#and i have everything for the festive butter cookies i usually make | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

moonlitwings1 · 4 years

Text

Icing on Top

Christmas cookies were a tradition in the Mayfield house, and Max isn’t going to let two obnoxious Hargrove men ruin it this year. They didn’t do it the year before because someone thought that cookies would be bad for his cholesterol. Old man problems, Max thinks. If Neil doesn’t want his cholesterol to increase or whatever, why doesn’t he just not eat cookies. Seems simple enough to her.

Thankfully, Neil’s not here right now. He’s with her mom going last minute Christmas shopping. She could’ve gone with them, but she doesn’t have anymore money to buy anything, spent it all on the arcade last week. She’s just going to give Neil and her mom cards, same as last year. Thank you for being the best mom! Max internally cringes. It sounds so fake every time she writes it. It’ll be even worse to write one for Neil. For Billy...well, she doesn’t know what he likes besides music and being an asshole, so he’ll get a card too.

She doesn’t believe in Santa anymore. Stopped believing when Billy ruined that for her literally the day they met. Laughed in her face and told her she was stupid for not realizing her mom’s the one who puts the presents under the tree. She remembers going to her mom and crying because the new boy just told her Santa’s not real. Turns out, when you stop believing in Santa, you also stop getting gifts from him. So for a couple years now, Max has only gotten one gift under the Christmas tree instead of two like she used to. No more presents from Santa, but at least Neil was happy about that. He said that he never thought this Santa business was any good for kids. False idols or whatever. Religious shit she doesn’t care about. Neil acts like he’s oh so religious, but they go to church about five times a year, and the entire time Neil’s only focused on Billy, who is doing everything in his power to annoy Max.

Well, tomorrow’s Christmas and her mom bought a horrible red dress with little white fluff across the edges, the same kind she’s seen too many little girls wear. She’ll have to convince her mom not to let her wear that. Later. Right now, she has a different focus, cook book stuffed underneath her arm as she searches for the ingredients.

“Flour, sugar, baking soda, butter, eggs,” she mutters under her breath, repeating the ingredients to herself over and over again. Sounds easy enough. She’s never made cookies by herself before, but wherever Neil is, her mom is, and she doesn’t want Neil to get in the way of her Christmas festivities, as he likes to call them. So for now, she’s going to have to figure out how to do this by herself. She’s definitely not allowed to use the oven without an adult, but tonight, she’s planning to prove that she’s not a fucking child.

She had just gotten started on the wet ingredients when she hears the back door slam shut, making her flinch hard. You’ve got to be fucking kidding. They haven’t even been gone for ten minutes. Neil must’ve forgotten something. She thinks she’s screwed and frantically starts hiding the bowls when she realizes those steps were far too heavy and obnoxious to be Neil’s. Max almost lets out a sigh of relief when Billy struts into the kitchen. He’s an asshole, but at least he’s not Neil.

She doesn’t know where he went, probably went to hang out with some girl like he always tells Neil, but she swears the cologne he’s wearing smells vaguely similar to the one Steve had on the other day. Maybe they’re friends now? Nah. Must be some new popular teen cologne, she thinks, rolling her eyes. She won’t give it much more attention.

“The fuck are you doing?” he asks, the scarred eyebrow lifting. He sounds more interested than angry.

“Making cookies. Go away,” she spits before turning her back to him and bringing her focus back to the wet ingredients.

He hums, amused like he always is when he’s annoying her, “Don’t think you’re supposed to be making anything by yourself, Maxi.”

She pauses what she’s doing, closes her eyes, and lets out a long sigh, tries to control her temper. “I’m not a fucking child, Billy. Go away,” she repeats. “I can handle it. And don’t call me that.”

He peers over her shoulder to look at what she’s making. She tries to ignore him, but she can literally feel him breathing down her neck, and he’s standing way too fucking close to her. She knows he’s doing it on purpose.

“Maaaax,” he whispers.

She continues ignoring him, mixing the bowl furiously, but after another minute of Billy just standing behind her, he snorts like somethings funny. And that pisses her off because nothing’s funny right now. He’s just an asshole who’s ruining her Christmas.

So without warning, she spins around, slams two hands into his chest and pushes him as hard as she can (which isn’t saying much, but she’s not going to admit that). Billy didn’t see that coming. She can tell because he actually stumbles a little bit. So she doesn’t stop there, tries to push him out of the kitchen completely before he regains himself. She wasn’t fast enough.

When he realizes what she’s trying to do, he laughs. It’s not even the scary laugh that he made while beating up Steve last year. He’s laughing at her. The fucking asshole’s making fun of her, and it does nothing to soothe her frustration. This time, she aims a slap at his face, but he catches her wrist before she could do anything. She gasps aloud because ow that stung.

“Ouch, you jackass! That fucking hurt!”

She starts hitting him with her left hand, gets in a few good hits before he snatches that one away too. If he were any closer, she would bite his wrist. She considers kicking him in the dick, but he must see what she’s thinking because he spins her around and bear hugs her from behind, trapping her arms to her side. They’re both panting now, but one from exertion and one from laughter.

“Jesus Christ, Maxine,” he laughs. “I didn’t fucking do anything to you. The hell blew your fuse?”

“Stop laughing,” she huffs, struggling in his arms and trying to glare at him, because he still has a sleazy grin plastered on his face. She can fucking hear it in his voice. “And get off of me!”

“You cool?”

She’s totally not cool, but she’s not going to tell him that. “Yes I’m fucking cool.”

“You su-”

“YES IM SURE, BILLY.”

He chuckles one more time before letting her go. “Whatever you say, Maxi-pad.”

She decidedly ignores his comment and rubs her shoulder from where his arm pressed into hers. “Can you leave now?”

“Not until you tell me what you’re making.”

“I already said cookies.”

“What kind?” Max knows he’s not actually interested in her cookies. He just wants to find a reason to bug her longer.

“Sugar. What else would I make for Christmas, dumbass.” She’s lucky he doesn’t immediately attack her for calling him ‘dumbass.’ She probably shouldn’t push it anymore.

“I want you out of the kitchen in an hour,” he snaps, “And you better not burn this house down.” He strides out of the room before she can reply but not before giving her a stony look that warns of death. Asshole.

