#and I’ll try to get bread tomorrow so I can make cheese sandwiches for easy meals

[mossiestpiglet]

I hate that I don’t notice that I’m not eating enough in the moment, I only notice after the fact, once I’m weak and my head gets slow and I’m constantly achingly tired and I have to stop and try to think (which is then more difficult than it should be) about why I might be like that, and I realize that I haven’t been eating enough.

[buckaroosboogara]

911 week - Day 2:

“Why are you sitting in a tree?” + fun 

@911week

(1900~ words, Eddie, Hen, Karen and Buck.)

Eddie explained his plan to Karen. It was easy, two swings hanging from a simple wooden structure and another hanging from a branch of the only tree in their, very beautiful in Eddie's opinion, backyard.

Of course, things had to go wrong the day before he went to the Wilson's place and arranged the swings. With wrong being Buck knowing his little secret.

He would be the death of Eddie.

Hen had accidentally slipped it in a conversation at the station.

She said that Denny and Nia wanted a new swing because the one in their house was old and worn out and then Buck had jumped with an anecdote about how he ended up with 5 stitches on his lips because a swing had crashed into them as Chim just shook his head with fond disappointment.

Eddie though, Eddie just thought that maybe a surprise visit to Hen's place wouldn't be a bad idea.

Later that day he messaged Karen, asking if he could swing by, no pun intended, in a moment when Hen wasn't around because he wanted to talk with her. Karen agreed, she always liked the mystery.

So, some days later and with the excuse to take Chris to a sleepover at the Wilson's, Eddie explained his plan to Karen. It was easy, two swings hanging from a simple wooden structure and another hanging from a branch of the only tree in their, very beautiful in Eddie's opinion, backyard.

Karen was thrilled with the idea and she offered to pay but Eddie declined it. He would gift it to his friends, after the hell year that was 2020 they deserved a nice surprise.

He had to be quiet about it though. If he told Buck he would tell Bobby and Maddie, who would tell Athena and Chimney who would tell Hen (the latter rather than the police Sergeant) and he didn't want that.

With Karen's okay he sketched the structure and made a note to himself to go and ask for an estimated budget at his to-go hardware store next time he went to his Abuela's.

So there he was, a week later.

"Hey Eddie," the store manager, Nico friendly greeted him.

"Hey Nico," He said back.

"It's good to see you here again, does Isabel's fence need another repair?" And without a beat, Nico reasoned, "No, no it's only been a month since the last repair. So it has to be paint for the deck? See, I can lower the price for you if you buy more tha-

"Uh, I came here for another reason Nic," Eddie chuckled after cutting him. "I was wondering if you could make a budget for this..."

He showed Nico the rough sketch and the materials he needed and the other man smiled.

"Ah, I see. I have some of the things you need, but the poles will be another story. I can recommend you a lumber company to get the wood." Nico said, taking the paper and looking for appropriate screws and ropes.

"That would be amazing, thanks."

"And while I do that, tell me how did that skateboard thing for your kid go,"

Eddie smiled and unlocked his phone to show him the pictures Carla had taken of that day.

"Well..."

...

Of course, things had to go wrong the day before he went to the Wilson's place and arranged the swings in their backyard.

Well, wrong would be exaggerating. More like things didn't stay as quiet as Eddie wanted.

He had just woken up on Saturday for a shift, his mind a groggy and grumpy mess until the coffee hit his lips, so he was in the kitchen trying to make his old coffeemaker work.

He really needed a new one, Eddie thought just as he heard a key on his doorlock and then said door opening.

His mind just assumed, oh it's just Buck.

OH, IT'S BUCK.

Eddie's mind got a moment of clarity. 

He could hear Buck taking his shoes off and ranting an excuse for being there so early as he helplessly looked around his dining and living room, both full of ropes, screws, papers, and God-knows-what-else.

He needed to clean everything but he did not have time.

"Hey, are you hearing me, man?" Buck said as he stepped into Eddie who was in the middle of the room looking like a deer caught in headlights, only wearing underwear and a t-shirt and lots of things on his hands.

He snorted and started laughing loudly while Eddie blushed hard.

"Oh, oh- please, what the-" Buck tried to talk but got cut by a wave of laughter that had him letting go of the box with pastries he had brought and held his belly and chest.

Eddie's embarrassment turned into slight annoyance. He tried to place his hands - and the things - lower so he could cover his underwear, and then cleared his throat. "Are you finished or you will laugh for the next five minutes?"

"I'm- I'm sorry man, it's just that-" Buck cleared his throat to stop the laughter and get serious. It didn't work as he snorted again.

Eddie gave him a look.

"Okay, okay," Buck breathed in slowly picking the pastry box again. "So, what's up with all this mess?"

"Dios, dame paciencia." Eddie muttered as he placed the things back on the couch. "Okay so, A, I'm so glad Christopher is at a sleepover because I'm sure the neighbors could hear you laughing. B, this is my house so I ask the questions darling which takes me to D,"

He stopped to take a breath. "What the fuck are you doing here so early?"

"Has anyone told you you have a damn good pulmonary capacity?" The other man asked.

"Buck."

"Okay, I was passing by to pick you up to go to our shift." Buck shrugged. Eddie knew there was more to it but let it go.

"Now go and put on some proper clothes and then answer what's going on with all this and the poles outside. I'll be here preparing a breakfast-to-go."

Eddie begrudgingly accepted and went to his room and changed clothes.

On their way, Eddie explained Buck his plans for the swings. They were arriving at the firehouse when he made Buck promise he wouldn't tell anyone about it.

And the other man put a condition, Eddie would call him if he needed help the next day.

Eddie rolled his eyes and agreed, while he had experience building things with his father he knew Buck equaled his experience.

Now he needed to survive a shift with Buck trying to keep a secret.

Great.

...

Things didn't go as bad as Eddie thought they would go.

The next day when Hen arrived at the firehouse for her shift, Eddie greeted her and Buck was vibrating suspiciously when it was his turn.

Hen quirked an eyebrow at Eddie who made his best effort to seem normal and shrugged. She made a weird face in return and let them walk away.

Once in Buck's Jeep both let out a breath they didn't know were holding. The drive to Eddie's place was filled with an excited air.

A quick morning nap was all it took for Eddie to recharge batteries and soon enough he was on his truck, poles, ropes, and tools in the trunk, and on his way to pick up his son from his Abuela and then to Hen and Karen's house.

Their garden was a view that always made Eddie's breath hitch.

Karen had an excellent hand for plants, unlike Eddie.

She had climbing plants and trees on their fences to keep away nosey neighbors, a garden of blooming roses and another with tulips, and a mini forest of growing trees in flower pots filling the place with a cool air that was much needed in the Californian summer.

Almost in the middle, there was a medium-sized oak where he was planning to hang a swing.

He put his hands to work and decided to start taking the poles out of the trunk and onto the backyard.

Of course, when he almost got crushed to the ground by one of the poles he called Buck, and in the meantime, he took his tools to the garden and climbed the tree to start attaching the rope.

The youngest firefighter arrived some minutes later, scanning the place until he found Eddie.

“Why are you sitting in a tree?” Buck asked, his head inclined to get a better look.

"Maybe because a swing is going to hang from here, but you already knew that." Eddie answered back struggling to stay seated.

"Be kind and pass me that rope?" He pointed at a rope on the floor right under him.

"Sure."

Hours passed, the tree swing was ready and strong enough to support Buck so it was safe for kids, and the support structure of the other two was almost done.

Karen invited them to go inside and eat some sandwiches the kids had helped her make for them.

"Oh, Buck these don't have pickles. I know you don't like them." Karen pointed at the ones on the left side of the plate and Buck felt warmth spreading inside him because she remembered.

Buck ignored Eddie's teasing look and moaned at the taste of the ham and cheese sandwich. "Oh my God, this is awesome Karen." 

"Is this homemade bread?" Eddie asked before Karen could say they were just sandwiches.

They were heavenly sandwiches.

"Yeah, we learned to do it during the lockdown." She answered, smiling proudly. "How's the project going?"

"On track and almost done. We just need to put the swings on the upper pole and then attach it to the supports, we put it straight, and ta-dah! Ready to have lots of fun!" Buck smiled with his hands shaking on either side of his face.

"You did it faster than I thought." Karen commented. "And tomorrow you two will come after Hen's done with her after-work nap. You have no excuse."

"Yes ma'am." Eddie answered as the other man nodded.

"Great. Oh and, thanks again. I appreciate it."

"Nonsense, it's our pleasure to do this. You are family." Eddie assured.

...

"What's this surprise you're telling me about?" Hen asked Karen the next day, as she hugged her from behind.

"Good morning darling." Karen answered while she turned around to kiss her, purposely avoiding the question.

"Please?" Hen teased.

"Well-" Karen was cut by a squeal and many laughs from their backyard. Hen tried to look outside but she grabbed her hand to have her attention.

"Come with me."

And so she did.

The last thing Hen imagined to see when the door opened was Denny, Nia, and Chris playing in the swings with Eddie and Buck taking care of them and having as much fun as the kids, but there they were.

"Surprise!" They all exclaimed.

"What in the-" Hen gasped as she walked into the garden with wide eyes. "Eddie? Buck? What are you doing here? What is this?"

Eddie chuckled as he got closer to the couple, "And here I thought it looked like swings and not just a mess."

"How?" Hen asked breathlessly.

"Well, it was all Eddie's idea." Buck added from the swings, watching the kids.

"Really?"

Now Eddie was blushing slightly, "Yeah. I heard you some weeks ago in the firehouse and I thought it would be fun to do it."

"Oh Eddie, I love it." Hen got out of her shock and hugged the man tightly. "Thanks. It means more than what you think."

"I'm glad you like it because there are no refunds!" Eddie chuckled, still in the hug. "And I know."

He let go of her and stepped aside, watching the kids enjoy the new swings.

Eddie let out a contented sigh. "I know."

[13lov]

too hot to sleep. (m)

# pairing. fiancé!yoongi x reader

# genre. established relationship au, humor, fluff, smut.

# word count. 2.4k

# warning(s). fluff, reader doesn’t like cats yoongi’s cat, smut [marriage kink(?), unprotected kitchen sex, small hint of yoongi having a possession kink]. \\ will be edited at a later time so my apologizes for any mistakes

# a/n. this was originally supposed to be a drabble but i liked the prompt a lot...so this is the cute fluffy version but i’m also MAYBE gonna write a uh...rougher version. i tried to write an impreg kink since that shit is mad hot but it wasn’t working out for me :(

↳ summary. “ Umm can’t wait to get rawed in our kitchen when I’m living with the love of my life ” *soft ver.*

“You never listen to me,” you whisper to your fiancé’s sleeping figure, “I ask you to pick up the air conditioner on your way home from work,” you shove his shoulder in an attempt to wake him up, “but instead, you buy a new bed for your demon cat.”

Yoongi stirs in his sleep, turning himself to face the bedroom window. You can’t help but get annoyed at the fact even when he’s sleeping, your fiancé barely istens to you. Every ounce of annoyance fades away the moment you hear the soft sound of Yoongi smacking his lips together, a habit he developed whenever he was in the midst of a deep sleep. Even unconscious, he was still the cutest thing you had ever seen.

But, nevertheless, it was too hot for you to sleep. Your growling stomach also proves you’re otherwise too hungry to sleep as well.

Slowly and quietly, you retreat to the apartment’s tiny kitchen, striding past the various wedding decor that consumed your home in hopes Yoongi bought enough food for you to prepare a late-night snack. 

He didn’t, of course, so you’re left to scrape up anything you’re able to find within the fridge and kitchen cabinets. Your struggle meal consists of bread, butter, and what you can only hope isn’t a few expired slice of American cheese. The only reasonable meal you’re able to make with these few ingredients is a grilled cheese sandwich, not that you’re complaining.

The only thing you do complain about is Yoongi’s cat, Pearl, hopping on the counter and knocking the loaf of bread to the marble floor. Watching the bread fall to the floor startles you, speaking that you hadn’t even known Pearl had woken up and followed you out of the bedroom.

You wave your hand at Pearl, as if you were swatting away a nuisance fly, “Get off of my counter, lazy.”

Pearl ignores you, getting more comfortable on the counter before closing her eyes. As silly as it may sound, you sometimes you feel as though you’re at a constant war with the feline; like she was competing for the role of being the number one woman in Yoongi’s life. You really can’t blame her much. Though, her attendance at your wedding (per Yoongi’s request) shall tell her who the true winner is.

“Fine. If you’re not gonna move then I’m gonna...” you’re careful to grab Pearl’s torso, not wanting to startle her enough to accidentally break something. You aren’t surprised when she makes no effort in making herself lighter to carry and instead drifts off to sleep. “...then I’m gonna let you just stay here.”

Everyone in this apartment loved to ignore you.

Still, there are other things more important than arguing with a sleeping cat at two in the morning.

Drawing your attention back to the task at hand, you put the stove on low heat before grabbing a pan from the cupboard and setting it on one of the burners. Grabbing a knife from the wooden block, you slice off a piece of butter and stir it in the pan, watching it dissolve and make the pan slippery.

Pearl meows as a way to tell you you’re being too loud and she’s trying to sleep, you blow a raspberry and tell her to get a job.

The literal cat-fighting has your bedroom door opening, Yoongi had finally woken up. 

You’re facing the stove with your back facing him, so he takes the opportunity to rest his chin on your shoulder, raking his hands up your shirt and giving your breasts a small squeeze. “Guess who.”

You take the slices of white bread and carefully lay them side by side on the sizzling frying pan, “The ghost that haunts this apartment.”

With closed eyes, Yoongi chuckles, his laugh causing your shoulders to vibrate. “I sure hope he or she doesn’t like you that much. By the way, were you just telling Pearl to get a job?”

You aren’t even the slightest bit embarrassed that he heard your dispute with the animal, he was used to it by now. “If Pearl thinks she can live here rent-free and tell me to shut up while being job-less, she has another thing coming.”

“Ah, go easy on her,” Yoongi brings one had down to your waist, the other reaches over to scratch Pearl’s chin, “she’s my good girl — you both are.” He sighs through his nose, moving hair out of the way to plant a kiss on your neck.

“You both are,” you mock in a voice that sounds nothing like his own, “the worst days of her life were when you met me and when you proposed; please get her off of the counter.”

“You heard her,” Yoongi gently pats Pearl’s bottom, coaxing her to hop off, “up, up, up.” She does as told, of course; you roll your eyes.

“Why’re you up?”

“I can’t sleep, it feels like hell in this apartment,” you answer, using a metal spatula to flip both slices of bread on the pan.

“Oh, I’ll pick up the a.c. tomorrow, I promise.”

“Uh-huh, sure.”

It falls silent, but not awkward. You assume Yoongi is still somewhat tired; the boner pressing into your ass tells you otherwise. It’s early, both of you are still weak after having such a long day. You don’t want any teasing to lead to something that can’t be finished. “Yoongi, don’t—”

“I’m not doing anything,” he interrupts in a mumble, “just wanna talk. What’re you making?”

“Grilled cheese,” you try your best to focus on the food in front of you. Yoongi presses against your backside harder than before. You convince yourself it’s unintentional, but Yoongi knows exactly what he was doing.

“Why do you cook the bread longer?”

“Because I like the edges burnt.”

“Well, I don’t.”

“Good thing this isn’t for you then, yeah?” You turn your head slightly, enough to press a kiss on his forehead.

Yoongi grunts like an ungrateful child who doesn’t get their way, burying his face in the crook of your neck and using his teeth to nip at a sensitive area. You unwillingly toss your head to the side, giving him more access to your bare skin before coming to your senses and re-focusing on your food. “Make me one?” he questions.

“Maybe if you picked up the air conditioner like I asked you to...” 

Yoongi hums, a hint of laughter laced with his tone. “Maybe there’s something else I can offer you in return.” The sudden husk in his voice as you raising a brow, intrigued at what he was planning on offering. 

“Is that so?”

“Mm-hm,” he hums, moving his hands to your front, lifting your shirt up slightly as his index finger settles between the waistband of your panties and the area right below your belly button. “Yoongi, I’m trying to cook.”

“Okay...and...?” his finger continues its path downwards, you find yourself turning the stove down to an even lower heat than before. “What, I’m not allowed to touch you while you cook?”

He slips is finger in between your folds, moving around in teasingly slow circles. His boner is still pressed right up against your ass, seemingly get harder as seconds pass. “Not down there, Yoongi.”

“Why shouldn’t I? This,” he suddenly slides his index finger into your entrance, giving you no warning or seconds to prepare. The action had caused the metal spatula you once held drop to the floor, your fingers now gripping onto the marble counter, Yoongi chuckles at how quickly he managed to get a reaction out of you. 

“...is mine anyway, you said so yourself” he continues. Yoongi’s breath was hot against your neck, his deep and lustful voice and the things they were saying only making you crave him more than you already did.

Yoongi’s words slip into the back of your mind once you’re starting to feel the pleasure caused by his finger alone. He notices how silent you are, barely letting out a moan as he slips in a second finger, making no effort to slow down the increasing pace he was thrusting them at. “Why’re you quiet now? Cat got your tongue?”

“Don’t mention that fucking cat.”

“Sorry,” he really isn’t, though. He loved to work you up like this, especially considering how easy it was. It was selfish in his case, seeing you even the slightest but frustrated was such a big turn on for him. In all honestly, he could name all the times he started pointless arguments just to end it with angry, passionate sex.

Yoongi rubs the pad of his thumb against your clit, all while his two fingers are still pumping. You’re so slick and wet around him, making it easier for him to quicken his pace; your eyes shut, mouth falling slightly open and a lustful gasp leaving you when he does. He curls his fingers, in that way where they hit your g-spot perfectly. You gasp at the feeling, and whine when Yoongi ruts his cock against your ass.

“Oh, fuck,” you mewl.

“God, I can’t get enough of you. I swear, we’re gonna fuck everyday once we get married.”

The moan you let out causes Yoongi to grin, moving his left hand up and under your shirt to grab one of your breast; squeezing a lot harder than before, this time rolling your nipple between his thumb and index finger. “Mm-hm,” he hums, “gonna put a ring on that finger, then put my fingers inside of you.”

You really could come right now, then Yoongi would put his cock in you and you’d come again; but, you don’t want to come twice in a row. It’d only make you tried and weak, and, truth be told, you’re still hungry.

“Yoongi.”

“Hm?”

“Fuck me.”

“You have such a bad mouth,” he teases, “just talk nice and I’ll give you whatever you want, _____.”

You sigh, “Please, fuck me. Want you to fill me up,” you sound so desperate, neither you or Yoongi seem to mind. He responds to your words, pulling his fingers out of you immediately, you nearly groan at the feeling of sudden emptiness.

Yoongi raises his hand to your sight of view, separating his fingers to make a V shape, completely in awe of how soaked you’ve made his fingers. “Open,” he says, and you do as told. He inserts them quickly, thumb underneath your jaw as if he was holding your head in place. Your tongue laps around his middle and index until you’ve successfully rid them of your juices. 

Yoongi releases his fingers from your mouth, using his own to tug down his pajama pants and boxers enough to free his cock. The two of already know he won’t last long, but he’s way too hard to not even give it a chance.

He pushes your cotton underwear down a bit, grinning when you bend over slightly to give him a better view of your ass. He takes his cock in his hand, pumping himself a few times, watching pre-cum ooze from his practicality swollen tip. “Ready?” he asks, teasingly rubbing his head against your folds. It takes everything in you power to not back yourself onto him.

“Y—oh, fuck,” you moan. Barely giving you time to answer, Yoongi can’t help his impatient tendencies and was already easing his tip into your pussy. He swears at the feeling of you already starting to clench around him. It takes a few moments until he’s fully inside of you, not daring to move because of how wrapped around him. Truly, he could stay in the position forever.

But, he wasn’t in the mood to do cock warming. And he lets you know that with a sudden thrust that has you bent over the counter. You can’t say it doesn’t feel good, but it was surely unexpected considering how tired you assumed Yoongi would be.

A few more slow thrusts later and Yoongi’s finally moving at his desired pace, his large hands firmly gripping your waist. He presses his forehead against your shoulder, already feeling his orgasm approaching — he just knows he won’t be able to hold on longer.

“Baby, I’m—”

“Shit, Yoongi, I’m gonna come,” you interrupt. He’s glad you’re on the same page.

“Hold on just a little bit longer,” he says. Though it’s a demand, it comes out as a question you don’t mind saying yes to.

He’s groaning into your neck now, pressing harsh kisses against it and definitely leaving marks. When he closes his eyes shut, he feels completely wrapped up with pleasure and feels bad for neglecting your clit. He decides he’ll make it up to you later by going down on you. Right now, he feels way to good and won’t be able to focus on anything else.

His high is approaching and he knows yours is too just by the way your moans have increased in volume. “Oh fuckfuckfuck...fuck,” seems to be the warning that he’s going to come, and he does, filling you up completely. Your own orgasm happens seconds later and has you seeing stars.

The two of you are stood panting in silence for a minute, Yoongi still buried deep inside of you. He places a sloppy, open-mouth kiss alongside your neck, giving you various praises of how good you are to him.

“I love you,” he says, readjusting your panties before fixing himself properly. 

“And I love you,” you turn around to kiss him, to which he groans into and pulls you in closer. “Now go pee,” he pulls away, giving your ass a small tap, “I’ll watch the food.”

Yoongi does as promised as you walk towards your bathroom. “You got a text!” you yell on the way there.

Confused as to who would be texting him at such an hour, Yoongi strides into the bedroom and snatches his phone from the nightstand.

hobi [ 2:44 am ]: u know the walls in this building are thin, why would u subject me to your porn re-enactments 

“It’s just Hobi,” Yoongi informs you, smiling away at the text as he replies.

yoongi [ 2:44 am ]: oops

yoongi [ 2:44 am ]: lol

yoongi [ 2:45 am ]: we’ll try to be more quiet next time

“Is he RSVP-ing for the wedding?”

“I’ll ask.”

yoongi [ 2:46 am ]: are u coming to the wedding btw?

hobi [ 2:50 am ]: pull another stunt like this and i won’t even show up to ur funeral

hobi [ 2:51 am ]: on a completely unrelated note, put me down for the chicken

hobi [ 2:51 am ]: also, what kind of toasters do u guys like?

[falseroar]

Dog Days Part 20: Making Plans

((Chase discovers a way to keep Y/N busy and their mind off of Abe while Marvin tries to prepare for his meeting with the hunter.

Links to the series masterlist and to Part 19: Good Branding.))

