived, and Ari saw her step into the fourth carriage from him and sit down.

He shook his head, not wanting to think about it right now as he had to meet the headmaster of the university. She was sitting on the seat, listening to music, when a Bollywood song - Muskurane, played, and she sighed, seeing Ari’s head pop in her mind, the wind blowing his hair. She was feeling guilty; it wasn’t intentional to give him the cold shoulder.

[glove1]

Tea Time (Gender Neutral)

Cypher x Reader fluff

Words: 925

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You and Cypher have a little tradition after missions. It was always to grab tea that was native to the area you went to, come back to the base, sit down, drink tea, and talk. This helped Cypher a lot since he is always on edge about his family, and you were always happy to listen to his rambling about his life or the mission you two just went on together.

Your most recent mission with Cypher was at Lotus in southern India. You both geeked out a bit when you found out you were going there due to the fact that India has good spices and teas. Immediately after the mission was over, you took Cyphers arm in excitement and rushed to the nearest local market. Your eyes sparkled as they wandered over the vast amount of spices and teas. Cypher let out a chuckle and removes your hands from his arm.

“Shall we (Y/N)? You get to pick this time.” He starts to walk away looking at all the different stalls not noticing the small blush on your cheeks.

“Sounds good!” You say following his actions and looking at different stalls. Each one was very unique and different. Some selling Indian cuisine, others selling fabrics and jewels. Your eyes gaze over all the options but ultimately stop at a small spice stand. You clap your hands together excitedly (like the gremlin you are) and rush over. Cypher looks back and sees you giddy over the spice stand and laughs a heart felt laugh and walks over to you.

You gawk at the different colors and textures of the powders and chunks of different spices. Some you could point out like cinnamon, lemongrass, or jasmine. Others, you had no clue. But that’s why you’re here right? To try new things. You also noticed the stall had a metal pot to make the tea in and give to you. The merchant looked at you, expecting you to know what you are doing. However, the puzzled look on your face gave everything away. The merchant chuckled a bit and spoke up.

“New to the area?” He asks. You look up your eyes wide still trying to comprehend the aroma you are smelling right now. You give him a small, polite smile.

“Actually I’m here on vacation. My friend and I usually try teas from around the world and I haven’t tried any from India yet. Any suggestions?” You ask hoping he gives you a good tea. He nods in understanding and gives you a smile.

“I see, one moment.” He says as he starts to rummage around grabbing all his ingredients. Cypher is behind you watching the merchant doing his craft. You stare in awe as he skillfully grabs black tea leaves places them in the pot, adds water, and lights the flame underneath to boil the water. He then grabs cardamom pods, cloves, fennel seeds, black pepper corn, nutmeg, star flower, and cinnamon and places it into a mortar and pestle and grinds it into a fine powder. You take note of the tea he used and all the spices so you can ask for some to go.

Once the water is boiled and the tea is done steeping, he adds in the spice powder, sugar, milk, and ginger and mixes it up. He then strains the mixture into two separate cups and gives them to you and cypher. You excitedly take the cup, looking at the light brown liquid. Cypher takes his and seems uneasy. He doesn’t want to remove his mask to drink it but shrugs his shoulders in defeat and lifts up his mask only up to his upper lip. You take a small sip and moan in delight as the flavors of the tea dance around your tongue. Cypher hums in delight as his body almost melts. As you relish in the tea, the merchant speaks.

“It is called masala chai. A very popular drink in India. I hope you enjoy.” He smiles. You widely grin back at him and thank him for the tea. Cypher gives you his cup to hold and asks for the dry spices. The merchant obliges and gives cypher all the ingredients he needs to recreate this chai. Cypher pays for both of the drinks and spices and grabbed your arm to walk around the market more.

A few days later, you two were back at valorant base. You and Cypher go to his workshop and make quick work if recreating the chai. You start to grind the spices together as Cypher boils the black tea. You both add the ginger, milk, and sugar and stare at the liquid gold in awe. You give him a wide smile and pull out your regular tea mugs. “Ready to relive that amazing tea experience?” You ask as you strain the tea into both mugs. Cypher removes his mask and takes his mug.

