#I wanted to get an apple pie but neither bakery I went to had any sadge
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Every year for the past twelve years, since my brother randomly found it in his phone calendar, January 27th has been ‘Eat 3 Pies Day’ lmao. We have no idea where it came from, but who are we to argue?
#I decided to go the bakery route this year#so I have a chunky beef a chicken and mushroom and a steak and vegetable#I wanted to get an apple pie but neither bakery I went to had any sadge#real life shenanigans#julisa.txt
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American Pies Proving Popular at Centre Market Location
One has more than 20 years of experience in hospital nursing, primarily in the cardiology specialty. The other has 25 years of experience as a general foreman with tree service companies. So, with that background, what did this married couple decide to open in November 2019 just prior to a pandemic? A bakery, of course! Malinda and Dan Stevey of Moundsville, without any business ownership experience or any work in retail, agreed to open American Pies and Pastries. They have proven since that you can indeed reinvent your career. So, who was the one with the initial idea? Neither! It was a friend who first nudged them with the idea. “That is all my friend’s fault, who is also a nurse,” Malinda joked. “She was doing an arts and crafts festival … she’s an artist. She said, ‘Hey, I don’t want to do it by myself. You got to be able to make something.’ “I said, the only thing I’m good at making is fried pies because we have a small orchard, and I’ve been making fried pies for a long time. So we went up there just to help her so she wouldn’t have to do it by herself. And then absolutely loved it. The American Pies location has a front window to the courtyard area at Centre Market. “I’d never sold anything before. I never worked retail. I never worked a restaurant. It was all brand new. And I think when you get to middle age, and you find something different, you think, ‘hey, wait a second. We could do something different.’” And Dan thought, “I was for it. I put in a lot of time and effort making it happen too. “We got a lot of local stores that actually helped us out a lot. Put our product in the stores. And in return we’ve made a lot of friends with a lot of local businesses.” Both mentioned Valley Meat and Cheese, Miklas Meat Market and other small, local businesses as being supportive and instrumental in building and growing their business by placing their product while offering advice and encouragement. The bakery is located at the Wheeling Centre Market, in the spot that previously housed Oliver’s Pies. As people mill through Centre Market, they can shop, enjoy artwork, eat a meal and then visit American Pies and Pastries for a unique, delicious dessert. There are several options to satisfy every sweet tooth. Cheesecake, which has become Dan’s specialty, comes in several flavors: cherry, strawberry, blueberry, white chocolate raspberry swirl, peanut butter-chocolate, chocolate, caramel apple, pumpkin, and plain. If not cheesecake, then cookies offer another option. Chocolate chip, double chocolate chip, peanut butter or sugar may be on the day’s menu. Chocolate brownies iced different ways could be the choice. And finally, the fried pies. A hand-held, portable piece of pie. Take your pick from: apple, cherry, blackberry, blueberry, bumbleberry (a combination of several berries), strawberry, lemon, Boston cream, banana cream, chocolate, coconut cream, Buckeye (peanut butter and chocolate), and The Elvis (peanut butter and banana). The signature flavor, and the genesis for the business, is the fried cherry pie. “I would say the cherry (fried pie) because that is how we started,” Malinda said. “We had this little orchard. Cherries all come at once and if you don’t hurry the birds will eat them. So me and my kids would be picking cherries, picking cherries. We’d have all these cherries. American Pies also offers cakes to their customer. “So, we played around with that. Everywhere we went for the past 15 years. . . summer cookouts. . . we’d bring fried cherry pies.” Dan said, “Our kids eat pies. A child, a slice of pie is not attractive to them, but you put them in that, all of a sudden they want that. Now it’s more like a treat instead of eating pie.” What started as a family treat grew into a small startup company showing continued growth. Now, orders and daily output are much larger than in those early days. So too has the physical bakery to meet the increasing numbers. “We would make like 10. Our first big order was like 25,” Malinda said. “We were like, it’s out of control, it’s too much. But now we are like. . . that’s nothing. “So, we’ve progressed because I told (Dan) I’m really liking this. And he said, ‘We need a new shed anyways. Why don’t I build one that we can use as a bakery?’ Well it turned out to be 28x30 with a loft ceiling and the whole thing. He made a whole commercial bakery. “The community’s been very encouraging and helpful. The Marshall County Health Department helped us put all that together. They came in and walked through the space when it was just a framework,” Malinda said. The department gave them directions on want they needed to do and connected them to others for assistance with the construction. American Pies and Pastries is open Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday and Saturday from 10 a.m. to 5:30 p.m. and Friday from 10 a.m. to 6 p.m. Read the full article
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Happy Birthday Snowii!! Would you do a little something for KakaIru and your favourite birthday activity? :D
[Thank you!! I never do anything big on my birthday, just whatever I vibe with that day and eating a fancy apple pie from this cute bakery! 💕]
Iruka knew the importance of self-care, probably more than any other chunin he met. Did he use those lessons 99.99% of the time? Of course not. But the point is he knew and could use the information to take a day off. Genma was maintaining the mission desk (at least, he hoped so) and it was time for some Iruka Time.
He had it all planned out. Morning swims in the nearby lake was his favorite thing to do as a kid so of course he had to do that again, then he was going to finish the book on his nightstand, get ramen and a big apple pie, and spend the rest of the day on the couch. Self-care at its finest.
It was early morning when Iruka slipped out his house with barely a pause, heading to the lake. The sky was layered with colors that reflected in the lake when he arrived.
“WHOO-HOO!”
With a splash, his perfect day was started.
[[Sometime Later…]]
Kakashi stared at Genma. Genma stared at Kakashi.
“Uh… do you do this to everyone who works the mission desk or am I just more special than I thought?”
“Where’s Iruka?”
“I should’ve known.” Genma rolled his eyes and Kakashi stared him down, “He’s taking a day off.”
“A day off? What happened to him?”
Genma, who knew exactly what Iruka was doing, shrugged. “I have no clue. I’m running this mission desk though.”
‘Is he hurt? What if something happened to him and I didn’t notice? He seemed to cheerful and okay yesterday!’ Kakashi panicked, ‘Crap, what if he’s sick? He’s probably sick. I should get him some food. He likes ramen right? Can sick people even have ramen?’
Genma watched Kakashi leave the room with a smirk on his face. If Iruka was able to enjoy today, who’s to say he couldn’t too?
[[Meanwhile…]]
Iruka hummed and walked down the street, stopping at Ichiraku’s and chatting with Teuchi for a bit before making his way to the bakery. The apple pie smelled heavenly. It took all his strength not to steal a lick of it as they handed it to him. He beat a hasty retreat back to his house.
The tv was playing a cheap romance movie, Iruka was eating a warm apple pie, and everything was quiet. Today truly is the perfect day.
There was a knock on the door and Iruka turned.
‘Who could that be?’
He opened the door and standing there, was Kakashi Hatake, with a small bundle of flowers and a bowl of soup that smelled really, really good.
“O-Oh! What’s this for?”
Kakashi blinked slowly, “Uh, well you weren’t at the mission desk today.”
“So you got me flowers and soup because I was absent?”
“No- well, yes. Kinda?” Kakashi was turning redder by the second, “I kinda thought you were sick since you don’t take missions like that and…”
“I’m assuming this is Genma’s fault.”
“Completely.”
They were silent for a moment.
“Well, it’s sweet that you went through the trouble even though I’m not sick. I’m just taking a self-care day.”
“Self-care day?”
“Take a break, do whatever you want with no responsibilities day?”
Kakashi still looked confused.
“Come in Kakashi, I’ll show you how to properly take care of yourself.”
They spent the day cuddling on the couch and watching cheap romcoms with a filling of slightly cold soup and apple pie for dinner. Neither of them minded. And if Iruka chose to take another day off for the sake of teaching Kakashi to take care of himself, well that was just fine.
(Not for Genma though.)
#faint genma voice: godFUCKINGdamnit HATAKE#birthday thing!!!#kakairu#genma shiranui#self care days are important!#kakashi was just trying to be a good almost-boyfriend rip
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Wallflowers - A Henry Cavill x Reader fic
So I did a thing! Rather than continue to work on my larger, more complicated Pride and Prejudice fic, I decided to make a fanfic out of the fantasy I had at work the other day!
There will most likely be a part two to this, I just thought I was at a good stopping point and wanted to see what you guys thought about it.
Full disclosure: I didn’t mean for this to whole ass turn into a Bath and Body Works ad, but it kinda did. For those of you reading in countries that do not have Bath and Body Works, its basically just a body and home care store. In the US their scents are legendary. Pretty much every young girl went through a BBW phase where that was all they used for soap and perfume. That all being said, in the interest of further disclosure and covering my ass, I own neither Bath and Body Works nor any of the trademarks on the scents listed herein. I also do not own Henry Cavill because owning human beings is a crime.
This is my first Henry fic so be gentle with me! It’s a bit longer than I had anticipated and un-beta’d.
Warnings: just a lot of fluff. some self-deprecation. loads of swearing. don’t know if I should warn for slight bashing of the religious but I will anyway so no one gets mad at me.
Wallflowers
It was shaping up to be another boring ass day at Bath and Body Works. I had started working here during the Pandemic after I was laid off from my job at the movie theatre. I had planned on it only being temporary, but even after things got better and I got my theatre job back, I decided to stick around. What can I say; a bitch is broke. Nothing wrong with double-dipping.
There was something about Sunday mornings in the mall. Probably because people around here still went to church in the mornings. Like it matters. Sunday mornings are always so slow, here and at the theatre, but the day always picks up after 1, when morning church services finish. It was me and Samantha up in the front room this morning, working out the leftover boxes from yesterday’s shipment. She was one of the first people I really bonded with here, both of us being super into both Marvel and DC, specifically Sebastian Stan and Henry Cavill. They had just started filming the next Superman movie and they were going to be shooting scenes up in Michigan again, like they had for Dawn of Justice.
“I’m just saying, we should really consider asking for a few days off and just going up there and scoping it out. I mean, it’s Henry fucking Cavill. He’s less than an hour away from us. Right now. Less than an hour. When is that ever gonna happen again? I can use some of my vacation time at the theatre, so at least I’m not missing out on money from them. It’ll be a blast. I mean, what’s the worst that can happen? We don’t see him? I mean at least we’d have tried. I’d rather try than stay down in stupid Ohio with the knowledge that he’s that close.”
“Do you really think Ann’s going to give us time off to stalk Superman?”
“We ain’t gonna tell her what it’s for! Just lie, c’mon now.” I laughed. I dropped a box of Gingham body cream into the understock drawer and broke the box down. Out of the corner of my eye I caught movement, oh goodie, a customer. Samantha was quicker to greet them.
“Welcome to Bath and Body… OH MY GOD!” I turned around and was met with the sight of none other than Henry fucking Cavill, sheepishly running his hand through his now jet-black curls, obviously embarrassed at having been recognized. Damn, am I glad I put make-up on this morning. Alright Y/N, this is your fucking chance. For once in your damn life, be fucking cool. You can do this. You look good, you smell like Champagne Toast, you’ve got this. I pulled my hair down from its messy bun and shook it out a bit before walking over to where Samantha was still trying to collect herself. The store radio started playing Halsey’s Bad at Love and I had to bite my lip to stop myself from bursting out laughing at the absurdity of the situation we were now in. Not five minutes ago we were talking about seeking him out and now here he was in all his brick-shithouse-ness. I looped my arm through Samantha’s in a show of support.
“What a wonderful coincidence! We were just talking about you and now here you are! It’s crazy how the universe works, isn’t it? I’m Y/N, this is Samantha; what can we help you with today, Henry?” I smiled my most adorable smile at him, the one that makes my little cheek dimple pop out, and, honestly, they both looked shocked. Samantha was clearly surprised that I was more capable of speech than she was, and to be honest so was I, and Henry seemed shocked that I would openly admit that we had been talking about him before he got there, which probably wasn’t a great thing to say, but I panicked.
“Well, I was told this was the best place to go for candles and air freshener-y type things. The house I’m renting just has this odd odour that I can’t get rid of. I’ve been airing it out during the day, all the windows open, and I come home and it still smells funky. I know I could just find a different place, but it’s close to a park and that’s been nice for Kal and I don’t want to make a fuss, so…” Henry sort of shrugged, the buttons on his plaid shirt straining with the movement of his broad shoulders, and gestured around the store as if to say “that’s why I’m here”.
“Well, you’ve definitely come to the right place. All of our home care is in the second room, grab a basket, I’m sure we can find you some scents you’ll like.” He walked over to the basket tower to grab one as a couple more customers walked in. Samantha nudged me towards the second room; I was going to have to handle Henry alone for now, it seemed. He followed me over to the Wallflower wall. “So, these are our Wallflowers. They’re sort of like the Glade Plug-ins, I don’t know if you’ve seen those, you plug this diffuser into any power outlet and screw the fragrance bulb in and it diffuses the scented oil into the room. They last for about a month or so. These’ll probably be the best option for you, well these and maybe a room spray or two to start with. The candles are good, but obviously the scent is gonna be strongest when they’re burning and it’s probably not a great idea to light a bunch of candles and then leave for the whole day.”
He chuckled. “No, I’d say you’re right about that. I definitely don’t want to burn the place to the ground. Are there any scents that you’d recommend?”