Alone at last. Even if Billy’s home, it’s not like he’s going to leave his room anytime soon. He’ll lock himself in there and stay put for hours. She wonders what he does in there for so long and slightly winces when his music starts vibrating through the house. Max lets out a long sigh. She forgot about that. He usually doesn’t put it too loud when Neil’s home.

She tries to block out the music and focus on the task at hand. Do they have any more eggs?

---

Twenty minutes later, Max is staring at the oven proudly, hands on her hips. The cookies are currently baking, and she has a good feeling about them. They’re not pretty, and they’re oddly shaped (since they don’t have any cutouts), but she’s sure they’ll come out ok. She’s not, however, looking forward to cleaning up the entire kitchen. Its a mess, bowls everywhere, and the hand mixer is dripping onto the floor, but she can clean it up later, preferably before Billy comes out of hibernation and screams at her about it. But for now, she deserves a fucking break.

She heads off towards her room, and lounges around for ten minutes, looking through some comics, while waiting for the cookies to finish.

Things were going so well. So fucking well until the fire alarms starts blaring and makes Max jump out of her skin. She hears Billy’s music suddenly shut off. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit.

She’s too scared to move. She doesn’t move when she hears loud footsteps walking towards the kitchen, and she doesn’t move when the fire alarm stops ringing. She definitely doesn’t move when those loud footprints start getting increasingly louder, coming closer to her room. She’s going to die. She’s going to be murdered by her own brother. She shoots a quick prayer to whatever god out there that maybe she’ll survive this one long enough, so she can tell her mom goodbye.

Her door bursts open.

“MAXINE.” She recoils from his voice.“ARE YOU FUCKING STUPID?”

When she doesn’t say anything, his voice goes deathly quiet. “I leave you alone for barely an hour, and you manage to fuck it all up.”

Max still doesn’t say anything. She imagines she looks like a deer in headlights because she’s totally frozen, sitting on her bed just staring at him. It must piss him off though because he starts towards her. Thankfully, something turns on in her brain and she immediately goes and stands on the other side of the bed where he can’t easily reach her.

“Jesus fucking Christ, I’m not going to do shit to you,” he says, running a hand over his face. When she still doesn’t move, utterly unconvinced, he continues. “I just want you to see what a bang up job you did of making those fucking cookies, so get out here.”

She’s still not totally convinced, but if she stays there any longer, he might try to drag her out himself so she’s just got to suck it up. She moves cautiously towards the door, side-eyeing Billy to see if he’s going to pounce, but he doesn’t.

Thank God nothing besides the cookies were burnt. If anything was actually damaged, she wouldn’t even be alive right now.

“I-I don’t know what happened, Billy. I literally followed the recipe so don’t try to blame me for this,” she snaps, turning around to glare at him.

He scoffs at her. “What happened,” he growls, grabbing the open cookbook and stabbing a finger into the page, “is that you didn’t read the fucking directions correctly and set the oven at 450 degrees instead of 350 degrees.”

Max looks at where he’s pointing and her spirit drops when she realizes that he’s right. It says right there, Preheat the oven to 350°F. She internally curses herself. How did she not see that? If she had just paid attention, she wouldn’t be in this mess.

He watches her reaction and snorts. “Someone can’t read,” he says, and reaches out to ruffle her hair. She tries to slap his hand away, but it just makes him ruffle her hair harder.

“Now clean-” But before he could complete his sentence, Max storms out of the kitchen, taking a wide turn around Billy so there’d be a smaller chance that he’d try to grab her.

When she looks over at him though, it doesn’t look like he was going to anyway. She doesn’t know why he’s like this, why he always switches emotions every two seconds. Five minutes ago, he had barged into her room, murderous, and she was sure she was going to die. Now? Now he’s fucking joking with her. He literally just ruffled her hair like she’s his sister. She hates it. Why can’t he just be normal?

She slams the door behind her and locks it as she walks in. Thankfully, Neil still hasn’t taken away her lock like he’d done for Billy, so she still has a semblance of privacy. She’s almost in tears, and she doesn’t know why. She’s just...frustrated. The sound of heavy footsteps come her way, and she immediately dives under her covers, pulling the duvet up and over her head. She’s embarrassed from her stupid mistake that Billy will inevitably make fun of her for. Thinking about it just makes more tears sting the corner of her eye. She wants to be left alone, but Billy’ll never let that happen.

He pounds on the door. “Maxine, open up.”

She doesn’t answer, digging her head into her pillow harder. Maybe if she ignores him, he’ll leave. In the back of her head, she knows that that’s not what’s going to happen.

"Hey shitbird, get your ass out here,” he says again, back to asshole mode and pounding harder on the door. “Did ya see the fucking kitchen? You better clean that shit up before Susan and Neil come home.”

She still doesn’t say anything.

“Max,” his voice goes deadly quiet, “if you don’t get your ass out in the next ten seconds, I’m going to-”

“GO AWAY BILLY! I JUST WANTED TO MAKE COOKIES WITHOUT ANYONE BOTHERING ME FOR ONCE AND YOU JUST HAVE TO GO AND RUIN ANYTHING!”

“You ruined that shit for your-”

“Leave me alone, Billy.” Her voice cracks when she says his name, and he must hear it because he does. She knows she’s going to have to clean the kitchen up eventually, but she can’t bring herself to right now. Maybe it’s because she’s going to start her period any second, or maybe it’s because Billy’s just a jerk, but she feels abnormally upset. Unreasonably miserable. Billy’s antics don’t usually put her in this bad of a mood, and she feels stupid for letting it.

Ten minutes later, she hears him stomping around the house and the jingle of keys. The back door slams shut, and she knows he just left the house, probably to cool himself down before he actually murders her.

She’s alone.

----

Max wakes up startled from her nap with the sound of someone picking at her lock. She looks around widely for the time. An hour has passed, who’s-

The door burst open, and there stands a triumphant looking Billy. “HAH,” he shouts. “I’ve opened the door!”

She doesn’t know what to say to that. He sounds more stupid than usual. Maybe it’s because she doesn’t see him with a smile on his face very often.

“What are you doing?” she asks cautiously because she doesn’t want to accidentally piss him off.

“Come out here,” he says. Oh, not this again. She huffs and plops her face right back into the pillow, turning to her side so she’s facing away from the door. She’s not dealing with this again. If she wants to be locked up in her room, why can’t she?