You weren’t sure what time it was when you woke up, only that your stomach was grumbling enough to make you get out of bed and sit up for a few minutes until your head cleared. The light coming through the window blinds suggested middle or late afternoon, but when you stepped out of your room the house felt quiet. There were muffled voices coming from Marvin’s room down the hall, but you didn’t see anyone else until you walked into the kitchen and found Chase looking in one of the cabinets.

He jumped at the sound of someone walking in, relaxing a little when he saw it was only you but still looking a little guilty when he said, “Hey. Guess you’re hungry too, huh?”

“…Yeah,” you said, deciding not to ask even though you knew that was the same cabinet you saw Jackie pulling bottles out of just the other night. “A little.”

“We weren’t sure if we should wake you for lunch or not,” Chase explained. “We’ve got stuff to make sandwiches, and there’s probably some leftovers in the fridge.”

“A sandwich sounds good,” you said, and cracked a smile. “It’ll be nice to finally eat something with my hands and not off the floor for once.”

“…Oh.” Realization dawned on Chase’s face and he said, “Oh! I’m sorry, I didn’t even think—”

“No, no,” you said quickly, already regretting your words. “I didn’t mean…There wasn’t much of a choice, was there? Not when I couldn’t make myself change back.”

You hesitated and then added, “Thank you, for letting me stay here. Especially when I was…like that.”

Chase paused in the act of pulling a loaf of bread out and looked at you, sounding genuinely surprised when he said, “Of course. You’re welcome to stay here no matter what shape you’re in, Y/N. I said that, didn’t I? Wouldn’t be much of a home, otherwise. Now what kind of sandwich do you want? We’ve got jelly, peanut butter, almond butter, cheese if you want to try grilled…”

Chase continued listing off choices, but you barely listened as you stared at him, biting your lip hard to try not to cry. By the time he was done, you had managed to get a hold of yourself enough to pick one, and a few minutes later the two of you were seated at the table, Chase trying to explain to you why he bought catnip with all of the dog stuff in the hopes of seeing if it would have an effect on Marvin.

“But he just wears the cat mask,” you said, trying not to laugh. “It doesn’t mean he’s actually part cat.”

“You haven’t seen the way he eats salmon,” Chase said. “And don’t get me started on string—Oh, hang on.”

Chase pulled his buzzing phone out of his pocket, his expression changing immediately when he saw the name on the screen.

“Hey, Staci,” he said, his eyes flickering toward you and looking relieved when you nodded and stood up to give him some space. Only for that relief to turn to panic when he said, “Lion? Oh, yeah, I managed to catch them yesterday before they got too far. Sorry if I worried you or the—They want to what?”

You heard Staci repeat that the kids wanted to see Lion, the kids’ voices clamoring on the other side of the device, and made a quick gesture to Chase before leaving that you didn’t think he completely understood as he continued talking on the phone.

“Well, I don’t know if we can do that, um, like I said, Lion is a foster and I think they’ve found—uh, their forever home and—”

“Hold on, honey,” Staci said on the other end, and Chase felt a bittersweet sting when he realized she wasn’t talking to him. “I don’t know if we can do video, let me ask Daddy, okay?”

“Uh…”

“Sorry, they want to see Lion again. And you. Maybe you can explain to them how fostering works?” There was a strain in Staci’s voice, her patience wearing a little thin, and Chase wondered how many times the kids had asked her to make this call.

“Yeah, I can do video,” Chase said, bracing himself for the coming disappointment as he held his phone back and pressed the button that made first Staci, then his kids appear as she handed the phone over. “Hey, kiddos. How are you doing?”

“Good,” they chimed together, before his son leaned in so close that his face filled the screen as he asked, “Lion?”

“Yeah, Lion is…” Chase trailed off, unable to hide his surprise when you walked back into the kitchen. It had taken you longer than you thought to get the collar back on, and to brace yourself to change back, but it felt worth it when Chase smiled and sank down onto the floor to sit beside you so that you both were in the camera as the kids shouted, and then tried to talk over each other as they told you both about how they went for hot chocolate after the park yesterday, and about what they did in school today, Chase’s son proudly showing a crayon drawing after his daughter spent several minutes talking about her good grades in math and how her teacher didn’t think “hunormous” was a real word but “really, really big” just wasn’t the same.

Eventually, Staci suggested that maybe they should wrap things up, leading the girl to ask, “Can we go to the park and play with Lion again? We can walk them this time, so they won’t run off.”

“Well, Lion’s new owner will be wanting to spend time with them,” Chase started, glancing at you when you pressed a paw on his knee. “…But maybe they’ll be willing to let me take them to the park again. We’ll pick a day when you’re both out of school, how’s that sound?”

They sounded happy enough with that idea, and Staci managed a smile when she took the phone back and said, “Thanks, Chase. I’ll text you a few dates later, okay?”

“Yeah, yeah…” Chase said, unable to think of anything else to say before she hung up. After a moment of staring at the blank screen, he looked at you and said, “Thank you so much. You didn’t have to do that.”

You shook your head and gave him a look that he eventually figured out, turning his head as he felt you change back beside him until you leaned against him with a heavy sigh.

“Let’s…let’s wait a while before we have that play date,” you said, sounding so much more tired that Chase looked at you with alarm. You smiled to reassure him as you said, “I’m fine. I just…don’t remember it being that hard, changing back.”

Chase wrapped an arm around your shoulders, squeezing you in a hug before he said, “Thank you for…not telling the others about the park, and ‘Lion.’ I know Jackie worries about me.”

“Yeah, he does. Cause he likes you or something,” you said, getting another smile out of Chase even if it was a little sadder this time. “Having other people to worry about you, ‘s not such a bad thing.”

Chase heard your voice slur, your breathing slow as though you were close to falling asleep again right there on the floor, leaning against him. Changing into the wolf and back again really had done a number on you, and thinking that is what caused the question to slip out.

“Was it this hard to change back last night?”

You took so long to answer that he started to apologize, but then you said, “Harder. I was…scared. Scared if I did, scared if I didn’t. You know?”

“…Yeah, I can imagine.”

“The paper,” you said, sounding a little more awake as the thought suddenly hit you. “There was a paper, a note, I put it in my pocket…”

You reached for your pocket before remembering that you were wearing a pair of sweatpants from the pile of clothes that they had put together for you and not the same clothes from last night, and Chase had to steady you when you tried to stand up.

“Easy, I can go and get it for you,” Chase said, getting up with you and directing you into the living room where you sank down onto the couch with a sigh. “Pants pocket, right?”

They were easy enough to find, although Chase paused when he found something else besides the folded-up flyer they were talking about.

It was an envelope, addressed to the District Attorney, with two cards inside. The Death tarot card, and one with a short message typed on it.

Mirror, mirror, on the wall.

Watch as I betray them all.

They’d mentioned the cards, of course, how theirs had outed them as a werewolf, how Mark had ended up with it as part of his insane scheme. They hadn’t mentioned this one, or that they still had any of the cards. Maybe they had forgotten, or just didn’t want to remember the far too accurate taunt they had been left with for all these years.

“Chase?”

Chase looked up to see Marvin and Jackie in the hallway, both curious to find him in here.

“Y/N asked me to look for something,” he said weakly. “And I found…”

Marvin took the cards and studied them, his expression again growing heavy and vaguely threatening in a way that made Chase worry about how this coffee meeting with the hunter was supposed to go tomorrow, even with Jackie on standby.

Chase looked down at the note you were so interested in, the one supposedly written to or from this Wilford guy, and flipped it over to read the front of the flyer that you couldn’t make out last night.

“Well, there’s some good news,” Chase said, and when Jackie and Marvin looked, he held up the flyer for the local TV station. “I think I have an idea on how to keep Y/N busy tomorrow, and maybe find out a little more about this guy the hunter was so interested in last night at the same time. How does Jameson and me taking Y/N on a little tour sound?”

---

“Hm.” Dr. Schneeplestein sat back in his chair and said, “Vell, it does seem your eyesight is a touch of the fuzzy. Perhaps it vill get better, but glasses are not so bad. Zhey can be very stylish.”

He tilted his own glasses down to look at you over the top of the frames with a wiggle of his eyebrows.

“But you say you cannot see color at all?”

You shook your head. “No, it’s all black and white and grays.”

“And you did not have zhis issue before zhe mirror?”

“No, not even when I turned into the wolf,” you said.

“Yes, I cannot say I have heard of many weres complaining of color-blindness,” Henrik admitted. “Alzhough I imagine it might be difficult to notice red-green problems on full moons, vhen you have different zhings on zhe mind. I can see no damage in your pupils, but, ah—have your eyes always been silver?”

You shook your head again. You had discovered that the bathroom didn’t have a mirror in it, Marvin saying something about them being a scrying risk but that there was still one in the bathroom off of Chase’s room. You hadn’t felt the need to go and look in it though, so you had to take the doctor’s word on the silver eyes thing.

“It shouldn’t matter, of course, but zhis whole deal is…very strange,” the doctor said with a sigh. “I am sorry I cannot offer any advice. Perhaps one day ve could consult vith Dr. Iplier again.”

“Do you think he would know something about it?” you asked and the doctor shrugged.

“He is good at providing second ideas. Perhaps he knows of a remedy I might not have considered ve could try. And a trip to zhe hospital feels like it could be a safe outing to help you get used to human legs again. Safer zhan zhis studio,” Henrik said, giving a disgusted look at the flyer lying on the bench beside you, the one that had sparked a lot of questions and led to you sitting in the doctor’s room while he performed yet another checkup.

Supposedly, the graphic on the front of the paper which to your eyes looked like a dark gray city skyline against a pale circle, surrounded by black, had letters on it somewhere. Letters which were typed in just the right shade to blend in with the buildings or the sky, you still weren’t sure which. Something about a studio and tour hours, which is why Chase thought the note on the back to or from ‘W’ was related to the place.

“May I?” Henrik asked, holding up his stethoscope and inviting you to take several deep breaths while he listened.

“Why wouldn’t it be safe?” you asked, as he moved to your back.

“I do not trust zhese entertainment people, actors and zhe like, Jameson and Chase excepted,” Henrik said, only to pause. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, just a…cough,” you said. “Voice is still a little weak, you know.”

“It does sound much better zhan earlier,” Henrik pointed out. “Deep breath, please. And again.”

You followed his lead, trying to force yourself to let it go. Jameson had explained to you, what a TV studio was, or the general idea of it. You already knew about flicks, you had worked catering for one of his movies after all, and the theaters back in your day had the short cartoons and serials and newsreels. The idea of recording all that and sending it to screens like the one in the living room wasn’t completely foreign, although the idea of having an entire building for it was a little strange. Chase nearly broke down in tears when Jameson explained to him how they used to put up and break down sets in days, and how he sold off all of their backgrounds and props by the lot for other studios to use. You still weren’t entirely sure why he thought those would be worth a lot of money today or who would be paying for that kind of stuff.

“And zhis studio has a bit of a…reputation in my field,” Henrik said. “A lot of injuries from on set, zhey say, and zhere are rumors…vell, it is best not to spread such zhings.”

“Jameson’s film had a lot of injuries on set too,” you pointed out. Granted, that probably had a lot to do with the evil otherworldly entity hanging around, but still. “Some of those stunts can be dangerous.”

“Vhich is vhy ve have more standards zhese days, and professional stuntpersons,” Henrik said. “And vhat kind of stunts do you need to be doing on a gameshow, I ask? People zhese days expect too much action and drama and violence in every little zhing, even in zhe cartoons.”

You started to respond and decided against commenting on that, even though you suspected your memories of cartoons back in your day were a little more accurate than whatever the doctor’s nostalgia had him remembering.

“We’re just going there to try and find this Wilford guy,” you said instead. “I promise I won’t let Chase volunteer for any stunts.”

Henrik sighed. “Do not make promises you cannot keep, Y/N. Just a few days ago, he is trying to get on zhe roof and still vill not tell me vhy.”

To get more air time, and while you didn’t know what that meant, you definitely knew better than to tell the doctor. Only reason he found out at all was because Chase scraped up his arm on the way down, before Jackie managed to catch him, and they didn’t have enough time to come up with a story between them before Henrik smelled the blood.

Which is why they were currently going over the story for tomorrow in Marvin’s room, in case you started asking questions or changed your mind about going to the studio. Well, that, and trying to convince Marvin that he didn’t need to load up on spells and an entire magical arsenal for a meeting over coffee.

“Isn’t the whole point of this just to get to know the hunter?” Jameson asked, picking up a dagger that was lying on top of his outfit for tomorrow and giving Marvin a pointed look. “A little hard to do if he feels like he’s about to be attacked.”

“Be careful with that, it’s a dimensional dagger,” Marvin said, taking it and checking to make sure the strap keeping it in its sheath was still in place. “It’s only if he needs to take a little...time out somewhere else, that’s all.”

“Mm, I’m going to go with a ‘no’ on that one, same as the other stuff,” Chase said. “And you’re not going to wear that mask, are you?”

Marvin scowled. “Why wouldn’t I? This is an antique, passed down among generations of spellcasters, it both amplifies and controls its wearer’s abilities, with protective magic embedded into every fiber, and it is absolutely essential for any of my big workings.”

“And you think you’ll be needing it to drink coffee?” Jameson asked. “Just wear those nifty sunglasses, you use those all the time when you go out for normal stuff.”

“They’re not the same,” Marvin complained, very aware of the whine in his voice. “Besides, he already knows I’m a magic user, I might as well look the part.”

“Because nothing says magic like a kitty cat mask,” Jackie said, Chase snorting when he tried to hold in his laugh. “Marvin, Jameson’s right. We want the hunter to feel safe opening up and talking to you so we can learn something about the guy, and I don’t think he’s going to do that if it looks like you’re ready to pick a fight. I’ll be there to back you up if something goes wrong, but you do know the goal here is for it to not come to that, right?”

Marvin groaned and said, “Fine, I’ll leave the mask. And the dagger. But I’m taking the playing cards. I might need something to break the ice, after all.”

The response to that news was less than enthusiastic, but as Chase signed when Marvin’s back was turned, “At least he can’t get into too much trouble with just card tricks, right?”

Jameson, who had far more experience with Marvin’s attempts at stage magic, just gave him a look and signed back, “Maybe we should have let him take the dagger instead.”

---

In Henrik’s room, the doctor finished examining the scar on your chest and, as you pulled your shirt back down, asked, “Is zhere any pain in zhe area?”

“Sometimes there’s pressure, like a weight,” you answered. “But it doesn’t actually hurt. I’m more tired than anything, and I think that’s more from changing back.”

The doctor nodded. “Zhat vill hopefully pass by morning, but let me know if it does not. Still, no pain vhen you breathe, or move in certain vays?”

You shook your head only to hesitate before answering, “Sometimes…sometimes it hurts, after a nightmare. When I dream about…what happened.”

Henrik pulled off his glasses and fiddled with them for a moment before he looked at you, as though to have something to do with his hands while he tried to find the right words. “Y/N…in your case, trauma is normal. Nightmares, strong memories, anxieties, zhey are all unfortunately common after a bad shock or, or near-death experience.”

You chuckled, even though it wasn’t funny. “Not sure you can get more ‘near’ death than actually, you know, dying.”

“Exactly. I am not a therapist, but if you are ever wanting someone to talk to, if you ever just need a friend, I am here. So are zhe others, of course.” Henrik fidgeted with his glasses some more before he added, “I…have had my own difficulties, vith trauma. Vith zhe bad thoughts, and zhe nightmares, and feeling like you are back again. Zhe experience is nothing like yours, of course, but I know what it can…do to zhe mind, if you don’t have help. Any time, day or night, one of us vill be here. Even if you do not talk, and just do not wish to be alone.”

“…I know.” You knew from so many nights, when the others opened their rooms to you so that you wouldn’t have to sleep alone, when they talked to the wolf when you were blind, just so you could be sure they were still there. “Thank you, Dr. Schneeplestein.”

“Please, I think I am now off zhe clock for another few hours or so,” Dr. Schneeplestein said, smiling and offering a hand to help you stand. “Call me Henrik.”

You returned the smile, but as you stood your gaze went around the doctor’s room again, once again noticing the lack of an actual bed or windows. Despite the pictures on the wall (all of which featured skeletons, although you didn’t know many anatomy drawings that had the subjects playing cards or dancing), and the fake flowers on one corner of his desk in between the stacks of medical texts, the room had a very cell-like feel to it.

“Henrik. The offer goes both ways, if you ever want someone to talk to or…just not to be alone,” you said, feeling embarrassed to have said anything before you even finished, especially when the doctor looked surprised at the suggestion.

Then he smiled softly and said, “Thank you. I’ll keep it in mind, Hündchen.”

“You know I know that word means dog or puppy or something, right?”

“I do not know vhat you mean, Y/N. Say, while zhe others are busy, vhy don’t we have a little treat zhe wolf could not? How does chocolate ice cream sound?”

“…I didn’t say I didn’t like the nickname,” you said, pushing the doctor a little when he couldn’t hold back his laugh. “Can you have ice cream?”

“I’m undead, Hündchen, not in zhe grave. Tell me, vhat is zhe point of our afterlives if ve cannot have a little treat every now and zhen?”

((End of Part 20. Thanks for reading! This one was more setup for the next few parts, but soon there will be a bit more “stuff” happening.

Link to Part 21: Coffee with a Dash of Honesty.

Tagging: @silver-owl413 @skyewardlight @withjust-a-bite @blackaquokat @catgirlwarrior @neverisadork @luna1350 @oh-so-creepy @weirdfoxalley @95fangirl @lilalovesinternet-l @thepoolofthedead @a-bit-dapper @randomartdudette @geekymushroom @cactipresident @hotcocoachia @purple-anxiety-blog @shyinspiredartist @avispate @missksketch @autumnrambles @authorracheljoy @liafoxyfox ))

[myfitnessjourney-2020]

Meal Log August 3rd

Breakfast- two cups of coffee with creamer and half an everything bagel with cream cheese

Lunch- McDonald’s double cheeseburger and medium fries

Dinner- half a turkey and cheese sandwich on whole grain bread with two pickles. Tons of water to drink

Snack- popcorn and hot cocoa

Diary and Exercise log:

So, last night I was pretty anxious. I was trying to apply for a job and my nerves were getting so bad I decided to have a glass of wine. Well, one glass turned into an entire bottle. Then, at like 3 in the morning (way after I had logged my meals yesterday) I was WIDE awake and just watching tv and talking to my boyfriend about nonsense, when he decided to make us fried chicken sandwiches with French fries lol. Can’t say I’m not happy about it, bc I’m pretty sure if he hadn’t made me eat something, I would have been super hungover today. I was still hungover, but not nearly as bad as it can be. Regardless, didn’t get to eat lightly today as planned but that’s okay. I drank tons and tons of water and then did some ab workouts. Here’s what I did:

40 crunches 2 reps

50 toe touch side obliques 2 reps

60 second plank 2 reps

10 push ups 2 reps

Those planks and push ups wore me out! I’m trying to just really focus on the abdominals bc I want to start seeing physical results. When I used to do Pilates all the time as a teenager, I had clearly defined stomach muscles. I just want those back!

Tomorrow is a new day. Gonna take it easy and maybe go run or walk and continue to do these ab workouts when I can. Don’t know what meals I’m going to have tomorrow yet but I’ll be mindful.

[nancypullen]

One More Dawn, One More Day, One Day More

In less than 24 hours we’ll be rid of Trump.  I don’t want to hear his name again unless it’s coverage of his trial. American voters toppled a wannabe dictator and already things are looking up.  Have you seen photos of the National Mall?  It’s beautiful.  The Biden inaugural committee has planted more than 200,000 flags representing states and territories, and at night there are 56 pillars of light as a nod to the50 states and six territories.  The installation represents us, the wonderful mishmash that makes up our nation, from sea to shining sea. Not just red or blue states, not just one gender or ethnicity, all of us.

It’s supposed to represent unity, but also the hundreds of thousands who can not attend the inauguration because of the pandemic.   No one has mentioned the curtailed inaugural activities due to the sinister and seditious events at the Capitol, but you know that safety is a concern as well.  The Biden team said that they have "commitment to an inclusive and safe event that everyone can enjoy from their home.”  Wow, an administration that actually cares about citizen safety and well-being. How refreshing! BUT... enough about politics.  My last post about ball gowns received such a positive response that I am determined to make this corner of the internet a HAPPY place again.  I started this blog in July of 2007 (yeahhh, it used to be more entertaining)  with the intent of putting positivity and whimsy into the world.   After four years of feeling angry every day, I’m going to get back to my roots. I’m going to remember how I found joy in little things, laughter in awkward moments, and beauty in the mundane.  Prepare yourselves for some happiness, folks.   Let’s start with a little bit of joy for your taste buds.  Good food is probably on my top ten list for things that make life enjoyable.  I do not understand people who forget to eat, or even worse, who don’t care what’s on their plate.  I worked with a woman once, an absolutely lovely woman I should add, who used to eat whatever was handy. We worked for the same airline and usually by the time we could grab a bit we were starving.  We worked crazy hours and my lunch(or dinner) was a reward for getting through the craziness. I’d bring a Lean Cuisine and dress it up.  If I packed a sandwich, it had to be pretty. Her lunch would consist of a plain piece of bread and a half cup of coleslaw - “I had to get it out of the frig.”  Once she had a bowl of baked beans and an orange. I used to offer her parts of my lunch but she’d wave me off. She was not strapped for cash, she was not lazy, and she said to me “It doesn’t matter what you eat, you just need a little weight in your stomach.”  Technically, I guess she was right - but where’s the joy in that?  I should probably add that she never had to go up a skirt size in her entire career with the airline, and I could probably use my old skirts for hot pads now, so joy could be fattening. Anywho...last week I checked out a few library books online and then zoomed over to pick them up.  One of the books I checked out was Joanna Gaines’ latest cookbook, volume two of Magnolia Table.

I flipped through, putting bookmarks in recipes that sounded interesting and decided that the first one I’d try was this -

Mmmm, what’s not to love about spicy shredded chicken, corn, cojito cheese, pickled onions, cilantro, lime....hungry yet?  It was such a simple, easy recipe and had a big flavor payoff (joy!).  I’ll definitely be making these again. The only extra step in the recipe was making pickled onions.  But that takes about two minutes.  I did it while I was in the kitchen making lunch.

The cookbook provided a recipe that required red wine vinegar, which I was out of - so I used my own tried and true method of about a half cup of apple cider vinegar, a tablespoon of sugar, a teaspoon and a half of salt, and a thinly sliced red onion.  It worked just fine. This soaked from noon til around six.  It doesn’t have to be that long.