“Definitely.” He gives you a smile and walks to the small table in the middle of the room. You quickly follow and sit down across from him like you usually do. You both savor the aroma steaming from your mugs. You take a small sip, and are instantly transported back to the little market in India. You moan as the flavors dance on your tongue like they did in the market. Cypher let’s out a satisfied hum.

“Good choice little one. You may have beat the last tea we got.” He says as he continues to drink his cup. You nod, savoring the moment between friends.

[ltwilliammowett]

Christmas Punch

Some point to the ancient Hindustani word "paanstch", which means five: a great drink prepared from five key elements - sweet, sour, alcohol (arrak), water and spices. Some, however, attribute it to English merchant sailors who, though they did not invent the punch, very much drank it. Men working on British East India Company ships used it as a beer alternative in the 17th century. The sailors were known to consume large quantities of beer on their voyages, but when the ships reached the warmer waters of the Indian Ocean, the beer in the cargo bays became rancid and stale. Once the ships reached the coast, the sailors created new drinks from ingredients native to their destination: Arrack, citrus fruits and spices. Back at sea or at home, rum or brandy or other wines were more likely to be used.

Naval Officers and a Bowl of Punch by Thomas Rowlandson c.1790 (x)

The sailors brought punch back with them to Britain. With its exotic flavours and expensive ingredients, it became a fixture in the elite homes of 17th-century England and then a staple. Some parties, however, tended to get out of hand. Like the celebration of Edward Russel, captain-general and commander in chief in the Mediterranean. On 25 October 1694 he had a garden party for 6000 guests in his villa, and had his marble fountain filled with punch. For this, 4 hogsheads (c. 960l) of brandy, 8 hogsheads of water, 25000 lemons 75l of lime juice. 560kg of sugar, 3kg of nutmeg, 300 toasted biscuits and a pipe of dry mountain Malaga. The punch was served by a ship's boy who rowed through the fountain in a small boat.

Sailors sharing both punch and wenches. Taken from “Grog on Board” by Thomas Rowlandson, 1789 (x)

Punch entered the middle class as ingredients became more affordable during the 18th century. Punch was ubiquitous in the British Atlantic world and spread to the American colonies. So why is it considered more of a Christmas drink. It was because many of the merchants stayed at home during the winter months and made punch for the family on Christmas Day with the spices they had bought for themselves locally. This made it something special and is therefore often associated with the Christmas season, even though it was served all year round, especially when the spices became affordable for many.

And if you want to make now your own punch here is a nice recipe.

Bombay Presidency Punch in Bombay Government, August 13, 1694

Servings: 2 Prep Time: 5 minutes

2 Tbsp sugar 2 Tbsp  lime or lemon juice 1/2 cup rum 3/4 cups water nutmeg

In a non-reactive bowl or pitcher, mix together the sugar and the juice and stir until dissolved.  (Please use a glass, pottery, or stainless steel bowl or pitcher. Copper, cast iron, and aluminum will react with the acid in the lemon juice.)

Remove any seeds that may have made their way into the bowl.  Blend in the rum, and then the water.

Add ice.  Then grate nutmeg over the top.

Enjoy your tipple!

[minefield-of-a-ninja]

28 DAYS: CHAPTER FOUR

Summary: Dean Winchester is an addict and an alcoholic, a USMC veteran, a father, and an older brother. As Battalion Chief with Lawrence Fire & Medical, Dean comes under investigation when he makes a dangerous and impulsive decision, defying his superiors and abandoning the team he is supposed to lead. He is given a choice to go to rehab for 28 days or jail. His lawyer insists on rehab, and Dean begrudgingly abides.

Chapter Characters: Dean Winchester, Jack Kline, Missouri Mosely, Meg Masters, Billie (Pilgrim), Pamela Barnes, Crowley, Rowena Macleod, Constance Welch, Gabriel

Chapter Warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY, Meg (lol), Dean's first therapy session, sexual content

Words in this chapter: 3,600

AN: Dean’s experience with Billie is unique to his experience and influenced by themes from SPN. Please do not take his scenes with Billie (or anything from this story) as a reason not to seek therapy.