“Max,” he calls, walking closer to her. “Get up, I’ve got stuff for you.” That peaks Max’s interests, and she raises her head a little, getting annoyed when she sees the smirk on Billy’s face. He knew saying that would get her to pay attention.

“What?”

“I’m not telling you until you get up,” he says, tugging at her blanket now. She smacks his hand away, and plops her head right back down.

“Then I’m not getting up. You’re literally the fucking grinch so it’s not like it’s going to be anything good anyways.”

He laughs at that. “So if I’m the grinch, who are you? Cindy fucking Lou Who?”

Max covers her smile with the duvet. “Just tell me what you got.”

“Nope,” Billy says and walks his annoying ass straight out of her room.

She decides to stay in bed, refuses to give in to Billy’s obvious plan to get her to come out of her room. But curiosity catches up to her when she hears him banging around the kitchen, and five minutes later, she’s dragging herself out from under the covers and walking into the room. She stops when she catches Billy red handed, literally, with two of his fingers dipped into a small bowl of red icing.

When he sees her watching, he grins at her, teeth stained red and gross. “Oh hey there Maxine. Didn’t see ya there. I’m really enjoying this lovely frosting,” He waggles his fingers at her for emphasis. “Better take it away from me before I eat it all.”

He’s about to double dip his nasty fingers into the frosting again before Max can’t help herself and has to cut in.

She runs up to him and smacks his hand away. “Oh my God. Billy, that’s literally so unsanitary. Give it here.” She takes the can of frosting from him, and mumbles you’re so gross under her breath. The cover of the can features pretty sugar cookies all covered in red frosting and sprinkles. If only she still had her stupid cookies. Now they’re at the bottom of the trash can, all black and burnt.

“Why’d you buy this anyway? Not like I’m gonna be using them anymore.”

Billy drums his fingers on the counter. “It’s so you can decorate your little cookies,” he says. “You’re lucky I’m craving sugar right now.” She hasn’t properly decorated cookies since California when she was with her dad. It might not seem like a big deal to him, but she’s getting excited over it. He can probably tell by the smile that has just spread across her face.

“I’m giving you a second chance, so don’t fucking screw this up. You hear me?” he’s glaring at her now, all threats and ager. Of course, he immediately tries to ruin the moment.

“So you’ll let me make them again?”

“Wouldn’t be surprised if they come out shit again, though. You can’t cook to save your life.”

She huffs. Totally not true. “We don’t have any more butter though.”

He pats the plastic bag on the counter. “’s all in here.”

She looks over at the bag he touched. So is that where he went while she was sleeping?

“You went to the store?”

He grunts in response. “Figured you’d need more shit after your first failed attempt.”

“Ok, thanks,” she says, already making a grab for the hand mixer. “You can leave now.”

“Ungrateful ass,” he snorts. “Last time I left, you burnt the fucking cookies and set off the fire alarm so I don’t think so.”

Max sighs. “So what? You’re just gonna stand there?”

He smirks at her, leaning against the counter. “Hand me the mixer.”

---

Apparently Billy’s good at baking because ten minutes later he has all the ingredients combined and the dough rolled out on the table. She didn’t roll out the dough during her attempt so it makes sense now why her cookies were ugly even before they got burnt.

They only bickered a couple times. Once because Max questioned him about how he smells suspiciously like Steve. She didn’t expect him to get so defensive, but he immediately snapped at her and told her not to get into other people’s business. His defensiveness made her think that him and Steve were friends now, and he’s just embarrassed to admit it. Or maybe they’re...more? When she suggested that though, he nearly shoved her head into the dough so that’s going to be the last time she investigates on that.

The second time, they bickered over whether or not they should add food coloring to the dough. I payed good money for this, shitbird, so we’re using it. They eventually decided to make different batches, some with dye and some without.

“Do we need to cut them into circles now?”

“The fuck are you thinking? Circles are boring.”

Max rolls her eyes. “Oh I’m ever so sorry for offending you, master baker Billy,” she says sarcastically. “What do you suggest we do to spice up this atrocious dough.”

Billy points his head towards the plastic bag. “Look in there, junior baker Maxine.”

She reaches out for the magical plastic bag. It’s already given her butter and red frosting. What else could be in there? Her entire face lights up when she sees a can of green frosting, four different cookie cutters, and so many sprinkles.

“Consider this your Christmas present because you’re not going to get anything else.”

She gapes at him. He’s never done anything nice to her in her entire life. Ok, maybe that’s a slight exaggeration, but it’s definitely a once in a blue moon occasion.

“Thank you,” she says, still gaping at him. She doesn’t know what else to say.

“Yeah well stop staring at me like that.” He reaches across and flicks her mouth shut. “And close your mouth. You’re gonna catch flies.”

She doesn’t say anything to that, but stares down at the plastic bag again. She’ll decorate a cookie for her mom. A red one with green sparkles. She wonders if Billy’ll decorate one for his dad. Probably not. Guess he’ll go cookie-less. Better for his cholesterol anyways.

Her thoughts are disrupted when Billy’s fingers smudge bright, red, frosting across her face. She flinches and tries to shove him off but he does it again, icing smeared across both cheeks now.

“You asshole,” she laughs, reaching inside the plastic bag and pulling out the green frosting. “You’re so on.”

By the end of their frosting battle, they’re both covered in red and green icing. At one point Billy even started showering her with sprinkles. It’ll take forever to get it out of her hair, and there’s barely any frosting left for the cookies, but there was just enough to make it last.

Their parents were appalled when they walked in on their children covered in sugar, but it was worth it. Neil wasn’t even that upset since her mom was seemed happy enough. Susan followed them around with a camera, trying to convince them to pose together. You guys look so cute! C’mon just one picture. They retreated to their rooms to hide.

Max ended up with two Christmas presents under the tree that year.

#billy and max #billy hargrove #max mayfield #harringrove #for that one line where max smells steves cologne on him #theyre TOTALLY just friends max #i wouldnt be surprised if theres some grammatical errors hiding in there #i hope you guys like it!#merry christmas! :)

127 notes · View notes

dreamer213 · 3 years

Text

Broken machines: Lights The Dark

Chapter 1 Lovely Day

Italicized: Narration

Bold: Inner Thoughts

Staring at the foot of Pyrrha Nikos I am broken and helpless. I can not move, I can not hear anything, half of my body has been torn off and is laying a foot away from the rest of me, and my vision is fading.

My systems, my strength, even my voice are…failing.