To make the taco meat just put chicken breasts in a baking dish, cover them with the spice mixture, pour a half cup of chicken broth into the bottom of the pan, cover and bake.  She provides her recipe for the spices, honestly you could easily use a packet of taco seasoning - your choice.

Why yes, my tin foil does have creases in it.  I am Ethel’s granddaughter and con not toss out a perfectly good piece of foil if it can be reused. This was the last use for this piece, but she had a good run.

While your chicken is baking you’ll mix up the yummy topping.  Couldn’t be easier. Drain a can of corn, chop some cilantro, crumble some Cotija cheese, and you’re nearly done.

Cotija cheese can be found in any supermarket.  It’s often in a cooler near the taco shells and refried beans, stacked with various salsas.  I always see it in a large round, but I think you can also buy it already crumbled in a tub.

I think it tastes and feels like Feta, I’ll bet in a pinch you could swap it out.  

The recipe calls for a half cup of cheese...

my cup runneth over because I am a joy seeker.

The corn, the cheese, the onions, and the cilantro get tossed into a bowl with a couple squeezes of lime juice and some chili powder and salt.  Mixed together, that’s the topping for the tacos.

Once the chicken is out of the oven, let it cool a few minutes and then shred it with forks, mixing it into the juices in the pan.

The last step is to get your tortillas ready.  Sadly, I didn’t have yellow corn tortillas, only white corn.  Yellow would have been prettier.

You’ll toss them into a hot skillet or on a griddle for about a minute on each side, just to get a little color, you still need them to be bendy.  I guess pliable would have been a better word, but bendy works.

Then you load ‘em up!  

This was Mickey’s plate and he went back for seconds.

Because it’s just the two of us here there was enough left for lunch today. Yum! Here’s a link to the recipe: https://magnolia.com/street-taco-recipes/ This recipe looks involved, but it is NOT.  There are a couple of steps but it’s all so easy.  It comes together quickly for a pretty meal. I’m trying another recipe from the book tomorrow, if it’s as good as this one, I’ll share it here. That’s what’s happening at the Pullen spread.  We’re counting the hours until Joe and Kamala take their oaths and we can be assured that adults are in charge again.  I admit, I’ve been playing One Day More from Les Miserables this afternoon.  I may have been shouting the “One day to a new beginning, raise the flag of freedom high!”  part.   Vive la résistance!  Okay, different war, but I’m a little giddy today.  Maybe I should just close with this...

   As the song says, hold on for one more day, just hold on. Sending out SO MUCH LOVE. Stay safe, stay well. XOXO - Nancy

[tendertenebrosity]

TJ and Danny, part 3

Third part, probably of 4, of my pieces set in @wildfaewhump‘s Path Verse! Other parts here and here. 

TJ sat in the little windowless room that was put aside for them to use in between court cases. There was a plain wooden table, scratched with graffiti here and there, and a few chairs with vinyl-covered padded seats.

He had his blindfold off. Compared to the cubby TJ spent his time back at the agency in, it was a strange, chaotic, worn sort of room, and he let his eyes wander over the surfaces with mild curiosity.

On the table in front of him sat a triangular packet of rigid clear plastic, with a couple of untouched sandwiches in it, and a little rectangular box of juice with a straw. He ignored the sandwiches, pulled the juice over, and took a cautious sip.

“… abso-fucking-lutely ridiculous. I know we’re short-staffed but there must be something you can do.”

TJ bit his lip and glanced over at the door. His handler had started the phone conversation attempting to be quiet, but that seemed to have been forgotten.

He turned the juice around and around in his hands, looking at the bright colours on the label. His headache had faded. His handler had left him a bottle of cold water and some paper hand towels, so he could wash his face, and that had helped a lot.

He still felt… weak. Shaky. Overflowing with other people’s emotions and memories. His stomach uneasy with fear and guilt, not sure how much of those belonged to him as opposed to being left over from other people’s.

The blinding hatred hadn’t been his, easy enough to tell because TJ was sure that he wasn’t capable of that kind of thing. Anger, not his either. The fear, there’d been enough of that in this morning’s readings, but it could also be his. Today’s readings hadn’t gone well.

I used to be good at this. I used to be able to do it. Why is it so much harder?

The conversation behind the door continued. His handler’s voice went even more gravelly, like it did when he was trying - and failing - not to lose his temper.

“Look, it’s been nothing but grisly murders and fucking nauseating assaults for two fucking weeks now. The Path’s about to go fucking cuckoo, and I won’t be far behind it, lemme tell you. If you – ”

He broke off. Whoever was on the other side of the phone call must have interrupted.

“Is it too much to ask to get, I don’t know, some fucking tax evasion or shoplifting cases? You can’t tell me every unit you have is on the non-stop murder train,” he growled. “You must have somebody doing something fucking lighter. Swap us out with them for a day or two.”

TJ sipped the juice, the taste of it sour on his tongue. He wished whoever was on the phone would agree. If TJ couldn’t go home to curl up in his cubby, a promise that the next few cases wouldn’t be violent ones would be better than nothing.  Still tiring, still difficult, he still wanted to cry at the thought. But better than nothing.

“Look, it can’t keep doing this. Apparently I’m not fucking allowed to pull the plug on a reading anymore, so what am I supposed to fucking do exactly?”  

TJ traced a finger along one of the scratched lines on the tabletop.  

“Yeah? Oh yeah? Well what about the agency’s fucking reputation when he pukes in the fucking judge’s lap, or when the journos get a nice shot of me hauling his comatose ass out of the courtroom like a sack of – ”

Silence.

“… yes. But –”

More silence.

“I understand that, but fuck it, what am I supposed to –“

The longest silence yet. TJ shivered, clutching his shoulders with his hands.

“Yes. All right. Fine,” his handler said, biting the words off through gritted teeth.

That seemed to be the end of the conversation. After a few moments, TJ heard a quiet thump on the door, like someone had hit it with the palm of their hand or maybe leaned heavily against it.

Another few moments, and then there were three much more deliberate knocking noises. “Blindfold,” his handler called through the door, but TJ was already reaching for the black cloth blindfold across the table.

He had slipped it over his head and settled it over his eyes by the time the door creaked open and his handler’s heavy footsteps entered the room. He smoothed the material across the bridge of his nose, lights dancing against the familiar black for a few seconds, and then settled his hands in front of him on the table.

The handler regarded him in silence for a few seconds. TJ fiddled with the cuff of his undershirt with his fingers, adjusting to the darkness again.

The handler sighed, pushed the plastic of the sandwich packet across the table with a scraping noise. “I told you to eat.”

“Can’t,” TJ said, knowing he sounded sulky, knowing there was nothing he could do about it. “If I eat I’ll throw up.”

“Well, if you don’t, you’ll faint,” the handler growled. His fingers closed around TJ’s wrist, picked it up roughly, shoved the plastic of the sandwich packet under his hand. “Eat the sandwich.”

He settled into the chair opposite TJ, making a lot of noise clattering it against the table as he pulled it out. TJ tried not to wince.

“At least eat half,” the handler added, his voice gentler. “C’mon. You’ll feel better. Half, and if it makes you feel worse you don’t have to eat the rest.”

TJ nodded in surrender. His fingers patted around in the plastic until he found a triangle of bread, and lifted it to his mouth.  

The sandwich was dry. But, he chewed and swallowed the small bite he’d taken, and it went down OK. The taste of ham and cheese reminded him of something – some teasing thread of memory, he wasn’t sure what. Something he’d tasted, or smelt, in the last few days? Was it…

He wrenched his mind away from it firmly. No. Probably not even his memory. Possibly not even food related, and he was queasy enough as it was without getting sucked back into thinking about the first case. He focused on the now. In the now, TJ could feel the hard edge of the chair under his thighs, and the air conditioning blowing gently, cold on the wet strands of hair at his forehead. He could hear little electronic bloops as the handler did something on his phone.

TJ paused between tiny bites of sandwich. “Head office is m-mad?” he asked timidly.

The phone clunked as it was set down on the table. “Nothing to do with you, kid,” the handler said gruffly. “Busy week. You and me, we just do the assigned cases best we can. If head office - ” He cut himself off, with a scraping noise like he’d dragged a hand across something rough.

He picked up the phone and the beeping started again. TJ reached out, and found the juice where he remembered leaving it. He ate in silence for another minute, little nibbles of bread and cheese and ham, while the airconditioning hummed.

“I’m sorry,” TJ whispered.

“What for?”

“F-fucked up today.”

He heard the puff of breath that meant his handler was either annoyed, or stifling amusement. TJ thought the latter this time. “What’d I tell you?”

“Oh. Sorry. I mean, I messed everything up.” Sandwich gone, TJ folded his arms, grasped his elbows with his hands. “I d-didn’t – I didn’t get any of the readings right, I got s-scared and had to stop, a-and I threw up everywhere and, and, and – ”

“Don’t be stupid. You didn’t fuck up, you just...” A tap-tap-tap noise – the handler drumming his fingers on the table. “Look, the readings got done, perps got put away, that’s what counts. This afternoon and tomorrow we’ll try to be neater about it, but it did get done.”

Neater. Yes. Better. TJ sighed, feeling a little reassured. He still felt a little like this was his fault, but if his handler said it wasn’t, that had to be so.

“Feel better?”

TJ considered. He didn’t feel as sick as he had expected to. It did feel good to have something in his stomach, and he felt brighter, more alert. “Yes.” His hand went out again to get the other half of sandwich.

“There, see, I do know what I’m talking about.”

[surrounded-by-superheroes]

Crave Ch. 4 (Bucky Barnes)

Summary; The Asset.

Makes it sound like there was only one, doesn’t it? One assassin, one soldier, one life stolen and taken over to be used as a tool for evil minds. There was never only one. Hydra’s bloodstained hands, people called them. And once one’s hands have been bathed in blood so many times, it’s near impossible to look at the skin and not see red. Yet, when Hydra has been pushed out into the open by the Avengers there’s the slightest flicker of hope for the asset left behind. You see, I never had a Steve Rogers. No one is looking for me. The only person I’ve ever had is the one I was trapped with, the one that’s now free. The one who, if he finds me, I will surely destroy.

A/N; This took forever, but I hope you all enjoy this series!

Warnings; Language

Words; 2,928

Chapter Three~~~Crave Masterlist~~~Complete Masterlist

Chapter Four

Domesticity

We walk back into the building and into a common room that’s half kitchen and half living room. It’s a little late for dinner, but there are still a few stragglers here. Steve and Natasha are sitting on the couch, Nat’s feet in Steve’s lap as they talk quietly. Tony’s here too, filling what looks like a twenty-four-ounce cup with coffee, and there’s another man I haven’t met yet.

“Steve, Tony’s drinking coffee.” Bucky tattles and Steve turns towards us with a deep frown on his face.

“Dammit.” Tony curses quietly, but still shoots me a wink.

“Tony, we’ve talked about this. No coffee after eight.” Steve scolds and taps Nat’s feet so he can stand.

“And I’ve said no patriotism after six, yet your spangled ass is still here.” Tony shoots back and screws the top on his cup. “Been having coffee after eight since I was thirteen. No reason to cut me off now.”

“Yeah, but I’m not going to come down at one in the morning to carry your sleeping ass to your room after you’ve caffeine crashed.” Steve tells Tony and he rolls his eyes. I watch this exchange amusedly before Bucky tugs at my arm and we slip over to the fridge. The man I don’t know turns towards us from his seat at the bar.

“Gonna introduce me, Barnes?” He asks and hops up from his seat.

“Figured you’re old enough to do that yourself now, Wilson.” Bucky quips and opens the fridge while I turn towards the man.

“Hey, Rosalie Warren.” I offer my hand and he takes it, brushing his lips across my knuckles.

“Sam Wilson, sweetheart. Nice to meet you.” An easy smile lights up his face and it’s infectious. Little wrinkles beside warm brown eyes tell me he smiles a lot and I find myself liking him already. “You know, you look like a dancer.” He lifts our hands and walks out a bit as he surveys me. An entertained smile creeps onto my face.

“Hands off, Sam.” James warns and my hand tightens just slightly on Sam’s hand.

“More like gymnastics.” I respond. Bucky snorts at my words, but I ignore him, as well as Steve and Tony now fighting over the twenty-four-ounce coffee cup in the background. Sam’s eyebrows lift.

“Bendy, huh? I can see that too. Still, I think there’s a dancer in there.” He turns his hand and I spin to humor him. Sam hums appreciatively and nods. “Definitely.”

“Hey. Dinner.” Bucky calls curtly and when I look over at him I note his clenched jaw and tight fists.

“Well, I hope you’re staying. I could make a dancer out of you yet.” Sam grins at me and I smile back.

“Wouldn’t mind some lessons. I am staying. Stark, you said that was alright?” Sam and I part and I raise my voice to reach Tony who is clutching the mug to his chest as Steve tugs on it. His eyes light up at my question and when he looks over at me Steve manages to slip the cup out of his fingers.

“Damn!” He curses as Steve smirks victoriously, setting the coffee on a high shelf. “Of course, you can stay. Happy to welcome another hot person to our group.” He sighs and flicks Steve off before strutting out of the room. I nod and join Bucky on the other side of the counter as Sam sits back down at the counter.

“Sounds good, sweetheart. More dancing lessons to come.” Just before I turn I catch Bucky shooting daggers at Sam and I slap his shoulder for it. Bucky had gotten out cheese, butter, and bread so my conclusion is grilled cheese.

“What, everyone else gets to flirt with you and I can’t?” He asks huffily and I shoot him a warning look with my eyes.

“Yes, that’s it. Soup?” I question and hear him intentionally make more noise than necessary as he gets out the cans and pot. Sam watches this interestedly. Bucky notices.

“Don’t you have a meeting to go to?” He snaps as I butter the bread.

“A V.A. meeting after eight? Not a chance. Still wish you’d come, asshole.” Sam tells him and hops off his stool again. Bucky barks out a dry laugh and doesn’t dignify the offer with an answer.

“You work at the V.A.?” I ask and put the first sandwich in the pan before turning back to him. He nods and considers me.

“Yeah. You serve?” He asks and my gut jerks.

“Not exactly.” I reply and Bucky and I glance at one another. Understanding passes between us. Soldiers like us don’t get recognition, don’t deserve it.

“Well.” My eyes return to Sam. “You’re welcome to come. Bringing Avengers ups my groups attendance.” He winks at me and nods to Bucky before walking over to the couch with Steve and Natasha. Bucky and I move around the kitchen in silence, dodging one another and sliding under extended arms like old times. There’s always been an ease to being around James. And an ache.

“At least you won’t go out with him either.” Bucky mutters and I roll my eyes while pouring the soup in two bowls as he puts the sandwiches on plates.

“Don’t start. Can you not be insufferable for an evening?” I ask and take my plate to walk over to the glass table. After I sit I look up at him with a challenge in my eyes. He sighs heavily, then walks over and sits across from me.

“I could say the same to you.” He says quietly and I kick him hard in the shin. “Ow. Alright, alright. So, tell me what you plan on doing tomorrow.” Finally, he’s civil. I rip off a piece of my sandwich and dip it in the warm soup as I think about my answer. Calling my landlady and giving her my notice should be my answer, but I think I’ll keep that place as an escape just in case.

“Use that kickass facility first. Then, who knows?” I shrug as he smiles, stretching out his legs on either side of mine. Deciding to pick my battles, I allow it. “How about you? Are you just going to shadow me all day?” James rolls his eyes.

“I do actually have shit to do tomorrow. However,” he smirks, “I’ll be working out too so maybe I’ll see you in there.” I’m shaking my head, but I may have a small smile on my face.

“Mmhmm. Try not to drool over me then, Barnes.” I tease and watch as he pulls his bottom lip between his teeth then lets it pop out. A chuckle slips from his lips and my eyes snap up to meet his.

“Back at you, Rosie.” He winks at me and grabs my empty bowl and plate before walking to the sink. I stick my tongue out at him and glance over at the couch. Nat, Steve, and Sam are sitting together on the couch, Natasha claiming both of them with her legs in their laps. It’s a cute picture of domesticity, but I decide to turn in instead. I walk over to the couch and lean against the back.

“I’m turning in. See you all in the morning?” Natasha and Sam nod while Steve stands.

“I’m gone too.” The two on the couch boo and Steve grins. “Mind if I walk with you?” He asks me and I shake my head. We walk to the door and I spare a glance at James already looking at me before we walk out. “So, you’re staying?” Steve asks and I turn my head to look at those ice blue eyes.

“Yeah. Should I have asked Tony and you about that?” Steve instantly shakes his head and waves a hand to dismiss my words.

“No, no. You’re more than welcome to stay. Especially if all the things Buck told me are true.”

“Mm. I might have to ask what he told you one of these days.” I tease lightly. Pregnant silence passes between us as we come to a stop in front of my door. “Want to come in for a minute?” I ask and open the door, heading in myself so he knows he’s welcome. He steps in and carefully shuts the door behind him. I toss my bag into the bathroom before facing him curiously and cautiously. Blue eyes scan mine as if dipping toes into deep waters, unsure of the temperature and depth. “You can say what’s on your mind, Steve. I won’t bite.” I assure him and make sure my blanket is over where my feet will be once I’m under the covers.

Steve steps forward and sets his hands on his hips, thumbs on the inside of his waistband. “I’m not really sure what I want to say.” He sighs and my head cocks slightly in confusion. “Bucky’s been talking about you for a long time, Rosalie. Since we brought him in. Since I…brought him in. It took me physically restraining him and talking him down for weeks to keep him from going after you. You mean a damn lot to get him riled up like that.” Realization settles in me as Steve furrows his brows firmly. “I don’t want years of progress to be pissed on just because shit from his past is being brought back.” I nod at this.

“I don’t want that either. The first thing I asked him when we were in that graveyard was how he was doing. His welfare is high on my priority list too, Steve.” I assure him and a moment passes before Steve nods once in acceptance.

“Graveyard?” He questions amusedly and I shake my head.

“Not important.” I respond and a little smile turns up his pink lips. He opens the door to leave but pauses in the doorway.

“I don’t want his heart broken either. Rosie.” I instantly grimace at the name and the insinuation.

“Sorry. What James does with his heart is out of my control. And there’s a shit ton of baggage too.” I tell him and Steve nods, looking at his hand on the handle with a concerned expression. “I don’t want to hurt him.” Freezing blue looks up at me and he smiles a sad smile.

“No one ever does, right?” He nods at me and shuts the door behind him. Sighing heavily, I walk to the bathroom and grab my favorite t-shirt to sleep in, stripping and putting it on. My hand grabs the trashcan and sets it on my side of the bed before I take a dagger and pistol from my bag and slip them under the mattress. Happy with this, I turn off the light and put my hair in a bun before slipping under the bright, white comforter. My eyes look out the windows and I can just barely see the trees illuminated by the full moon, swaying like hula skirts in the wind. I blink once. Twice. And the third time my eyes don’t open again.

*     *     *     *     *

Nightmares aren’t really a new thing for me.

Despite everything in Hydra, the wipes, cryo, never really sleeping, I still somehow had nightmares. No idea how. A part of me thinks they did it on purpose. Injected me with some nightmare juice to make them especially horrible and vibrant. So that even now when I’ve been out of their clutches for years, they could torture me. This one is particularly nasty.

The room is white, white, white, just as it was in reality. The metal table is just as hard, just as cold, and just as covered in blood as it was. Small pieces of human litter the either gleaming metal or deep red of the puddles of blood. My hands lift and I find them stained red. Despair hits me and I grab onto the table to prevent myself from falling face first into it. Gasps disrupt the silence of the room and it takes me a moment to realize they’re mine. I’m crying. I look up through the tears to see Bucky walking out of the shadows, but it isn’t him. His face is blank and he’s dressed in Winter Soldier gear.

“No.” I breathe and watch in horror as he walks towards the table. As he walks around it he reaches out and lets a finger surf across the puddles of blood, connecting them like some savage web. He stops at my side and the corners of his lips dip down slightly.

“Mission failure.” He mutters and reaches up, brushing away a falling tear with his red fingertip. There’s now a red streak across my cheek and it thrums with heat as if screaming for help. “You are faulty.” He tells me pityingly and I shake my head.

“James. James it’s them. It’s murder. Please.” I beg as his hands frame my face. Distant blue eyes examine mine.

“Terminate.” Tenderly, he brushes my cheeks one more time, then snaps my neck.

My eyes snap open and I immediately lean over the side of my bed to throw-up in the ready trashcan. After my stomach is empty I dry heave into the metal bucket, trying not to breathe in the stench. I fall to the floor from leaning and I’m thankful for the carpet that slightly lessens the pain of the fall. I’m also thankful I put my hair in a bun before going to sleep. I dry heave twice before my door swings open, bouncing off the grey wall back at the man standing in the doorway. A knife instantly in my hand, I extend it towards the door like a part of my arm before realizing who it is and replacing it.

“Get the hell out.” I command scratchily and take a tissue from the box on my bedside table, wiping my mouth then tossing it in the trash.

“Jesus Christ.” James breathes and lets the door shut behind him as he jumps across the room to me. His cold metal hand instantly runs up and down my spine while his other hand wipes the sweat soaked baby hairs from my slick forehead. “You’re alright. You’re okay, baby, it’s me. Just me.” My chest heaves empty sobs but I push him away and stumble to the bathroom. The light clicks on and I wince at the sudden brightness. I turn the sink on and splash cold water on my face, spluttering as heavy breaths leave my lips. I swirl water around in my mouth and spit it out a few times before feeling almost alright. I scrub my mouth savagely with too much toothpaste to get out the taste, then take a hand towel and wipe my face. “Rosie.” My head whips up to meet his panicked expression and I turn the water off.

“I’m fine. I’m okay.” I swallow and turn around, leaning on the counter and looking up at the ceiling to prevent tears from falling. Still, I feel it when he moves in front of me.

“Hey.” He calls softly and I look back down at him. Soft, concerned eyes look back at me and his arms open. I straighten and fall into him. My arms lock around his neck while his tighten around my waist. Safe, my heart whispers. “You’re safe with me. You’re always safe with me.” Bucky breathes and tears start gathering in my eyes again. Time passes and my racing heart calms as I breathe in Bucky’s familiar scent.

“I’m okay.” I murmur into his shirt and his arms tighten before we both release. I flinch when he reaches up and he waits until I open my eyes again before tucking baby hairs behind my ear.

“Alright. Stay here for a second.” He leans in and presses a firm kiss to my head before walking out of the bathroom and shutting the door behind him. I lift myself up onto the counter and stare down at the grey, plush carpet in front of the bathtub to prevent myself looking at the white of the bathroom. When Bucky returns he leaves the door open and stands in front of me. “Doll.” He whispers and gently runs his hands up and down my bare thighs. “Doll. You wanna tell me what happened?” James asks and I look up at his eyes. Those soft, concerned, emotional eyes that are the exact opposite from the ones in my nightmare.