“Well, I mean, it obviously all depends on your personal preferences. I like sweet scents. I like my space to be smelling like a bakery or a candy shop at all times, so I tend to go for anything like that. We actually still have some of our holiday scents that we’re trying to get rid of and there’s this really great one in that line called Spiced Apple Toddy. It smells like apple pie. I love it. It’s only out during fall and winter so I stocked up. I need it all year long, honestly. I still have so many other scents at home, but like I’m probably never gonna get sick of it, for real, it smells so good. Or I might go every other month swapping between that and Black Cherry Merlot because that’s awesome too. And then there’s Champagne Toast, I mean, that one might be a bit too feminine for you, but I love it. It’s sweet and just a tiny bit citrusy. I can’t do any of the floral or like, outdoorsy scents, they set my allergies off. And honestly there’s some of these that I smell them and I’m like, who is putting this in their house? Like, what nutjob thinks this scent is good? How many people have senses of smell that are this screwed up?” At this point I was rambling, talking excitedly and with my hands, handing him testers to smell and trying to gauge his reactions to know what to hand him next. He didn’t have any bad reactions to anything I gave him until I handed him the tester for Fresh Balsam. His nose scrunched up in the most adorable way and he very carefully set the tester down on the counter as far from him as he could manage. He handled my word-vomit good-naturedly, with a small smile on his face, nodding and chuckling when he thought something I had said was funny. Our fingers brushed a few times as I handed him the testers and after the third time, I began to feel like it was deliberate on his part, but it couldn’t have been, could it? He couldn’t really be interested in me. He’s Henry Cavill. I’m just, well, I’m just me.
Me, with my two minimum wage jobs, still living with my parents, inching ever closer to 30 years old. Why would he want any of that? Why would he be interested in me physically either? I mean, he’s literally flawless and I’m short, overweight, I eat like shit, I don’t exercise, hell, I barely know how to put on make-up correctly. Yeah, I look good today, but that’s not par-for-the-course.
He put a few each of Cinnamon & Clove Buds, Black Cherry Merlot, Limoncello (for the bathrooms, he said), and Laundry Day (for the laundry room, obviously) in his basket along with enough of the plugs so he’d have one in each room. He also grabbed a Black Cherry Merlot and a Limoncello room spray off the shelf next to the Wallflower display before turning back to me. “So then, where do you keep this Spiced Apple Toddy that you like so much, or did you hide them so you could have them all to yourself?”
I chuckled nervously and ran my hand through my hair, sort of disbelieving that he was actually paying attention to what I had said. Boys never listen to me when I talk, I always have to repeat myself, but I guess that’s because I usually end up talking to the dumb ones. Henry’s not dumb. He really is just fucking perfect, isn’t he? Pretty and he listens? That shouldn’t be such a difficult combination to find, but for me it had been. “They’re on the table over here with the rest of our leftover Christmas stuff. Hopefully the tester is still there somewhere.” I put my hands in my apron pockets and I could feel the jolt of confidence I had had just minutes before leaving my body. His charm had worn me down, bringing me back to my normal, anxiety-ridden self. I caught the toe of my boot on the corner of one of the other tables as we walked towards the center of the room. I stumbled, but before I could fall his arm was already out to steady me, wrapping around my waist to keep me upright.
“Are you alright Y/N?” A look of genuine concern was on his face and I swear to God I swooned. Like, fuck, I just stubbed my stupid toe, it’s not that serious. I mean yeah, I stubbed my toe and then almost fell into a table covered with candles in glass holders, but like, I didn’t fall, you caught me, please stop looking at me like you care. You can’t give me that much hope. It isn’t fair. And goddamnit I love the way my name sounds coming out of your mouth. Like, fuck it’s never sounded so good. This isn’t fair, why is this happening?
“Yeah, Henry I’m fine, just a stubbed toe. Thank you for…you know.” I gestured down to his arm, which was still around my waist. The sound of me bumping into the table drew the attention of the rest of my co-workers, however, who were now coming out of their various positions to see what was going on and to make sure no one had broken anything. Samantha popped her head in from the front room and Kelynn and Mira came out from the cashwrap with Pilar and walked to the edge of the third room to peek in. All they saw was me, blushing profusely, with Henry Cavill’s beefy-ass arm still wrapped around my fucking waist. “Everything’s fine guys. I promise.”
“Holy shit, is that…”
“Mira!”
“But Kelynn that’s fucking Superman!”
“You can’t cuss in front of him Mira, he’s a customer!”
“Will you guys cut it out? You’re embarrassing us in front of the hunky British dude!”
“Hey, I’ve got an idea. How about we all pretend like this isn’t happening right now? Pilar can go back to the cashwrap, you two can go back to whatever it was you were doing, and I’ll go back to what I was doing, namely making a damn sale!” I extricated myself from Henry’s grasp so I could shoo them back towards the cashwrap. They turned and walked away, bewildered looks on their faces. I turned back to Henry who was shifting awkwardly from foot to foot, clearly uncomfortable. He cleared his throat and ran his hand through his curls, leaving them messier than they were before. An errant one fell over his forehead and I wanted to brush it out of the way, but he just left it.
I walked over to the table that I was originally heading for and found the Spiced Apple Toddy Wallflowers. There wasn’t that many left, but there was still a tester. I grabbed it and spun around to bring it to him, assuming he hadn’t followed me, but as I turned, I found myself going face first into his massive chest. I put my unoccupied hand up to steady myself and pushed on his chest to force him back. He was just too close. Why was he so close? He opened his mouth to say something but I beat him to it. “Here. This is what I have in my bedroom right now, this is Spiced Apple Toddy.” Oh god, why did I say it like that? The one I have in my bedroom. Jesus Christ. He quirked his eyebrow at me and cocked his head to the side, smirking a little. Instead of taking the tester from me, he took my much smaller hand in his, guiding it up towards his face so the tester was close to his nose. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. A serene smile spread across his face and I felt my face get hotter. He opened his eyes, looking down into mine. Fuck I could drown in those ocean eyes.
“Oh, I like that very much. You were right. I think that one’s my favourite.”
#henry cavill#henry cavill fanfic#henry cavill x reader#my first henry fic#fluff#unintentional bath and body works ad#be gentle
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The Dark Side of the Full Moon (1/9) Were!Rex x Reader
A/N: Aaaaahhhhh! Its finally here! After all the hype and buildup and WORK its finally finished!! I really hope that you guys like it. I will say that the reader does use she/her because this was super self indulgent but I hope you guys like it nonetheless!! I’m also going to say that because this was super self indulgent, the terminology and technology of the time period may not always be 100% accurate but I did my best lol. Also if you want to be tagged in this series, feel free to message me to let me know! Enjoy!!
Tags: @captainrexisboo @writer1
Length: ~2000 words
Warnings: none this time :) but I will warn you now that its gonna get ANGSTY in later chapters.
Also there is one instance of Mando’a in this chapter that is not commonly used so: ner burc’ya = my friend
Next
As the wind of autumn began to cool with each passing day, and the harvest came to an end, everyone in the large town of Coruscant was preparing for the festival that was to come. Although it happened every year at the end of the harvest season, everyone was especially looking forward to this one. The last few months of the war had taken their toll on everyone and the Kingdom of the Republic was at a stalemate. Neither side was gaining any ground and the fatigue from constant conflict was pushing the people to the edge.
The Chancellor had made a decree that the government would help to supply the festival for the kingdom this year to show that it still has faith in the citizens and the war effort. Most common folk bought into his façade of wellbeing, but Marshall Commander Cody and the rest of the army saw right through it. He knew that the Chancellor just wanted to buy himself more time to be in charge, but it was not his place to say anything to the contrary. The Fett clan had been “hired” to do a job, and he was going to do it. Besides, they did not have much of a choice after the Republic had paid the lords of the House of Kamino for the service of their citizens.
Cody was looking forward to the festival. He couldn’t wait to let himself rest. One thing that the Chancellor said that Cody had actually cared about was the fact that the members of the army would be allowed to join in on the festival this year. Cody knew that it was just because two days after it ended, they were all being sent back out to join the rest of his family on the front lines. But it was a break, nonetheless.
He also was excited to be helping his little brother, Rex, with his plan for you.
Rex had been planning this night for months now and Cody was happy to see his brother be in such high spirits considering the current situation with the war.
As Cody walked down the main road of the town, he passed by villagers who were setting up tables and areas for the games that would take place during the festival. He walked past the huge area in the town square where a bonfire would be lit as soon as the sun went down up until it came back up again the next day. Turing his eyes toward the sky, he saw the clouds rolling in from way on the horizon.
“Cody!” He looked down to see you walking toward him wearing your apron with flour covering your face and hair. You had just finished bringing many loafs of bread to the tavern so they could be distributed the next day. “I didn’t expect to see you until tonight. I thought that all of you were still on duty today?”
A smug smile crept its way onto Cody’s face. “No. I thought that I would skip duty today and come steal one of your famous pies. I mean, Rex just goes on and on about how amazing his girlfriend’s pies are, I just couldn’t wait for the festival to try one.” His voice was laced with sarcasm as he leaned toward you sticking his tongue out.
You put your hand to your chest, feigning surprise as you gasped. “Well,” you said breathily, “I guess you wasted yourself a trip then. I’m sorry to tell you that you’ll just have to wait.” You scrunched up your face and began to giggle as you wiped the remainder of the flour on your hands onto your apron.
Cody chuckled. “Damn. I really thought I had you.” He crossed his arms and began to slowly continue walking. “In all seriousness though, I am still technically on duty. Fox is drowning in work from the Chancellor so while the other commanders of the guard help him, I volunteered to take their patrol duty.”
“You should think about getting some rest too you know. Every time I come over to see Rex, I only ever see you working.” You stop and turn to look at him. “You look tired. Have for a few months now.”
Cody slouched a bit and thought of all of the work that he still had to do in preparation for the day after the festival. How he needed to make sure that everything else was done so that he could focus on bigger issues. He reached up and grabbed the back of his neck. “I am. But being a high-ranking officer comes with extra work. Especially when my and Rex’s generals are constantly doing things that have only been a quarter of the way thought out.”
“Oh yeah,” you said, “Rex had told me all about those missions.” You look up at Cody and put your right hand on his cheek. “You should still get some rest though,” you said as you inspected the dark circles under his eyes. “You wouldn’t want General Kenobi to think you don’t enjoy having tea with him anymore because you’re falling asleep.” You smiled at the annoyed look on his face.
“Ha ha. Very funny Y/N,” he said as he pulled his face away and rolled his eyes.
You proudly looked back at him. “I know,” you smiled. “I do have to get going though if I am going to finish all of my baking before the festival starts tomorrow morning.” You turned and began walking back towards your bakery as you waved bye to him. “Make sure you get some rest tonight so that you can enjoy tomorrow,” you said as you smiled at him.
“I’ll be fine Y/N.” He waved as you began turning your head back forward. “Oh, and you might want to bundle up tonight! It looks like there is a snowstorm on its way.”
You looked up at the sky and then back down to meet his eyes. You gave him a warm smile and nodded before continuing on your way.
Cody continued walking his patrol route and smiled to himself. Ha. Rex is lucky to have someone sweet like her. He turned a corner and thought about how he would not have to do anything tomorrow except relax and have fun.
Cody smiled. He really could not wait for the festival to begin.
*******************************************************************************************
Cody and Rex laughed as they watched their little brothers playing in the snow that had blanketed the town the night before. Fives was chasing after Echo after he had just stuffed a snowball down the back of Fives’ shirt. The two of them were standing next to one of the smaller fires that had been lit as they drank the hot apple citer that Generals Kenobi and Plo had made in celebration.
Wolffe had opted to stay in bed and sleep longer into the day so that he would be more rested for the games that would take place once the sun went down. His legion had been the last to arrive out of the three that had been selected for leave and he had been exhausted when he got back just three days prior. The 212th and 501st had been back for a couple of months now due to some trouble that they had faced on their last mission to the outer territories.
You had just walked up to where Rex and Cody stood and could see the happiness and relief on their faces from being able to take time off. The sun had started to go down and it was casting a beautiful pink and orange glow on their faces. The clouds had begun moving out toward mid-day and it looked like there would be a clear sky during the nighttime portion of the festival.
You walked up to Rex’s side and pressed yourself into him, laying your head on his shoulder. He looked at you and placed a soft kiss to the top of your head as you pushed your hands toward the fire to heat them up.
“I’m glad to see you two having a good time.” You smiled and lifted your head to look at Cody. “Was my pie worth waiting one more day for Cody?” You smiled smugly at him as you felt Rex lightly chuckle from watching your teasing.
Cody shot an annoyed look at Rex and then smiled at you. “I would say so ner burc’ya. Rex really wasn’t exaggerating when he said that you made the best.”
Rex beamed proudly and then gave a curt nod to Cody, a serious look briefly washing over his face. He then turned to face you as his face softened once again. “Would you care to take a walk with me cyar’ika?” He held his arm out for you to take and looked at you lovingly.
You took his arm and gave him a mischievous and adoring smile. “Why of course my Captain. How could I ever say no to you when you look at me like that?” The two of you began walking toward the other end of town where your bakery is. It would be quieter there and Rex wanted to make sure that everything was perfect.
Cody smiled as he watched the two of you huddle together as you walked, glad that his brother had found someone so loving. He continued to watch his little brothers play in the snow while he drank his cider. He sat there for what felt like forever, happy that his brothers got a chance to act like kids for once.
As the sun finished setting, Cody looked up at the sky. He saw the clouds parting and could see the first few stars start to already peak out through the sky.
“Ah! Enjoying your night off Commander?” Cody looked down to address the booming voice.
“Admiral Yularen sir.” Cody gave him a nod. “I am. It is nice to have a break from everything.”
The Admiral nodded in agreement. “Indeed.” He looked up toward the sky just like Cody was when he approached him. “It sure will be nice once the clouds finally dissipate all of the way. It shouldn’t be long now until we are able to see the full moon.”
Cody whipped his head to face the Admiral, dread quickly creeping onto his face. “Excuse me sir?” He felt himself start to panic as the Admiral brought his face to look back at Cody.
“The full moon Commander. It will give the festival a nice atmosphere don’t you think?”
Cody swallowed nervously. “But sir, the full moon isn’t until tomorrow.” Cody could hear the fear rising in his voice as he silently begged for the Admiral to be wrong.