EVERYTHING IS FAILING! ITS SO DARK! I CANT SEE ANYTHING! I CANT GET UP! MY LEGS! I CANT MOVE! I CANT! I CANT! GENERAL! DAD! ANYONE! SOMEBODY PLEASE HELP ME!

This is horrible. I feel like I still being crushed. I feel-I feel… Scared? It this what scared feels like? Or is it….. death? Am I dying? No no NO! That can’t be it! This can’t be it! I just made my first friends, I just entered my first Vytal Festival Tournament, I just started really living my life it can’t just end. Not here not like this……….Daddy please help me.

…..I….I don’t want to die.

I DON’T WANNA DIE!!!!!!

At that moment Penny’s eyes shot open as she wakes from her nightmare. She sits up in a state of pure distress, taking short panicked breaths, her pajamas and hair are disheveled and the cable in her back ,the connector for her power station, has become loose from its socket from her violent shaking. She looks down at the blanket covering the lower half of her body, with a shaky hand Penny pulls back the covers to reveal not the broken and mangled pair from her nightmare but a set of perfectly attached, full intact, pale and freckle dusted legs. This sight calms her and pulls Penny full out of her daze, she pulls the cable out then flops down on the bed, her eyes glow softly.

Systems Overview:

Optics: Fully Functional

Hearing: Fully Functional

Nerves: Fully Functional

Weapons Systems: Fully Functional

Temperature Gauge: Fully Functional

Power Storage: Fully Functional………………

All Systems Are Functioning And Full Operational.

Penny: Pffft, It was just another dream. That marks two weeks and four days between this dream and the last dream, five weeks and two days from the one before that and two months from very the first. I’ll have to inform the General about this if it continues.

She shakes her head in dismissal

….No that would be useless. Informing him will result in me being sent to the lab for some diagnostic tests and a few scans. And since my systems aren’t showing any signs of error it’ll just be waste of time and resources. And we can’t afford to waste more of ether. Not now (Sighs).

She reaches into the drawer of her nightstand and pulls out a book and pen, she makes a few quick notes then return the items to their place, gets up, and begins her preparations for day ahead. She brushes her teeth, changes into her work clothes, tidies up her hair, puts on and securing her rocket boots, grabs her backpack, then heads down stairs. Right after turning back around for one last mirror check before she goes.

She arrives down stairs to see her Dad setting up the table with two plates of breakfast and two mugs, one filled with coffee, the other strawberry milk. As he finishes up Pietro spots Penny making her way towards him. He smiles brightly, his little girl is up bright and early again today.

Pietro: Good Morning, Sunshine of mine.

Penny: Good morning Dad.

Pietro: How are you doing this morning?

Penny: I am functioning optimally and all my systems and programs are running correctly.

Pietro: What about the “dreams” ? Are you still having them?

Penny: N-no I have not. (Hiccup)

Pietro: Uh Huh. Now Penny you know that I love you ,and you know I will always be there whenever you need me. But I can’t help you when you need me if you don’t tell me.

Penny: But there isn’t anything you can do about this. This isn’t an error or virus or anything to do with my specs or my hardware, there’s nothing wrong with me for you to fix.

Pietro: Not everything is matter fixing broken parts, sometimes it’s more a matter understanding emotions and talking about hardships. I’d be happy to help you with both whenever you want.

Penny: Thank you Dad but I do not think that will be of any significant help with this problem. And with the increase of my responsibilities, the rise in overall military activity and “ the project” I cannot add another issue to my daily routine. So please let’s just leave this problem be, just for little while.

Pietro: I understand I wouldn’t bother you about anymore. Now come here eat your breakfast, the foods getting cold.

Penny: Dad I don’t need to eat.

Pietro: But you can eat and makes you happy, isn’t that a good enough reason for doing it.

Penny: Okay, okay but I only have ten minutes and fifty three seconds to spare. If I stay any longer I’ll be running behind schedule.

Pietro: Well we can’t have that now can we? Better sit down and eat while you can!

Penny quickly takes a seat in front of her plate. She looks at her meal, two sunny side up eggs two pieces of welled spiced sausage and white toast cut into two triangles. She takes a deep inhale, picks up her fork, and takes her first bite. The eggs have warm welcoming taste as the yolk isn’t too runny and the whites are just the right amount of chewy. The sausage is tender and juicy, the rich meat flavor with a of spicy kick makes hard to stop from eating too fast. And rounding up the plate the wonderful toast has come out just right today, not too soft nor too burnt with a generous amount of butter on top. A pure blanket of soft crunchy buttery goodness. But once the food all gone the only way to finish up a proper breakfast is with a morning beverage. For today that morning beverage is cold and sweet strawberry milk. A creamy and sweet way to put some sugar and vitamin D into your morning.

It’s nothing special really, just a simple everyday meal but for Penny ,someone so new to the practice of eating and enjoying food, it is a moment of pure and utter bliss.~

Penny: Delicious as always, thanks Dad.

Penny gets up and turns to leave.

Pietro: Wait! Aren’t you forget something?

Penny: The dishes?

Pietro: No.

Pietro goes over to her, spreads his arms out, and gestures to her.

Penny: Oh!

Penny leans down and warps her arms around him. She stays like this just long enough to soak in her father’s warmth, he give her a kiss on the head as she pulls away.

Pietro: I love you Sweetheart.

Penny: I love you too Dad. I’ll be home before 10 pm.

Penny walks to the door gives her dad a quick wave and is out the door. Once on the streets she clicks the heels of her rocket boots to active them then takes off into the sky to begin her daily responsibilities.

7:30 AM to 12:00 PM Patrol Mantle’s streets

After a quick aerial scan of streets below Penny lands a starts to survey the area, everything seems to be in order store owners are opening their shop doors, groups of children are walking to school, the buses transporting the mine and factory workers, though noticeably less full then usual, are running according to the schedule, and the late night patrons of Sammy’s Pub are finally heading home from another night of intoxication. Mr. Calves, a man known for being a destructive alcoholic, is slumped against the building and losing consciousness fast.

Penny: Mr. Calves please leave this area and return to your home immediately. The owner of this establishment has already stated several times that you can no longer loiter here after business hours and has asked to have you trespassed if you refuse.