“Absolutely the fuck not.” I answer and stand, pushing him back gently and hopping down. My eyes flit to the bed and I turn on my heel towards my bag in the bathroom floor. I get out shorts, a sports bra, socks, and tennis shoes.

“Rosie. What’re you doing?” He asks and I don’t spare him a glance as I change clothes. When I walk to the door he steps in front of it to force me to answer and look at his eyes.

“I’m not sleeping after that. I’m going on a run.” I shove him out of the way and walk out, noting the missing trashcan and distinct clean linen smell from Febreze in the air.

“Rosie-” Bucky calls and grabs my wrist. Instantly, I tug my wrist out of his grip and shove him backwards lightly. He stumbles only a little and that bit from surprise.

“Don’t fucking call me that and don’t follow me.” I warn his wide eyes, then turn and sprint out of the building as fast as my legs can carry me.

Chapter Five

[elliedoes]

Like Real People Do - Chapter Two

Dean Winchester x Reader

You hate Dean Winchester and he hates you.

Warnings: NSFW. Smut, adult language, unprotected sex, lots and lots of growling, angst, fluff, pregnancy, first time parents.

Note: This turned out to be WAY fluffier than I was planning it to be, but knowing Dean, they’ll be angst and manpain.

The tag list is open for this, by the way. Just let me know if you’re interested. Thanks for reading and I’d appreciate any feedback you may have. ;) Love you all.

Like Real People Do by Hozier.

Series Masterlist - Masterlist

Your admission hung in the air between you and ended with Dean hanging up. It honestly didn’t surprise you, you’d probably do the same if you were in his shoes. The hunter life wasn’t meant for families and happy endings, especially when a Winchester was involved. You’d deal with it, though, like you always did.

The werewolf was put down before the end of the day and you were back in your hotel to pack up when your phone rang. Dean’s name sat on the screen and your heart started to race. Hesitantly, you swiped to answer, “If you’re calling about the werewolf, it’s dead.”

“We need to meet.” His tone was even, business-like. You knew where that conversation would lead and you didn’t want to have it, not face to face.

“I’m still in Flagstaff, heading back to Denver in the morning.”

On his end you heard rustling and then a door close. “I’ll meet you there,” he said and hung up on you yet again.

Sleep didn’t come easy and you had a long drive ahead. You weren’t sure if you were going to make it with only one cup of coffee, but you did. Barely. 10 hours later you pulled up to your cabin with the Impala already waiting for you.

You steeled yourself when you stepped inside, but Dean wasn’t in your living room or in the bedroom when you dropped off your stuff. You thought about calling out to him, but you found him eating a cup of Ramen at your kitchen table. “That stuff is bad for you,” you chastised, but your stomach called out for food. “It’s loaded with sodium.”

“Then why do you have it,” he asked with his mouth full.

“Because it’s cheap and easy to make.” You searched through your fridge to make yourself a sandwich. Silence fell between you once more while you piled up ham and cheese, smothering the bread with mayo and mustard. You could feel Dean’s eyes on you while you worked and you fought the blush that threatened your cheeks. Two sandwiches and six spears of pickles on your plate, you sat across from him with an expectant look.

Dean scowled at the food piled in front of you. “Do you normally eat that much?”

“I skipped lunch to get here,” you confessed sheepishly. “Is it a problem?”

“No,” he answered quickly and held his hands up in defense. You went about filling up your stomach and Dean finished off his noodles. “Are you sure?”

“Unlike the rest of my life, my period runs like clockwork,” you replied with half a pickle hanging out of your mouth. “I was late and took the test. I plan on making an appointment with a doctor tomorrow to confirm it. But I’m positive.”

He sat back and laced his hands on the back of his head, eyes trained on you. “What do you plan on doing?”

“You’re leaving the decision up to me?” That was surprising considering that Dean had long since expressed his ideals about the apple pie life.

“It’s your body,” he shrugged.

You stared, not believing him. “You don’t want a family, Dean. Even if I decide to keep the baby, I don’t expect you to stick around. I’m surprised you even called back. I thought you’d change your number and delete me from your memory.”

His brow furrowed and his hands dropped to his lap. “The thought had crossed my mind,” he admitted. “I talked to Sam, he told me to call you, said I owed you this much.” He waved a hand between you before he leaned against the table. “I’m not trying to be a dick here, but you know this isn’t going to end well. I can’t worry about Sam and Cas and you and a fucking kid.”

“Then you don’t have to,” you snapped back. “Lose my number and I’ll lose yours.”

Dean sighed and rolled his eyes, “Like that’s going to make a difference.”

“Then what do you want, Dean? Why even bother asking me what I wanted if you’re going to make the decision for me?” You were yelling at that point, your food long forgotten.

“I don’t know,” he hollered back, unable to meet your gaze any longer.

“I’m getting a headache,” you groaned. Your head fell to the table and you willed yourself to calm down.

Neither of you spoke for a while. Dean eventually gathered up his trash and washed his fork. You watched him from the table, the tension in his shoulders visible even under all those layers. He moved back to you eventually and squatted next to your chair. Cautiously, he placed a hand on your knee and squeezed. You had half a mind to slap it away, but another part of you sought it out and covered it with your own.

He tugged you from the table and pulled you through the kitchen into your living room. You fell onto the couch, into his open arms and he held onto you as you hid away in his neck. His hand rubbed at your back after he kicked up his feet. You weren’t supposed to enjoy this, it shouldn’t feel right. He was Dean and you were you, you were supposed to ripping each others throats out, not cuddling on your couch with him murmuring sweet nothings in your ear like you meant something to him.

You’re not sure when you fell asleep, but when you woke, you were in your bed and spooned by Dean. When tried to free yourself from his hold, he pulled your closer and nosed into your hair. “Where are you goin’,” he mumbled.

“Gotta pee.” You peeled his arm from your waist and padded to your bathroom. You were still in your road clothes, so you disrobed to your undershirt and undies once you relieved yourself. When you returned, Dean’s sleepy gaze rested steadily on the door you emerged from. “Go back to sleep.”

“You alright,” he yawned and motioned you back into his arms.

You’re not sure what caused the change in his attitude, or yours, but you crawled back into bed and under your covers to let him pull you close once more. “Yeah. Fine.” He pressed against you from behind, his hand not so subtly rested against your stomach when you settled into place.

Sleep overtook you once again and when you woke for the second time, Dean was gone. You tried not to panic, but you could hear banging around in your kitchen. You shuffled through your cabin and found the older hunter with his head stuck in your fridge. “There isn’t much in there,” you slurred sleepily.

He jumped at your voice but straightened with a nod. “I can see that. Do you own anything that isn’t microwaveable?” You tilted your head in thought and shook it. “Get dressed, we’re going out.”

“What?”

“You have nothing in your house that isn’t frozen or in a can, we’re going out,” Dean repeated.

You blinked, taken aback at his sudden need for nutritional value. “What’s going on with you?”

“What? Nothing,” he scoffed. “C’mon, let’s go.” He shooed you out of your own kitchen and back towards your room.

“Alright, bossy, chill out.” You took a quick shower and dressed in your comfiest jeans and your most oversized sweater with your hair pulled back into a messy bun. When you joined Dean, he was changed as well, not wearing the plaid and jeans from the day before, which meant he packed a bag to meet you. That also meant that he most likely planned to stay, that he wanted the conversation to end in a more agreeable favor. “Where are we going?”

“To get the best pancakes in Denver,” he replied. You climbed into the Impala and pulled out your phone. You said you were going to make an appointment with your doctor and he watched you from the corner of his eye as you agreed to a three o’clock slot, his knuckles white on the steering wheel. A matra of ‘it’s gonna be okay’ rang in your head until you almost started to believe it.

The small diner you first met the Winchesters in was four miles outside of town. Flo, your most favorite person in the entire world, always worked the morning shift and when you walked in with Dean in tow, she waved you down. “Lucky for you, your table is empty,” she chirped and lead you to the back corner. You slid in with Dean across from you and she slapped down two menus, though she was sure neither of you needed one. “Coffee, black,” she pointed to Dean, “three sugars and a whole lotta cream,” she winked at you before gliding away.

You picked up the menu and hid behind it. “Why are you still here?”

“Do you want me to go?”

You peeked over the top of the plastic divider and watched as he rearranged his silverware. “I’d like an honest answer.”

“I had a daughter,” he confessed, “sort of. She was mine but she was an Amazon. It’s complicated.”

“Had?”

“She was going to kill me, needed to to complete her initiation,” Dean explained and waved vaguely. “Sam killed her.”

You dropped the menu when Flo returned, coffees set in front of you both. You ordered a three stack, Dean took a six and she left you in peace once more. “Is he going to kill this one?”

“What? No,” he practically yelled which made, you and the neighboring table, jump. “No,” he cleared his throat. “Look, I’m not father material, alright? I’m the last fucking person you want around a kid because all I cause is death and destruction. But that’s my blood, that’s my family. If you want to keep him... or her, then fuck…”

“I’m not keeping you to a commitment you don’t want,” you told him calmly. “I can keep myself safe, Dean. I’ve survived this long by myself, I can keep a baby safe, too.”

His jaw clenched and he took in a deep, steady breath. “I’m telling you that I’m going to try, Y/N. But you’re coming back to the bunker.”

“What,” you grimaced. “I hate it there. It’s stuffy and musty and there are no windows.”

“That’s my home you’re talking about,” he growled and pointed a warning finger at you. “Just… let me have this. We’ll do everything else your way, but give me this one thing.”

A Winchester child was going to have every supernatural creature on your ass and you hated to admit it, but the bunker was the safest place for you. “Fine,” you conceded and stole one of his pancakes in retribution.

The doctor’s office was quiet and empty save for you and Dean. When the nurse called you back, you gave him to option to stay or come with and, hesitantly, he followed you back. He hovered as your vitals were taken and second guessed the need for any blood she drew from you. The nurse assured him everything was necessary and she tried not to coo over the ‘possible first dad worries’.

Not a word passed between you two during your wait. You buried your nose into a Homes and Garden magazine while Dean fiddled with his phone. It took nearly a half hour for the doctor to finally join you and you nearly missed his greeting with the blood rushing in your ears.

“So, your iron’s low,” Dr. Oswald informed you. “Everything else seems to be good, though. You can get prenatal vitamins at any grocery store. I don’t think you’ll need an iron supplement as long as you keep up with the protein, red meat, chicken, beans, spinach, you get the idea. Do you need recommendations for an OBGYN?”

You stared blankly at the man, still trying to process the information. “Uh no,” Dean answered for you, “we’ll be moving soon. So, what was that about vitamins?” Their conversation turned to static as your mind raced. You were very much pregnant with Dean Winchester’s child and you were so incredibly fucked.

The rest of the day floated by. Dean stopped at a store to grab what the doctor suggested and you were back at your cabin as he packed your bags. You sat on the bed and stared at the floor while he moved around you, not bothering to break you out of your mood. If he was freaking out, he was doing a good job of hiding it.

You finally snapped out of it when you crossed the Kansas state line, “Oh god.”

“What,” Dean quickly glanced over at you. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m going to have a baby,” you whimpered. “Your baby. Oh god!”

“Okay. It’s okay. Keep it together. It’s a fine. Everything’s fine. Please don’t make me crash my car,” he pleaded.

You stared at him with wild eyes and shouted, “How can you be so calm about this, asshole?! You knocked me up and we’re having a fucking child.” You landed the hardest punch you could muster on his arm and he cried out as the car swerved.

“Cut the shit, Y/N,” he yelled back. “If you crash this fucking car, I swear…” You curled into a ball next to your door, your knees tucked into your sweater, but you did as you were told, at least until you got to the bunker.

Sam met you in the garage when you arrived and you immediately ran into his arms for a much needed hug. You held onto him for as long as possible until Dean pulled you away and passed his brother your bags.

You had been to the bunker a few times before but never for an extended period of time. Most of your time was spent in the library with Sam doing research or in the kitchen for a quick dinner before off the to War Room for a game plan overview. Dean guided you to his room where your bags were dumped on his bed by Sam.

“You can have your own room,” Sam offered. “There’s plenty.”

Having your on safe space was appealing, but from the scowl Dean was giving Sam, it probably wasn’t the best idea. “Maybe when he starts to snore,” you teased, “but I think I’ll be okay in here.” Neither brother objected and Sam left the two of you with the promise of dinner when you settled in.

“You’re not going to get clingy and overbearing are you,” you scowled at Dean.

“No,” he returned your frown. “If you want your own room, we can get your own room.”

“That’s not why I asked,” you sighed and resisted the urge to roll your eyes. “I’m a grown ass woman, I can take care of myself. Promise me you won’t go caveman on me?”

He held his hands up in submission, “You have my word.” Somehow, though, you knew he was lying.

Tag list:

@waywardbaby

[buckyscrystalqueen]

Half Blood, Whole Heart: Part 33

Pairings: Jax x Reader, sister Winchester!reader- SOA/SPN Crossover

Warnings: Swearing, fluff

Word Count: 4,156

A/N: So I decided to repost my novel- the story that someone stole from my old blog and put up on Wattpad. PLEASE don’t be an asshole and steal my stories. It CRUSHED me when it happened and almost ran me off Tumblr.

A/N 2: Alright y’all. This is the last part of the story! You made it!!! You just have this one and the epilogue! Yay!!!!

Half Blood, Whole Heart Masterlist    Aesthetic by @ravenangel33​

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

Chibs, who was now wearing some of Jax’s winter clothes, looked at the four of you as he tried to process everything that had happened in the past year with Gemma, Clay, Juice, RICO and what you could tell him about the supernatural world.

“So… this means I’m free… but dead?” He asked as you rocked yourself on your chair.

“Same as us. This is a small town; people don’t ask questions. You’ll be safe here.” Opie said as he lit a cigarette.

“Sam can get you a public identity when he gets here tonight. I can talk to Bobby, see if he has it in his budget to hire you on as a mechanic in the warmer months. Cash, off the record, so you don’t exist.” You said.

“In the winter, Ope and I fix snowmobiles and do the mobile mechanic thing around town. We do a lot of shoveling for the people out here. We’re working on getting a snow plow for these back roads since we are really far out here.” Jax told him.

“And you’re more than welcome to stay in either our guest room or (Y/N)’s.” Lyla chipped in as she rocked next to you; her hand slowly dancing across her large baby bump. “But our daughter is due next week so it might be a little quieter here.”

“’It’s a lot to take in, we know.” You said as you tried to read Chibs’ nearly blank stare.

“Sorry… ‘m still tryin’ ta wrap my ‘ead round this all.” He said as he pulled a cigarette out of the pack on the railing. “I can’t believe ye’s all are alive.” You huffed a laughed as you looked up at Jax, who was leaning on the rail in front of you.

“God, you have no idea.”

“Hey, are you expecting someone?” Opie asked as the sound of a car pulling into your driveway caught your attention. Your brow furrowed and you shook your head.

“Not until tonight.” You said as you tried to see around Ope. You realized that that wasn’t happening and straightened your legs out to stand up.

“Holy shit… it’s Dean.” Your stomach soared as you leapt from your chair. Your brother got out of the car with an almost cocky smile.

“Miss me?” You were just about to run down the stairs to greet him when the passenger got out of the car. The whole world ceased to exist as John looked over the top of the car at you and you came to a dead stop on the top of the stairs. 

“Daddy?” You whispered into your hands as tears welled in your eyes. Reason went out the window as you ran down the snow covered steps in your socks, slipping slightly as you hit the bottom.

“Hi sweetheart.” Your dad said as you ran and jumped into his arms as tears poured down your cheeks.

“How are you here?” You asked as you wiggled to get down; instantly regretting your choice as you landed in ankle deep snow.”No, pick me up! Pick me up!” You shrieked as you tried to jump on the hood of the car to get away from the cold. 

“Amara brought him back. Said since I gave her her family back I should get the same thing.” Dean said as he headed up porch with John carrying you on his back right behind him. “Where’s Sam?” 

“On his way. Have you talked to him?” You said as your dad put you down. 

“Don’t have a phone. Figured he’d come here since he thought I was dead.” 

“Jesus Christ, this day is getting weirder and weirder.” Jax said.

“Yea, you’re tellin… Holy shit, Chibs!” Dean said as he finally noticed his old friend. 

“Dean-o. ‘ow are ye, lad?” Dean shrugged as they gave each other a back slapping hug.

“I mean, I almost blew myself up this morning so I guess I’m doing OK.”

“Aye. Died my self ‘parently. Wee bit confused ta say the least.” Dean laughed and nodded.

“Yea, tends to happen when you know the Winchesters now-a-days. Can we go inside? That piece of shit car didn’t have a heater.”

“Umm… Ree is in there with the boys.” You said as Dean moved to open the door. You watched a slight blush creep up Dean’s ears as he looked over at you.

“Shut up, Button.” He snapped at your knowing smirk. You raised your hands and pursed your lips.

“Didn’t say nothing, De.”

“Boys?” John asked as everyone headed inside. You nodded as you laced your arm through his.

“Your grandsons. Thomas is three and John turns one tomorrow.” You told him softly as you walked him inside to your little war zone. 

“No!” Thomas screamed from upstairs over the sound of running bath water; his least favorite thing in the world these days. He would much prefer taking a shower like a big kid. 

“Thomas. You have chocolate in your hair…” Crowley tried to reason with the three year old.

“No! Big boy bath!”

“I got it…” Jax sighed as he headed toward the stairs.

“Well I was going to make lunch before everything got a little crazy so I’m hoping grilled cheese sandwiches are OK with everyone because I don’t have anything else.” You said as you looked around at your visitors. 

“I’ll help. Ope, you wanna start a fire in the living room and help Dean fill in gaps for Chibs and John?” Lyla said as she looked at her husband expectantly. He nodded as Dean toed off his boots and made himself comfortable in your home like he always did. 

“De, call Sammy!” You said as you pulled off your wet socks and headed into the kitchen to see Crowley there looking as confused as ever.

“Dean and John are back from the dead?” He asked softly as he peaked out of the kitchen toward the living room.

“Dean apparently never died. Amara… who I’m assuming is the Darkness, brought dad back as thanks for her getting her family back…?” You said; your words trailing up in a question as you didn’t know what that really meant to begin with. Crowley nodded.

“Well, that’s an interesting twist of events. That would explain as to where Chuck went.” You looked over your shoulder at him as you grabbed butter and cheese out of your fridge.

“Who the hell is Chuck?” Crowley chuckled as Lyla started laying out pieces of bread to get buttered.

“That, kitten, is what God chooses to be called these days.”

“Oh, for the love of… fuck…” You grumbled with a small shake of your head.

“Wait, you met God?” Lyla asked as she plugged in your griddle. 

“We fought his sister together, darling. Of course I’ve met him.” 

“So how’s your relationship going?” You asked; trying to avoid having to admit to your best friend that you had been lying by omission for the past 5 months. You looked at Crowley pointedly; giving him the silent and subtle clue to take your hint.

“Oh! Well… that is… not… something I wish to discuss with you, kitten. It’s rather personal and…”

“Are you still fucking him on the DL or what?” You asked flat out; causing Lyla to snort with laughter. Crowley’s cheeks flared red. He opened his mouth to respond, snapping it closed a second later as he looked at his nails as if they were the most interesting thing in the entire world.

“Frankly, darling that’s none of your business.”

“That’s a yes.” Lyla giggled as the two of you flipped sandwiches.

“Wretched women… I hate both of you.” Crowley said before he disappeared.

“I can’t believe he and Dean…”

“Who and Dean?” Jax asked as he walked in to the kitchen with a clean son on each hip. “Figured you would wanna do the introductions with this one.” He said as he bobbed his head toward Thomas.

“Crowley and Dean are still doin’ it.” You said as you started stacking finished grilled cheese sandwiches on a plate. You paused for a moment and turned around to look at Jax and shook your head. “How the hell do we explain this one?”

“Now you see why I said you could do it.” You rolled your eyes as Lyla unplugged the griddle and put the rest of the sandwiches on the stack. With a heavy sigh, you walked over and took your oldest from Jax. With a small shake of your head you pulled something out of thin air that you hoped made sense to a child.

“Hey Tommy… you know how grandpa John went to live with the angels before you were born? Well, Uncle Dean and Uncle Sam helped the angels and God with some big things recently. The angels decided that because they were so helpful, they would let grandpa come back to us so he could meet you and your brother and watch you grow up.” Your son crinkled his face, thinking hard about this new information. 

“Are the angels letting everyone go back to their families?” He asked.

“Umm… no baby, just grandpa. And it’s only this one time.”

“Why?” You blanched and looked at Jax; realizing that there was no easy way to answer this question. 

“Because your Uncle Dean gave God his family back.” Lyla stepped in. “And God didn’t want your mommy to raise you without your grandpa. So he did what is called a favor. That’s something grown ups do to help someone out when they do something for each other.” Your son stayed quiet for an unusually long time; processing the information. You looked back and forth between Lyla and Jax, wondering what he was thinking before he nodded.

“I should make God a thanks card. Dat’s what I gotta do for Santa when he brings gifts, too.” You all laughed and nodded as Jax kissed the side of his son’s head proudly.

“Yea, that’s a good idea. Maybe you and grandpa can even make it together so you can both thank him.” You suggested.

“Is he good at crafts like papa?” You nodded as you thought about your dad’s amazing artistic ability. 

“Grandpa is amazing at crafts.” You said as you grabbed the plate of sandwiches and headed toward the living room. “You should ask him nicely to draw you a tiger.” Thomas cheered as you stopped in the doorway of your living room and looked at your dad. “Tommy, this is your grandpa.” You said as you set the plate down on the table and sat on the arm of the couch next to your dad.

“Grandpa draw a tiger for da card?” Tommy asked as he crawled out of your lap and into John’s. Your dad looked a little startled and chuckled.

“I think I can draw a tiger. What’s the card for?”

“We gots to thanks God for letting you come back to mommy. You gots ta make a card for a gift.” Your dad’s eyes shot up to yours and you gave him a smile.

“Those are the rules in this house. Get a gift, you write a thank you card.” Your dad’s eyes filled with tears and he nodded as he looked back at his grandson.

“Yea… we can make a card.” Thomas smiled and wiggled off John’s lap.

“OK. I go gets the papers.” He said as he darted out of the room to the play room you had down stairs. Your dad smiled and put his hand on your knee as everyone grabbed a sandwich.