Admiral Yularen looked at him confused. “I’m afraid that you are a day behind Commander.” He shrugged. “I can’t say that I blame you though. Never-ending battles tend to make one lose track of time.”
Cody felt like everything around him had just shattered. He looked up to the sky and saw that the sun had finally sunken below the horizon and that the clouds had finally parted to begin to reveal the slivery moon in the sky. “Sir,” he said while trying to keep his voice firm, “will you please excuse me?”
“Of course, Commander.”
Before the Admiral could finish his sentence, Cody had turned around and was sprinting in the direction of your bakery. As he ran, he heard the sound of his footsteps echoing off of the cobblestone streets and the houses that lined it. His heart was pounding in his ears and his mouth had gone completely dry.
“No no no no no. This can’t be happening. It was tomorrow.”
He looked up at the sky and saw that the clouds had completely uncovered the bright moon. His breathing was ragged, and his muscles ached from how hard he was trying to get himself to move faster. Your bakery was completely on the other side of the huge town from the festival and having to run on the icy road was slowing him down.
“Please,” he said as he breathed heavily. “Please let them be alright.”
The Commanders desperate pleas and pounding footsteps echoed through the freezing night air as he ran down the dark road, frantically hoping that he would reach you before it was too late.
#were!rex x reader#captain rex x female!reader#captain rex x reader#were!rex#captain rex#the dark side of the full moon#my writing#thank you guys so much for you patience#i hope you like it
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Can you write Dani & Jamie’s first Thanksgiving in Vermont? Neither seems capable in the kitchen, but they give it a try. Takeout is inevitably ordered.
i loved this. hit both your points, too. hopefully you like it!
..
“You’re a murderer.”
“No, I’m not.”
“You just killed it. In cold blood.”
“Well, it wouldn’t shut up, would it? And now it has.”
“Okay…”
“What?”
“I just...Part of me is wondering when you’re going to do that to me.”
Jamie stops fanning the air with the placemat in her hands and gives Dani a derisive look. Dani is smiling, biting her lip in that way she does when she thinks she’s being clever. Jamie’s heart gives a little squeeze at the sight, but she tries to look annoyed instead of absolutely in love.
“Shove off,” she says and Dani laughs. “And help me. Before the entire house smells like burnt turkey.”
Dani shakes her head, giving their broken fire alarm—pulled out of the ceiling in a fit by Jamie not two minutes earlier—a sad look where it lies in the trash bin. She leaves the kitchen and goes off to their bedroom, disappearing for a few moments and then returning with a fan. Plugging it in on one end of the kitchen, she points it toward the open windows on the other side and turns it to its highest setting. Immediately, the lingering smoke starts to swirl and billow as it pushes out the screens and outside into the cool, November afternoon.
“Should I call Owen?” she asks next, crossing her arms and cocking her hip to rest against the counter like she’s all-too-pleased with herself. Jamie isn’t sure why. It’s not like she’s only one who ruined dinner.
“Don’t,” Jamie says. “It’s getting late there and I don’t want to bother him again.”
She’s already made three collect calls to Paris asking for advice on basting and temperature settings today. Any more and she might swear off the practice of cooking entirely.
Setting the placemat down on the counter, Jamie looks over their dark and scorched turkey resting there with dismay. If mangling the fire alarm on its way to the bin was considered murder, she can’t help but wonder what setting a turkey on fire in the oven counts as.
“God, I’m such an idiot,” she says, dropping her face into her hands and slumping back against the fridge.
There’s barely a moment’s hesitation before steady arms wrap themselves around her body and pull her into an embrace. “You are not,” Dani tells her, soft and serious. “Do you know how many times my mom burnt the turkey when I was growing up?”
Jamie shakes her head, resting her forehead on Dani’s shoulder and closing her eyes.
“Pretty much all of them. And the worst part is, she always made me eat it anyway. It was...I mean, ‘terrible’ isn’t even a good enough word for it.”
Jamie’s shoulders shake with silent laughter. She’s seen pictures of Dani when she was younger—all chipmunk-toothed and braces. She imagines her sitting at the table with her mother, making that face she always makes whenever she drinks soda with every bite.
“I just wanted to do this right,” Jamie mutters, embarrassed by the moment of raw honesty. She feels too emotional for this and part of her is embarrassed by the thought of getting all worked up over nothing. But this is their first major holiday living together and it’s her first Thanksgiving ever and she just wanted it to go well. “And now it’s ruined.”
“Hey, it’s not ruined.” She feels Dani press a kiss to the top of her head, grip tightening a little around Jamie’s body. “Just...surprising.”
Jamie chuckles wetly into Dani’s sweater, clutching her girlfriend closer. “That’s one way of saying it.”
“How about this?” Dani asks a moment later, pulling away so they can see one another again. She reaches out and cups Jamie’s face in her hands, running her thumbs beneath Jamie’s eyes to wipe away some of her smeared eyeliner. “You order out for food and I grab us some plates.”
“For what?” Jamie asks, frowning.
Dani smiles and pulls away, going to a paper bag that’s been resting on the pantry shelves for the last day, folded shut with “Do Not Open—I’m serious, Jamie” on the side in black marker. She grabs it and opens it up, rifling around for a moment before tugging out a round tin with a plastic cover on the top. She sets it on the counter triumphantly, letting out a cute little, “Ta-da!”
It’s an apple pie. Jamie’s only ever had it one time—at a restaurant they went to on their drive to Vermont all those months ago—and it’s the only American pie she can stand.
“Poppins,” she says slowly, “did you make this?”
Dani’s face does this amusing thing, twisting in confusion. “Oh, God, no,” she answers, shaking her head. “Believe me, it would look like our turkey if I had.” She throws an apologetic look to the still-steaming, blackened turkey. “Thank god for bakeries, huh?”
Jamie laughs and kisses her, right there in the kitchen. “Guess so,” she mumbles against Dani’s lips.
They order food from the Chinese restaurant just a few blocks away from their apartment building and, when she gets off the phone and informs Dani that it will take at least forty-five minutes for it to arrive, Dani smirks.
“I have an idea of how we can pass the time,” she says and Jamie knows that look. She knows it well. A spark ignites in the low of her stomach.
“Oh, yeah?” she asks.
Dani nods and grips the straps of Jamie’s overalls, tugging her toward the living room. “Yep.”
It’s a good idea, Jamie thinks as she’s being straddled on the couch a moment later. One of the better ones either of them has ever had.
..
#baby’s first thanksgiving#damie#the haunting of bly manor#dani x jamie#dani/jamie damie fanfic#damie prompt#andawaywego fanfic#prompt
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Captain Canary and/or Mixen Bake-off AU?
(Why not both?)(Also I am terrible with fake TV show titles)
1. Looking to switch things up (and maybe boost ratings a bit) Gideon, a producer for Bake Off, and the show’s host Rip Hunter agree that the upcoming season should feature teams competing rather than individuals. On Gideon’s part it is also an experiment to see if teams can push Rip over the edge any faster than individuals do. She thinks it’s likely.
2. Amaya and Sara are friends from Star City where Amaya’s mother used to own a bakery. Unfortunately Amaya’s mom died when she was young and her father sold the business. Now the building where the bakery had been is on the market again and Amaya wants to win the money to be able to buy it back and reopen her mother’s bakery, Sara serving as her partner.
3. Len and Mick own a cake shop in Central City. They first got into baking during a work program with a local bakery in Juvie. Len is the decorator while Mick does the majority of the actual baking. They split the designing of (mostly) everything.
4. During a challenge Mick makes a rookie mistake. He is in the middle of cutting apples for a pie when Len asks him to pass him the cinnamon and Mick realizes he forgot to grab it. He runs to get it without putting down his knife, and Amaya is at the supply wracks and turns around too quick at the wrong moment. She walks right into Mick’s knife.
5. Amaya, obviously, has to go to the hospital. Rip is mid-sentence commenting that Sara will have to finish the challenge alone, or forfeit to go with Amaya to the hospital, when Len shouts over him, asking Sara what time her donuts went in.
6. Sara sends Mick with Amaya to the hospital (since he’s refused to let go of the knife) and asks Len where he needs the cinnamon. The two of them finish the challenge running back and forth between each others stations, helping each other. Neither of them wins, but neither of them comes in last either.
7. Mick apologies about a million times, Amaya tells him it’s fine. The wound was shallow and she doesn’t need surgery, just some stitching up.
8. When they get back Amaya is cleared to stay in the competition. As the show goes on Len and Mick and Sara and Amaya keep helping each other. The knife incident also becomes a running joke, usually Sara whenever Mick and Amaya are both at the supply wracks “Don’t stab my partner again.”
9. During down time all the contestants live in the same barracks and Sara catches Leonard in the common room sketching some cake designs. At first he accuses her of trying to learn his tricks to beat him but she the truth is she knows she is far from the best baker, both on the show and in general. The show is one thing, but in the long run the plan is for her and Amaya to reopen Amaya’s mother’s bakery. She needs to be good enough to keep it open.
10. The finale comes down to Len and Mick vs. Sara and Amaya.
(Yes, I did 10 facts, but I also did two couples so...)
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89 for Zimbits? I know it's a bit angsty.
No. 89: “I could never forget you.”
From this prompt list
Jack skated around the net, arms raised in triumph. The goal was his second of the game, his tenth since joining the Aeros three weeks ago. Things were looking up.
So was Jack, grinning at the fans packing the stands, cheering for him, glad he arrived in the middle of season to bolster their team’s playoff hopes.
That was when he caught a glimpse of golden hair.
It was there and gone, and Jack was headed toward the bench to bump gloves with his teammates before skating to center ice to start play again.
For the rest of the game, he tried to get another look. That might be why he managed to make so many shots on goal in the second period. No more went in, but he took the opportunity to search the stands before each faceoff.
He didn’t see the hair again, didn’t have the chance to find out if it was attached to the person he was looking for.
What were the odds? The last time he’d seen Bitty, he was off to take a job in Philadelphia. As far as Jack knew, Bitty had never even been to Texas. But Bitty might be anywhere after five years.
When they came back out to play the third, it wasn’t as easy. That end had become the Falconers defensive zone, so his back was to the stands when they had faceoffs down there. He had one good chance when he chased Jones into the end boards, pushing him up against the glass while he tried to get the puck from between his skates and searched the seats over Jones’ shoulder.
Then he caught the second glimpse: not just honey blond hair this time, but deep chocolate eyes, eyes that were locked on Jack.
Until he saw Jack looking at him. He hopped out of his seat and headed up the aisle.
Fuck.
The puck skittered out and Maxwell snagged it and put a shot on goal.
“Jack! Where’s your head at?” Marcus yelled to him after cleaning up the rebound and leading the charge up ice.
Jack just shook his head and grinned, acknowledging his lapse and promising to do better with one gesture.
The Aeros won the game, their fourth in a row, and no one said any more about Jack’s distraction.
After practice the next day, Jack opened his laptop and did something he hadn’t done since Bitty walked out of his condo in Providence.
He typed “Eric Bittle” into the search bar.
Bitty, it appeared, was now the proprietor of a popular and well-reviewed bakery in Houston. He was active in the local LGBTQ community, with a well-known practice of hiring queer kids who were in need of support. He was known for the creativity in his baked goods, especially, of course, his pies.
In one interview, Bitty talked about how he had created his own family out of his college hockey team and how he didn’t know what he would have done without his teammates. He was simply trying to pay that forward, he said.
None of the interviews mentioned Jack. None of them mentioned that he was the Eric Bittle who had kissed Jack at center ice after Game 7 of the 2016 Stanley Cup Final. None of them mentioned his three years in Providence after that, trying to build a career in the city’s foodie industry.
It had never really worked. Bitty was too well known as Jack Zimmermann’s boyfriend, something Jack thought Bitty eventually came to hold against him.
That was something neither of them had foreseen: the way Bitty’s identity became subsumed in Jack’s. It didn’t matter to people that Bitty was captain of the Samwell team his senior year, that he had a baking blog for years. The things that Jack loved most about him – the strength and the courage that brought him out of Georgia, that made him play hockey, that helped him overcome his fear of being checked, combined with an almost irresistible warmth – those things didn’t figure at all in what people knew about him.
To the world, Bitty said the day he left, he was just Jack Zimmermann’s piece of ass.
Jack had asked him if that was such a bad thing to be, and Bitty had walked out.
Jack had five more years in Providence, pretty successful years, too. No more cups, but playoff appearances every year. And once Bitty was out of the picture, Jack found his life on the ice getting easier. Maybe other teams were getting used to the idea of having an out player in the league, maybe it was easier to ignore when there were no pictures of him and Bitty, no images of Bitty in the family box on the Jumbotron.
His life off the ice had become more and more empty, though. Marty retired, and then Thirdy. Tater went off to play in Seattle, and George went to Vegas of all places. Snowy got married and settled down. Without Bitty to push him out the door, Jack … well, he’d become something of a hermit.
He didn’t connect as well with fans, which wasn’t a huge problem, but the new, younger players kept their distance as well. Or maybe he kept his distance from them. It showed in the team’s play, and it wasn’t a huge surprise when management told him Houston wanted him, and the Falconers wanted him to go.
He really had no idea Bitty was in Houston.
Once he knew, the idea of making contact took up residence in his head. Bitty clearly knew he was here. Bitty had come to a hockey game he was playing in.
Maybe he should let Bitty contact him. His phone number hadn’t changed. (Bitty’s had. Jack tried it the night after he saw him at the game.) But maybe Bitty didn’t know that, didn’t want to draw attention by going through the team. NHL teams did their best to keep the boundaries clear between players and fans.
And Jack knew where Bitty’s bakery was. He plugged it into Google maps; it was only a ten minute drive from the hotel where the team was putting him up until he could find a place.