While very important to me, this story is a work of fiction and is not meant to represent all aspects of addiction and recovery. In Dean’s case, he is in no danger of delirium tremens, but withdrawal is always a lengthy and challenging process. Since Dean’s tox screen was positive for Valium, a go-to alcohol withdrawal treatment, as well as Vicodin, his doctors have prescribed Gabapentin (for pain, tremors, and anxiety) and the vitamin Thiamine (an essential micronutrient that cannot be made in the body of which alcohol prevents absorption). The treatment is meant to relieve Dean’s discomfort, prevent the development of more serious symptoms, and forestall cumulative effects that might worsen future withdrawals (i.e., delirium tremens). 

Mental illness, alcoholism, and addiction run in my family. Yesterday, I lost another close relative to alcoholism. He was a beautiful man who loved his family and brought us joy and warmth through the years. Rest in peace, Kent.

If you or anyone you know are facing mental and/or substance use disorders, please do not hesitate to reach out:

United States | UK | Ireland | Canada | Australia | New Zealand | India | Philippines | South Africa

All my love and thanks to @stusbunker and @brrose-apothecary for reading and discussions and holding my hand

text divider by @talesmaniac89

CHAPTER FOUR

Sun filters through the bare windows, heralding a new day.

Dean made it through the night, and, of that, he’s pretty fucking proud. He even got a good 90 minutes of sleep in, which is wild considering the total lack of valium. 

He peers over at Jack’s bed and sees the kid sound asleep, drooling all over his pillow and stuffed guardian like a good kid should. The sight makes Dean’s stomach flip, but he smiles as he sweeps his blanket aside to cautiously roll off his bed.

He’s aching from head to toe, and the cool air has him shivering. Overall, his symptoms seem to be subsiding, but maybe he’s just too tired to feel it all. 

Under his shower's hot, steady spray, he gets warm and limbers up. His range of motion, though stiff and painful, is returning to his shoulder and hips. He wishes he could soak in a tub like the one they have at the station. 

His heart sinks, thinking about the station — about his team and Tessa. He hangs his head, letting the hot water soothe his muscles and trying not to think too much about how disgusted they all must be.

His spiral of guilt and shame is interrupted when his stomach growls. Hunger’s probably a good sign since the mere thought of food made him want to hurl yesterday and the day before. 

More than anything — well, not anything, but more than food — he wants coffee.

After his shower, he quickly and quietly dresses, trying to remember what Missouri told him yesterday (which seems like a fucking year ago) about breakfast. He doesn’t recall the time she mentioned, so he wanders to the front desk to see what he can find out.

Missouri’s in her office as if she never left. She’s busy setting out little paper cups on trays, and without looking up, she greets him.

“Good mornin’, Dean.”

“Mornin’, ma’am.” 

“How’d you sleep last night?” 

Dean leans on the counter and watches her work. “Not a lot, but better than nothin’, I guess.”

Missouri hums. “You’re early, but I’ll get you fixed up.” 

Dean’s brow furrows when she hands him one of the tiny paper cups with two pills inside. 

“Your doctor told you we’d be givin’ you thiamine and gabapentin?”

Dean nods.

“You’ll get one low dose each every mornin’ from me, or from Alex. Just come right here and we’ll have it for ya, and then you can go to breakfast.”

Dean stares at the pills. He’s taken enough first responder classes to know what they’re used for, but he doesn’t feel sick enough for thiamine. 

“They’re not gonna bite ya, boy. They’re better for ya than whatchu been swallowin’ — go on, now.”

Dean looks up at Missouri, and her stern, warm eyes calm him enough to throw the pills back and accept the cup of water from her. He crumples the water and pill cups into his fist before handing them over for Missouri to discard.

“What time d’you say breakfast was?” Dean asks.

“Not ‘til 7:30, but there’s coffee.” 

“Fuckin’-A.” 

Missouri tsks and furrows her brow at his language.

“Apologies, ma’am.” 

Yeah, he apologizes, but he can barely contain his excitement, and he almost cries when he sees the tall carafe. As he reaches for a clean cup, Meg appears at his side out of fucking nowhere, peering over a steaming cup of her own.