“And this little guy is your and my dad’s namesake.” Jax said as he passed off your youngest to your dad. 

“He looks like you.” Your dad said as he looked back and forth between his other grandson and you. “Little bit of Sam as well.” You nodded as Jax grabbed two sandwiches and handed you one.

“He may look like me but he has Jax’s personality. Tommy is mini me.” You said as your oldest came running back with a stack of papers and his box of crayons and colored pencils. Your dad nodded as Thomas push all his stuff on the couch and used your dad’s jeans to pull himself on the cushion next to him, causing John to laugh.

“Oh yea. He is just like you.” He said as he helped his grandson up. 

“Give me the wee one. I need ta love the little bugger.” Chibs said as he stood up and reached across the coffee table for little John. You smiled at your family; the dysfunctional chaos that it was.

“World almost ends and we get a grandparent and one of our friends back because of it.” Jax whispered in your ear. You smiled and nodded as you wrapped your arm around his waist.

“I call that a Teller win.”

——

The smell of bacon and something burning woke you up way too early for your liking the next morning. Your brow furrowed as you looked to the other side of your bed at your sleeping husband. You knew Chibs wasn’t an early riser so that left one of the three Winchester men. As quietly as you could, you slipped out of bed and headed down stairs. You could hear grumbling that you immediately recognized as your fathers as the smell of strong coffee slammed into your senses.

“Daddy? What are you doing?” You asked as you leaned against the door way, rubbing sleep out of your eyes. John turned around to look at you with a sour look on his face.

“Your pans are stupid.” You giggled as you walked into the kitchen and looked at the stove.

“First of all, they are not stupid, they are amazing.” You reached in front of him and turned the burner he was using for what you assumed had to be pancakes down from ‘high’ to ‘medium’ with a smile. “Second, they are teflon. Non-meat foods cook on medium so the whole thing cooks not just the outside.”

“That explains it.” He said as he scooped up the pancake he was burning onto a pile of other burnt ones on a plate to his right.

“Third, I have a fancy griddle to cook pancakes on. Has a pancake temp in the book and everything.” He hummed at the new information as he grabbed the bowl of batter and started in on a new pancake. You pat his shoulder and headed over to make yourself a cup of coffee.

“You know… I don’t think I have cooked on an actual stove in thirty somethin’ years.” He said as he flipped the bacon in a different pan. “Diner food, fast food… Mary, the corp… I never really had to.”

“Well, you are more than welcome to stick around here and practice if you want.” You hopped up on the counter next to the stove out of the mess as he looked over at you.

“Thanks, princess. I appreciate that.” You nodded as you took a sip of your coffee; letting it warm you from the inside. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do here.” He said as he flipped the pancake over; his brow knit in frustrated thought. “After Mary the only thing I had going was the fight. I ruined my kids lives because of it…”

“Dad, you didn’t ruin our lives…” He looked up at you with a serious ‘Sam bitch face’ and you quickly chewed on your bottom lip to keep from laughing as you realized that John was the originator of the look.

“One of my sons ran away to college to get away from me and two years after that, my only daughter did too. Don’t tell me I didn’t ruin your life.” You shook your head as you set your coffee mug down.

“You didn’t. If I hadn’t run away, I would have never met Jax and had my sons. My brothers wouldn’t be the strong, determined, crazy, independent men they are now. Sure, we were a little different from most families but from where I sit today- 27 years old with a beautiful family, a job, a house… I wouldn’t trade anything about my life to get me to where I am right now. So if anything you gave me this.” You gestured around the kitchen, indicating your life before you picked your coffee back up and took another sip.

“Yea… well, still. Now my fight is over but according to your brothers there is still a fight out there…”

“There will always be a fight, daddy. The question that I had to ask myself years ago was is it worth it?” He looked up at you; the fighter in him obvious in his gaze and you sighed. “Not what I meant it to sound like.” You put your coffee mug down and tucked your hands under your thighs as you took a moment to collect your thoughts. “I don’t know if it was just because I’m not Mary’s daughter or if the hunting life was never really meant for me but I always looked at what you and my brothers did as not my fight… because it wasn’t. It was yours to avenge the love of your life and theirs to avenge their mother. My mother was just a piece of shit; nothing I can do about that.

Now that your revenge is done, you find yourself in my shoes. Sam and Dean have managed to find themselves in a fight with Lucifer… again. It’s not your fight, daddy. You don’t have to hunt with them. You said it yourself yesterday, this must be God’s way of giving you a second chance. You raised them right as hunters. They can handle this fight like they did the first time. You don’t have to take on the responsibility if you don’t want to nor do you have to feel guilty if you choose not to.”

“She’s right, dad.” Dean said as he leaned against the door frame of your kitchen with Sam right behind him. “If you want to stay and help raise your grandsons and be the parent you couldn’t be for us because of the circumstances, we don’t blame you and we won’t stop you. Shit, Sam and I want you to stay.”

“We don’t hate you for raising us how you did. It was the cards you were dealt. It prepared us for the things we face today in and out of the hunting world. But we also know that if you had the option when we were babies, you wouldn’t have wanted that life for us. You would have wanted the life (Y/N) has made for herself for us.” Sam said as he stepped into the kitchen past Dean and leaned on the counter next to you facing John. “We may butt heads more than territorial goats but you were the best father I could ever ask for. It just took me a while to realize it. Minus, you know, the giving your kids guns for Christmas at the age of nine to protect us from bad Santa but that’s a different story all together.” The four of you chuckled as Dean brought Sam a cup of coffee and stood by his side.

“Like I said, all we are saying is that if you want to take the second chance that you were given to be with your grandsons, do it. Sam and I; we got this. Lucifer will be back in his cage in no time. And no extreme measures will be taken to do so.” Dean said as he glanced at you with a knowing smile.

“Yea, better not.” You grumbled with a smirk as you grabbed your coffee and took another sip before looking back at your father. “And if you choose to go with them, I won’t take it personally… you are a hunter after all. Your truck is in the garage. The gun in the glove compartment was replaced by coloring books and Cheerio boxes and the photos have all been updated but the weapons box is still loaded and I’ve taken care of her.”

“You still have my truck?” John asked as he added another perfectly cooked pancake to the growing stack. 

“Yep. I had Bobby bring it to me after you died and I’ve had it ever since. Had to replace the carburetor and the transmission last year and she’s a bitch to find parts for... but it was yours. It’s come in handy over the years, too; Jax loves it in the winter but we can get a new one.”

“Keep it.” He said with a small shake of his head. “I can get one from the lot… if you’ll help me rebuild it.” He looked up at you hopefully. You nodded with a genuine smile.

“Yea… I’d like that.” He nodded his head and glanced over at his sons before going back to making breakfast.

“So, uh… can I get some of that bacon?” Dean asked as he craned his neck to look at the pan. You rolled your eyes as you jumped off the counter.

“There goes De and his no chick-flick moment rule.” Sam grumbled as you headed toward the stairs to get your youngest before he woke up and started crying.

“Somethin’ burnin’?” Chibs asked as he walked out of the room that was designated as the play room.

“My dad didn't know how to use a teflon pan. It’s OK; there’s coffee, pancakes and bacon.” Your friend moaned as he pulled a shirt that was way too big for him over his head.

“Real bed, real food. Cheers, I’m in ‘eaven.” You laughed as you shuffled upstairs and dipped into your room to throw on warm clothes to go out for a smoke.

“You’re up early.” Jax groaned as he rolled over in bed to watch you.

“Dad was trying to cook pancakes on ‘high’. Had to save the house from being burned down.” Jax huffed a laugh as you crawled across the bed and gave him a kiss. “Do you care if he sticks around for a while?”

“Nope…” Jax yawned as he rolled onto his back and stretched. “Two live-in sitters we trust… maybe we can try honeymoon take two.” You laughed as he wrapped his arms around you and pulled you down on top of him.

“I love you, baby but you shot me on our first honeymoon. I don’t think…” Your words were lost in a yelp as he tickled your sides and rolled you underneath him.

“God, you’re such a smart ass.” You smiled up at him as you tried to tame his wild bed head.

“You still love me.” You gave him a chaste kiss and pat his cheek. “Now, up you get. Our baby boy turns one today.”

“Where did time go?” Jax asked as he rolled off you and flopped back on the bed. “And with your dad moving in, we gotta start calling him Johnny or something so we don’t confuse the two.” You looked over your shoulder as you pulled your bra into place with a half mouth smirk.

“I think it would be a little strange for you to call my dad Johnny, babe.” You dodged the first pillow expertly but the second one hit you square in the back.

“I hate you sometimes.” You smiled as you tossed the pillows back on the bed and walked over to his dresser to grab one of his long-sleeved SAMCRO t-shirts that you loved to wear in the winter.

“I know you do. Now quit being lazy, we gotta head into town before people start comin’ over.”

“For what?” Jax asked as he rolled out of bed and grabbed a shirt from the drawer you were closing.

“Chibs needs clothes. I know Bobby has my dad’s old stuff but you, Ope, my brothers and my dad are all too broad for that man to borrow clothes from. I’ll just use one of Sam’s cards. And with two people moving in, we need more food.” Jax shrugged as he headed toward the bathroom.

“I’ll stay here. You can take him.” You shrugged as John started to fuss over the baby monitor.

“Have fun hanging out with Dean, then. No fighting.” Your husband popped his head out and shook his head.

“On second though, you may need my help… carrying shit.” You laughed as you headed out of your room to get the birthday boy with a smile on your face. You hesitated for a moment outside the door and looked up at the ceiling.

“Thank you.” You whispered softly to the mystery man and woman you now fully believed in who gave you part of your family back. With a small nod, you stepped into the room and cooed at your youngest pride and joy.

Epilogue

[tumblunni]

Man today was A Chore. I got some good stuff done in the end but the middle of it felt awful and im just relieved it ended on a better note i guess? I had to spend like three hours sitting waiting for a package listening to some horrid old ladies talk about how child abuse is great and all the flaws of modern life stem from the fact we dont smack kids anymore. And like..fuckin.. "Ha ha remember how we used to fail all our classes and lie and hide our grades because we were scared of our parents and do anything to try and make the beatings hurt less BUT NOW IM AN ADULT I KNOW MY PARENTS WERE TOTALLY RIGHT YES" And friggin discussing all these beatings and LAUGHIng?? Laughing about being beaten and about going on to beat their own kids like ha ha this is so fuckin normal and just the logical conclusion of everything?? Like these were GOOD MEMORIES?? Fuck man i was like that gif of the dude with the giant vein in his head it was SO HARD to just sit there and try not to hear what they were saying. I actually ended up buying like 20 scratchcards just cos i was running on autopilot and trying anything to distract myself. (Only wasted 10 pound tho cos i won a few quid along the way and lost it again lol)

And gahhhhh after all that waiting i just get told my package didnt arrive today and i just have to come back tomorrow! So i went home super depressed and had to try and talk myself out of it and yeah. AND THEN i get a phonecall from the post office literally right then, saying 'yo whoops the parcel arrived a lil late, come get it before we close'. It was kinda funny, like me conquering myanxiety self hateness actually summoned a good luck better resolution to the story?? And i rushed down there and managed to get the parcel and all the post office people were REALLY NICE,like they'd gone kinda mom friend on me from seeing me come in and out asking for this parcel for the whole entire day. I dont know either of their names but thank you nice red hair lady in charge of the parcels and scratchcard corner grandma who chatted with me! If i see them again another day i have to go into the post office, i'll be sure to say thanks!

So yeah anyway i FINALLY have everything sorted now to do my Lets Play of the new pokemon game! I probably wont be able to start it til saturday evening or sunday morning though? Cos tomorrow i have the Big Stress of meeting again with my estranged sister and hoping i can maybe repair our bond. I dunno how long we're gonna hang out or even what we're gonna do or if its gonna go well, aaaa!! And then on saturday i need to wake up super early and catch a million buses to get to a cool art class place. Maan its been a busy week lol!

Oh!! And the stuff of actual success today!! Cos yeah some stuff did go well before the big post office trashness, and i need to focus on that instead of the awkward middle. Big good thing the number 1! I met with my support worker and had a really nice meeting in the new cafe in the local library. She was just super nice and gave me a great motivational talk about how i was handling this whole sister thing really well and she was proud of me. She said she got my voicemail i left for her during the whole thing and she was really sorry she was late replying to it and she was really worried how it all went. I totally forgot i even sent her that voicemail during all the mess! So i just got caught up in the panic and forgot to call her back, aaa!! Im glad she knows im okay now! And we had a nice hot chocolate and she said she's also proud of the progress i've made in going out and being social more often, pointing out how when she first met me i was too nervous to go to this cafe and now we're havong a nice day here. And i was like "but thats not a very big accomplishment" and she was like "ITS BIG ENOUGH, BUNNI!!!" Dammnit what did i do to deserve these kind people? *sniff*

Oh, and then she also helped me learn how to post an international package and IT IS FINALLY DONE!! Summon-daze, keep an eye out for parcel number 1, containing 25% of all the books i have for you!! They said it should reach you between 5 to 14 days. Sorry its so long, it seems the christmas rush starts a whole damn month early! *sigh* And i feel proud of myself for pulling it off, it was so stressy and embarassing aaaa. Just the soul pain of asking so many questions of the post office lady and holding up the line and having to go back and forth and be like 'is the parcel ok now? No?' *awkwardly crabwalks back again* But now i know! And i can definateky handle it all better next time! And aaaaa i just really hope it all goes well and i hope she likes the books and i hope i can afford to send the rest soon!

And then also i was brave enough to go to the other cafe too! I had to kill a lot of time so i had a second hot chocolate at the other place lol. That one is more busy and standard restauranty instead of a small library place, so its a little more imposing. And i actually had a small sandwich too! Somehow eating things in public is one degree more scary than drinking a drink? Dont ask me to explain my anxiety lol, even i dont know! XD it was weird eating a sandwich with a knife and fork tho?? Like the lady just gave me a knife and fork and i felt too polite to say 'umm actually i ordered a sandwich so here have them back'. It was a toasted cheese so the bread was all warm and chewy and really hard to cut! Really really nice though, it helped heal my soul from all the stress. Oh and i tried an american root beer for the first time! Its so cool and weird! Like a slightly bitter/salty sweetness combo? And how it foams up like beer even though its a soda??? Thats so WEIRD AND NEATO!!! Oh and umm maybe i should give myself some points for making conversation with the post office people too? I was so awkward and anxietyish so i feel proud that i managed to articulate myself well enough to actually ask for my parcel, and then they were just so nice and tried to chat with me and i...vaguely managed to chat back, lol.

Oh oh oh! And also i bought a shoes! I shall officially dub them The Murder Shoes~! It was a really good deal in a clearance thing at the supermarket, for shoes that actually looked pretty awesome! These big neat boots covered in WAY TOO MANY metal studs and belts and awesomeness! Theyre like goth cowboy aesthetic?? I love them, i dont have too many professional shoes and these are that but also funky cool!

So yeah several good things happened but the bad bit in the middle was just so long and frustrating that it left me in a big downer mood where it was easy to forget the good stuff. Writing it out like this kinda helps! And also to remember i have stuff to look forward to for the rest of the week! And, well, more challenges to face, but i feel more optimistic now!

[365-money-diary]

DAYS 50 - 56

DAY FIFTY

6:25 AM - Up an at ‘em. It’s vaccine day! The State Farm Stadium is 30 minutes away from my house and I kind of have a history of feeling light-headed and such so I eat a piece of toast before we leave. Prep our water bottles and coffee in our respective hydroflasks and we’re out the door.

7:25 AM - We arrive to the stadium and go through a slew of checkpoints. Unfortunately because of the storms they aren’t giving out plus ones today so we will try for K again when I get my second. The process is pretty easy and we are out of there in 30 minutes. I get the Pfizer vaccine. :) 

8:30 AM - K and I take a walk since I still have some time before work starts. 

10:00 AM - Today is going to be super easy workwise so I just kind of take my time easing into it. I start to feel some tingles from the shot as well as arm soreness. Nothing I can’t handle though! 

12:00 PM - Annual charge for my recipe plugin comes through for my blog. Heat up broccoli fried rice for lunch. $49.00

2:00 PM - My arm is starting to hurt but nothing I can’t handle. Eat pretzels.

4:00 PM - Ditch work early to take a walk to the lake. Bring wine in a hydroflask to just sit and enjoy the weather. I chat with T on the way and then FaceTime with H who says he’s moving to Philly. Super bummed honestly. DJing with him is one of my favorite things on this planet.

6:00 PM - Arrive home to find a sleepy K. My arm is really hurting at this point and we decide to take a nap.

7:30 PM - Wake up feeling groggy and in pain. Remember they advised drinking water before taking Tylenol so I down 48 ounces and actually start to feel better. Heat up a Big Sur Breakfast burrito for dinner and K and I watch the first 30 minutes of Uncut Gems. K’s brother hits him up to play RocketLeague and so he breaks away to that and I watch more of The Challenge.

11:30 PM - I am tired of being awake and would just rather be asleep.

DAY FIFTY TOTAL: $49.00

DAY FIFTY-ONE

8:30 AM - Wake up feeling like my body has been doing work to fight something, but without any external symptoms (fever, chills, fatigue) minus my sore arm. Continue hydrating and make a chemex.

9:00 AM - I can’t really work on the trim today as planned because of my arm, so I decide to work on my blog instead. 

11:00 AM - Make pancakes and hashbrowns for breakfast.

2:30 PM - Post a recipe for Greek Salad. The Internet seems to be receptive which is nice… my last few recipes have flopped. Finish The Ruins. Actually bummed Sara & KellyAnne didn’t win. Evan, Kenny, and Johnny suck and needs to rot in hell. Make a giant bowl of popcorn.

5:00 PM - Drop off a ball and a tube to a friend who is starting to take Pure Barre classes again. Walk back and then K and I walk to the lake with the dog. Feels like the best thing we’ve done all day tbh. My arm still hurts too much to exercise so this is the best it’s gonna get.

7:45 PM - Arrive home and roast potatoes for buffalo chicken sandwiches. I’ll definitely be shooting this for the blog.

8:00 PM - It’s one of those nights where I already did everything and I’m tired of screens. I reached out to a friend a few days ago for book recs and I pick one from the list called The Guest List. Buy it on kindle. $16.40

9:30 PM - I’m already ready to start a new season of The Challenge. This one is Fresh Meat II. Can’t believe Darrell gets eliminated on the first episode. Dang.

10:45 PM - K and I decide we’re tired and that it’s time for beddie. My body is definitely ready for sleep. 

DAY FIFTY-ONE TOTAL: $16.40

DAY FIFTY-TWO

8:30 AM - Wake up feeling pretty rested. Definitely a lot better today. Arm is mildly sore. Might be able to ride the bike or play DDR today. Maybe modify Pure Barre but probably not. Take a shower for the first time since Thursday because I usually shower after I exercise and that hasn’t happened in a while… hah.

9:00 AM - My kettle has been here for a few days but I haven’t broken it out of the shed yet. Unbox the beauty, give it a little rinse and make my first cup of coffee. I like how quiet it is and how little space it takes up. 10/10.

10:15 AM - I notice I still have a half block of tofu leftover so I make tofu/egg tacos for breakfast with Field Roast Sausage, mushrooms, onions, and jalapenos.

11:15 AM - Clean the kitchen and prep for shooting. I am feelin’ the vibes from my last post so I don’t want to lose motivation. Make miso butter pasta since it’s really all I can swing with the ingredients in my pantry. 

1:15 PM - Finish shooting and import the photos into my library while watching The Challenge in the background. Decide might as well start editing. I don’t have much else going on and I’m again, feeling motivated.

4:30 PM - K goes on a drive and I decide to play DDR. My arm is not ready for barre but it can dangle a bit while I stomp on some arrows. I decide I really want to learn Afronova on heavy which is something I never was really able to pass consistently in my youth. It’ll be a good thing to work toward over the next few weeks.

5:30 PM - Pour a glass of wine and hop on zoom with K’s family. It’s nice to see them.

7:30 PM - Make buffalo chicken sandwiches for dinner with potatoes.

9:00 PM - Walk to the lake with K. 

12:00 AM - Finish my entire post for miso butter noodles. I don’t think I’ve ever shot and posted something in the same day. Exhausting! Hah

DAY FIFTY-TWO TOTAL: $0

DAY FIFTY-THREE

8:00 AM - Pure barre charge. Make a chemex. And eat half a bagel with earth balance and nooch for breakfast. Also get charged for my automatic payment to Amazon for iron pills $27.93

9:00 AM - Today is my officemate’s birthday. My boss and I pitched in to get her a Lululemon gift card. $35

12:00 PM - Leftover miso butter noodles for lunch with air-fried broccoli.

5:00 PM - Today was honestly exhausting but I am ready to move. Play a few games of DDR and then do a barre class. 

7:00 PM - Rinse off and make the last of the buffalo chicken sandwiches. We’re very excited for groceries tomorrow hah.

9:30 PM - Buy a phone tripod. I suck at doing videos one-handed and I know I can grow my pages like bananas if I can actually shoot the content correctly. I apply the gift card my boss got me for building her website so this is on the house. 

DAY FIFTY-THREE TOTAL: $62.93

DAY FIFTY-FOUR

7:00 PM - Long ass day. Groceries are slated to arrive. Incoming of bell peppers, tomatoes, grapes, tofu, cucumber, broccoli, red onion, limes, lemons, bananas, jalapenos, serranos, clementines, bread, chickpeas, tortilla chips, tortillas, sprouts, potatoes, baby carrots, onions, salsa, cauliflower rice, cilantro, gf mini pretzels, apples, hashbrowns, oat milk, cheese, vegan cheese, brown rice, white rice, gf pasta, spring mix, romaine, tomato paste, dark chocolate, red wine and balsamic vinegar, pineapple, scallions, oregano, shallots, mushrooms, orzo, kale, chipotle peppers, eggs, brown sugar, burger buns, corn, parsley, veggie straws, vanilla bean, asparagus, snap peas, a pound of coffee, plant sausage, plant yogurt, zucchini, radish, cabbage, seltzer, plant yogurt, pasta sauce, plant pizza, jelly, and mustard. $350.86

8:00 PM - Eat red lentil pasta for dinner.

DAY FIFTY-FOUR TOTAL: $350.86

DAY FIFTY-FIVE

1:00 PM - Done with meetings for the day. My brain hurts. Hah make salad (bbq chicken, spring mix, carrots, bell pepper, onion, corn, tomatoes, cucumbers, and ranch is the combo for the week), drink seltzer, tryyyy to calm down. 

3:40 PM - Actually hoping no one bothers me for the rest of the day. Change into workout clothes and sneak in my last barre class for the challenge. 