It took a week. A week of wondering what Bitty thought of him, what Bitty wanted, whether Bitty would be happy to see him. Bitty had come to his game, he told himself. Bitty left when he made eye contact, he argued back.
Maybe Bitty had a boyfriend. A husband, even. But the interviews he found didn’t mention anyone.
It was the last off-day of the regular season when Jack finally parked down the block from Bits and Pieces.
He sat in his car, took a deep breath, and rehearsed what he wanted to say one more time.
“I’m sorry I didn’t understand what you needed. I’m glad you found it. Can we be friends?”
That would have to be enough for now.
There was no line, just a kid with one side of his head shaved and the hair on the other side dyed purple behind the counter.
“What can I get for you?” the kid asked.
“Coffee,” Jack said. “Black. And one of those apple mini-pies.”
The kid (Quinn, according to his name tag) rang him up, and as Jack dropped the change from his twenty into the tip jar, he said, “Is your boss around? I know Eric from college.”
The kid grinned.
“You must have played hockey,” he said. “He talks about it all the time. You want me to get him?”
“If it’s not too much trouble.”
“No trouble at all,” Quinn said, and disappeared into the kitchen.
Jack had taken a seat at a table by the door when Bitty emerged. He looked like he was steeled for a confrontation when he came through the door, but his face still paled when he saw Jack.
“Black coffee and apple pie,” Bitty said. “I knew it had to be you.”
“You knew I was in Houston,” Jack said. “I saw you at the game.”
“Yeah,” Bitty said. “I’m sorry.”
“Why?” Jack said. “I was glad to see you.”
“You were?”
“I didn’t know you were here,” Jack said. “When I got traded. But after I saw you, I looked you up.”
“That was a week ago.”
“I didn’t know how you would feel about me showing up.”
“That’s fair,” Bitty said. “I’m not sure how I do feel.”
“I have something I want to say,” Jack said. “I’m sorry for the way things ended. I didn’t get what you needed, and I should have.”
“Okay,” Bitty said. “I’m sorry too. I should have tried harder.”
“You did try,” Jack said.
“What do you want now?” Bitty said.
“I was hoping we could be friends.”
Bitty cocked an eyebrow, and the expression was so familiar it made Jack’s chest hurt.
“Why?” Bitty asked. “I figured you’d just forget about me and move on.”
“I could never forget you,” Jack said. “I’ve been missing you for five years.”
“Don’t,” Bitty said. “Don’t say that unless you mean it.”
“I do,” Jack said. “I mean it. I’d offer to buy you coffee, but …”
“You just bought my coffee?” Bitty said.
“Dinner?” Jack said. “You choose?”
******************************
This now has a second part here. It’s the second version of the prompt fill.
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The first time Dean Winchester entered his bakery, Castiel felt something inside him shift. It could just be that he was so uncommonly handsome, but Castiel liked to think that it went deeper than that.
Dean - then just known in Castiel's mind as 'the beautiful stranger' - ordered a slice of key lime pie and smiled at Castiel when he received it. Before Castiel could attempt to smile back, he was gone. But he stuck in Castiel's mind for the rest of the day, the image of bright green eyes and a rakish smile continuously popping up in his mind's eye while he went about his usual business.
Dean came back two days later, and this time Castiel peeked at his credit card to catch his name. It wasn't until Dean's next visit, though, that he worked up the courage to tell him, "Enjoy your pie, Dean."
The smile and, "Thanks, Cas," he got in return were worth the two hours he'd spent agonizing over it.
Two days later, Dean ordered a slice of apple pie and Castiel finally remembered to tell him to have a nice day.
Three days after that, Castiel smiled back at him for the first time and Dean told him that he liked seeing him smile. Castiel burned two batches of bear claws that day.
It took Castiel a couple of weeks to realize that what they were doing could be categorized as flirting. Neither one of them had suggested exchanging phone numbers yet, but Dean had picked up a habit of looking up at Castiel through his eyelashes and letting his fingers stroke Castiel's when he took back his credit card.
After he came to this realization, Castiel knew he had to do something. The thought of asking Dean out on a date had his heart racing and palms sweating, but surely there was some way he could hint to Dean that he was interested without putting his heart out on the line?
The answer came to him the very next day when Dean declined taking his pie to go as he usually did. Instead he sat down at a table close to the counter, displaying at almost obscene amount of enjoyment as he ate his slice. Castiel couldn't keep himself from stealing the occasional glance, and he could almost feel his face light on fire as he caught Dean licking some filling off his fingers.
When he could finally tear his eyes away, it occurred to Castiel that giving Dean a slice of pie he himself had baked might be the perfect solution. It would be indicative of his interest, but Dean would be able to freely ignore it if he wanted to. And if Dean decided to eat it in front of Castiel, well, that was his prerogative.
Castiel got the recipe for apple pie from Gabriel before he went home. Thankfully, Gabriel only wagged his eyebrows but refrained from commenting.
It took Castiel four attempts to get it right. The first three came out with burnt crusts and a raw middle, although by the fourth Castiel fortunately figured out that he needed a smaller pan and it ended up perfectly golden.
Castiel was on edge the entire next morning, until Dean finally came in around noon as he usually did.
"Hey, Cas," he said, his customary greeting by now.
"Hello, Dean," Castiel replied.
"What have you got for me today?"
Castiel drew a deep, fortifying breath. "Apple pie. I made it myself."
Dean's mouth formed a small 'O', before he grinned. "Really now?"
Castiel nodded. His throat felt like it was closing up, so instead of lengthening the conversation any, he reached for his creation and put it down on the counter. He'd cut a slice previously in anticipation, and now it laid on its plate next to the fork, crisp and golden and perfectly formed.
"Looks delicious," Dean commented, before reaching for his wallet.
Castiel shook his head. "It's on me."
He nudged the plate towards Dean, who accepted it, fingers brushing against Castiel's as he did. He picked up the fork and carved out a generous bite. Then he brought it to his mouth, eyes staying locked on Castiel's the entire time. Castiel's heart hammered in anticipation as the pie disappeared between Dean's lips.
Dean chewed. And stopped. His expression was inscrutable, but before Castiel could let disappointment seep in, he started chewing again.
"It's good," he finally said.
A grin broke out on Castiel's face. "Really?"
"Oh, yeah." As if in demonstration, Dean took another bite. "It's great."
Relief blossomed on Castiel's chest and he was suddenly gripped by an overwhelming urge to lean across the counter and kiss Dean. But he didn't, since that would be unprofessional. Instead, he contended himself with standing there and watch Dean eat the pie he'd worked so hard to make.
---
Of course, two years later Dean would confess to Castiel that the pie hadn't actually tasted all that great.
In fact, "It was terrible, Cas, just terrible."
But honestly, given that Dean's next action was to slowly start unzipping Castiel's jeans, Castiel couldn't say he minded much.
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thornhands replied to your post
How did the kids end up with them? (unless that has already been explained). What do Liv&Garrus do besides living their lifes - are they still in the Alliance/Spectres? Did Hannah think she would ever have a relationship again after Mindoir? Favorite food of everyone in the family.
It hasn’t been, actually!
Solana’s leg was shattered during the war. While she’s healing, she works on refugee coordination - trying to get families back together, match orphans with willing parents, etc. She knows that Garrus and Olivia are starting down the adoption path, and that they’re interested in turian kids. When Quentus and Nico come across her desk about a year and a half after the war, there’s just something sweet and right enough about them that she goes “I bet I know two people who would very much like to meet you.”
Liv’s actually on Palaven for work at the time (Garrus is tagging along with her; neither one of them is good with separation for a very, very long time after the war), and it’s just sort of magical serendipitous timing. The boys spent most of the war (and a decent amount of time after) hiding in the collapsed basement of their house, so they’re both super malnourished and not in great physical shape; they’re not in great mental shape either, since they’re four and seven and spent a war alone. Liv and Garrus extend their trip by a couple of months to spend time with them while they heal, to start connecting and, most importantly, to make sure that the feeling is mutual, that the boys want to come home with them (they do, very much so).
Nora is an entirely different story. Nora was born after the war, and her parents were Cerberus. Through the deadly combination that is extreme paranoia and the ocular nerve explosives all Cerberus agents are implanted with, Nora’s parents - and everyone else on the station - are all dead when N7 Shadow Abby Williams infiltrates the station on a recon mission, and finds Nora. The first meeting between Nora and Olivia, and how she becomes part of their family, is covered in Norafic so I don’t want to talk too much about it here. But she’s small and scared, and she feels something kind and safe about the redheaded woman who comes over to say hi, so she scrambles into Olivia’s lap and refuses to let go.
The rest of this is behind a cut, because I have thought A Lot about this universe and it got long.
Olivia takes over the relay rebuilding project. Hackett wants to put her in a purely political position, but she tells him “How about you let me do the thing I went to school for, and you can actually get some use out of the degree you paid for?” It ends up requiring a lot of politics anyway (whose relay gets rebuilt when, do they have the infrastructure in the system to support the huge increase in traffic, etc.), but it’s problem solving politics, and that’s the kind she likes. It also lets her use her stellar cartography and astrophysics degrees; she ends up redrawing the relay network map completely.
Eventually, her office gets reworked and rebranded as Galactic Affairs. Her primary focus is still relay reconstruction and getting people home, but her office also handles disputes/issues that don’t require Council attention (or in an attempt to diffuse the situation before the Council needs to get involved), and the practical implementation of Council policy. She stays on as Director of Galactic Affairs until Garrus’ third term as Councilor is up (there’s a three term max), and then they both officially retire.
Garrus is pretty high in the Hierarchy after the war (do not talk to him about how many heartbeats he is away from Primarch). But he wants to stay on Earth with Olivia, so Victus makes him the Hierarchy’s representative to the Alliance, which - according to Garrus - is a fancy name for “the guy every turian on Earth complains to when the dextro paste tastes worse than normal.” He acquires staff, learns to delegate, his position begins to not need him to be quite so hands-on, and so Victus reassigns him. His title is officially Chief Military Strategist, but Victus tasks him with basically unfucking the post-war turian military: everyone’s still regimented and following orders, but everyone is so scattered.
And then. And then. The current turian councilor (Devon; Quentius died in the war because I fucked up on naming these kids and refuse to have Quentius and Quentus running around in the same universe, we are not talking about how much I goofed) finishes out his third term. And Hierarchy leadership develops a list of candidates, and they review that list, and they determine that Garrus is the best choice. They offer it to him (instead of just assigning him, because he’s done a lot for the Hierarchy, and if he wants to just retire and be with his wife and kids, they will not fault him for that).
And, after thinking about it a lot and talking about it a lot with Olivia, Garrus takes it.
He’s councilor for twenty or so years (one day I will unfuck this universe’s timeline), and then retires with Olivia. I don’t actually know what they do with their retirement. I feel like they’re both pretty bad at Being Retired, but I don’t know what they do.
Hannah had no plans of being in a relationship again after Mindoir. She tried dating, but it was a half-assed effort when her daughter was in college, and solely because Olivia was like “I’m a little worried about you all alone, maybe you should find someone to talk to who isn’t on your payroll.” She scrapped the dating plan and made an effort to find friends instead. Charles was it for her, she thought, and she was happy (genuinely so, no delusions) being by herself, having a few friends, and focusing on the bakery.
She has a lot of angst and confusion about Zaeed in the beginning. Despite that Charles has been dead for over fifteen years, she still feels like she’s betraying him by sleeping with and having feelings for another man. Olivia sets her straight, basically saying “Dad wanted you to be happy. Zaeed makes you happy. I’m pretty sure Dad’s thrilled for you.”
Favorite foods:
Olivia: coffee (*Garrus voice* coffee isn’t food, Olivia) apple pie with cinnamon ice cream
Garrus: lafka, basically turian baklava
Zaeed: barbecue of any sort, but pork if forced to choose
Hannah: peach pie
Quentus: oorlak, a spicy turian meat dish
Nico: dextro chocolate cake with vanilla frosting
Nora: coffee (*Garrus voice* coffee isn’t food, Nora) apple slices and super sharp cheddar cheese
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gercan (bakery au/accidental demon summoning au) -- but i know what’s in my heart
Matthew showed up after his rec league practice with a cooler of sandwiches, slipping in through the back door into the pantry where Ludwig’s cataloguing their remaining ingredients and what exactly they can make in the next two days, maybe three if their shipment is delayed anymore.
“We should be fine. But I want to buy extra flour on the way home,” Ludwig said when Matthew came to sit next to him, legs crossed, cooler in his lap. “I’m going to test a recipe tonight.”
“What is it?” Matthew held a sandwich out, and Ludwig really would rather not eat on the floor but he still needed to finish doing inventory, so he took the sandwich and settled against a container of sugar. Ludwig gave Matthew a faint, lingering smile and Matthew’s face lit up. “Ludwig, are you going to finally make tarte au sucre?“
“Yes. And I hope you have a good recipe.”
“I have the perfect one. This mother from Gatineau gave it to me in exchange for—“
Ludwig sighed, “Matthew…”
“Ludwig, I told you when we met. Middle-aged women are an overlooked niche when it comes to contracts. One of them gave me her timeshare in Boca Raton just so she could be at the top of a phone tree.”
--
Matthew shooed him out of the bakery, handing off his hockey gear to Ludwig as well, around 11 pm, offering to clean and prep and even start the baking schedule for the following week. Ludwig had a suspicion that cupcakes and stollen would feature predominately. Possibly hefekranz, too, because Gilbert’s been making noises about more items with less frosting and sugar, but that are still “cool.”
Ludwig’s apartment isn’t close to the bakery at all. It’s actually a 25-minute bus ride away. If he hadn’t sold his car (and Ludwig tries not to think too hard about the smart little coupe he used to drive) it might be faster, but that coupe was a remnant of a life Ludwig didn’t want to live anymore. Couldn’t live anymore.