Claves looks at Penny with disgust as he shakily stands up. He downs the remaining liquid in his bottle, he then swings the empty bottle at Penny’s head! Once the bottle is within inches of her face Penny grips him by his forearm, applying just enough pressure to stopping him in his tracks. While holding him steadily Penny calmly takes the bottle from his hand and gingerly places it on ground, straights up Calves’s clothes, then looks up and makes eye contact.

Penny: I repeat please leave the area and return home. Or I will have you trespassed and will have to take you to the near military station.

Calves finally takes the hit and skiddes away. As he leaves Penny turns her attention back towards the streets just in time to see a group of small children heading to school. A little boy with light blue hair and a little gap in his teeth notices her while walking with his friends.

“Hey it’s Ms. Penny!” he shouts, this grabs the attention of the other children as they all turn their heads at the mention of the friendly neighborhood protector.

Soon there was swarm of little hands waving wildly and a chorus of “Hi Ms. Penny” “Good Morning Ms. Protector” and “ Hi Ms. Hero” can be heard from blocks away as the parents tried their hardest to get their awestruck children to keep on their way with little success. Penny smiled brightly and waved back at them, this had become her favorite part of her morning patrols since she was tasked with the role of Mantle’s Protector. After a month or so of handling both the Grimm and crime in Mantle the people had began to recognize her as somewhat of a neighborhood hero. Although they would not approach her often most adults would wave to her as she passes by them during patrols. The children would look at her with fascination and wonder asking all sorts of questions like how she flew, why was she was so strong, and if she could give them a ride on her back while she fled around! And the elder, especially the older woman, would treat her like one would a sweet child, telling her not to stay out too late, reminding her to wear thicker clothes when it got cold, and would give her small treats like candies, small cookies, and leftover baked goods whenever they had the chance.

This is what gives her work so much meaning. The comfort and happiness she saw in their eyes, that’s what Penny was protecting, that’s what she’d repeat to herself whenever things got difficult. As long as the people, her people, were safe she could handle whatever role or new responsibility the higher ups decide to throw at her. As long as she could fight they could smile and as long they could smile she could fight.

“RING” “RING” “RING”

Penny’s scroll rings, a loud blaring alarm, it’s a status update from the security officers in charge of the surveillance drones there are two on going altercation happening sixteen blocks away, a small fire twelve blocks east, One large Grimm at the southern most edge that’s proving to be a problem for the morning squadron, and a small pack of Grimm making their way towards one of mines due southeast. In summary a normal morning in Mantle.

Penny: And like clockwork my morning peace has comes to an end. If I help with the fire first and handle the altercations a few blocks ahead then fly max speed across town to get to the Grimm I should be able to cut off the pack just before they reach the mine.

She puts her scroll away and turns to take off but not before giving the crowd one more wave as she clicks her heels and twirls as she jets up into the air. She then does a very showy wink and peace sign for the crowd and flys off.

1:00pm to 4:00 pm Training With Military Huntsman

After cutting off and taking down the pack of Grimm Penny heads to the military training center to add the other hunters as they hon their skills in biweekly training sessions. Now most days Penny will just set the facilities to train the specific skills each team needs to work on for both group and individual training. But Penny will join in if a session requires another person or if she is specifically requested. Today is Team FNKI’s turn and they’ve requested that Penny train with them, though it was more like Neon begged for two full hours to have Penny join them so she could play with Penny’s “pretty light swords”.

Once the boys are all set with their individualized training, Neon and Penny are left at the center for a 1 vs 1 sparing match. Neon playful circles Penny rainbow trailing behind her. She smiles coley ,twirling her her nunchucks and her tail, as though she doesn’t have a care in the world.

Neon: you ready to dance Penny? Cause I’ve been dying to see if those cute swords of yours are more then just a light show.

Penny: I can assure you Neon Katt my swords are indeed military grade weapons, the lights are an indicator of the connection between them and my systems so I may use them freely. They are also optimal for fighting in the dark and at night.

Neon: And you just ruined the joke killjoy. So if you’re done talking I’m just gonna beat cha with my chucks, ‘Kay.

Neon changes her stance then charges at Penny, she swings her chucks wildly at Penny trying to land a hit. Penny dodges her rapid attacks for a bit but that soon fails as Neon only grows more fierce with each swing. Neon closing in she’s just about to landing a hit but when she brings down her chucks something blocks her, she loses her balance and is pushed back. Once she regains her composure she see Penny with one of her swords in hand and smile on her face. Penny looks at her for a second then let’s go of her blade letting it flow upward to above her head. Once’s it there she releases the rest of her arsenal, the blades fanning out around her like a peacock’s tail creating a beautiful but deadly display. Penny raises her hand to Neon and gestures for her to make a move.

Game on.

The girls continue their sparing for the duration of the session, when the time almost up the door to the training room is swung open. The elegant Winter Schnee enters the room with a loud bang, grabbing everyone’s attention and stopping them dead in their tracks.

Winter: Team FNKI Your session is over please clear out so the next group may enter.

With that the boys grab their things and start head towards the door while Neon stands there sulking.

Neon: Aww man, But I wanted to play some more.

Flynt: Kitty no it’s time to go, say goodbye to your friend.

Neon: Ugggh, fine..

Neon begins to leave, looking upset and defeated she skates to the door but right as she’s about to leave she perks up and skates back to Penny.

Neon: You have your scroll on you?

Penny: Yes.

Neon: Gimme it like Now!

Penny hands Neon her scroll, Neon starts fiddling with the scroll until she finds the app she’s looking for then starts typing. Once she’s done she hands the scroll back to Penny.

Neon: If you’re ever bored or want tickets to our next concert hit me up ‘Kay.

Penny: Okay?

Neon: Awesome, and don’t worry about calling too late I’m a real night owl.

Flynt: KITTY!

Neon: OKAY! Bye Penny Pop, later Winter Wonder. See you losers in few days!

Neon rolls out of the room while Flynt looks back apologetically before leaving with the rest of his team. Penny and Winter are left standing in the room in an awkward silence.

Winter: Penny, go change the settings for the room to my presets.

Penny: Right away Ma’am

Winter: And Penny.

Penny: Yes Ma’am?

Winter: Don’t get distracted. We don’t have time for distribution.

Penny: Yes of course Ma’am.

Penny leaves the room and heads to the control room to change the settings. Once she’s finished she call a co-worker to take over as she grabs her things and leaves for her next task.