6:00 PM - Get charged for CBS all access. Craving a cocktail instead of wine. Pick some grapefruits from the backyard, text J to ask how to salt a rim, then make a grapefruit + mezcal drink with a chili-lime salted rim. YUM.  $6.48

7:00 PM - Veggie sandwiches with potatoes is the name of dinner for the next few days. So good!

DAY FIFTY-FIVE TOTAL: $6.48

DAY FIFTY-SIX

8:30 AM - Make a chemex and “get to work.” Today is super slow. I finish the last of my outstanding tasks, make 2 batches of chex mix which I regret because K says he won’t be eating any since he’s trying to avoid salt. Snack on that and then make salad for lunch.

1:30 PM - Literally no one has pinged me so I take the opportunity to play some DDR. I play for nearly an hour before anyone bothers me and nail down the steps to this one section of Afronova at ⅕ the speed. I’ll try ⅖ tomorrow! 

5:30 PM - K and I are both starving so I make us dinner early today. Drink a grapefruit + mezcal cocktail after din.

8:30 PM - K asks if I’ll walk to the lake with him and the dog. I kind of don’t want to since I played my heart out already but he asks pleeeassse and I oblige. The walk is really really nice. We even sit near the waterfront for a while watching people do this cheesy skate routine. 

10:30 PM - Make it back. I work on my blog in K’s office while he edits video stuff. I have The Challenge on in the background and finish Fresh Meat II. Only 11 more seasons before I can cancel my membership! Hah.

DAY FIFTY-SIX TOTAL: $0

[somelazysundays]

2020... so far.

2020. What a year, am I right?

We lost so many meaningful people that have shaped and changed the world to where it is today. I’ve lost someone who meant the world to me, someone who was a father figure to me, my uncle, my best friend. I hope you rest in peace my 88 (what we called our Uncle).

I honestly don’t know why I’m writing this but with there’s nothing else to do besides think. 

I think this year really became the year where I have started to think about my life more seriously. Health, love, marriage, family, the four important pillars to me. Of course, don’t forget finances in the grand scheme of things but without those four pillars, money doesn’t matter. 

Health. 5 years ago, I lost my dad to lung cancer. It’s something I’m not afraid to speak about nor do I mind answering questions related to my dad or cancer in general. Life went on, I was a completely different person 5 years ago. I focused all my energy into working and moved jobs until I was finally at a comfortable place to take a step back and reflect. The one thing I’ve always neglected was my own health. 

It wasn’t until this year with Covid-19, my “wedding”, and my uncle passing (not from covid, thank God) did I take my health seriously. I used to think “oh, I’ll start tomorrow/next week/next month.” And even though I did managed to get one day’s worth of work in, I continued to make excuses about continuing. Truly, it’s all a mental game. I woke up at 5AM everyday in February, commuted into the city which took roughly an hour, and worked out for an hour before getting into work by 9AM. I promised myself I’d at least do it for a week and preload my phone with different workout apps and all (I do recommend the SWEAT app if you’re willing to spend a little money and prefer a preset program provided for you).

Then, I let myself go. In March we were forced to work from home and stay quarantined indefinitely. I stopped working out because I broke out of the habit of habit of having to wake up at 5AM and there’s no more commute time. I can literally roll out of bed 5 mins before 9AM and “be at work.” There’s also no equipment at home besides a yoga mat and I just can’t do yoga everyday, I find it too boring (good for like a 5 min stretch, personal preference). 

And then I got so sick of myself, I felt so gross and disgusted whenever I looked at myself in the mirror. That was until I found Chloe Ting on YouTube! Her workouts are all free and she also provides workout schedules depending on what you want to target. You don’t HAVE to follow her schedules to the dot but that’s just what she recommends for you to get the best results within the program duration. 

Since starting in April, I weighed a hefty 190lbs (86kg for the non-American folks), honestly just plain disgusting. Slowly but shortly, I started with her 4 week ab workout program, then her 2 week shred (where I just wanted to die everyday), finished the booty program and now I’m on the slimmer thighs program. Not gonna lie, I’ve slacked through summer because it is just too damn hot/humid to find an F to give. But now that it’s September, 5 months later, I’ve lost 15-20lbs (7kg). I’ve been taking progress photos and it’s actually quite shocking to see how different I look (debating if I’ll ever post these pics lol).

But working out is only part of it right? Exercise is 20% of the battle and diet is the other 80%. I’ve managed to cut out processed carbs as well as cooked a lot more thanks to quarantine. My diet now consists mostly of coffee (I still indulge in some creamer), green tea, whole wheat bread, eggs (a TON of eggs), sausages, sandwich meats (not good but a few slices here and there don’t hurt when you run out of things to eat), dumplings (backup option), yogurt, meatballs and a lot of water. Yes my diet is boring but when you’re like me where you don’t want to think and just make something quick to eat to get you through the day, this works. I’ll try to mix things up where I make omelettes with eggs and some sandwich meats, maybe sprinkle a bit of cheese if I have. All in all, it’s not too crazy. As for dinner, I eat whatever the FIL/MIL is cooking less rice. I try to load up more on the vegetables and protein.

I struggle so much with dieting, but discipline is key, as cliche as that sounds. It’s so easy to give into temptations, other people can throw you off the track easily with “oh just one won’t hurt you,” “it’s not that bad” tactics. Don’t. Listen. To. Them! Trust your gut! You’ve worked so hard to get to where you are, don’t let yourself go so easily! You remember how hard and long the journey was to get to where you are now, don’t put all your efforts to waste! It also gets easier once this becomes a habit. After a while of eating “clean,” I can’t stomach junk food as much nor as easily anymore. And shockingly, I’m glad.

Again, I don’t know what the purpose of this post is but I figured I’d just write down my thoughts. These sort of thoughts run in my mind constantly especially when I’m working out. I’ve always grateful that I have a comfy “office” job that I am currently doing at home and I can practically do my workout whenever it is convenient for me. I’m blessed that I have all this opportunity and time in my disposal and only I know what’s the right choice for me. I’m blessed that I can start taking care of my health now before it gets to late. 

If anybody wants to talk life, fitness, love, marriage, family, let’s talk!

[goodlucktai]

I'm always down for any TMNT from you. I'd love to read more of your Ghost AU.

currently my fave tmnt au, how did u know?

give up the ghost

x

“We got a ton of good stuff,” Woody says happily from the backseat, panning through images on his complicated-looking camera. He looks up, grinning through a fine layer of hundred-year-old grime, and says, “We had permission to go in that house, right? From the owner?”

“Sure,” Leo says, glancing at him from the passenger side seat. They’re idling at a stop sign, because it’s twelve a.m. on a Wednesday and traffic won’t exist for another six hours; they can pretty much take all the time they want. “We always get permission first. Why?”

“‘Cause I’m thinkin’ we could upload some of this. Maybe make a Youtube channel, or a blog site. You want people to be able to find you, and an online presence is probably the best way to make that happen.”

“We have a Facebook page,” Mikey points out reasonably, eyes on the road as he pulls forward. In the reflection of the rearview mirror, Woody’s grin warms into something fond.

“For someone with a tech genius for a brother you’re a little clueless, Mikester. Trust me on this one?”

And that was never really the question; Woody has been with the club for nearly half a year now, and he hasn’t balked once at any of the things he’s seen. He goes in behind Leo and Mikey with that bulky camcorder on his shoulder, eyes focused forward and hands steady, and Mikey has come to count on his calm presence the same way he counts on Leo.

So it’s easy for Mikey to shrug and say, “‘Course, dude. I give you full creative license.”

“For that, amigo, marry me.”

And butterflies find a home in Mikey’s stomach after that. They live there happily for a handful of minutes, and Mikey is smiling like a dork at the parking lot as he turns into it, until Leo says, “Isn’t that Raph’s car?” and everything immediately sucks.

“Oh, no,” he says, spotting the station wagon. “No, no, no. Leo – “

“We can hide out at my house,” Leo says immediately. His voice is soft with sympathy, even as he adds, “But I think it’s a little too late for that.”

He’s right. Raph is leaning against the hood of his car, arms folded. It’s midnight, and he’s staking out Mikey’s apartment like a verifiable weirdo, and Mikey would rather be anywhere else right now.

Woody sighs with feeling, packing up his camera bag with unnecessary force. “This dude needs a hobby,” he mutters, one of three people in the world who are unequivocally on Mikey’s side. Mikey appreciates the show of solidarity, even though it’s hard to appreciate anything in face of the confrontation he’s in for.

He shifts glumly into park, pulls the keys out of the starter. Dusts himself off half-heartedly because that’s a lost cause, trades a long-suffering look with Leo, and then pops open the driver’s side door.

“Hi, Raph,” he says. “Didn’t expect to see you here. At my house, in the middle of the night.”

Raph gives him a once-over and his mouth tightens. “You got a minute?”

“I have lots of minutes,” Mikey says with forced good cheer. Unfortunately, he doesn’t add. To his friends he says, “I’ll see you guys tomorrow.”

Neither of them move. “It’s already late,” Leo says, meeting Raph’s heated look with a cool one. “Mind if I sleep over?”

“Same,” Woody pipes up. “Since we all got class in the morning, makes sense to carpool, don’t it?”

Mikey is hopelessly grateful to have them both in his life. On one hand, Raph isn’t someone he needs protecting from – Raph is a good person, and loyal to a fault, and he only comes around like this because he’s worried about Mikey, and trying to do good by the memory of his best friend by taking care of his best friend’s wayward little brother.

On the other hand, every conversation with him after Donnie died has been strained and uncomfortable, and it’s to the point now that just seeing him puts an anxious knot in the pit of Mikey’s stomach.

“Okay,” Mikey says, to all three of them. “Let’s go upstairs, I guess.”

Leo is texting someone on the quiet elevator ride up to Mikey’s floor. Since Mikey knows for a fact that Usagi isn’t awake right now and Karai is visiting her mother for the week, he has a good idea who Leo’s texting, and he’s proven right when he pushes the front door open and Donnie is nowhere to be seen.

Thanks, Leo, he thinks fervently. It’s brutally unfair to bring one of Donnie’s friends into the house without warning him first. The first time Casey dropped by unannounced, Donnie accidentally shorted out the power on the whole floor, and he was sad for days after.

Woody casually sets his bag on the table, right over Donnie’s phone. Mikey’s friends are actual ninjas and he loves them.

Leo shrugs out of his jacket, pretends not to notice the hearty rain of dust that follows the action, and folds it over the back of a kitchen chair. Raph looks equal parts exasperated and incredulous.

“I get it,” he says, “you’re his guard dogs. If I promise I’m not gonna throw a punch, will you let me talk to the kid?”

Mikey’s friends look pointedly at him. Mikey says, “Yeah, that’s. Cool. Leo, Woody, you guys can grab a shower if you want. The half-bath is off Donnie’s room, there’s a shower in there, too. Raphie and me’ll make us all somethin’ to eat real quick.”

For a second, it doesn’t look like they’re gonna move. After an obvious pause they both extract themselves from the room and head down the hall. It’s soft, Mikey only catches it because he’s listening, but they both murmur a greeting as they pass Don’s room and despite everything else that small kindness makes Mikey smile.

“Grilled cheese,” he decides aloud, and Raph dutifully heads to the fridge.

Maybe he’s making a point to be less barbed, but the silence between the two of them is closer to companionable than it has been in a long time. They butter half a loaf of bread, peel open a handful of Provolone cheese slices, and the first sandwich is assembled on the skillet, browned on one side, when Raph finally says, “Your friends don’t like me much.”

Mikey looks at him sideways. “I haven’t said anything to them to make them think – “

“Mikey, c’mon. I know that.” Raph runs a hand through his short hair, weary. “I wouldn’t like me much, either, if I was them. I don’t mean to be an asshole, kid, I’m sorry.”

“You haven’t been,” Mikey says immediately, heart bleeding for him. It’s so complicated between them anymore, but they were close, once. Close enough that Raph cares for him this much, even after everything. It makes Mikey feel small sometimes. “You’re going through something really painful, Raphie, and it’s hard. I get it.” He hesitates, and looks down at the plastic spatula in his hand, and adds, “I know I don’t make it any easier. Is Casey still mad at me?”

“Mikey,” he says it like it hurts. “He’s not mad at you. He never should’ve said what he did back then. He regrets it, he just doesn’t know how to apologize.”

“‘Sorry’ is a good place to start,” Mikey murmurs, getting a new sandwich started. It easier to look at the food than it is to look at Raph when he adds, “It’s okay if he’s mad at me, though.”

“Just stop,” Raph thunders suddenly, slamming a fist on the counter. 

The only reason Mikey doesn’t flinch is because of the company he’s been keeping lately, in a handful of haunted houses and churches across the state. Poltergeists are far more volatile than even Raphael, and with tempers much trickier. Mikey has seen far worse these days. 

Raph looks sorry for his outburst anyway, floundering for a moment before steeling himself and soldiering on. 

“You’re so – understanding. You shouldn’t be. You should be – all messed up, like the rest of us are. You should be grieving. But instead you’re actin’ like nothin’ happened. Like he ain’t gone, and you don’t miss him.”

Mikey’s heart is a solid lump in his chest. The sandwich on the stove is burning, filling the air with an acrid smell. 

“I know it ain’t true,” Raph goes on, softer. “I know that. I just don’t know why you’re actin’ like it, Mikey. It don’t make any sense to me.” 

Movement in the corner of his eye makes Mikey look up. Donnie is standing in the doorway of the kitchen, and his brown eyes are miserable behind his big glasses, and Mikey wishes with his whole heart that he could give his gift away by the hour, lend it to all the people missing people they can��t see anymore. 

“There isn’t really a textbook way to mourn somebody,” Mikey says carefully. “There isn’t a right or wrong way to hurt.”  

Raph doesn’t have an answer for that. The smoke alarm saves them both in the end, filling the strained silence with shrill beeps, and Raph leaves not long after that. 

Woody comes down the hall in a pair of borrowed pajama pants and one of their official club T-shirts, still toweling his hair dry. He gives the scorched grilled cheese a long, knowing look. 

“Raph is still grieving,” Mikey says firmly before Woody has a chance to make his remark. “He’s allowed to be difficult.”

“He’s grieving your brother,” comes the unflinching reply. “He’s not allowed to be difficult at you.”

But that’s not how grief works. It can come up from nothing, the same way love can, and it can be every bit as senseless and impossible and staggering as love can be, too.

No one gets to point at someone else and say “my grief is worse than yours, because my love was different.” No one can be the judge of that. It’s impossible to measure, impossible to make sense of. Mikey wouldn’t even want to try. 

But he doesn’t say any of that. Instead he slides an un-burnt grilled cheese onto a styrofoam plate and hands it over, with an absent, “Your shirt’s on backwards.” 

Woody scoffs but an involuntary flush rises in his cheeks – and despite everything else, Mikey can’t help but smile crookedly at the sight Woody makes, as he tries to turn the shirt around without taking it off. 

A few of those butterflies from earlier must have survived. And they must show on his face or give him away somehow, because Leo takes one look at him as he joins them in the kitchen and rolls his eyes. 

“I’m putting you both up for adoption,” he tells them dryly. 

“Empty threat,” Woody says from somewhere beneath his shirt. “You’d miss us too much.”

“I hate how sure you are of that,” Leo mutters, then reaches over to nudge Mikey’s arm. “Your turn. Shower. And then bed.” 

“Okay, mom,” Mikey says agreeably, and neatly sidesteps the punch Leo aims at his shoulder. Woody snickers, and an animated argument picks up behind Mikey as he heads down the hall. He pauses in the door of Donnie’s room, and says, “Bro?”

Donnie lifts his head to look at him, the only reply Mikey will get without his phone to serve as a communication bridge. 

“Are you okay?” Mikey asks him, feeling small. 

His brother stands and moves at a human pace across the room, and touches Mikey’s shoulder with unsubstantial fingers. His lips move, forming words Mikey can’t hear.

But at the end of it, Donnie smiles. Relieved, leaning into the hand that isn’t really there, Mikey smiles back.   

[randoreviews]