(Matthew made it clear that he could bring back Ludwig’s coupe, the fancy downtown apartment and even a little extra—with no charge, Matthew insisted—but Ludwig couldn’t find it anywhere in him to agree. Matthew didn’t push.)
The night route was quiet, and Ludwig opened his phone to find a text from Matthew. It’s a sample menu—with cupcakes every day (vanilla, a chocolate variant, and something with fruit), stollen and hefekranz on Wednesday and Friday, and bundt cakes on Tuesday.
It’s something Ludwig would put together, and he texted Matthew, thanks.
--
Ludwig graduated at the top of his class, with a job offer that included a corner office thanks to an excellent internship and impeccable work ethic.
Four years later (three as lead counsel) and enough clients who saw less jail time than they should have, and Ludwig found himself stress-baking recipes from his childhood at 3 am. Flour dusted his thighs and tracked down his black dress pants. He hadn’t even changed after he got in, just hung his suit jacket and rolled up his sleeves and pulled out every baking pan in his apartment.
When he stopped, taking his first breath in what felt like hours, Ludwig bent over the mixing bowl, hands flat on the sleek countertop. His tie trailed through the mess of flour and sugar and vanilla. He had three trays of shortbread cookies in a row, apple cake in the oven, and the beginnings of cherry cake in the bowl.
“My client murdered two prostitutes and then his wife. He liked it. He became aroused while the medical examiner spoke.” Ludwig breathed out. “I threw my jacket over his lap so no one could see he was aroused.”
He repeated this until he left for work at 7 am. He quit at 7:20.
--
Gilbert told him to teach and almost—almost—cried when Ludwig told him he was going to open a bakery.
“They have a guest lecturer position available!” Gilbert shouted, gesturing with a tiny apple tart. Ludwig sliced the apple thinly and spread it, fan-like, across the surface, and he’s sure Gilbert didn’t appreciate it now as much as he did when Ludwig showed up with a platter full. “You can turn that into a permanent position, Ludwig! You can do anything!”
“So I can open a bakery,” Ludwig said, mildly. He’s been taller than Gilbert since he was 16, but he feels very small now, in front of his brother’s furious confusion.
Gilbert just stared at him. He scrubbed at his eyes, and then his shoulders just fell. He sighed, “Yeah. You can open a bakery.”
--
Ludwig never told Gilbert why a bakery, and he never will. Gilbert already teased him enough about Matthew. He would never let Ludwig live down the fact that Matthew was the one to convince him.
“You could sell these,” Matthew had told him, two slices of lemon bundt cake in hand. They’re frosted, speckled with little bits of candied lemon that Ludwig painstakingly chopped until each piece was a sliver. The effect was lovely.
Matthew ate the frosted parts first. There’s still a circle of scorched tile around his feet and Ludwig’s entire apartment smelled like ash and sulfur.
“Have you considered that? You could a success. You could have the best reviews on Yelp.”
Ludwig just stared at him, pressed against his dining table, while Matthew stared back.
“You don’t have to give me your soul, if that’s your concern. You could just give me the recipe for this,” Matthew said with a smile, holding up the cake in his hands. “I love recipes. In fact, the recipes in that,” He nodded at the cooking book Gilbert had, in a very well meaning moment, gifted him after finding it at a used bookstore. Ludwig honestly didn’t expected a faded red book with pie recipes that still required suet to summon a demon, and yet—“are all mine. I wrote it. I wonder how it got here. The last time I was summoned was in Calgary.”
“How can a cookbook summon you?”
“It’s actually quite simple. It’s the recipe,” Matthew replied, pushing himself onto the counter. Ludwig grimaced and moved to tell him off, but Matthew was already talking again and oblivious to Ludwig’s distress, “Not everyone decides to make clafoutis. If you tried to make lemon meringue or black forest cake, I’d show up, too. Actually, any pie recipe would summon me. On your third reading, I show up.” The demon gave him a bright smile. “The baker is usually at their wit’s end, would do anything to get the recipe just right.”
The demon’s smile faded. “It’s actually worrying how many middle-aged women give me their souls just to show up Brenda or Karen at a bake sale. Or fair. It’s really an overlooked niche.”
“You take advantage of them.”
“I’m a demon,” Matthew explained. “Also, I don’t ask for their soul. People just offer it. Immediately. I haven’t asked for a soul since the 1500s.”
“I’m not giving you my soul. In fact, I don’t want,” Ludwig paused, wondering how to politely send away the demon, “Please just go.”
Matthew said nothing. But slowly his face began to color, cheeks blotching red, and his eyes widened. They shone.
“I’m sorry to bother you,” Matthew said then, looking away. His hair hid his expression, and Ludwig suddenly felt terrible.
Before Matthew left, however, he said, “But I meant it. You should open a bakery.”
--
The next week, after Ludwig talked to Gilbert, he opened the cookbook to the first pie recipe and started.
An hour later, Matthew appeared. He was wearing a thick wool sweater, expression wary. It turned curious when Ludwig spoke.
“I’m going to open a bakery,” Ludwig told him. “I don’t want any contract. I just wanted you to know.”
That’s how Ludwig went into business with a demon. And gained a roommate.
--
“Is your head a field of flowers?!” Alfred had howled when he first met Ludwig, four months after their bakery’s grand opening. Rounding on his brother, the other demon took Matthew’s face in his hands. “You went into business with a human without getting his soul?”
Ludwig, still holding a frosting pipe, wanted to get back to the chocolate truffle cupcakes he was icing but Matthew’s face was distressed and furious and Ludwig was worried for him. And his floor and walls.
The marks from Matthew’s first visits were the reason why Ludwig never got his deposit back from his old apartment.
“Arthur said we need to expand our portfolios! To be creative!”
“He meant stop resorting to natural disasters at the end of each quarter to fill quotas! Not get a human boyfriend and start a bakery!”
“He’s not my boyfriend,” Matthew snapped, cheeks pink, slapping Alfred’s hands away. “Besides, even if you collected one soul everyday for the next century, you still wouldn’t come near my records so stop ruining this like you ruin everything!”
“Do you even know the probability of this bakery staying in business? The cupcake bubble has burst!”
“I know! I remember you crying about that op-ed in the New York Times!”
Ludwig watched helplessly at the two demons standing toe-to-toe and yelling, each response a little crueler than the last. Both were also tearful.
He never expected agents of hell to be so emotional. He sighed, and just brought the cupcakes to the front counter to decorate.
--
They hired one human employee and, later, one demon. Both were competent bakers. Both had flawless customer service skills. Neither had a taste for human flesh.
(“Most demons don’t eat humans anymore,” Matthew explained. “I think it’s the increased radiation.” At Ludwig’s look of horror, he added, “I never ate humans. Alfred has, so don’t believe him if he says otherwise.”)
In short, Ludwig would trust his employees to run the bakery while he and Matthew worked on new creations in the kitchen.
“Mango coriander pound cake cupcakes,” Matthew suggested, legs swinging, chin propped up in his hands. “Gingerbread orange. Caramel pear. Almond fig. Lavender—“
“Matthew, we can’t just have cupcakes.” Ludwig couldn’t help but smile. Matthew sighed, tucked a curling strand of hair behind his ear and just looked at Ludwig for a moment.
His eyes were soft, fond and impenetrably violet in the bright kitchen lights. Ludwig’s heart stuttered, and Matthew ducked his head.
He continued, after a moment, “Lime bars. Coconut cashew chocolate oatmeal bars. Tarte au sucre?”
--
“This is my…my Arthur,” Matthew had said, smile shy and small, as he introduced Arthur. His Arthur, the demon who raised him.
Matthew’s Arthur looked nothing like the Arthur Matthew introduced earlier.
“So you’re his Ludwig.” Arthur’s tone was flat and he looked Ludwig up and down. He was still wearing the trousers and sweater from earlier, but instead of looking fatherly and polite, he looked borderline contemptuous. He circled Ludwig. “In my experience, only one sort of human enters into business with a demon. And they’re usually worse than the demon.”
Matthew never discussed what he did as a demon or even what he did when he wasn’t at the bakery or apartment or hockey practice. Ludwig would never ask Matthew to give up his privacy, especially when Matthew never pushed him for anything.
“You must understand why I’m curious.” Arthur’s gaze was narrow and assessing. “But I’ll wait.”
--
The next day Ludwig made earl grey cupcakes with lavender frosting, mince pies (using suet), and devil’s food cake cupcakes along with the hefekranz and lemon bundt cake that was a daily offering.
Matthew looked equal parts delighted and nervous when Arthur approached the counter and quirked a brow at the offerings. He ended up trying one of each, including each flavor of madeleine when Matthew excitedly mentioned that he helped make them.
“I hope you only poured the batter, my boy. Your baking is as bad as my cooking,” Arthur sighed, a small but affectionate smile appearing for a moment when Matthew led him, by arm, to a table in the corner.
Ludwig watched Matthew’s head tilt toward Arthur’s, laughing, clear and sweet, at something Arthur probably said. He watched for a moment longer.
--
When Ludwig baked at home, Matthew was usually at his elbow or perched on the counter top, heels against the cupboard. Ludwig could never really tell him to get down, so he ended up having Matthew hold the cookbook or read him parts of the recipe.
“I picked up some raspberries,” Matthew said when Ludwig stopped the mixer. “We can do small raspberry pound cakes. Heart-shaped sugar cookies and short bread.”
“For Valentine’s?” Ludwig asked. Matthew nodded. “The third cupcake should be a red velvet.
His new kitchen was smaller, cozier, crowded with two stand mixers and the biggest stretch of countertop between them. Matthew’s spot was by the stove and Ludwig’s usually no more than an arm’s reach away. As a result, the two of them are more or less in each other’s space and when Ludwig would look up, he could see the sweep of Matthew’s eyelashes and the freckles on his nose.
Matthew met his gaze and flushed. He pushed his glasses further up his nose and Ludwig busied himself with the mixer again.
--
“He used to bake with our cousin, Roderich. A real prissy bastard. But he could make a deadly sachertorte. Ludwig’s amazing, but that’s one recipe he hasn’t gotten yet.”
Gilbert stopped by the bakery once a week on his way from work. In fact, it was thanks to Gilbert that the bakery saw a surge in business after a few slow, early months. He would stop by in the morning and take an assortment of breads and muffins to work and leave them in lounges around campus with a pile of business cards for the bakery.
Matthew looked forward to each of Gilbert’s visits. As for Gilbert, Ludwig bet that the allure of having an eager, attentive audience in Matthew was just as good as the pretzels Ludwig finally added.
The bakery is finally quiet, half an hour before close. The after-work rush ended 11 minutes ago, and Ludwig has Manon and John decide who starts the dishes and who does the week’s inventory while he counts down the register. Usually Matthew would, but entertaining Gilbert is more difficult than anything else so Ludwig leaves him.
Now the pair has moved on to pictures, of Ludwig, of Gilbert, of their childhood. Matthew has seen them before, but each time Gilbert offered to bring them out (because they’re on his phone, of course), Matthew agreed.
“Ludwig was a cute kid. Really serious. I used to beg him to break a few things, get some dirt on his shirt. But even after baking with Roderich, he’d be immaculate while the rest of the kitchen was a wreck.” Gilbert grinned and Matthew inched closer, wordlessly asking for the phone.
Gilbert, of course, handed it over and let Matthew flip through the photos. With one arm over the back of his chair, Gilbert said, “You have any photos to share? I bet you were a cute kid, too.”
Matthew froze, and Ludwig stopped counting the change in the register to look at Matthew.
“My mother died when I was young,” Matthew began slowly, “My father worked. I was on my own a lot.”
Gilbert nodded, eyes flicking over Ludwig’s. But he just said, “It’s alright. Like I said, you were definitely a cute kid.”
--
Ludwig was testing an improved recipe for white chocolate cream cheese frosting at home when Matthew said, “My mother promised my soul to another demon. But, then there was, uh, a minor civil war in hell and Arthur received me in the treaty. He visited me and asked if I wanted to have my soul back or if he could keep it in exchange for something else. He thought it was unfair that my mother signed me away.”
Matthew looked almost abashed when he continued, “I said he could keep my soul, so long as he didn’t lose it like Francis did.”
“Why would you let him…” Ludwig trailed off, putting down the spatula he was using to fold in extra powdered sugar.
“I was alone, Ludwig. And Arthur gave me a choice. I always had a choice.”
Ludwig had nothing to say to that. But he touched Matthew’s wrist, fingers brushing against the paper-thin skin over his veins. And Matthew smiled.
--
Arthur repaid Matthew’s loyalty, support, and affection with loyalty, support, and affection. He was given his preferred regions to collect souls. He tolerated Matthew’s periods of inactivity, periods where Matthew decided to travel and go to school and start a bakery with a human. He passed an edict, promising to personally uphold Matthew’s demands that no one use the bakery to form contracts or target its workers. Customers were fair game outside the bakery, but not within that part of the city.
“Matthew sided with Arthur in every major conflict, including the one where I left to rule my own part of Hell,” Alfred explained, helping himself to leftover candied bacon. “It looks like no one’s home, you know, when he smiles or just looks at you, but Matthew’s a real bastard on the battlefield. He’s vicious. Scorched earth and shit.”
Flatly, Ludwig said, “I can’t imagine that.”
Alfred grinned at him, popping another piece of bacon into his mouth. “You’ve never seen him play hockey, huh?”
--
Matthew tried very hard to deter Ludwig from coming to his next game. He glowered at Alfred, who looked entirely too excited and unrepentant, and was even snappish toward Ludwig, who brought mini cupcakes for the entire team.
“This is embarrassing,” Matthew hissed before going to join his team.
Ten minutes in to the game, Matthew was sent to the penalty box for cross checking someone in the stomach.
“Oh,” Ludwig murmured, box of cupcakes on his lap, and Alfred whooping next to him. “I can imagine it.”
“He once did that once with a saber, but to someone’s face,” the demon shouted.