“You know, I’ve heard of dry-out joints where they don’t allow caffeinated beverages of any kind.” Her eyes narrow, and her voice hollows like she’s relaying a dreadful urban legend.

“That so?” Dean arches a brow as the liquid gold fills his cup. 

Meg, clearly better caffeinated than he is and dead set on engaging him pre-coffee, makes a show of lounging against the beverage cart.

“Or cigarettes,” she adds, taking a pointed sip of her coffee.

Dean takes his first blessed drink with a deep moan and then realizes what she’s actually said. “Wait— we have cigarettes here?”

Meg slowly nods with the most impish smirk Dean’s ever seen, then inserts herself between Dean and the carafe to top off her own cup.

“You can buy them at the commissary. Except they’re almost always out. I have my sister send them to me by the carton.”

For the second time in barely 5 minutes, Dean feels like crying from joy. He examines his tiny savior as she turns to look up at him, blowing across the lid of her cup in what he assumes is her natural state of absolute mischief before taking his leap.

“I dunno how to say this without sounding sad and desperate, but I’ll do just about anything for a smoke right now.”

Meg chuckles, raking her gaze up and down his form. “Damn that pesky no-fraternizing rule.”

Dean narrows his eyes as he tilts his head and purses his lips. Turns out he doesn’t need to be all the way at the top of his game to charm the smokes out of even the shrewdest holders.

“You’re adorable.” Meg purrs, reaching her inside jacket pocket. “Does anyone ever say no to you?”

Dean mocks up a thoughtful expression. “Not usually.”

She pushes away from the coffee bar, sticking a cigarette between her lips and waving a second like a dog biscuit. “C’mon. Outside.”

Meg will either be his new best friend or his demise. Either way, he’ll do whatever she asks right now.

On their way out to the deck, a woman brushes past them, openly eyeing Dean. She’s petite and seductive, with dark hair, dark eyes, and porcelain skin. Dean licks his lips, and his pants excessively tighten for 7 o’clock in the morning.

Meg whistles and Dean jolts from his trance before following her out to the deck. 

“You know you’ll get booted for that, right?” She tucks into herself and lights her smoke.

“What?” Dean plays dumb, accepting his treat and her simple plastic lighter.

Meg rolls her eyes and exhales. “Sex addict to sex addict? I could hear your dick serenading her.”

Dean chuckles and rolls his eyes, firing up his reward. He inhales deeply and revels in the mingling of nicotine with caffeine. As he exhales, a warm buzz seeps through his brain and out to his extremities.

“Might be worth it. Fuck, I need somethin’.”

“You don’t need that, I promise.” Meg leads Dean to a long sturdy table overlooking a wooded area. “Billie will not even think twice about transferring you out, and then you start all over.”

Dean chews his lip, letting his second exhale roll from his lips. He shakes his head and hands her lighter back to her as she hikes up onto the table, planting her feet on the bench. 

He doesn't tell Meg that he wouldn’t go to another rehab; he’d go to jail — no Passing Go, no two hundred dollars, no starting over.

“Who’s Billie anyway?” He takes another drag and eases up onto the table next to Meg.  

“Therapist,” she grunts, then exhales. “Recovering addict, general badass, and doesn’t miss a thing.”

He rolls his cigarette between his fingertips, momentarily lost in the glowing tip. “There’s gotta be a way around some of these bullshit rules, huh?”

Meg shakes her head. “Nope. I mean, some people get stuff or fuck around, but they always find out.”

Dean huffs a laugh and exhales. “Fuck around and find out — cute.”

She shrugs, chuckling along with him. “I have a few good ones now and then.”

They’re quiet as they finish their smokes and their coffees cool. Finally, Meg tosses her butt into the bucket of sand as she hops down from the tabletop. 

“Breakfast? The bacon’s not bad.” She shoves her hands in her pockets, giggling when Dean groans.

“Oof, talk dirty to me, darlin’.” He squeezes the cherry from the end of his smoke as he slides from the table and follows Meg back inside.

Billie Pilgrim appears just as Dean imagined she would. She’s professionally dressed and attractive, but not overwhelmingly so. Yet Dean can feel the light tremor of gamma-ray inquisition flowing from underneath her calm exterior. 