5:00 pm to 8:00 pm Filling Out Reports At The Military Outpost

After a quick flight from the training center Penny heads to the nears Military Outpost or Military Station to fill out reports on petrols, arrests, Grimm sightings and kills, and any oddity or security issues she might have noticed in between her commutes are the cities. Basically everything that needs to go on record throughout the day was to written and submitted at this time.

This was is the part of the day Penny dislike the most. After hours of detaining criminal, fighting Grimm, training with military huntsman, and keeping the community safe sitting at a computer, in an uncomfortable chair and typing everything out for hours on end was truly mental draining. Recounting an entire day down to the mundane details, filling out arrest form after arrest form, document after document is just so soul sucking and horrible. But this what she and every military member had to do when their work day comes to an end in order to keep the system running.

Penny walks in to the station she shows her identification to the front desk assistant, she is then given a usb, and boozed into the main building. Once she’s in she looks for the nears open computer, once she finds it she sits down, logs in to the system, inserts the usb, and gets to work.

After two hours of typing away Penny’s close to finishing her work a bit earlier the usual when Chief Stones, the man in charge of the station, comes running towards her with a phone in hand.

Stones: Poledina, I just got off the phone with the southwest shipping facility. They need some extra security on today’s shipment transfer and they asked for you specifically, so get down there.

Penny: Yes Sir.

Stones: And don’t forget to come back and finish your reports once you’re done.

Penny: ………Yes Sir.

After saving her work and removing the usb Penny grabs her things, heads outside and straight to the sky. After a near hour or so of flying Penny spots the facility coming up on the horizon. She’s getting closer when suddenly a truck comes zooming past her at an intense speed. It’s the shipping truck! But why is it going so fast? Where was the security detail that was supposed to be escorting them? And why is it going off the normal route? Penny stops and gets ready to jet off after the truck when-

“ HELP! SOMEBODY HELP US!”

That’s when Penny turn back and sees smoke. The truck could wait someone was in danger and she was the only one there to help. She flys towards the screaming only to find it’s the security detail! The vans been thrown on it’s side and a fires broke out. The guards have made out of the vehicle but most are injured some are unconscious the strongest of them is waving Penny down with one arm while keeping a wound close with the other.

Penny: Penny Poledina Mantle Main Security, What happened here?

Long: Seth Long Transport Security, there was a breach at the facility it turned out false alarm but once we got back they’d already set off smoke bombs in loading dock and ran off with the truck. We tried catch up with them but I think they saw it coming they set off some sort of trap and blow us off the road. Our van got flipped 5 of my men were injured 3 are out cold there was nothing we could.

Penny: We need to get you and your men to a medic right now-

Long: WAIT! There’s 1 man still in that van, he was driving when we gave chase and got stuck when we crashed. He’s names Tony, please you gotta save him.

Penny looks at the man for a moment, the desperation and fear clear in his eyes, she rips a piece off her skirt and uses it to dress Long’s wound then heads for the van. It doesn’t take her long to spot Tony, he has multiple injuries, has breathed in a lot of smoke, and is losing consciousness. Penny pulls out one of her swords and cuts him out the seatbelt. Once he’s free she gently picks him up and jets up and out of the van. When they’re back on solid ground she sets Tony down next to Long, Long gingerly pats Tony’s head and mouths “thank you” to Penny before his strength finally gives and he passes out. Penny pulls out her scroll and calls for medical attention, in the meantime she does everything she can to keep the men stable until help arrives.

It takes a few hours for everything to get cleared up but soon everything has documented and everyone in need of medical attention has either been seen or sent to the hospital for a few nights stay. With that Penny quickly heads back to the station to wraps up her reports for the day then heads home. It’s one thirty in the morning, it been a very long day and all Penny can think about is getting home, taking off her boots, getting out of her now dirty work clothes, and getting some sleep. Before she knows it she’s standing at her front door, she grabs her keys and quietly opens the door trying her hardest not to make too much noise so she doesn’t wake her dad, only to find him waiting for her at the table with a warm plate of chicken and rice with tomato soup. Penny smiles at him and heads to table for a nice late dinner and some family time. Once dishes are done and Dad’s gone off to bed Penny goes to her room, she takes off her boots, grabs some clean pajamas and heads to her bathroom she then washes off the day’s dirty and grime, puts on her pjs and heads to her bed. Once she’s in her bed she plugs herself into her power station, tucks herself with her nice warm blankets, snuggle her head into her pillow, and falls into a hard earned and well deserved night sleep.

#penny polendina #broken machines #rwby #rwby fanfiction #cute #this girl deserves a day off and jar of Nutella #pietro polendina #fanfic

17 notes · View notes

butiaintgonnaloveem · 4 years

Text

Presents and Prizes and Sweets and Surprises

Characters: Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Reader, Jack Kline, Mrs. Butters

Word Count: approx 1600

Warnings: Spoilers for episode “Last Holiday” and language

A/N: This is just my way of venting my frustration with the episode. I was going to do a kind of fix-it fic, but this turned more into a reader insert as concerned spectator kind of thing. No one edited this, so sorry for any errors. This is frustration and crack.

Poking holes, making fun, wishing they were doing better things with the last few episodes - you know, the fangirl business.

“There’s a what living here? And what does it have to do with your underwear?”

Dean rolls his eyes, “A wood nymph. She was folding them for me.”

“Since when do you fold your underwear?”

“Since Mrs. B. started doing it for me,” he shrugs.

Speak of the devil, or nymph - she scurries in from the hall.

Her eyes are wide as she looks you over, a disapproving scowl on her face.

“Dean, we do not bring lady guests into the Men of Letters bunker. Ms. Sands was an exception, but it should not be the rule.”

“Lady guests? I live here,” you glare as you over-enunciate each word.

Clearly caught off-guard, she splutters, unable to reply more than a few cut-off words as she looks helplessly at Dean. “A-a woman? IN the Men of Letters bunker?”

“Times have changed, lady. And I don’t know if you’re aware, but you are also a female.”

“I am a wood nymph,” she says haughtily, “Friend of the goddess Artemis, and not subject to the problems a woman may bring to this bunker.”

You start to move on her, but Dean steps in, gently keeping you back with a hand on your shoulder, “Okay, I think this could be going better. Mrs. B., she does live here. We don’t really subscribe to the whole ‘fairer sex’ thing. I was just getting ready to find you for introductions when you walked in. Now, I think we can all get along, right?”