MATHIESON FOOD/COOKING/FOOD INTERVIEW

B: Y’all set? M: Yeah! B: Okay, cool. So my first question is, this sounds kinda dirty, but when was the last time you ate fluff? M: That I ate what??? B: Ate fluff! Like peanut butter and fluff. M: Peanut butter and fluff, huh... Uumm... Did we have that in New Zealand? It wasn’t an approved item in my mom’s pantry, that’s for sure, so, I would say... maybe high school at one of my friend’s houses? B: Haha. Yeah. So you weren’t really... a fan of it. M: No, we weren’t allowed to have anything like that. B: Okay. And you didn’t, like, sneak it? M: I was never really sneaky, I tried to be healthy like my father, but... when I first found Nutella, that was like my guilty pleasure. B: Okay. Yup. M: But fluff never really did it for me. B: Just too sugary or the consistency, err... M: Yeah, and I was more, I liked the jelly because you get a little bit of acidity to cut the fat, I don’t think I would have described peanut butter and jelly to you that way before I became a chef but, uh, I was more of a jelly person. Jelly and crunchy peanut butter. B: Mmm, that sounds good. And the jelly with peanut butter, like, it’s easier to eat. Peanut butter is really thick and then fluff is ALSO really thick, so it’s like... how do people even eat that? M: Yeah, and it would have been smarter if they had mixed them both together and that made it easier to spread on a piece of bread. B: Mhm, mhm. All right, so the second question’s a lot healthier and a easy one, uh, favorite vegetable... M: Carrots. B: Carrots. Okay... You wanna say why errr...? You don’t have to say why. M: I think carrots... I mean, they were generally overlooked for a little while, they’re a little more popular with chefs now just doing carrot dishes and things like that. But I love them raw. I think it’s the best vegetable you can just grab outta your refrigerator and chomp on. B: Mhm. M: I also remember a time at my dad’s house we would just eat like bags of baby carrots for dinner sometimes and it was great. B: Mhm. I have a funny mom story, you know when moms can just, like, take you down a peg or two when they feel like it... M: Haha. B: I was eating baby carrots one night... and you know, they’re organic of course and, you know, good for you, supposedly... you would think, and then my mom was like, uh, You know those baby carrots come, like, you know they’re like soaked in chlorine, right?, or something, and it was just that moment where you’re just like, Wa-Waa, and you just kinda put the carrot that you’re eating down. But, um, yeah, maybe I’ll buy a bag of baby carrots tomorrow. M: I’m sure that they could be packed in some sort of solution, but baby carrots are essentially, they’re large carrots, they normally come from horse carrots which are the biggest carrots you can buyy... B: Right. M: Soo... it’s a regular carrot, they just do something to it to get that shape and they use the rest of it for shredded carrots on like a salad bar. B: Yup... cool. All right, soo, I didn’t want to limit you to just one answer on this so I’m sayin, TWO favorite cheeses... M: Two favorite cheeses... Umm... I would say taleggio is like... definitely one of  my favorite cheeses. It’s kind of got a consistency where you can kind of spread it, it’s good on a cheese plate, and it’s also, like, super good to melt. B: Hmm! I don’t know, you said taleggio? Like, T? Like, Tim? M: T-A-L-E-G-G-I-O. Or something pretty close to that. B: Hmm, I don’t know if I’ve heard of that or had that. It sounds like a soft cheese err?? M: Yeah, it’s, uh, I would say maybe semi-soft? I mean you kind of cut into it like it’s a brie? It holds up a little better but, if it gets warm you can definitely spread it. You can SLICE it, make a sandwich out of it, I wouldn’t waste it on a sandwich, I think it’s just perfect the way it is. B: Too precious for a sandwich? M: Yeah, it’s a little salty. And when I first tried it, it smells really really bad. And at that time I wasn’t necessarily into stinky cheeses? But I think taleggio is like a gateway drug into the stinky cheese world, for sure. B: Haha... it sounds pretty Italian. M: It is, yeah. B: Nice. And your number two would be....? M: Ah, that’s a hard one... so many... B: Yeah... We can always come back to it, we can let it marinate for a few. No pun intended, and, uh, we can come back to it if you want. M: Yeah, let me come back to it. B: Okay! All right, so when did you start cooking? And did you know right away it was what you wanted to do... M: So when I first started cooking, I was probablyyy... fifteen or so? I was a dishwasher at an Italian restaurant in Plattsburgh called Dominic’s... B: Yup. M: ... and, um, one thing I did know is, I never thought I would be a chef because at that point The Food Network was just kinda coming ouuut, but I didn’t know much about chefs and the chef world. Really nothing at all. So, it wasn’t necessarily something I thought of? I thought of hospitality as a career but I also really enjoyed, like, my time in Nicaragua, soo... that’s why I kind of thought I would maybe go into the medical field. B: Mhm. M: Soo... I loved working at the restaurant, and I worked under the chef, the chef never took a day off, the first chef that I worked for, his name was Sammy, never took a day off once, and... hardest working guy but also, kinda cared about showing me how to do things. So I started out peeling shrimp in the morning and then washing dishes for the rest of the night and then I went and I kinda got more prep, I started breading the chicken parmesan cutlets and pounding them out and, that was more exciting than shrimp, for sure. And then I found I got into the pizza dough, making the pizza dough balls... B: Yup. M: And then from there, one day one of the line cooks, he was missing a couple teeth, I can’t remember his name, but he started yelling at me for something and, uh, the chef took him outside and I never saw the line cook again. B: He shot him? M: Haha, I wouldn’t say shot but... I was working the grill station after that, and that’s when I started, I would call my friends and say, Hey, come wash dishes at Dominic’s because, literally, if they came to wash dishes I was able to work the line. And it was exciting. B: Wow, cool! So he was like uhhh... your first mentor... in cooking... M: Yeah, kinda. It didn’t last for very long because, uh, the restaurant burnt down theee fall... So my first day was the day after prom, so I was a little hungover my first day. B: And you had to peel shrimp? M: Yup. B: Oh man. That’s rough. M: Yup, do the shrimp, wash the dishes, and uhh... sorry, I lost my train of thought... Oh yeah, the restaurant burnt down. So I got to work there that whole summer, and then they had another restaurant open on Rouses Point, so on the really exciting days they would be running out of something, like a vegetable or something like that, and I would drive their BMW, their black BMW... B: Nice. M: ... It was a little older, it had one of those built-in cell phones, and I’d drive it up to Rouses Point, to deliver whatever was in the trunk. B: Woww. Right along the water there?, that sounds like it’s on the water. M: Yup, it was on the water, it was pretty cool. And, uh, sometimes I would also mow the lawns. I would mow the lawns at the restaurants and at their house as well. B: Wow! Just doin it all like a renaissance man.   M: Haha. Yeah. But then it was my first day senior year of high school and it was my first day of school, and I woke up to a voicemail from my uncle who worked at the fire department that said, I hope you’re not working at Dominic’s, it just burnt down. B: Wowww. M: So then I kinda lost that kinda excitment, uh, I went to work in a couple other places around Plattsburgh, one of them was called Aladdin’s, and it was Lebanese cuisine, and I worked for an owner, her name was Houda, she was from... mm, I want to say... I’m not sure. B: But she was Middle Eastern. M: Yes, yeah. So they played this really loud Lebanese music, and they had belly dancing nights. And they liked me, and I got to write the specials and put them on the menu, and they would even use my name in the newspaper as, like, Chef Mathieson, and I think I was a senior that year. B: Daaaamn. The women are starting to take notice. M: Yeah. And there I found, there it was kind of a smaller restaurant, so I would wash dishes and cook the shawarma and tabouli and stuff like that. B: Ahh. Delicious. M: I really liked the food. And then, that restaurant closed pretty quickly too, in the springtime, and then the summer before I went to college I found a job at a restaurant called Minnie’s, and Minnie’s was this beautiful restaurant on Bridge Street in downtown Plattsburgh... I guess you don’t have to say downtown Plattsburgh... um, but uh, there I got to work the line. There was a chef there who was a culinary school graduate... B: Mhm. M: And, on the weekends, the owner let me be in charge of the Sunday brunch menu, so I got to write some brunch dishes, and I remember being at a college orientation in Potsdam, writing my menu for the weekend. And it didn’t really occur to me then that... I should just... be a chef. B: Yeah! M: It kinda happened when I got to school and realized how miserable I was. B: Right, yeah. You started missin peelin those shrimp. M: Haha, exactly. B: But what was the guy’s name at Dominic’s, one more time? M: Sammy. B: Does he have a last name? Is he still alive? M: Definitely still alive. I don’t knoww... Both of them live in Plattsburgh. He has a brother named Enzo, and I actually went and worked for them again... but... I wouldn’t know how to spell their last name, much less pronounce it. They were from Yugoslavia. B: Ah. Cool. Okay, so did it come out of necessity, you cooking, since your dad could subsist on popcorn and Labatt Blue. (God love him.) M: I try to stay away from that line of, but I started cooking at home before I got a restaurant job, I would watch The Food Network, and I would get home from school probly like an hour or so before my dad would get home from work. It was kind of like... it was kind of soulful, it was like, put the music on, start cookin... I had a lot of big flops back then, I remember I tried to coat, like, salmon with graham cracker crust cuz there wasn’t anything else in the pantry, but um, it was nice to do something nice for my dad when he got home from work. B: Yeah. M: And that was kind of a way I showed my appreciation for him. I’m sure as a teenager sneaking out at night to party, I didn’t do much of it, but... when I cooked, that’s how I showed it. B: Food is love, that’s the way I think of it. It can be hard to express feelings to people, but then you just, like, cook for them and that’s it. You know, and that’s all you really need to do... well, hopefully you do a few other things but cooking is really important. Um, so where did you study? Cuz you went to culinary school. M: I went to the Culinary School of America. B: And there’s a east coast campus, and a west coast campus, I went to the west coast campus with you, right? M: Oh yeah, yeah, the west coast campus is in Napa Valley. I went to the east coast campus, it’s like the OG, it kinda looks like Hogwarts, just an amazing, beautiful school, and, my eyes were just opened wide as soon as I stepped foot on that campus, because, um, I went from SUNY Canton... I can’t say much about SUNY Canton because that’s where Aunt Sheila went... B: Hahaha. M: I went from SUNY Canton to, I applied to culinary school the first month I was at SUNY Canton and I called my dad and I was like, Yeah, I’m comin home, I’m goin to culinary school, fuck this shit. And he was like, Well, you’re not livin with me. B: Hahaha. M: I went and I worked as a waiter to save up money for college, it was the second restaurant, so when Dominic’s burnt down they built a new one, in Plattsburgh. So I went and worked for them as a waiter. B: Just called Dominic’s again? M: They called it San Morino Two. B: Huh. Cool. M: But yeah, Culinary Institute in Hyde Park. B: Hyde Park... sweet. Was it... were people generally friendly, I know the restaurant businesses and cooking businesses, like a lot of businesses, can be kind of cutthroat but, were your fellow students there friendly, the professors...? M: Yeah, it was much different, it was very structured, almost like a military school in the fact that, you shave before you go into class, you have to be dressed up, you have to wear your chef whites in the kitchen and you have to wear one of those tall hats and it can’t be crumpled up, you can’t put it in your backpack or anything. B: Right. M: And as far as my friends, some of my lifelong friends I met there. People were great there. You always get a few douchebags who think they know everything. B: Right. M: And it definitely happens more in culinary school, I would say. I started there right around the time when you still had to work for at least six months in a restaurant before you’re allowed to go to the school, and you had to get recommendations from restaurant owners to get in. They stopped that kind of shortly after my class and then, people that didn’t necessarily know what they wanted to do would just go to culinary school. And our class, I think, we started with like 45 people and ended up with actually twelve that graduated at the same time there. So the dropout rate is pretty high there. B: Does that mean, since there were only twelve of you who made it at the end, did you really bond with them, er, not so much? M: Yeah, I had a little different scenario, my first year and a half in culinary school, the first six weeks is book classes, like culinary math and, culinary writing and things like that, and then you get into the kitchen, and first you start with your knife cuts, and then making stocks, like chicken stock, beef stock, things like that. B: Right, yeah. M: And then you go into your first skills class which is when you cook very basic French dishes. So as soon as you get into that class, you are graded every day on, you have to bring in definitions of different culinary terms and ingredients? But you also prepare certain dishes in a certain amount of time and you present each dish to the chef, for a grade. Sometimes you work in groups and sometimes it’s just by yourself. But I kinda like that. I had some success and some failures. Everything was in blocks there, so it wasn’t like first semester, second semester, but towards the end of my time before I got sent on my externship, I took a practical, I kinda flopped, I got the hardest one, it was a poached sol, you gotta break the fish down and all that stuff. B: Whoa. M: So I wasn’t proud of that but I still passed. B: Nice. And you said culinary math, that’s like memorizing tablespoons and ounces, what does culinary math mean? M: Yeah, so my first day in culinary math class, one of our first projects was to peel carrots, and when you start culinary school you get your own, like, knife kit of all the professional tools that you’ll need to work in the kitchen, and one of them was the peeler, which hadn’t been used yet. So I reached into the bag to get my peeler and I sliced my finger open in the math class, before I had even stepped foot in a kitchen. B: Oooooo. M: So, uh, I was kind of embarrassed, because a few people saw that I was bleeding from a peeler, but I managed to hide it with a napkin, and peel the carrot and then you weighed it, and then you figure out, if you buy the carrot for X amount and you take off X in carrot peels, how much is the carrot’s yield is what you’re looking for. B: Right, so in the long run, how much money are you gonna get back? Wow, man. That’s where my brain stops working, I was never good at any kind of math. M: I’m not either, trust me. B: So aside from testing out new recipes that you’ve been doing, what was the last thing you made for yourself? M: The last thing I made for myself... B: It doesn’t have to be anything crazy, just, honestly the last thing you made for yourself. M: I maaaade... ch-ch-ch-chhh.... I mean I’ve kind of been cooking for myself with all these Asian ingredients I have in my pantry right now, but I’m trying to think of something I normally wouldn’t do if I wasn’t doing what I am. I maaade... ravioli after Christmas with my grandfather. B: Mmm. Nice. Just, like, regular ravioli, err... M: So we do it, it’s a new day-after-Christmas tradition. Essentially it started with us finding the pasta machine and now every year we roll out pasta and I make the fillings. And last year was pretty special, it was the first year without my grandmother. Soo... we have three big nights in my family, we do Christmas Eve dinner, and Uncle Howard always used to come over and we would eat shrimp spaghetti which is actually your mom’s recipe... B: Nice, yup. M: And then Christmas... well, I’ll play this back, Christmas Eve turned into more of a roast, prime rib sort of thing and then on Christmas Day we have a ham and we have a turkey that’s roasted off. So last year I made three raviolis and one was Christmas Eve dedicated to my grandmother, Christmas Eve at her house. And I did a Christmas Day which was a turkey, I made a sauce with the bones and I made a cool filling. It kind of reminded me of what Christmas Day tastes like, it’s a little different than what Thanksgiving tastes like even though it was a turkey. And then the next one is, my uncle’s birthday, my Uncle Doug, my mom’s brother, and we always go out to dinner the day after Christmas too. And that one was, I used all the leftovers. Anyways, I got pretty intense with, this flavor, this filling, reminds me of this night. B: Cool. So each of the three raviolis had a different filling? M: Mhm. B: Wow, that’s cool. Cuz there’s the regular ravioli is like a meat or a kind of beef or pork filling and tomato sauce, but then I’ve also had butternut squash filling, you get the cheese filling with the white cheese sauce on it. Those are all really good. M: Yeah, yeah. And ravioli also reminds me, that was one of my dad’s numbers. I numbered the meals he could cook one through five. And Thursdays we normally had number four, which was ravioli with Paul Newman’s tomato sauce. B: That sounds really good. He could make five dinners? M: Yeah, it was tacos, ravioli, frozen pizzaa... He’s a little more creative now. That was always a running joke. B: Nice. Hey, five ain’t bad. That’s probably a couple more than most people. Okay, so can you explain to people what Fernet is? M: Yeah, so Fernet is a digestif, made with many different herbs and spices. The purpose is to drink it when you’re finished eating, essentially. It kind of helps you to digest your food faster. And it’s bitter so it kind of, I guess, cleanses your palette in a way. B: Right, yeah. How would you describe, besides the words you’ve already used, like herbaceous and it tastes like a spice, how would you describe the taste? Any other adjectives come to mind? Because I only know about it through you, I’ve had it with you. It has its own flavor. M: Definitely has its own flavor. I would say bitter would be one of the top flavors. It’s aromatic. I want to say, I don’t know this for a fact but there’s like sixty-three different ingredients that go into making it. B: Whoa. M: But it’s normally served after you’re finished eating, like the same time you’d get a coffee or espresso, you’d also drink a Fernet. My grandfather came over to visit me in San Francisco, and one of the bartenders brought me a bottle and my grandfather was like, Oh my god, your great grandmother used to drink this, and she was Italian. B: Right, okay, I was just gonna ask you, is it Italian? M: Yeah, it’s Italian. B: Okay, cool. That’s always a safe guess. And soo, for those not familiar, can you tell people what Michigans are, where they came from, why they’re important to your hometown and my mom’s side of the family’s hometown of Plattsburgh in upstate New York?... So, what’s a Michigan? M: Yeah, so a Michigan is a hot dog... covered in ground beef sauce. I’ve researched the recipe a lot, the authentic recipe, and from my understanding, they put ground beef into boiling water and simmer it for hours and hours, and then they add spices to it. And then, the technical recipe, unless there’s a secret somewhere that I don’t understand, some recipes call for tomato, I enjoy using tomato, it’s a little deeper flavor. And then the way to eat a Michigan is to... get it buried. So you get raw, chopped onions underneath the hot dog. And the hot dog bun always has to be steamed. B: Right. Make it a little soft, add a little moisture. And the buried onions really bring it to another level, I agree. M: Yeah, I think it really cuts into the fattiness of the hot dog, because you get all the flavorful Michigan sauce, but then when you get down in there, it’s just a hot dog. The onions really kick it all up. And then mustard as well. That’s the classic garnish B: Yeah, right. I was just gonna... and I never think to add ketchup really, it’s like the mustard is the condiment that goes with those three or four other things. M: Right. You do not need ketchup there at all. B: Right, yeah. Maybe because of the meat is already pretty sweet because of the Italian tomato sauce you use. M: Yeah, the meat’s a little sweet. Normally if I’m making it, I caramelize the tomato paste in the bottom of the pan and add some, like, aromatic vegetables, and then that’s kind of how I develop the cooking liquid for the beef. And then you just cook that down. It takes a few hours but it’s worth it, always. B: It’s so worth it. Soo, can youuu... this will be the last question like this... Can you tell people about cold shredded cheese on pizza. That seems like a life hack, or just a good tip. M: So, from my research, I’ve found that, it’s a college town thing in upstate New York to put cold cheese on your pizza, because when you’re drunk and really hungry and the pizza’s hot out of the oven, you want to cool it down a little bit. So cold cheese kind of came into play that way. B: Ahaa! And then they were, upon the first bite they were just like, this is also delicious. M: This is perfect. Why not have a little extra cheese on top? B: Nice. So my favorite restaurant experience, no question... and this is just, like, bragging at this point but... my favorite restaurant experience was going to Chez Panisse in Berkeley with you and our cousin Lauren, and we let you order everything... Can you tell people about this restaurant and maybe why it’s so good? M: Yeah, so, Chez Panisse, and Alice Waters, kind of were the pioneers, alongside of Jeremiah Tower in San Francisco, who kind of created the movement of farm to table in America, which wasn’t necessarily a thing because of the way our food system has been set up in this country. So Alice Waters spent some time in France and, um, came back and decided to set up a little restaurant called Chez Panisse, where she used only the highest quality ingredients and also became friends with the farmers and her purveyors and didn’t use a big massive company that brought her all of her ingredients, she found each specific ingredient as she needed it. And there are some chefs who will talk smack about Alice Waters, um, Anthony Bourdain was one of them, but I think the importance of what she did to the farm-to-table scene and also to incorporate a farm-to-table scene in children’s diets is also very important. There’s also some of the most talented chefs in California worked for Alice Waters. I believe Jeremiah Tower was one of them. I think he was the opening chef but don’t quote me on that. Jeremiah Tower had a restaurant in San Francisco called Stars, so it was kind of a similar philosophy, farm to table, he was more of a fine dining chef. I think the other important piece of Chez Panisse was it was more of a European style of restaurant, and that became influential because before it was kind of like, you got your Chinese takeout, you’ve got your Italian-American, you’ve got your steakhouse. But you didn’t necessarily have something like Chez Panisse that you could find in France and that sort of thing. And the way she sourced her ingredients, the way it was cooked... B: She essentially cuts out the middle man, right? She just... likes to deal with the farmers herself, right? M: Yes, yeah, definitely. And that’s definitely possible for a lot of people to do, um, it’s just... technically not, like, typical in a restaurant, you find your vendors and then you figure out what you want from those vendors and what the price is, and they deliver to you everyday or a couple, few times a week, depending on how your volume is. So actually it’s very difficult to not deal with that and go directly to people. You have to be extremely organized, in what quantity you’re buying, because most people that run restaurants don’t have that much time to do that, go to a farm to pick up a bag of beans. B: I was gonna say, you probably also have to be a little bit crazy to do that too. Have some OBSESSION with quality, which I know a lot of cooks already do, but... M: Mhm. B: And just being in that building, it was like being in the greatest house ever, it was just so waaarm. It was all, like, super high-quality wood, and just like perfect warm lighting, not too bright, not too dim. Just crazy, it was like being on a spaceship or something. M: Mhm. B: It was awesome. We gotta go back there. Umm, okay, so what country’s cuisine... we’ve talked about France, we’ve talked about Italy, what country’s cuisine has influenced you the most. M: That’s a great question. I don’t necessarily say I could give you a country but I would say California cuisine has influenced my cuisine more than anything else. B: Mhm. M: California cuisine was technically cuisine pioneered by Alice Waters and Jeremiah Tower. B: Mhm. So just fresh, farm-to-table ingredients, nothing too fancy. M: Yeah. There were times when you wanna... I guess what I like about it is, it’s the ingredients and then it’s kind of, do whatever you want to it but you don’t necessarily have to say, this is an Italian dish, or... there’s no restrictions. Say you worked at an Italian restaurant and you wanted to do something off of the beaten path, it’s harder to get away with it. B: Mhm. Yeah, and I know Alice Waterrrs, she’s just like, you can’t really improve on things that, I guess you could say, God created but, she’s obsessed with, like, when a certain fruit is in season, tangerine, I’m forgettinngg the citrus fruit that she really loves, but she’ll just, like, present that when it’s ripe, and it’s the most delicious thing somehow. M: Yeah, and it’s perfect. That is a way that dessert is served in a proper Japanese restaurant, they’re gonna give you a slice of melon. Because they’re so obsessed with growing perfect fruit there. B: Huh! M: Yeah, I don’t know if you’ve ever gone to, like, a sushi restaurant where they’ve given you a slice of honeydew melon or something. But in Japan a melon can go for, like, twenty grand. B: Holy. I can’t think of having melon at a sushi place before but, wow, that’s cool. There’s gotta be something sexual about it, like melons... round, shapely, right? M: Haha. Yeah, I don’t know where it’s derived from, but I love the simplicity of Japanese cuisine, and that’s like the first real, ingredient-driven cuisine, a little insane. I mean obviously Italian cuisine is ingredient-driven. And then other cuisines are just from, this is what grows nearby me and I’m gonna find the best, most ripe piece of X, Y, Z, because you don’t need to do anything to it. Anthony Bourdain’s point about Alice Waters was that she ruined creativity in San Francisco, which at the time was the best food city in the country. B: Mhm, because she kept things too simple for his taste? She took the cheffing out of it in his eyes? M: I think she took, it was more just about the ingredients. But at the same time, there are so many spectacular chefs that worked for her and went on to do crazy things. Jeremiah Tower, for instance. A lot of people have taken what she’s done and applied certain things to it. Now I would say L.A.’s probly got the best food scene goin on in the country right now, but San Francisco’s not too far behind. B: Mhm, cool. Okay, so this is kind of a morbid question but, you’re on death row, what’s your final meal? M: ... Lasagna. B: Haha. Anyone’s lasagna in particular? Do you make it for yourself, is that part of, like, the last feel-good act is you make the lasagna yourself or are you just interested in eating it? M: You know, if I was on Death Row I doubt that they would let me hold a knife in my hand... B: Hahaha. M: ... But I would actually not cook for myself if it was my final meal. I would... B: There you go. M: ... I would want my mother’s lasagna. B: Of course. M: I do like Annette’s lasagna a lot, it’s really good. But I could never say that out loud. B: Haha. Good answer, good answer. Okay, so what would be your dream job situation. Owning a restaurant, is it a big restaurant, small restaurant, is it in the city or the country? M: My dream job situation would be, wake up in the morning, take a swim, go for a run in a field or something, and then go and grab some vegetables from a farmers market of some sort or go to a farm, and then not have to cook for a million people. B: Haha. Nice, nice. M: But I would have, like, a dishwasher and maybe a couple cooks, but it wouldn’t be a big staff at all, it would just be like people cooking together and enjoying it and not being stressed out. There are so many different facets that you could work in this business, especially just being a chef. But what I love about cooking is... how I feel, when I’m making someone else feel good. B: Yeah! Yeah. M: And that’s what I like the most about cooking. And it’s not about me being the most creative person in the world or anything like that, it’s more about me, just kind... I wouldn’t say it’s my craft at this point, I would saayy... it’s my, kind of, zone. B: Yup. M: And it’s what I love to do. And it’s really hard to find a job that I would be able to do that without being stressed out for the rest of my life. Like say I wanted to be a chef in New York City and create all these amazing dishes and have an R&D fermentation lab and do all this crazy stuff. And the only way I could do that is if I was worth millions of dollars and I could afford it. B: Right. M: Those restaurants don’t necessarily make any money. I’ve never been at that point though. I’m kind of like, taking jobs that, I either learn from, I learn a lot by working with certain people, or... I learn for myself. Like my job in San Francisco, at the golf course. I learned a lot for myself there too because it wasn’t a corporation, it was, this is gonna happen and, figure it out. And there was no one else to say, don’t do that or, do this, do that. It was just kinda like, you figure it out or you fucked up. B: Haha. I like those terms. So would the scaaale be on... I had a question here that I was gonna skip but my eye keeps going back to it, and it just says, Will we ever go to French Laundry?, would your dream job situation be... I imagine French Laundry’s pretty small, but is that also a restaurant that’s owned by someone who has plenty of money and because of the money they can do things their way errr? M: Well, Thomas Keller started The French Laundry in, I wanna say, 1990, but The French Laundry gained its reputation from just Thomas Keller working his ass off. And now it’s something totally different because, there’s cookbooks, there’s Per Se in New York City, there’s Bouchon, there’s Ad Hoc, there’s all these other restaurants, but... it all started at The French Laundry and The French Laundry is only gonna get better while his company’s expanding because... B: You can put more back into it. M: Yeah, and if you talk about... I think Thomas Keller, he’s more of a chef’s chef whereas I don’t think that’s what I wanna do every day, I don’t want to work fifteen hours a day in a kitchen, I don’t want to do that anymore. So I’m more looking at what I’m doing now for a little bit more balance in my lifestyle, um, to be a little bit healthier and have a little bit more of a life. B: Yeah, yeah. M: And if you want to do anything like The French Laundry, you’ve gotta give that all up again. B: Right. M: That’s why a lot of new types of concepts are popping up now that are actually run by really good chefs, like fast casual joints that are more of a lunch business and it’s more of a volume sort of thing, and it’s cheaper food but it’s really good. And that allows the chefs of those businesses to not have to work until 3 in the morning and get up at 7 to go to the farmers market. B: Yeah. Man. So my favorite restaurant around here, probably including Boston but it’s down in Providence, is just called Kitchen? And it’s a breakfast/brunch place, and it’s about the size of a closet. It’s SO good. And it’s just this one guy, Howard, I just know his first name, Howard, and he’s the only cook in there. And there’s one server. And it’s just the two of them and it’s like they just make beautiful music together. I don’t know what he does but, like, everything I’ve ordered from there, french toast, everything is perfect. And I think it’s like, Wednesday to Sunday, 9 to 1. And he just makes beautiful food. M: Yeah. That is amazing. It’s something I thought of, at some points in my life, like why am I dealing with the stress like I dealt with in Houston of 650 cooks and all of these restaurants and restaurant openings and I was like, what if I just cooked everyday and forget all this bullshit? B: Haha, right. Maybe one day. He’s also... you’re still young in the game, but he’s probably in his seventies. But he’s doing the lord’s work. So just a couple more questions, I gotta mention this. The Patriots are in the Super Bowl again, you can just do a real quick recap but, can you tell people about the now legendary Tom Brady grapes story? M: So, all I know is, I wasn’t delivering anything into his room, and you can’t include the name of the hotel in case this goes viral... B: Haha, okay. Somewhere in upstate New York... M: At this hotel there’s only room for twenty-two guests at a time. Each guest pays an exorbitant amount of money for the entire experience, you don’t just rent the room, you’re paying for the food. And it’s not the kind of place that has a mini fridge in the room. So, most people don’t bring their own food with them. So, yeah, Tom Brady showed up with his hairdresser... B: Haha. M: ... and the only thing that was ever brought to the room were grapes. B: Hahaha... green grapes, red grapes? M: Any kind of grape that we had in the fridge... they got. B: Haha. M: So if we didn’t have something in our kitchen, we would figure out a way to find it out and go and get it. But we also, we changed our menu every single day there. On Wednesdays and Saturdays we hosted a twelve-course tasting menu that was like a tuxedo event. B: Oh my gosh. Wow. M: It’s a tradition at that particular resort. The rest of the night it’s like a four-to-five course meal but it’s a dinner served at the same time. So people normally eat in the dining hall and then go back to their rooms and anything that they need in their rooms, there was a 24-hour butler service that would take care of any needs overnight. B: And he just had a need for grapes? M: A need for grapes. B: Haha. So last time I was at your sister’s, she was eating crackers and cheese for lunch and I thought this was pretty inspiring because I hadn’t had crackers and cheese in a while. Do you think this is a standard lunch for her? Is she big on the crackers and cheese? M: I would say it’s a possibility. My mom always ate cheddar cheese and granny smith apples for lunch. B: Whooaaa. Cool. Together? Like she would take a slice of the granny smith and a slice of the cheddar cheese and eat it together? M: Yeah. Who needs a cracker? B: Right. M: My father, I remember this distinctly for some reason, I even remember what plate he served it to me on, since when I was younger my mom was more of the cook, I don’t know if she was gone somewhere that day but, I was probably in maybe third grade or something, and I told my dad I was hungry and he made me a cheese plate. And it had crackers, cheese, and raisins on it. B: Mm! M: I was probably expecting a grilled cheese of some sort, but... it worked. It was a good combination. It was the first cheese plate I ever experienced. B: Mannn. Your dad gets a bad rap! He knows his way around the kitchen! He’s holdin out on me! M: They always had, in our fridge... I don’t remember cheddar actually. I remember monterey jack. That was the only cheese, because it was also the cheese that was used to make nachos, on Fridays. Which is also a very interesting dish and tradition. The nachos are made on Doritos Nacho Cheese, with refried beans that are spread individually on each chip. B: Whoaaa. M: My mom would even go as far as feeling each bag of Doritos to make sure that there weren’t too many crumbled Doritos at the bottom of the bag. B: Right. M: It was almost like watching Alice Waters pick a plum from a tree. B: Hahaha... So it was like, Nacho Friday. Nacho Fridays? M: Yup, nachos and we would get two VHSs, one for my parents to watch later and one that my sister and I had to agree on. B: Woowwww. Wow. So like a PG one, and then like a sexy one for your parents? M: Um, probably more like Die Hard. B: For your parents, okay. M: Something that we weren’t ready to see yet. B: Right. That’s one of my favorite movies. Okay, so this is the last question, and thank you again for doin this... Can you tell people about the new restaurant opening in March in NYC that you’re gonna be plying your trade... I’ll say your craft, you’ll be plying your craft at... M: Yeah, so it’s called Lucky Lee’s. It’s a concept dreamt up, um, not by myself but by my partners. Ariel and Lee are New Yorkers. Lee works in finance in New York and Ariel is kind of a wellness, social media... she went to one of the same schools that Elizabeth did. B: Mama Gena? M: I think it was the one at Columbia? B: Columbia, yup. M: So... Lee loved Chinese food and Ariel... didn’t want that shit in the house. B: Haha. M: When I first talked to Lee he was like, Listen, I’m a Jew from Long Island and I like Chinese food, like everyone in New York loves Chinese food, and my wife doesn’t want me to eat it. So I challenged her to create Chinese food that I’m allowed to eat. B: Wow. Nice. That’s really cool. M: Yeah, great story, they’re great people, I really like both of them, it’s been awesome working with them together, so... there’s no gluten at all. We’re not advertising it as a gluten-free restaurant but our soy sauce is made with pure soybean, our chicken is pasture-raised and free range depending on, we still have to negotiate some pricing with the vendors there and the farms, and our beef is grass-fed. And kind of, we’re taking higher standards while looking into Chinese cuisine, Chinese-American takeout cuisine specifically, so it’s something you can feel good about, like, the next day. We also don’t wanna talk shit about Chinese-American foods because, it’s great. That’s not why we’re doing it. We’re doing it because it’s kind of just a new take on... a new take on takeout. B: Nice. I like that. I think that’s a perfect way to end. I mean we can stop the interview here but, do you have a link, is there a website to the restaurant? I can put it at the end of the interview. M: Yeah, I can send it to you. I don’t think there’s much up on the website YET, it’s probly just a link to the Instagram.    https://www.luckyleesnyc.com/