“Good morning, Dean.”

“Mornin’,” he replies, mimicking casual as he glances around the uncluttered and ordered office.

There’s a wall of louvered glass doors similar to the cafeteria but on a much smaller scale. It’s a neutral, open space designed to promote conversation; even Dean knows enough about psychology to suss that out.

“Have a seat.”

Dean nods before settling into an armchair. His anxiety kicks in when he sees Billie round her desk with a thick manila folder and a legal pad.  

“Can I get you anything? Water? Coffee?”

“No thanks,” Dean answers, studying the chair’s upholstery and contrasting it with the denim of his worn jeans. 

As Billie takes the seat across from him, he realizes too late that he still hasn’t made eye contact. When he finally does, he discovers her observing him without expression. He holds her gaze just as he shifts for comfort or cover. 

“How’s your pain, Dean?” Billie opens the manila file.

“Better,” he replies.

Billie nods, flipping through the pages in the file. “Any questions about your prescribed medication?”

Dean shakes his head. “Discharging doc told me what to expect. Missouri’s a pro. Think we’re good.”

Her mention of medication as she peruses a hefty file all about him makes his chest tight, but he smiles and breathes through it.

Billie nods, organizing the file and her notepad before lacing her fingers together in her lap. “Well, then, let’s hop right in.”

“Great,” Dean agrees. 

Billie fixes her face with a small smile but remains quiet. 

Dean waits, not wanting to break first, but he’s agitated. He rolls his eyes. “This uhh... silent treatment/staring contest thing — does it really work for you?”

Billie chuckles before flipping to another page in her folder and making a note. She doesn’t answer his question.

“Are you aware of what caused you to lose consciousness on the morning of the incident?” She pauses, bringing her gaze back to him before swiping a hand down her notepad like she’s brushing away some ill-perceived dust. 

Dean sticks his tongue into the side of his cheek and tilts his head. “I’m gonna go with drugs, alcohol, and an explosion. Am I warm?”

Billie nods. “To be clear, Dean, my job is to help you piece things together so that you better understand your story.”

“My story.”

Jack mentioned Crowley’s story last night. The psychobabble is going to drive him off a cliff.

“I’m asking if anyone has reviewed the series of events, the toxicology report, and your subsequent injuries with you.” 

“Yeah, I got fucked up, disobeyed direct orders from my boss, and almost got myself blown up.”

Billie narrows her eyes and nods as she begins to read from the file.

“Your attorney agreed to tests and a search of your person. You carried 1.5 grams of cocaine for assumed personal use into a massive conflagration for which you were the chief in charge of four other firefighters — plus the life of a teenage boy inside the building.”

Dean drops his eyes and bobs his head, then squeezes his eyes shut.

“All stop. All stop!”

The blunt edges of his fingernails dig into his palms.

“You then tested with a BAC of .23. At 9 AM.”

Dean nods again as the words knit together to tell his story — one of negligence and ruin. He knows this; she doesn’t have to tell him. Why the fuck does she think he drinks?

“Also found in the tox screen: marijuana, Vicodin, Valium, and coke.” She closes the file and slips it under her notepad. “Quite the mix.”

Dean twists his lips into a wry smirk. “Well, I like to be thorough,” he drawls.

Billie studies him closely. “Do you always use humor to deflect?” she asks, jotting more notes.

“No, sometimes I use sex and drugs.”

“Touché.”

She continues to write things on her giant pad and act like she isn’t conversing with a human being while Dean grinds his teeth and imagines what it would feel like to punch a hole through the wall.

“I understand you have a teenage daughter.” 

“Anything about me you don’t know?” He gestures toward the fat file in her lap.

Billie shakes her head. “Just the basic outline. I’m hopin’ you’ll give me the colors.”

Dean remains silent. So far, her line of questioning has been nothing but intimidation tactics and shaming. Dean sees no reason to team up with her.

She sighs, sliding her notepad inside the big file with the rest of Dean’s mistakes. “Listen, Dean; I’m here to help you. You did some bad things that your brother Sam can’t defend, and over the next 28 days, you’ll need to decide how you want to move forward with your life.”

“Yeah. I get that.” He grinds his teeth.