He looks between you with a shit-eating grin as though he just solved the easiest riddle, even though he didn’t do shit. Mrs. B. stands there wringing her hands and staring at you with trepidation, while you eye her up, looking for any signs of malice.

“I know!” Dean says with all the excitement of a ten year-old, “Mrs. B. how about you bring out some of those butter cookies you whipped up earlier and we kick this off right?”

She turns to fulfill his request just as you answer, “No, thanks. I don’t mind fending for myself. In fact, I prefer it. Dean, can I speak with you? Alone?”

He shakes his head and looks at her apologetically. She just waves him off and leaves.

“What the hell?”

“Yeah!” you throw your hands up, “What the hell?! You need to tell me everything that happened since she showed up.”

Days pass. Once Dean had told you what happened to make Mrs. Doubtfire appear, you went to Sam, hoping for some reason unfortunately, it seemed to be a lost cause. Once she highlighted the monster radar, they were constantly on the run. A quick vampire nest here, a coven there. In between Dean nestled himself in his purple huggy nightgown and drowned himself not in alcohol, but in mashed potatoes and pie. She even had Jack drawn out of his new soul-based depression thanks to her smoothies.

_____

“Won’t you join us, dear?” her sickly sweet voice invites you as the guys line up pumpkins for carving. She wears a forced smile as she clasps her hands in front of her, still uncomfortable with your presence.

“Nope,” you pop with an obnoxious ‘p’ sound, “I’m super right here.” You wave your deli-bought sandwich in the air and look back to your laptop.

“C’mon!” Dean groans. He looks up from the face he’s drawing on the huge, out-of-season monstrosity. “Relax a little, Mrs. B is even gonna roast up some pumpkin seeds - salty and sweet!” He looks at her with an excited and expectant nod.

She looks back like a proud grandmother, “Of course, dear!” As though there were no other option, making your eyes roll into the back of your head.

“Like I said, I’m good. You guys enjoy your...whatever over there.”

They shrug and ignore you, laughing like children and throwing pumpkin goop at each other until she scolds them. Until now, Halloween was despised by Sam, and only an excuse for slutty costumes for Dean. Not that it hadn’t been tried. There were attempts at parties, birthdays, Christmas; Jody invited you all over plenty, especially after the mess with Mary. But no. Suddenly Stepford Granny appears and it’s all hands on deck for celebrations. Something wasn’t right, and for some stupid reason, the guys didn’t notice or care.

_____

Your research on wood nymphs doesn’t offer a whole lot, they are pretty rare. More kindly disposed toward men according to a source, which explains her reaction to you, and summoned to attend the gods on Olympus, which also explains her service kink apparently. Other than that, it was a whole lot of crap.

On occasion you find her in the library, staring wistfully at the photo of the Men of Letters who previously occupied the bunker, but once she notices your presence, she shakes herself from her reverie and starts puttering about, lamenting the state of things around her.

Dean is blissful. Sam had been reluctant, but even he seems to be walking around without his usual dark cloud. You want them to be happy, to have the memories others take for granted, but the way she side-eyes Jack, the way she passive-aggressively speaks about you even when you are in the room, it won’t stop nagging at you.

“What do you miss most about them?” you ask her one day after she sends the boys off with their crustless sandwiches.

“Oh, well, it’s hard to miss them much when they’ve just left,” she laughs, stiff with discomfort.

“Not Sam and Dean, I mean them,” you tip your head in the direction of the photo on the wall.

“Oh.” She takes a half step toward it, but stops. “It’s - they gave me purpose, a home, and a family.”

“What about your real family? The other nymphs?”

She straightens out her stupid, festive apron then, looking at you dead on, “Mr. Sinclair and those gentlemen were no less a real family to me than my natural brethren,” she pauses for a deep breath, then for a moment longer until a tight smile pulls across her lips. “Now, have you eaten? Are you sure I can’t get you...”

“No,” you cut her off for the millionth time she’s asked.

“Well then, I best get back to work,” she mutters and wanders off.

_____

When you finally get the chance to corner Sam, he’s rushing while getting ready for his date and really only half-listening.

“And I just think that it’s really telling that Cuthbert Sinclair was the one to bring her on, I mean, he wasn’t always on the level with his magic and acquisitions and what the hell are you wearing?”

He turns around, smoothing down the brown sweater vest, “What? Mrs. Butters set it out for me. Said it makes me look dashing.” He smiles and shyly tips his head to the side, the way he does before giving his puppy eyes. All lost on you.

“You look like a sitcom dad. You’re just going out with Eileen, right?”

“Nothing wrong with looking your best.”

“Sure,” you agree with uncertainty, “But Sam, didn’t you look into this?”

“She was right about the first vamp case, she’s powered up the radar, and the bunker is on full blast, what’s wrong with that?”

“Because Sam! Magic also comes with a price, and when has a monster ever really been so thrilled to live in servitude? Or anyone for that matter? You think this is all out of the goodness of her heart?”

He looks at you, confused, “Yes?”

You throw your hands up, just as Sam checks his watch and curses under his breath before hastily leaving the room.

“What the fuck. Fine, you guys don’t care? I don’t care. I am fucking out of here.” No one stops you.

_____

Two days later, you’re called back to the bunker and very apologetic Winchesters, and cake.

“So she was a Nazi murder monster who also liked serving milk and cookies? Cool. Cool, cool. And Jack found this out? Jack?! I mean, no offense buddy, but Sam! You’re the lore genius! You’ve got this place set up with your own fucking Sammy decimal system, and you missed this!”

“I mean, if she was doping up all our food, like she was doing to Jack - “

“And you wondered why I didn’t want to eat her turkish delights! She had you guys running around with sack lunches like fricken four year-olds, all dopey smiles and rice krispy treats. I mean, I can’t believe you even knew how to spell ‘happy birthday’ all on your own and didn’t pull a Hagrid with how high you were flying on her nymph edibles!” You throw your hands up, nearly throwing your slice of birthday cake right off the plate, as Sam laughs.

“And you,” you point to him, “Mjolnir! Where did she pull that from? You weren’t thrown off with that? And don’t think I am letting you live down that sweater vest or birthday tiara. If all it took to make you guys so docile were a few parties and home-cooked meals and giving in to some praise kinks you seem to hae, then someone would have locked you both down already, it’s not like they haven’t tried. I cringed, you guys, cringed. My shoulders are still sore from it. In fact, I think you guys really owe me for having to put up with watching all that crap go down. For being so right, right from the start.”