--
“Wait, Matthew lives with you? Where does he sleep?” Gilbert asked, looking up from his meatloaf at Ludwig and then Matthew.
Ludwig went completely rigid. Matthew responded by taking a huge bite of meatloaf and broccoli and let Ludwig flounder for an answer.
“Don’t make it inappropriate!” Ludwig knew, before he was even finished speaking, that he chose the wrong response.
Gilbert’s smirk was terrifying.
(“Why didn’t you tell him I sleep on the couch?” “Why didn’t you?!”)
--
Their bakery didn’t have the highest rating on Yelp, but they’re on the Top Ten list and have dozens of rave reviews. Tourists visit their hole-in-the-wall bakery, take pictures of themselves with the exposed brick walls in the background the their tables cluttered with plates of treats.
Matthew insisted he had no hand in their success, but Ludwig corrected him.
“The bakery wouldn’t be here without you.”
The demon blushed, bright red across his face and down his neck and up his ears, and Ludwig, not for the first time, wanted to kiss him.
--
The morning of Valentine’s Day Ludwig and Matthew decorated the sugar cookies, side-by-side. Ludwig alternated between red and pink frosting while Matthew sprinkled pastel pink sanding sugar on a batch of sugar cookies with white frosting.
It took a few times, and Ludwig’s heart was thudding in his chest, but he finally got the words out. He’d been practicing them all morning. “Matthew. We sleep in the same bed. We’re talking about getting a dog. I never took tarte au sucre off the menu. We’re up to four cupcakes instead of three. We fought over the Christmas menu and you left but you showed up before Arthur killed me—“
“Ludwig, you’re rambling.” Matthew looked worried. He still had a pinch of pink sanding sugar between his fingers and Ludwig still has to cut the clafoutis and check on the raspberry pound cake but Matthew is reaching up to touch his forehead, with his sugared hand. Ludwig could feel the streak of sugar against his temple as Matthew peered into his eyes. “I told you to go to bed early. Manon and John are great, but they’re not ready to do the bulk of the baking. Although, we could use another baker. Maybe in a month or so—“
“Now who’s rambling?” Ludwig closed his eyes. Matthew’s fingertips were still by his hairline and he could feel Matthew’s eyes on his face.
“Ludwig?”
“May I kiss you Matthew?”
Matthew didn’t respond. He just kissed Ludwig.
#gercan#gercanada#ludwig acidentally summons a demon and then opens a bakery with him#aph: germany#aph: canada#aph: america#aph: prussia#aph: england#the reason why ludwig left law is definitely ripped straight from law & order#dun dun
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Good Advice, Deaf Ears
5. Start with a good piece of advice no one in the rest of the story will ever follow.
My mother was a useless woman, always one lost hairpin or burnt dish of cornbread away from unraveling. I loved her only out of necessity because when you are eight years old you would love a piece of driftwood if someone told you that you were supposed to. Come to think of it, there was nothing much different between my mother and a piece of driftwood –– the woman could tread water for years longer than anyone thought she should, but damned if anyone could track her direction.
My grandmother, on the other hand, was a woman of substance. She loved the weight of words and she held onto them with fervor in moments that no one else in her life could withstand her grasp. Her house stood as a testament to the weight of words, layered like newspaper papier-mâché on every surface.
A wooden sign nailed to the wall next to the front door read, Do what makes you happy. Be with those who make you smile. Laugh as much as you breathe. Love as long as you live.
A crocheted throw pillow that slept next to her for sixty-five years reminded her to Live where your feet are.
A framed photo lived next to her cutting board that I saw every Thanksgiving told her to Do small things with great love.
The words did not just live plastered to her house but within her person. Every weekend I could get up to her house, I sat with grandma on her tattered patchwork couch sipping lukewarm earl grey as she doled out the advice as heartily as she doled out her homemade brownies. Neither could I keep in my system for longer than a few days, but she loved to give it anyways.
“Remember, Fran, life’s going to give you dozens of reasons to trust nobody, to think that your love is a burden. But don’t believe it. Never be too proud to love somebody, to ask for the things you need from the people you love.”
“I won’t, Grandma, I promise.” She reached her hands to cover mine –– every time the movement a little shakier, every time the grasp a little lighter.
I promised Grandma a lot of things, all the way up until the day she died. I wanted to live up to the advice she proffered, to become something more than just the useless offspring of a useless procreator. But maybe, as the embroidered magnet that stuck to Grandma’s refrigerator said, Only He can judge.
I went through a lot of bad living situations after I moved away from grandma: old, drafty houses with seven roommates and spiders that scuttled through the rooms as soon as the lights were turned off; cramped walk-ups with two people to a room and strange clumps of hair stuck to every drain and every cushion; tiny studio apartments with vindictive girlfriends and cruel boyfriends who always would stumble upon perfect excuses to leave me and take our shared goldfish or gerbil with them to their next live-in love affair; suburban split-levels with laminated posters in every common space that whined dirty a dish, clean a dish, for a happier home we wish. I snuck out of apartments and leases in the middle of the night sometimes to escape whatever toxic living environment I had found myself in at that time, only to land somewhere else disturbingly familiar.
Jean was my first roommate after Shiobhan ran out on me (and took my bunny Calvin) and I loved her for it. We lived together in a third floor apartment squeezed between two towering glass developments, with a tiny kitchen really only good for cooking quesadillas and a window seat that looked out on the intersection between the two busiest streets in town. Though the constant honking seeped through the cracks in the windows and floorboards, that space always felt sacred, ignited by something even calmer than a meditation room.
Jean worked in bakery back then, waking up before dawn to knead sourdoughs and thread pie crusts and coming home mid-afternoon, as the sun would begin to set, covered in flour and oil and blackberry jam. She was always baker-slash whatever creative whirlwind was visiting her in her dreams that month.
She was an acrylic painter –– when she would stay up late into the night sipping merlots, staining the floors with red wine and dark, muted paints, painting my portrait again and again but with light bulbs for eyes or salamanders crawling along in the background.
She was a henna artist –– when she would invite friends of friends of friends over to the apartment and decorate their arms and ankles and necks in long black snakes after I had scrubbed off the ink and been painted again one too many times.
She was a spoken word poet –– a weary period where she would drag me to whatever hip neighborhood bar or coffee shop was putting on that week’s open mic night. I never told her was I really thought of most spoken word artists –– how I hated the way the timbre of their voices rose and fell dramatically to convey mundane points, the way they paused for so many excruciating seconds to pull in an audience only to disappoint them with a string of gobbledygook. Lucky for me, she hung up her ironic scarf and poetry passions after just a couple months.
The glass blowing phase was my favorite, after she slept with a guy who owned a studio in the town over. Glass blowing made Jean feel calm and powerful, like she could dominate any element with a precision that yielded such beauty. After a few weeks, her creations grew from palm-sized glass beads with pockets of air burping on the edges to mosaic circles and kaleidoscopic pinwheels. I arranged the bowls and vases on every windowsill so when the sun peaked through the windows, the whole room would dance in blues, oranges, and pinks.
Then there were times when Jean was not visited by any colorful dreams, no spirit pushing her to make, make, make. Those were seasons when I would find the browning apple cores and half-empty bottles of gin growing on the kitchen counter and know that Jean was alone in a place that only I could reach her.
Despite the gray quiet that settled over the apartment during those times, it was then that I found my greatest sense of peace. While I loved Jean and all of her frenetic bursts of creation, I also feared I would never be taken by such a manic energy, never whispered so deep in my unconscious to be anything more than I already was.
“Shut up,” Jean would say, pushing me against the shoulder, “You’re mad brilliant. Something’s gonna come up and it’s gonna hit you like bam, you’re not even gonna know where it’s come from, it’s just be there and you’ll feel it and then you’ll know, ya know?”
I smiled and nodded and said, “I know, I know,” but I didn’t know and I still don’t whether or not anything brilliant is ever going to come from me.
But those hushed moments in our apartment were the only times when I felt like fully myself, no longer giving parts of myself away to whatever brilliance possessed her at the moment. I could float from room to room with my shoulders pushed back, a sense of urgency to my steps. At the grocery store, I looked each passerby square in the eyes and smiled slightly, the smile of a woman who knew that she was needed and she was loved and wanted everyone in the world to know it.
I conjured up my grandmother in these moments, with her unremitting well of advice. I sopped up her warm solemnity, the slight squint of her eyes, the light nod of her chin. This was thirty years of training by being her granddaughter, the one who always listened, never the daughter who couldn’t keep her feet on the same ground long enough to try.
I would knock on Jean’s door and push it open to find her curled up against the wall, her fingers fluttering along the bedspread needing to be put to work.
“Hey,” I would whisper, just loudly enough for her head to jerk in my direction. “I’m here if you need me.” Without waiting for her response, I would lie down beside her, wrapping my arms around her thinning middle and squeeze; this was a long-held maternal inheritance in my family –– the pressuring, the centering, the gut-quieting –– even my mother, in her few moments of presence, knew that this was the only way to pull me back into the world again when I felt so far away.
“It’s going to come back, Jean, I know it will. I know it doesn’t feel like it now and that’s all normal, that’s good, save some brilliance for the rest of us, okay?” I would chuckle a bit and wait for her cheeks to pink up to show that life was still kicking around in her. “The real brilliance is in the struggle anyways, right? Beauty through pain, that’s what makes real art.”
Beauty through pain, that was our mantra in those days. She would tell me that my beauty came from being from having to be my own mom so much of the time and I would remind her in these moments when I could try to be her mom too.
These riven moments always passed, they had to; Jean’s creative force was too tsunamic to be kept at bay for long, the wind always broke through whatever shutters she had built up. And when she did spring back to life, I would slink back into the shadows, sliding sluggishly through the hallway, averting eye contact as I hunted down discounted noodles and red sauce.
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From anonymous: I’m not sure if you’re still doing prompts, but i’ve loved every one so far. on the off chance that you are, maybe 40 for zimbits?
No. 40: “I wasn’t lying when I said that I loved you.”
From this prompt list
This is the second response I wrote to this prompt. The first, a stand-alone one-shot, can be found here. This is a continuation of Jack and Bitty in Houston, which starts here and continues here (scroll down to second response).
************************
Jack got out of his ride-share and looked up at Bitty’s building.
Frankly, it wasn’t much to look at. Low-rise, probably five stories. It looked like there was parking underneath and around the back.
He texted Bitty from the front door.
Downstairs
The door buzzed at the same time as his phone, and he opened it and headed for the elevator as he read the text.
I’ll buzz you in. Fourth floor
When the elevator opened, Jack saw Bitty’s head sticking out from an open door and waving.
“Come in!” Bitty said. “Dinner’s almost ready. And my neighbors were just leaving.”
Two women, one blonde and one brunette, were getting off the couch. Both had wine glasses, and both gave Jack frank, assessing looks.
“This is Mandy,” Bitty said, nodding at the blonde, “and this is Jeni. Y’all, this is Jack. Now skedaddle. I’ll call you later.”
“Be good, Eric,” Jeni said.
“But not too good,” Mandy said, giving Jack a long look.
“Yeah, yeah, see you later,” Eric said, closing the door behind them as they left.
Then he turned to Jack.
“Um, welcome,” he said. “You can see most of it from here. This is the living room area -- ” Bitty gestured to the couch, with a coffee table in front of it and a chair at an angle. A small television was mounted on the wall opposite, over a low bookcase “-- and this is the dining area.”
The small table with four chairs was essentially in the same room as the couch and TV. It was already set for dinner with plates, cloth napkins, and cutlery. A pitcher of ice water sat between the plates, with a glass at each setting.
“The kitchen is through there,” Bitty said, indicating a wide archway that opened on a small galley-style kitchen, “and the bathroom and bedroom are through there.”
Everything Jack could see was bright and cheerful, from the art on the walls (that was definitely one of Lardo’s paintings over the couch) to the pillows and rugs, and it looked like Bitty had probably spent some time tidying, since Jack didn’t see any of the detritus Bitty used to leave all over the condo in Providence: no shoes under the table, or charger cords trailing over the arm of the couch, or empty mugs on the coffee table.
It felt completely different from Jack’s old condo, with its floor-to-ceiling windows, sleek furniture and blue and gray color scheme.
All together, Bitty’s apartment was probably smaller than the hotel room the Aeros were putting Jack up in for the end of the season. He wouldn’t have time to look for a more permanent place until the summer, assuming the Aeros wanted to keep him.
“It’s nice,” Jack said. “I like what you’ve done with it.”
“I know it’s not much,” Bitty said. “But it’s what I could afford.”
Jack nodded. He’d assumed as much. And it was nice, even if it was smaller than any place Jack had ever lived, not counting his freshman year dorm room. Even so, he could hear the air conditioning laboring to keep up with the humidity outside.
“You want something to drink?” Bitty said. “There’s water on the table, or there’s lemonade or iced tea. Beer if you want it. I just have to plate the salad. The salmon is resting, and I can warm the apples while we eat that.”
“Apples?”
“Baked apples for dessert,” Bitty said.
“No pie?”
“No pie.”
Jack poured himself a glass of water and said, “Wow. Wasn’t expecting that.”
“I didn’t think you’d want any,” Bitty said. “You had some pie the other day at the bakery, and I know how strictly you keep to your nutrition plan. You always used to get mad at me when I offered you pie more than once a week.”
“I don’t think I was that bad,” Jack said. “It was just, you lived there, so there was always pie. Every day, it felt like. And that mini pie I had the other day was the first pie I had in five years. I think I could handle another piece.”
“Sorry,” Bitty said. “Maybe next time? Or come by the bakery this week and have a piece of whatever you want. On me.”
Bitty was laying slices of fruit and avocado on plates, sprinkling them with nuts and drizzling them with dressing.
“You don’t have to,” Jack said.