“Especially with joint custody of a teenage girl.”

Dean flicks his eyes to hers. He can no longer stem his rage. “Are you threatening me?”

Billie doesn’t miss a beat. “You’re threatening yourself, Dean.”

“Alcohol is a depressant; after prolonged use, the body must respond. To offset those effects, the brain starts producing a large number of chemicals like serotonin, dopamine, and epinephrine.” 

Dean is absolutely positive that the slide presentation is filled with the most gruesome and extreme photos of alcohol- and drug-damaged organs anyone could find on the world wide web. 

“Jesus Christ. What’s next, a honey bath with a million red ants?” 

“Shut up,” Crowley hisses from four seats over, and Dean rolls his eyes, snatching a baby carrot from Pamela’s bowl of raw vegetables.

He scowls at the tiny, orange root before deciding to gnaw on it anyway.

“What’s his fuckin’ deal?” he murmurs, slumping into his seat

“Other than being a miserable old queen?” Meg asks, reaching across Dean to nab a slice of bell pepper from Pamela’s stash.

“Really?” Dean raises a brow as he chews.

Pamela snorts. “What’s the surprise — that he’s pathetic or gay?”

Dean pulls a sturgeon face. “I dunno why I even care, honestly.”

“When you suddenly quit alcohol, the brain continues to produce these substances in the same quantities, and the body’s flooded with chemicals at dangerously high levels. 

Alcohol withdrawal symptoms include insomnia, restlessness, hand tremors, anxiety...”

“Do they think we’re all layin’ around gettin’ a full eight hours every night?” Dean gripes.

He doesn’t see it, but he knows Crowley and Rowena are glaring at him. He should probably reel in the MST3K of the educational videos for a while.

He sinks lower in his seat with a pout. “Why’s she so chummy with him, ya think?”

Meg shrugs, nibbling on her bell pepper and sliding her stocking feet across Dean’s lap. “She mothers everyone. Jack? I get. But him? Ugh.”

Dean immediately sets to work, kneading and squeezing Meg’s feet like they do this kind of thing all the time. It’s comforting to have the connection. He’s thankful he found her and Pamela so quickly; otherwise, he’d already be in jail. 

The instructor raises the lights and takes questions as she loads up the next reel of slides. Meg’s gaze wanders momentarily until she locates Jack sitting on the floor with a couple of other teenagers.

“That was me when I was his age, ya know? I started just as early.” 

Dean quietly rubs her feet, listening. He wouldn’t say he was Meg or Jack, but he did some shady shit when he was a teenager to put food on the table for himself and Sam. 

“Not to be Debbie Downer,” Meg quips.

“That’s what we’re here for, right? Sharin’ and growin’?” Dean smirks, digging a knuckle into her arch. 

Meg’s eyes roll back and she moans, curling her toes. “Holy shit.”

Dean chuckles, pressing his tongue behind his teeth, and Pamela says something about getting a room.

“You haven’t shared yet, though.” Pamela points out, offering him another baby carrot. Dean opens his mouth and she pops the small veggie into the abyss. “How’d things go with Billie today?”

Dean munches his snack with an eye roll. “Slapped my wrist, gave me homework, and now I get to clean up after dinner.”

“So, standard first meeting,” Pamela says, and Meg nods.

“I dunno, man, it felt like she was trying to piss me off. Like she had a score to settle. She kept bringin’ up my daughter.”

Pamela nods, turning closer toward Dean. “Does your daughter live with you?”

Dean glances at Pamela then sort of shakes his head. No one likes people who put kids in danger — their own or anyone else’s — but he can’t say that Em wasn’t there that morning as some kind of answer because she’s seen plenty.

“Joint custody.”

The lights go down again, and the instructor starts the audio. Before the second slide, Pamela nudges Dean and slides him her phone.

“Hey, how d’you get a phone?” he whispers, and she chuckles.

“You’ll earn it back." She points to two young kids on her screen. "These’re my boys. Jesse Jr. and Bodhi.”

Dean grins at the sunny smiles, radiating from the screen. “Coupla handsome kids ya got there, PB. Jesse Sr.?”