[lolcat76]

Folie A Deux, part 8

If you need a refresher, here’s part 7: http://lolcat76.tumblr.com/post/158990942790/folie-a-deux-pt-7 When last we left our intrepid heroes, Laura had just invited Bill over for dinner. A continuation for the prompt from @okaynextcrisis that will never die. 

Grace had dropped her bowl in the sink and decamped for her room long before Bill showed up. Whether she was trying to give them privacy, or just didn’t want Bill to know that she dared to eat a meal, Laura wasn’t sure, but it left the two of them sitting across from each other at her mother’s scarred kitchen table.

It should have been strange, having Bill sitting in her house, eating out of the bowls she and her sisters fought over when they were children, but it was...nice. Natural, even. He was just rough enough around the edges, even after years of classical training and kissing donor ass, to fit perfectly in her shabby old house.

If she were in the mood to overthink things, that would keep her up tonight, but she was in the mood to eat. She picked through her bowl of soup, pushing tomatoes aside to dig out the chunks of avocado.

“You still do that,” he said.

Her hand froze, her spoon halfway to her mouth. “Do what?”

“Pick out the parts you like best to eat first.”

Did she do that? “I don’t do that.”

He grinned at her, then slurped a mouthful of black beans. She looked down into her own bowl at the tomato chunks shoved to the side. Oh lord, she did do that.

“Didn’t anyone ever tell you to save the best for last?” he asked mildly, not bothering to meet her eyes as he took another swig of beer.

“Didn’t anyone ever tell you it was rude to comment on a lady’s eating habits?”

He wiped his mouth with his napkin, then grinned at her. “Yep. You did. Several times.”

She snorted. “As I recall, it wasn’t my eating habits you commented on. It was my cooking.”

His spoon scraped the bottom of the bowl. “Well, I’m happy to see that your skills have improved.”

She rolled her eyes. Bill had the palette of a five-year-old, so a compliment on her improving cooking skills was hardly worth registering. “Grace couldn’t fend for herself if I burned dinner. You could. I guess you could say I had incentive to improve.”

“Funny how fast kids change everything.”

Just like that, she remembered why she’d invited him for dinner in the first place. She flushed a little bit, feeling like a heel that she’d completely forgotten about Zak and Lee going home today and leaving Bill alone in his apartment. “And what about you, Dad? Do you cut the crusts off sandwiches?”

“I’ll have you know that my grilled cheese sandwiches are perfect equilateral triangles.”

Laura laughed at the mental picture of Bill, protractor in hand, carefully slicing through toasted bread and melted cheese. “In that case, next time, you’re making dinner.”

“Next time,” he agreed. “Any time.”

She pushed the tomatoes in her bowl around with her spoon, caught off-guard at the idea of next time. Or any time. What was she doing? Playing with fire. He was comfortable in her kitchen. He was the person she called when she was frustrated with work. He was the voice of reason when it came to Grace refusing to eat bread.

He was the person she relied on. Again. And she’d fallen into it so easily that she hadn’t even realized how much she’d started to depend on his steady presence in her life and his calm voice in her ear.

She didn’t want to need him. She didn’t want to need anyone, not ever again, but here he was in her kitchen, watching her and waiting for a response.

“You done?” she asked, reaching for his empty bowl. He didn’t say a word, didn’t move from his seat, just watched her as she dropped the bowls in the sink and rinsed them before throwing them into the dishwasher. She could feel his eyes boring into the back of her head as she dug through the cabinet for dish soap.

Starting the dishwasher and wiping down the countertops would only buy her so much time, and she knew when she was done setting the kitchen to rights, he’d still be in that chair watching her. Dammit, Laura, what were you thinking?

“I should go,” he said, when he finally realized that she could easily spend the rest of the night picking crumbs off the countertop rather than turning around and talking to him. “Thanks for dinner.”

“Any time,” she responded automatically.

“I think that’s my line,” he said with a chuckle.

“It’s getting late. You have company class tomorrow, and I have a beginning yoga class at 10. And I have to check Grace’s homework before she goes to bed.” And wash my hair and paint my toenails and take out the trash and scrub the grout, and anything else that will get you out of my house and out of my head.

“Right, company class. You know, you’re welcome in company class. Might be good for you.”

“I have my day job,” she reminded him.

He raised an eyebrow. “Yoga.”

“Yes, yoga. Yoga pays the bills. Yoga pays for Grace’s tuition to that very expensive ballet school. Yoga pays for the food you just ate. Yoga kept us in this house when I had absolutely nothing to my name after eight years at ABT. I’m sorry if it’s not classy enough for you, Bill, but it’s kept us alive and afloat, so maybe shove it with the judgment a little bit?”

He threw up his hands and backed away from the table. “Fair enough. Thanks for dinner.”

Before she could apologize for her temper, he was gone.

If her mother were here, she’d be horrified. A lady doesn’t chase away a guest for daring to enjoy himself at her table. It was probably for the best that Grace has been in her room for the better part of an hour; Laura certainly hoped that her niece didn’t take her cues on how to deal with the opposite sex from her pathetic aunt.

She shook her head and resumed scrubbing at a scorch mark on the counter that had been burned into the formica since she was six years old. She could get rid of it, finally, if she just tried hard enough. She could erase all her mistakes if she just scrubbed and scrubbed and scrubbed and ignored the tears dripping onto the sponge.

***

Tory was in a mood, that was easy to see. Then again, Tory was always in a mood these days. She hadn’t been the most pleasant person to deal with when Laura had one job; now that she was trying to balance the yoga studio and her rehearsal schedule at the ballet, Tory was downright surly.

“You’re late,” she said, not bothering to look up as she keyed in credit card numbers. “Class is starting.”

Laura was late, but she wasn’t going to apologize - again - for not being able to sleep the night before. Tory would just have to suck it up, or find a new job.

She wouldn’t cry too many tears if Tory did just that. For someone as bossy and demanding as she was, Laura was shocked that Tory condescended to working for hourly pay that was just above minimum wage. Tory should be running a corporation or a political campaign, not wasting her talents on a second-rate yoga studio in a third-rate city.

She smiled and handed Tory a cup of coffee and a muffin, the best bribe she could offer. Tory’s talents may be wasted, but she made sure Laura was where she needed to be when she needed to be there, and that made her worth her weight in gold.

“Blueberry,” Tory muttered with a grimace and shoved the muffin to the edge of the reception desk. Well, she was better than nothing. Laura ignored the muffin that was perched precariously above the trash can and swept into the studio with her yoga mat and her bottle of lavendar essential oils.

“Good morning, class,” she said. She laid out her yoga mat and dimmed the lights. Morning weekday classes were usually light on attendance, mostly retirees and homemakers. She seated herself at the edge of her mat and surveyed the class, smiling at the familiar faces who smiled back at her.

Familiar faces and Bill Adama, front and center on one of the studio’s borrowed mats, grinning like the proverbial cat with a mouthful of canary.

Bill fucking Adama, invading her space, yet again. He was supposed to be teaching company class; why the hell was he here?

She took in a few deep breaths and let out several long exhales. He was here, like it or not, but she had a class to teach. “Sit at the edge of your mats,” she said, “and take deep breaths in through your nose and out through your mouths. Let your exhales echo through your body.”

Most of the class kept their eyes closed as they practiced their breathing, but Bill stared at Laura as he let go of his exhale, reminding her of just how well she knew the sound of his breath leaving him. Damn him.

“Mountain pose,” she said, digging her toes into the edge of her mat. “We’ll start with sun salutations.”

He followed along as best as he could, and she had to bite the soft tissue of her cheeks to keep from laughing at him as she nudged his feet out of turnout. Maybe it was unfair, but she used him as an example to her class of the proper way to center their core over their standing legs. “Toes, balls and heels anchored to the floor.”

He laughed as she helped him shift his hips into parallel position. “Balls?” he asked softly.

“Shut up or get out,” she muttered.

He didn’t say another word after that, and she was more than a little gratified to watch him struggle to find the right body position through the rest of the class. This must have been what little Billy Adama was like in his first ballet classes, trying so hard to follow along, molding his sturdy frame and slightly bow-legged knees into fifth position. His brow was knit in concentration as he followed along with her instruction, forcing a body that had spent 30 years in ballet class to unlearn everything he’d ever known.

“Savasana,” she said. “Corpse pose. Close  your eyes and breathe deep, and let the energy flow through you and depart.” She edged her way across the room, spritzing a little bit of lavendar oil over each of her students. Yoga taught mindfulness, yet she moved automatically until she found herself at Bill’s mat. She touched his shoulders briefly, just as she had done with the rest of her students, but he surprised her by reaching up to tangle his fingers in hers.

“Corpse pose,” she hissed at him. His eyes opened, and he grinned at her.

“Not dead yet.”

If her Yelp reviews ever got wind of the fact that she sprayed lavendar essential oil directly in the face of one of her new students, she’d be sunk.

***

He was waiting for her when she came out of the back office, eyes a little bit red, but looking none the worse for wear.

“So that’s what you do all day.”

Laura hummed in agreement. “That’s what I do all day.”

He handed the beat-up mat to Tory. “I always knew you were a good teacher.”

Of course he did. “I never needed you to tell me I was a good teacher. And you need to work on your breathing.”

Oh good lord, did she just say that out loud?

“Tell you what, I’ll work on my breathing if you’ll work on your port des bras. Your shoulders are a little weak. Come to my class, and I’ll come to yours.”

Her shoulders were just fine, thank you, after years of downward dog. “And what’s in it for me?”

He looked at her, truly looked at her, with her rapidly fraying yoga pants and her hair tossed messily into a ponytail. “You get to make me look like an ass in front of your yoga class. And I get to make you look like a dancer in front of mine.”

“I’m not a dancer, Bill,” she reminded him.

“You’re not a liar either, Laura. Try to remember that.” He picked up his bag and hefted it over his shoulder. “Next time, bring your pointe shoes.”

Pointe shoes. Her calluses were gone, and her pedicure couldn’t survive a class en pointe. “I’m not a dancer, Bill,” she called after him.

“You’ve been a dancer since the day you were born.” He stopped to thank Tory, and damn her if she didn’t smile at him. “You owe me. Tomorrow at nine am.”

Tomorrow at nine am she should be getting ready to teach another beginning class, but if Tory’s smile was anything to go by, now was the time to ask for a favor.

Pointe shoes. Bad enough to ask Tory to cover for her, but to ask Tory to teach a class so that she could rip the skin on her feet open over and over again?

She flexed her toes, almost feeling the gel padding shielding her feet from the paste and canvas and hard wings of her shoes.

If he could suffer through her class, she could soldier through his. “Tory,” she said, “what are you doing tomorrow morning?”

***

It was just like riding a bike, if riding a bike meant ripping of the skin of her toes and watching as her feet bled through the pale peach satin of the last pair of pointe shoes she’d owned. Frankly, she’d rather crash into a tree head-first than try another pirouette at this pointe, but Bill was watching her, and she’d be damned if she went down without a fight.

Skin would heal, and toenails would grow back, but Sharon Agathon would never stop smirking at her f she didn’t do the fouette combination.

Who was she kidding? Sharon wouldn’t wipe that smug look off her face regardless, but Laura had her pride, even if she didn’t have the top layers of skin on her toes. How did she ever think this was fun?

She positioned herself for the combination and dropped into a low fourth, ready to start her turn combination. Easy physics, centrifugal force and a mathematical equation. Whip the leg around, tuck in the arms, pray for death and hope for the best. She was far too old for this.

And yet, she was still turning, still refusing to back down, when the music stopped. She dropped into a clean ending pose, despite the fact that her quads were burning and she could no longer feel her feet. God, she was going to have to soak her feet in ice just to lead the Chocolate rehearsal, but her neck was long and her hips were in perfect alignment.

“Grande allegro,” Bill called.

Really? No praise? Nopat on the back? No acknowledgement that at 35, she could still do four eight-counts of fouette turns?

He walked through the grande allegro combination and she pantomimed the steps with her arms, trying to look engaged in the class but wishing desperately she had her spray bottle of lavendar oil.

He was trying to get the best of her. Maybe she should have been kinder to his sons (how much kinder could she be?) Maybe she shouldn’t have mocked his yoga skills. Maybe she shouldn’t have invited him over for dinner in the first place.

Maybe she should throw her bag over her shoulder and sneak out of the studio. Maybe she should admit defeat while she could still walk.

Maybe she could make him eat his words. She leaned into the combination, tombe, pas de bourree, glissade, pas de chat and contretemps. Back and forth, until she was dancing almost against the mirror. She took another couple of steps out of the way and leaned against the barre, her chest heaving.

Damn him, she did miss this. Yoga was great for mindfulness, but nothing could compare to a grande allegro, to those precious few minutes when she felt like she was flying with each jump. Even as she struggled to catch her breath, she couldn’t deny that she felt...good. Strong. Alive.

Her toes cramped in her pointe shoe, and she struggled to walk it off. Alive, yes, and in pain. Whoever made the point about suffering for art wasn’t kidding. She shook her foot, trying to ignore the joints seizing up, and took her place for reverence.

“Good work, class. Rehearsals start in 20,” Bill said, bowing to the company. She lowered herself into the deepest curtsey her aching quads would allow and nodded to the teacher. When she looked up, he was watching her, waiting for her to acknowledge him. And that bastard winked at her. “Good work,” he repeated.

She was slowly peeling the tape off of her bleeding toes when he sat next to her in the hallway. Bill held up a familiar small brown bottle. “Nu-skin? Oh, hell no,” she muttered.

He tugged at her feet, dropping them into his lap before unscrewing the cap. “If you’d used it before class, you wouldn’t be bleeding all over my floors now.” He brushed the thick liquid on her oozing feet, and she braced herself for the sharp sting of antiseptic.

“Dammit, Bill! That hurts!”

“You didn’t used to be such a wimp, Roslin.” He waved his hand over her feet to help the liquid bandage dry. When she finally relaxed enough for him to guess that the initial sting had mellowed, he dug his fingers into the balls of her feet, working out her earlier cramp.

“Did you guilt me into coming to class just so you could watch me suffer?” she asked, but her words lacked bite. Hard to be mad at a man who was rubbing her aching feet.

“No, I guilted you into coming to class because I like to look at your legs in tights. The suffering was just a bonus.”

“You’re funny,” she muttered.

Bill shrugged. “I am funny. But you’ve still got the best legs I’ve ever seen.”

There it was again, the compliment. She tugged her feet out of his lap and tucked them beneath her. “Bill, what am I doing here?”

“Bleeding all over my carpet. I thought we established that?”

She couldn’t help but laugh. “I mean, besides that. Taking class, leading rehearsals. What’s the point?”

A shadow crossed his face. “Don’t you like it? I thought you were enjoying it.”

That was the problem. She was enjoying it, far more than she had any right to, given her abrupt retirement years ago. She was enjoying it so much that it was making her doubt every decision she’d made eight years ago, and she had no room in her life right now for that kind of second-guessing. “I am enjoying it. But where is it going? I can take class, but I’m never going to be on stage again, so I guess I’m just wondering...what’s the point?”

The hallways were filling up again, dancers skirting past each other to make it to their rehearsal studios. Karl leaned down to whisper a quick “Good job today” in Laura’s ear before Sharon could tug him away. She watched them make their way down the hall, envying their youth and strength while she dug the heel of her hands into her aching muscles.

“You should be spending your time on them,” she said, nodding to the couple as they disappeared into the main studio. “Not wasting it on me.”

“Laura, I never considered time spent with you wasted.”

She ignored the heavy meaning in his words. She was exhausted, and she could feel a bruise starting to throb under her big toenail. She wasn’t up for yet another discussion about their relationship, past or present. “Come on, I’m old and washed up. You have a job here, to guide the next generation of dancers. You should be doing that.”

He raised his eyebrows at her. “You think I can’t do both?”

“I think I don’t know why you want to.”

Bill shifted until he was sitting shoulder-to-shoulder with Laura, his back braced against the wall. “You know, I didn’t want to retire. I thought I was still in my prime, but the roles I used to dance kept going to other people. Instead of Prince Albrecht in Giselle, I was cast as the king.” He shook his head. “You know what the king does? He stands upstage and waves his arms a lot. And I guess I couldn’t complain, because it happened to Baryshnikov. It happened to Stiefel. It happens to all of us. We get old and we’re put out to pasture.” He picked up her hand, toying with her fingers while he thought out his next words. “But I wasn’t done yet. I knew I wasn’t done. I might never be done, because this is all I’ve ever known, and I don’t want to walk away from it. So I’m not onstage anymore. That doesn’t mean I don’t still love to dance. It just means I have to do it a different way now.”

“Bill,” she said softly. “That’s your story, not mine.”

He stopped tugging at her fingers and laced them through his. “Isn’t it? You left before you were ready to quit. I just thought you might like a second chance. Even if it isn’t dancing Giselle at the Met, you can still dance. You can still have this in your life. You can still have me in your life, if you want it. It doesn’t have to be the way it was, but it can still be good.”

He leaned over and pressed a quick kiss to her lips. Just enough to remind her how good it was when he was in her life. He pulled back and got to his feet. “Dreams change, Laura. I know that now. But you shouldn’t give up dreaming them.” He stole a quick glance at his watch. “I have to be in rehearsal. Dinner tonight? Bring Grace. I’ll even cut the crusts off your sandwiches.”

She nodded without thinking and watched as he strode down the hallway.

Dreams changed, she knew that better than anyone. Laura Roslin eight years ago dreamed of dancing Giselle. This Laura Roslin, soaked in sweat and worrying about making it to her studio in time to teach a 1pm restorative yoga class, dreamed of nothing so grand as applause and roses. Right now, she was dreaming about a tube of Icy Hot, a quick nap after her 1pm, and grilled cheese with Grace and Bill Adama.

Maybe her dreams were smaller now, but maybe they were still worth dreaming.