“Jack, I wouldn’t have let Quinn take your money last time if I knew it was you,” Bitty said.
“I can afford pie and coffee,” Jack said.
“That’s not what this is about,” Bitty said. “Sit, eat.”
The salad -- sliced blood oranges, avocados and some other kind of fruit, with nuts for crunch and a light dressing -- popped with flavor. Jack liked to think he had gotten better at cooking for himself over the last few years, but nothing he made tasted this good.
“So,” Bitty said, “tell me what you think of the Aeros chances.”
Jack shared his opinions -- the Aeros were good, got better with Jack’s arrival (although he didn’t say so in so many words), were a lock for the playoffs, but would need some luck to go all the way. “It’s definitely possible,” Jack said.
Bitty listened attentively, and the questions he asked showed that he’d been an Aeros fan since before the trade.
“You make it to a lot of games?” Jack said. “I saw you at the one, but that was because you were behind the goal.”
Bitty shrugged. “David -- my co-owner -- has season tickets, but he doesn’t really like hockey that much. Sometimes he uses the tickets to entertain people, but I get to go a lot of the time. I won’t if it makes you uncomfortable.”
“Why would it make me uncomfortable?” Jack asked.
“Because you’re uncomfortable now,” Bitty said. “I don’t want to distract you while you’re playing.”
“You wouldn’t do that to the Aeros?” Jack chirped.
“Something like that,” Bitty agreed, but he was smiling.
The hockey talk had carried them through the salads and main course, and Bitty went to the kitchen to pull the apples from the oven.
“I almost wish I did make a pie,” Bitty said. “I was so nervous, and nothing calms me down like rolling out a crust. But these are good; I think you’ll like them.”
“Why are you nervous?” Jack asked.
“Why are you uncomfortable?” Bitty countered.
“I guess I never thought I’d be a guest in your home,” Jack said. “Before, it was always … our home. Then I never thought I’d see you again.”
“You didn’t have to come if you didn’t want to,” Bitty said.
“I wanted to,” Jack said. “It’s just weird.”
“Why didn’t you ever want to see me?” Bitty said. “Were you that angry at me?”
“I didn’t think you wanted to see me,” Jack said. “At least at first. Then I didn’t know for sure where you were.”
“But you knew Shitty and Lardo, at least, knew where I was,” Bitty said.
“Not for sure,” Jack said.
“Because you never asked.”
“No,” Jack said. “I didn’t want to put them in the middle or make them feel like they had to choose a side.”
The truth was, he didn’t want to find out they’d choose Bitty if they were pushed.
“I don’t see how you could just watch me leave and never even try to find out what happened to me,” Bitty said. “I guess I thought I meant more to you.”
“Bitty, I loved you,” Jack said. “You’re the one who left.”
“After you basically laughed at me told me I should be happy with what I got when I tried to tell you how I felt,” Bitty said. “Lord, Jack, can we just stop? I don’t want to fight.”
“I don’t want to fight either,” Jack said. “I miss you.”
“But you’re still angry with me for leaving.”
Jack knew that was true. How true, he hadn’t realized until tonight.
“I don’t want to be,” he said. “But I thought things were good, and then you were gone, and I didn’t really get why, and everything was bad. Tater was mad at me. Marty and Thirdy -- they felt bad for me, but I think they were really disappointed. Everyone thought it was my fault.”
“Everyone but you,” Bitty said. “Which goes to show how little anyone else knows about other people’s relationships. Neither one of us broke what we had on our own.”
“When you left so easily, it felt like you never loved me,” Jack said. “Like our whole relationship was a lie.”
“Oh, sweetpea, it wasn’t easy to leave,” Bitty said. “And I wasn’t lying when I said that I loved you. Ever. But by the end, it felt like I’d lose my whole self if I stayed.”
“Was it so bad?” Jack said. “Living with me? I mean, I don’t mean any disrespect, but my place was nicer than this. And I’m guessing your place in Philly was even smaller.”
“My place in Philly was a room at the YMCA for the first six months,” Bitty said. “Until I could save money for first and last months’ rent and a deposit. And I don’t know that your place was nicer. Bigger, sure. But all I was when I lived there was part of you. I needed room to be myself, and your condo wasn’t big enough for that.”
“It was our condo,” Jack insisted.
“No, it never was that,” Bitty said. “Jack, honey, I loved you and I thought it was enough. Turns out I had to love me, too.”
***********************
Read the next installment
**********************
Recipes Bitty makes:
Citrus and avocado salad with orange water
Slow-roasted salmon with fennel, citrus and chiles
Baked apples with prunes, almonds and amaretto
@cyn2k @wrathofthestag
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I posted 2,289 times in 2021
139 posts created (6%)
2150 posts reblogged (94%)
For every post I created, I reblogged 15.5 posts.
I added 192 tags in 2021
#donations and awareness - 116 posts
#<3 - 14 posts
#kuin and chizome siblings au - 11 posts
#incorrect vigilantes quotes - 11 posts
#reblog - 9 posts
#yeah - 7 posts
#dabihawksweek21 - 7 posts
#awwww - 6 posts
#!!!!! - 6 posts
#mha number 6 - 5 posts
Longest Tag: 139 characters
#i’m a solid 4 bc i’m evil which means i won’t get to hug koichi but im evil which means i can hug 6. i might die in the process but oh well
My Top Posts in 2021
#5
Happy Birthday Snowii!! Would you do a little something for KakaIru and your favourite birthday activity? :D
[Thank you!! I never do anything big on my birthday, just whatever I vibe with that day and eating a fancy apple pie from this cute bakery! 💕]
Iruka knew the importance of self-care, probably more than any other chunin he met. Did he use those lessons 99.99% of the time? Of course not. But the point is he knew and could use the information to take a day off. Genma was maintaining the mission desk (at least, he hoped so) and it was time for some Iruka Time.
He had it all planned out. Morning swims in the nearby lake was his favorite thing to do as a kid so of course he had to do that again, then he was going to finish the book on his nightstand, get ramen and a big apple pie, and spend the rest of the day on the couch. Self-care at its finest.
It was early morning when Iruka slipped out his house with barely a pause, heading to the lake. The sky was layered with colors that reflected in the lake when he arrived.
“WHOO-HOO!”
With a splash, his perfect day was started.
[[Sometime Later…]]
Kakashi stared at Genma. Genma stared at Kakashi.
“Uh… do you do this to everyone who works the mission desk or am I just more special than I thought?”
“Where’s Iruka?”
“I should’ve known.” Genma rolled his eyes and Kakashi stared him down, “He’s taking a day off.”
“A day off? What happened to him?”
Genma, who knew exactly what Iruka was doing, shrugged. “I have no clue. I’m running this mission desk though.”
‘Is he hurt? What if something happened to him and I didn’t notice? He seemed to cheerful and okay yesterday!’ Kakashi panicked, ‘Crap, what if he’s sick? He’s probably sick. I should get him some food. He likes ramen right? Can sick people even have ramen?’
Genma watched Kakashi leave the room with a smirk on his face. If Iruka was able to enjoy today, who’s to say he couldn’t too?
[[Meanwhile…]]
Iruka hummed and walked down the street, stopping at Ichiraku’s and chatting with Teuchi for a bit before making his way to the bakery. The apple pie smelled heavenly. It took all his strength not to steal a lick of it as they handed it to him. He beat a hasty retreat back to his house.
The tv was playing a cheap romance movie, Iruka was eating a warm apple pie, and everything was quiet. Today truly is the perfect day.
There was a knock on the door and Iruka turned.
‘Who could that be?’
He opened the door and standing there, was Kakashi Hatake, with a small bundle of flowers and a bowl of soup that smelled really, really good.
“O-Oh! What’s this for?”
Kakashi blinked slowly, “Uh, well you weren’t at the mission desk today.”
“So you got me flowers and soup because I was absent?”
“No- well, yes. Kinda?” Kakashi was turning redder by the second, “I kinda thought you were sick since you don’t take missions like that and…”
“I’m assuming this is Genma’s fault.”
“Completely.”
They were silent for a moment.
“Well, it’s sweet that you went through the trouble even though I’m not sick. I’m just taking a self-care day.”
“Self-care day?”
“Take a break, do whatever you want with no responsibilities day?”
Kakashi still looked confused.
“Come in Kakashi, I’ll show you how to properly take care of yourself.”
They spent the day cuddling on the couch and watching cheap romcoms with a filling of slightly cold soup and apple pie for dinner. Neither of them minded. And if Iruka chose to take another day off for the sake of teaching Kakashi to take care of himself, well that was just fine.
(Not for Genma though.)
21 notes • Posted 2021-12-01 00:31:58 GMT
#4
HOW COME I DIDNT KNOW ABOUT THIS IMAGE???!!!! I HAD TO FIND HIS IMAGE MYSELF??!!???!?
On a side note, LMAOOO IS THAT BEST JEANIST? HE LOOKS LIKE HE'S DANCING
22 notes • Posted 2021-04-23 22:02:43 GMT
#3
THIS IS ONE OF MY FAVORITE PANELS BC LOOK AT MIDORIYAS FACE
LOOK AT THAT ANGRY BABY
HAWKS CALLED HIM THE FINGER DESTROYER KID AND HE’S JUST SO MAD ABOUT THAT NJQBFHIWGBVWI
25 notes • Posted 2021-02-01 10:17:50 GMT
#2
Headcanon that Yamato can grow fruit with his Wood Style.
34 notes • Posted 2021-04-20 00:02:25 GMT
#1
Yamanaka Family headcanons
Sai has five parenting books and he’s still a bit confused, but he’s trying his best. He’s bad at the physical affection part though
Inojin pulled Ino’s hair once as a baby, and Ino glared at him so he got scared, and then he stopped pulling hair.
Sai is a malewife. No, I do not take criticism. Do you really think Ino has the time to clean up the house while she’s running a flower shop, being the Head of the Yamanaka Clan, an interrogator, and the leader of the Konoha Sensory Divison?? No.
When Inojin was little he snuck in Sai’s scrolls and colored them in. When Sai used his scroll, a giant lion with crayon texture popped up, and Sai thought he did the jutsu wrong and nearly had a heart attack.
Inojin and Ino go shopping together all the time
Inojin is blunt as hell, just like his Father. Naruto goes out of his way to avoid them when they’re together.
THE SASS. THE INSULTS. THE BLUNTNESS. THE SASS. THE SASS.
Ino is very busy with all her jobs so Inojin and Sai take shifts in bringing her food and gifts and distracting her for a little so she can take a break.
Baby Inojin stole Sai’s ANBU mask multiple times and pretended to be him. Cue Sai chasing a laughing baby with a stuffed kunai and a mask around the house
Ino reads Inojin bedtime stories
Inojin as a baby liked to draw on Sai because he looked like a human piece of paper. Inojin still draws on Sai, while he’s asleep though because he doesn’t want to sound weird.
Inojin hides vulgar terrible neon crop-tops in Sai’s closet and Sai thinks they’re comfortable, but Ino burns them all.
Ino is the one parent who wraps up empty boxes and when Inojin misbehaves, throws them in the fireplace. Inojin is distressed every time, and Sai just smirks.
Sai learned to brush, wash, and do hair since Inojin and Ino both have ponytails.
Ino is the only reason Sai doesn’t just wear his regular crop-tops anymore. Actually, Ino is the only reason Sai looks decent. This man grew up in isolation, he knows nothing about fashion. He just wears his clothes confidently
Sai taught baby Inojin how to use a real kunai since it was something he knew how to do and his parenting book said he should teach his children new skills. Ino had a heart attack when baby Inojin suddenly picked up a kunai and threw it with pinpoint accuracy.
Sai, Inojin, and Himawari paint together a lot
Inojin, Ino, and Sai make bets with each other. “Hey, guess what? I just found out that the Hokage is sleeping with Sasuke!” “Oh, really?” *Inojin slides 20 dollars to Ino* “Yeah! And Sasuke kissed Naruto in front of Sakura” “Seriously?” *Ino slides 10 dollars to Sai*
I love them so much their dynamic is just amazing, thank you anon <3
70 notes • Posted 2021-02-28 18:22:40 GMT
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Second part of Neighbors AU, Epilogue
Read the earlier chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10
Or read it on AO3
It happened on a Tuesday. Well, really, it happened on a Monday, but it didn't really blow up until Tuesday.
Jack had his last day off before the playoffs started on the Monday, and since the bakery was closed, they spent the day together. They'd slept in until 8, gone for an easy run -- Jack had been told in no uncertain terms to take a break from the ice for a day -- and had brunch at the diner that had become one of their places. The diner also had started buying pies and other baked goods from Sugar ‘n’ Spice, to Eric’s immense pleasure -- not least because Eric had gotten Matthew to agree to give him a commission on off-site sales just as he did for catering jobs.
They’d taken coffee to go and wandered the riverside, pausing often for Jack to take photographs in the clear April light.
After an hour or so, when Eric was feeling a little chilled by the early spring breeze, they'd turned into Eric’s favorite market and bought the ingredients for a couple of pies for Jack to take to the team tomorrow.
Turning onto the street as they left the market, their fingers had tangled together. Looking back, Eric didn't even know who had reached for whom -- just that neither of them had let go.
When they got to Jack’s apartment, Eric had called Dex to make sure he'd swing by the bakery that evening to make sure everything was in order for the morning, using the detailed checklist that Eric had made. Then he'd turned notifications off on his phone, turned music on, and baked an apple pie and a lemon meringue pie with Jack. Doing it with Jack -- well, it took a bit longer, but with all the chirping, casual touches and even brief kisses, it was so much more fun.
Then Jack had made a simple dinner (“I am an adult human, and feeding myself is an essential survival skill”) with Eric’s help, they’d eaten, and gone to bed early.
Eric had read a text or two, but he'd never even been tempted to check his social media feeds.