“Killed in Afghanistan.” Pamela’s smile and answer are both soft and subdued as she pockets her phone. “What’s your girl’s name?”

Dean suddenly feels very heavy and tired. “Emma.”

“As soon as you get your phone back, you call Emma,” Pamela whispers before relaxing back into her seat.

Dean nods.

Emma stopped taking his calls and blocked his texts months before. Should he say that to Pamela?

Meg drags her feet from his lap and leans forward. “Welp, I’ve seen this one, folks, so I’m gonna duck out and play cards with Gabe.”

“But this is riveting cinema, Megan,” Dean mutters, and Meg chuckles, ruffling his hair.

“See ya at dinner,” Pamela whispers, and Meg waves. “Do I get a foot massage next?”

Dean snorts a laugh, turning to face Pamela as she kicks her clogs off to rest her feet in his lap.

Later that week, Dean sets about his assigned tasks of wiping down every table and chair before laying out breakfast set-ups for the following day. He appreciates the rote chores because they allow him to just breathe for a bit — no purposeful conversation or tip-toeing around bitchy, old Crowley.

As he’s stripping the required protective gloves off to wash his hands, he spots the dark beauty he and Meg saw on Tuesday morning. She’s alone in one of the peripheral seating areas, watching him over the top of an open book. 

He drops his gaze to see the hand not holding her book buried between her legs. His gut clenches, and his cock stirs. He bites his tongue and wills himself to breathe as he tosses the gloves in the trash and turns to wash his hands. 

He’s staring into the steaming stream of water when she speaks.

“I’ve seen you around. I’d like to see more.”

Dean closes his eyes and swears under his breath. She slides up against his backside like they’re in a dance club, skating her hands up under the front of his t-shirt. His core muscles clench so hard it hurts. 

“You’re really hot.”

He twists the knobs to close before dropping the nail brush into its grated plate and shaking the excess water from his hands. 

“Is your dick as pretty as your face?”

Dean slowly turns and places his hands on her shoulders. “You’re gonna get us into trouble.”

“C’mon, Dean.”

He tilts his head, searching her dark eyes and lifting her chin with a thumb and forefinger. “How d’you know my name?”

She laughs; it’s practiced and sensual. “Everyone with a pulse in this place knows your name, Dean. I’m Constance.”

She reaches for his other hand and slides it into the loosened top of her dress. Saliva pools in his mouth as she closes his fingers around her bare, heavy breast. 

He moans and dips in to kiss her mouth, jaw, and throat, then slides his hand into her dark locks. She feels so good — familiar and welcoming. He wants to rip into her, to be on his knees with his face in her cunt, to feel her throbbing heat. 

“Did you make yourself come, watchin’ me?” Dean walks her backward into the dark, quiet kitchen.

“Uh-huh.” She slides her hand down and wraps her fingers around the growing bulge in his pants. “Fuck, I want this inside me.”

Dean’s mind races with how exactly Billie defines fraternizing. What if he fucks her standing up? What if he just fingers her or tastes her? God, he wants to taste her.

But he knows what happens if they get caught.

Before he can further hypothesize, the kitchen lights are glaring. Dean breaks away from her hot curves, and she gasps.

“Hey! There you two are!" Gabe grins like a game show host, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. In fact, he looks terrified. "We’re watchin’ Titanic. You should join. We’ve got a pool goin’ — could Jack fit on that door or not?”

Dean huffs a laugh and pushes his hand through his hair. “Damn, I do love Kate and Leo.” He doesn't look at Comstance when he wipes his mouth with a wince. He stopped wearing the arm sling, but that doesn’t mean his shoulder’s completely healed. 

He exits the kitchen quickly, with Gabe on his heels and Constance calling his name in the distance.

“Uh, you’re welcome,” Gabe mutters when he catches up to Dean’s retreat. 

Dean sighs and tosses Gabe a look of appreciation. “Thanks, man.”

“That Constance Welch, what a fuckin’ menace,” Gabe cracks as they round the corner to the TV room, and Dean busts out a genuine laugh.

Chapter 5

Please let me know what you think!