The next morning, Eric slipped out of Jack's bed before his alarm went off, went to his own apartment to shower and dress, and was unlocking the door to Sugar ‘n’ Spice at 5. He fired up the oven, slid the first batches of muffins and scones in and opened Twitter on his phone. Then his jaw dropped.
There was a picture of him and Jack walking home from the market, their linked hands clearly visible between them, each holding in bag of groceries in their free hands.
The tweet that had come up in Eric’s feed was a reply to an earlier tweet, asking if that was really Jack Zimmermann of the Falconers, and who was that guy whose hand he was holding?
It looked like one of his regulars had responded, tagging both Eric’s Twitter handle and Sugar ‘n’ Spice.
As Eric worked backwards through the thread, he saw that the picture -- originally posted by the someone whose name he didn’t recognize --had been first posted the night before, and had already been shared several hundred times. More than a dozen people had identified him, either by Twitter handle, place of employment or actual name. There really wasn’t going to be any way to keep this quiet.
So far, at least, there was very little in the way of hate. Curiosity, yes, even intrusiveness, but no one looking forward to their eternal damnation or anything like that.
It was 5:30 a.m.; whom should he call?
“Jack,” he said, as soon as his boyfriend picked up the phone. “I’m sorry to wake you, honey, but before you leave, you should know that someone got a picture of us holding hands when we were walking home yesterday. It’s starting to get spread around, and people are gonna know, so you should be ready for that.”
“OK,” Jack said.
“I know it’s, well, not ideal with the playoffs starting this week,” Eric said. “I’m so sorry.”
Jack sounded almost annoyed when he said, “No need to apologize. You didn't do anything wrong. Really.”
“OK, then. I'm sorry for being sorry?”
Jack's sigh was perfectly audible over the phone line.
“It's fine, Eric. I'm not mad at you. Just, you're right, the timing isn't great. Have you talked to anyone from the Falcs yet?”
“Jack, it's 5:35 a.m.”
“Right. Well, I'm going to call PR. I'm sure they'll be getting in touch. Sit tight, all right? It’ll all be fine.”
So Eric closed Twitter and kept baking. He resolutely ignored the notifications from his old Samwell Hockey group chat -- just until he knew what he was allowed to say -- and didn't respond to other texts immediately. At 7, he did call his mother, to let her know that a) he had a boyfriend; b) it might be of interest to tabloids or tabloid TV; and c) she shouldn't talk to anyone about it.
“No, mother, I really am happy, and he's wonderful, but right now is not a great time,” he said.
“You want me to bring him down to visit? Um, I’m not sure he can get away until summer. Fourth of July? I can ask him.”
“Mother, I'm at work.”
That got her off the phone just in time for him to answer Matthew’s call. Matthew started with, “Eric, I had nothing to do with this!”
Having looked at the Twitter users in the thread, he'd already come to that conclusion and said as much.
“Is everything OK there? Are you insanely busy?” Matthew asked.
“Maybe a little busier than usual,” he allowed. “Nurse came in with Chowder, so they're handling the front.”
“You should probably get out there to restock or something,” Matthew said. “Let people see you.”
“Matthew.”
“Kidding! I was kidding!”
“If there's nothing else, I have work to do.”
But the work -- additional muffins, some lemon bars and cookies and mini-pies for later -- would have to wait, because Jamie was calling from the Falc’s PR office.
“I talked to Jack and took a look at what’s out there, and it could be worse,” Jamie said. “Honestly, the picture is kind of sweet.”
“Because we weren’t making out in a grainy photo from a bar?”
“Well, yes, that,” Jamie said. “It’s just so domestic. But really, it’s that you both look so happy.”
“So Jack said you had a plan?”
“We’ll have a plan. What time can you leave the bakery?”
“I usually leave at 2:30, but I could probably get out around 2. Maybe 1:30.”
“Two should be fine,” Jamie said. “Can you get yourself over here? Normally, I’m sure Jack would pick you up, but maybe not today? And maybe not an Uber or anything just yet?”
“I can ask Lardo,” Eric said. “She has a car.”
“When you get here, I’ll sit down with you and Jack and explain what the plan is. It’s still being worked out, and Jack will meet with the whole PR team and management before you get here.”
“He’s not -- ” In trouble was what Eric wanted to say, but it sounded too juvenile. “It’s not -- Y’all’ll be nice to him, right?”
Jamie laughed.
“No one’s upset with Jack, or with you, Eric,” Jamie said. “We just want to make sure we’re all on the same page. From what Jack has said before, he’s not going to be denying that he’s in a relationship with you. I need to know -- you need to be honest -- is that how you want to proceed?”
Eric breathed in and out, then said, “Yes. Absolutely.”
“OK, then. See you this afternoon.”
The plan turned out to be deceptively simple. First, everyone involved would ignore all tweets, other social media or regular media reports based on the picture from Monday. Instead, Jack would (finally!) start his own Twitter and Instagram accounts (“I think Instagram will really be your medium,” Eric said.) and post a photo of him and Eric. Then he would resolutely ignore the comments (“We’ll monitor them, and if you give us the password, we can block anyone we think we need to,” Jamie said.)
The Falconers’ official account would retweet Jack’s tweet, with a statement of support, and so would Jack’s teammates. Eric, his friends and even the bakery should react, too, Jamie said.
Then, she said, came the hard part for Jack: To connect with fans, to win them over and seem human, to get them on his side, he had to keep posting things -- not usually about Eric -- maybe once or twice a week.
(“Once or twice a week?” Eric said. “People will think you’ve died in between.”)
Jamie looked at Eric. “We’re hoping you’ll help Jack decide what to post and show him how to put an effective tweet together.”
Eric smirked. “I can do that,” he said.
“I know what I want the first picture to be,” Jack said, breaking into the conversation for almost the first time. He fiddled with his phone for a moment and showed Eric and Jamie a photo. It was a selfie Eric had taken of the two of them yesterday, in the park. Eric was grinning into the camera, sun glinting on his golden hair, brown eyes sparkling, cheeks pink in the spring chill. Jack’s face was over his shoulder, a more gentle smile lighting his features, his blue eyes matching the sky.
“Can I use this?” he asked.
“Sure,” Jamie said. “What do you want to say?”
So the picture went out with the message, I’m a lucky man! @omgcheckplease
Eric immediately liked and retweeted, with the comment, .@jackzimmermann1, not as lucky as I am!
The three months since then hadn’t always been easy. Eric never thought there would be paparazzi staking out his place of work, and he most definitely did not give them free baked goods. Most people were pleasant and kind, if curious, about him and Jack, though not all. He got to experience Jack in playoff mode (“Now I get the hockey robot thing.”) and in post-playoff-loss mode.
But at the same time, there was Jack’s dry sense of humor on Twitter, and Jack’s warm smiles and warmer touches in person, and really just more sweetness and light than any one person had a right to.
Now that Jack had worked through his post-season slump (and sleep), they were getting ready for the next milestone: meeting Eric’s parents.
**************************
Jack was throwing shorts into a suitcase when his phone rang.
Eric had insisted that long pants wouldn’t be necessary, unless he planned to go to church, and even then, nice shorts -- “the kind that need a belt, Jack” -- would be fine. And it wasn’t an issue anyway, because they were flying down Sunday morning, taking advantage of the Sugar ‘n’ Spice’s usual Sunday-Monday closure. The bakery would remain closed on Tuesday, the actual Fourth of July, and Dex would handle things Wednesday. They were flying home Wednesday night, and Eric planned to be back on the premises at 5 a.m. Thursday.
“Why don’t you give yourself one more day?” Jack asked. “Just to unpack and relax.”
“Says the man who played the last three games of the playoffs with a broken finger,” Eric had said, unimpressed.
“It was the playoffs!”
Jack glanced at the screen before picking up, and was just saying, “Salut, Papa! Ça va?”
At the same moment, he heard the door to his apartment open and Eric call out, “Jack, you home?”
“In the bedroom,” Jack said. “On the phone.”
He heard Eric moving around in the kitchen and turned his attention back to his father, who was going on about real estate, for some reason. Jack knew his father had invested in some properties in Montreal, and his impression was that it had gone well, but it wasn’t a usual topic of conversation.
But his father seemed to be talking about the Providence real estate market.
“Papa, are you trying to get me to invest in real estate too? Because I really can’t --”
“Now that would have been an idea,” his father said. “And yes, you can, while you’re still playing. That what advisors and management companies are for. But if you just want to sit on your money --”
Jack was glad his father couldn’t hear his eyes rolling. As if his father had a thought to spare for anything but hockey during his playing career. Wait -- that was unfair. Papa had always, always paid attention to Jack and Alicia, at least as much as was physically possible during the season. Even when he was away, he would talk to Jack on the phone, be interested in what he had learned in school as well as what he had done in his last hockey game. But that wasn’t the point.
“Wait -- if it’s not for me, why are you talking about the market in Providence?”
“Because I just bought a building there,” his father said. “It’s not very big, but the people I worked with said it generates a nice little income, and will likely appreciate quite a bit over the next few years. Commercial on the first floor and two flats above.”
“So what made you --”
“Aren’t you going to ask what’s in it now?”
“Fine,” Jack said. “I would have asked the address first, but what’s there now?”
“The flats are pretty normal. The commercial space has this sweet little bakery, becoming very well-known,” his father said. “It’s apparently frequented by lots of hockey players.”
“You didn’t,” Jack said.
“I did,” his father said, almost smug. “I plan to introduce myself to my new tenant -- the bakery owner, apparently he lives in Boston and leaves most of the business to a very talented manager -- next week. That is when you and Eric will be gone, right?”
“Ouais, Papa, but remember Tuesday is a holiday here,” Jack said.
“I know. And I don’t intend to turn this Matthew out on his ear -- although the second Eric wants to run his own bakery, Matthew’s lease won’t be up for renewal. But I do want him to know that I can yank his chain if he tries anything else,” his father said.
“You’re evil,” Jack said. “In a good way. Can I tell Eric?”
“I insist,” his father said.
Eric came in, drying his hands on a dish towel.
“My dad,” Jack said.
“Hi, Bob!” Eric said, loudly enough for Jack’s dad to hear him.
“Is that Eric?” Bob asked. “Put him on. Don’t worry -- you can tell him about the building.”
Eric was making grabby hands at the phone, too, so Jack relinquished it.
“Happy Canada Day!” Eric said. “Y’all doing anything special?”
Eric was quiet for a moment, no doubt listening to Jack’s father tell him about the traditional neighborhood gathering.
“You made the blueberry?” Eric asked. “How did it come out? Great! Uh-huh. OK. Remember the trick with that cake is to pour the icing over it when the cake is still warm. When it’s cooled off, it’ll have a smooth, shiny finish.”
Jack finished packing while Eric chatted to his father, wondering how he had ended up with a life that included his boyfriend (his gorgeous, warm, kind boyfriend) sharing recipes with his father. However it happened, it was grateful.
“Well, thanks, Bob,” Eric said. “I’m sure the trip will be fine. You too. Say hi to Alicia for me.”
Eric was handing the phone back, but not before Jack heard the shift in tone in Eric’s voice. He was definitely nervous.
“OK, Papa, Ouais. Je t’aime.”
He put the phone on the night table and zipped his bag.
“Are we gonna get to a rink there?” he asked. “If we are, I’m going to have to check a bag with my skates.”
“Yeah, I called ahead and we’ll be able to get some ice time Monday,” Eric said. “I’ll have to check a bag too -- I don’t have any skates down there that fit anymore.”
“It’ll be OK,” Jack said. “I can tell you’re nervous. But they asked us to come. They want us there. And you know your parents love you.”
“What if it’s just too much for them, to see us together?” Eric asked. “Because I am not going to stop holding your hand or anything. And that includes at the community picnic. I suppose one good thing about being outed the way we were is no one can say they didn’t already know.”
“Then we decide what to do,” Jack said. “We can get a hotel room, we can come back early. But Eric, I’ve talked to your mom on the phone and on Skype. I think she’s OK with it.”
“There’s also my dad.”
“Who’s also made sure to say we’re welcome.”
“It just feels so weird,” Eric said. “I worked so hard to not let anyone know about me for so long. Then when I did tell my parents, they didn’t want me to come out to anyone else in the family. I’m not sure how to act.”
Jack took both of Eric’s hands in his.
“Act like yourself,” Jack said. “Kill them with kindness. And with a sharp tongue if necessary. But remember you won’t be alone.”
Eric still looked uncertain, and Jack’s felt his heart twist a little.
He was almost certain it would be fine. Suzanne -- Eric’s mother -- had been effusive in her overtures over the phone and over Skype, when Jack happened to be there during one of their calls. His father -- “You can call me ‘Coach.’ Pretty much everyone does” -- seemed phlegmatic, but not unfriendly. And Jack knew that Eric still spoke to his father at least once a week or so, even if it was usually a matter of Suzanne handing the phone to her husband during one of her and Eric’s many conversations.
“I know Mama and Coach will be fine,” Eric said. “I mean, they’ve gotten more comfortable with the idea of me being gay, especially since we got together and I talk about you all the time. But everyone else -- well, let’s just say it was far more socially acceptable to be homophobic than to be gay. But I don’t want to not go and see my family because I’m scared.”
“Come here,” Jack said, opening his arms to Eric.
Eric stepped close, resting his head against Jack’s shoulder and wrapping his arms around his waist.
“We’ll be fine,” Jack said. “If it’s too much, we’ll leave. And it will be their loss.”
Jack reached down and tilted Eric’s chin up so he could bend down and kiss him.
“I still think I’m the luckiest guy in the world,” he said when he pulled back. “I get to kiss Eric Bittle.”
“Mmmm,” Eric said. “You’re wrong. I’m luckier. I get to kiss Jack Zimmermann.”
He leaned up to kiss Jack again.
“I don’t know,” Jack said. “I get pie.”
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