Series Masterlist

MJ’s Masterlist

[nariaein]

Some of My Scrapped Punkflower Fics Pt. 2

Exactly what the title says, but I don't want to let these go to waste

Hobie is exhausted.

He tiptoes, softly closing the door behind him, but a quick scan of the dorm room tells him he needn’t have bothered. Gwen isn’t in her bed — in fact, there are the faint sounds of water hitting tiles, coming from the washroom. Showering, then.

Not too bad an idea, especially after a grueling media ethics class. It’s already well into the evening, so he sets his messenger bag on his bed and calls, “Don’t use all of the hot water!” His roommate yells back a vague affirmative.

Hobie’s stomach growls, and he goes to check the fridge. Empty, as usual, save for a muffin from the dining hall. A search through the cupboards comes up with two cups of instant noodles.

It’s not exactly hearty, but it’ll do.

They eat on crisscross on the carpet, splitting the muffin. Gwen’s hair is dripping wet and smells like coconut shampoo. She spends most of it on her phone typing, probably the paper for their shared journalism class, one Hobie doesn’t even have a thesis for yet. It’s due the day after tomorrow. He might have to copy hers.

“Have the people next door finished moving in?” He asks instead.

She looks up. “Nope,” she says, popping the P. “I can’t believe they’re doing it in the middle of the year.”

Their dorm manager said one of them was an exchange student from India, like Hobie from England, and the other was simply moving campuses to be closer to home for the holidays. They would all have to start sharing the washroom soon.

He shrugs, deciding to leave it at that, all the while hoping for the best.

Later, hot water raining down on his lithe form, Hobie thinks he’s still a bit hungry. Frankly, it’s a familiar feeling — heavy limbs and a full-but-not-quite stomach — but there’s not much to do about it, other than mentally make a grocery list for tomorrow, dry off, then succumb to sleep.

The next day, Hobie is able to buy pasta, sauce, mushrooms, and milk. He has to forgo anything fancy, like olive oil or cheese, to not go over budget. He figures he’ll have dinner ready for Gwen when her psychology class ends in fifteen minutes. The pasta is boiling, and he’s jotting down his thesis when there’s a knock on the door.

He doesn’t know who he expects. Definitely not the cutest boy he’s ever seen.

And yet.

Dark curls frame wide amber eyes and a soft, curved nose. It’s slightly pink from the cold, even in the warm hall. Full lips, shiny with what must be spit, slightly part as if in surprise Hobie opened the door so fast. One hand rises in a tentative wave. Hobie immediately wants to hold it.

“I’m Miles,” the beautiful boy says. “We just moved in here. Figured we’d say hi.”

Only then does Hobie realize there’s another person. “Pavitr,” he introduces himself. In his hands are reusable grocery bags, packed to the brim.

“Brilliant. I’m Hobie.”

Pavitr peeks over his shoulder. “What’ve you got cooking, Hobie?”

“Oh. Um, just pasta.”

“Just pasta?” His eyes are lit with a fire difficult to name. “What about sauce? Vegetables?”

This strangely feels like an interrogation. “Mushrooms. And um…” What was it again? “Alfredo.”

“Is that it? We’ve got garlic and onions — let us help.”

Suddenly Pavitr pushes past him in the doorway, Miles close behind. “Sorry,” the latter says, not at all sounding like it, but the smile on his face dissipates all of Hobie’s qualms. “He loves to cook.”

That much is obvious in the way Pavitr moves about the kitchen, especially in one as small as theirs, confident and fluid. He skillfully eyeballs the amount of milk and olive oil — where did that come from? — in the sauce and readily makes use of both their groceries.

Miles is no different. Mincing the garlic and sautéing the onions takes him little effort. He tosses the delicately sliced mushrooms into the mix, and adds the finishing touches: shredded parmesan, basil, and spinach.

It’s easily the best thing Hobie has ever eaten. His hunger from yesterday is nothing more than distant memory, a near forgotten ache in lieu of rich cream, fresh herbs, and perfectly chewy fettuccine. He cleans his plate and Pavitr and Miles gracefully leave the leftovers when they retire to their own dorm.

Needless to say, Hobie is smitten.

This one I will possibly finish, but I got really hungry writing it

Both Hobie and Gwen are journalism majors