They both roll their eyes, Jack for his part just sits and smiles while eating his own birthday cake. Dean flicks his fingers in a ‘bring it on’ motion while pursing his lips in displeasure.

“I want a party. With drinks and store-bought cake with that really good frosting, and a banner that says ‘you were so right and we were so stupid and we’re sorry and we will do better next tim-’”

“Alright, Veruca we get it,” Dean groans.

“Just do better, and don’t forget my golden goose,” you smirk.

#spn fanfiction #spn fanfic #spn s15 #spn crack #spn last holiday #dean winchester fanfiction #sam winchester fanfiction #my writing #in case you can't tell #i hated the episode

25 notes · View notes

javierchvez · 3 years

Text

winter bakin’ | jovier

pairing - javier chavez & @jojohood

time - sometime around winter break

setting - the kitchens

summary - javier and jojo make cookies for the holidays

The best part of Christmas was the baking. At least that was Javier’s opinion in previous years. This year he had something even better to look forward to, and that was baking with one of his favorite people. She might not be the most adept baker, but it was still nice to have company in the kitchen. And Javier couldn’t have asked for better company than Jojo. Grabbing the last of the ingredients, he gave her a quizzical look. “Now, the only question is…” he trailed off as if to build suspense as he reached into the drawer. It wasn’t anything that needed the suspense, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t fun to make it sound like a much larger debate than it was. “Do we want to do snowmen or the traditional gingerbread man?” Though he was asking for her opinion, he definitely made his own known by nodding his head slightly towards the former.

Jojo wasn't exactly what anyone would call the most festive person, but that didn't mean she hated the holidays. How could she, when her home back in Sherwood always went all out for them? It just meant that while she admired the holiday lights and decorations and all that stuff, she didn't usually participate in any of it firsthand. She especially didn't if it had anything to do with cooking or baking, but baking holiday cookies was a fun excuse to hang out with Javier. Not that Jojo needed an excuse -- almost without her even noticing, Javier had become one of those rare people that she knew she could hit up to talk about anything, at any time. And she must like him a lot if she was here, ready to try making cookies for the first time. "Hmmm..." Jojo said outloud as she struggled to tie her long, wavy hair back into a ponytail or bun to keep it out of the way from getting burned or something like that. She considered saying gingerbread just because she knew he wanted the other one more but she ended up going with, "Fuck tradition! Let's make some tiny snowmen!" With that, she finally wrestled most of her hair into a ponytail that stayed and she wiped her hands on the side of her pants. "So, Chef Chavez, how do we start this thing? Because I'm not kidding when I say the extent of my baking knowledge is those tv competition shows."

Javier could hardly contain his excitement when she agreed with him. He honestly would have been okay with either cookie, he just liked the way the snowmen looked and the fact that they had more icing on them than the gingerbread men. “Seriously, don’t even worry about that. That’s what I’m here for,” he said, trying to make her feel better about her inexperience with baking. “I can show you what to do. It’ll all be fine, trust me.” He’d shown plenty of people how to make things. Okay, maybe not that many people, but he was sure that he could teach Jojo a simple sugar cookie recipe. “So first, we’re going to pour flour, baking powder, and salt together in a medium bowl and use this to mix it together.” He handed her a whisk as he spoke, with his other hand setting out the measuring cup to measure out the mentioned ingredients. “And while you do that, I’ll get the butter and sugar going in the mixer.” Javier waited until all the dry ingredients were properly measured before moving on to beat the butter and sugar together and tossed her a reassuring glance. “See? So far so good. You have nothing to worry about.”

"Worried? I'm not worried," Jojo lied through her teeth in the most teasing tone she could manage. She wasn't used to the part of liking somebody that made her insecure that they'd think less of her if she proved herself talentless, but at least Javier was nice about it. He was nice about everything, and besides, it wasn't like cookies were even that hard of a recipe to not fuck up. "And I do trust you," she admitted with a sigh. It was weird to say those words and even weirder to mean it, but it felt like a good kind of weird. "Alright, let's go!" She rubbed her hands together before taking the whisk from Javier and nodded. It sounded simple enough. Just mixing together weird dry powders. And whisking itself was easy enough to do, even without paying too much attention, which was good because the best part of this by far was getting to watch Javier. Even when he was doing simple stuff like beating butter and sugar together, it was kind of sexy; he was just so casually confident in the kitchen. "Right? I don't want to jinx myself but I think I might be a whisk master already. Do you ever just eat the sugar-butter mixture by itself? Because that looks good!"

Before he had been grinning at getting to do the shape he wanted, but now that grin turned into something softer; it wasn’t everyday that Javier was told that someone trusted him. Not that he’d ever do anything to make him untrustworthy, but he wasn’t naive enough to assume that absolutely nobody had preconceived notions regarding the VK’s. Although he’d never accuse Jojo of being like that. After all, if she thought something, she would say it. She was definitely not the type to say one thing and mean another, and maybe that was why he’d appreciated the comment so much, although really it wasn’t that big of a deal. They were only making cookies, not a whole lot of trust was needed in the subject, but it was still very much appreciated to be heard. And he also appreciated the enthusiasm she exuded even while doing something she had said time and time again she wasn’t good at. Javier laughed when she called herself a whisk master and peered into her bowl, a playful gasp leaving his lips. “Wow, that’s the best whisking job I’ve ever seen. And that’s coming from me.” Her question gave him a slight pause, a look of guilt spreading over his face briefly. “Uh, yeah, but no judging me! I only did it the first time I made cookies over here because, well, it was the first time I’d made cookies with fresh ingredients. And I do not suggest eating just butter and sugar. It’s kind of gross.”

Jojo rolled her eyes but couldn't help but smile at Javier's surprised gasp; joking around in a kitchen together was annoyingly just as much fun as the lame people in romcoms made it seemed, and she kind of hated herself for actually puffing up a little bit at his playful compliments. Maybe it was too late for her and she was officially a fool with feelings. She'd think about that later, though. Right now, she had a handsome and hilarious boy to mock. "Um, permission to remain unjudged denied! I can't say I don't get the temptation though. It looks freaking tasty." She looked down at the mixture and then over at Javier with mischief twinkling in her eyes. "Hey, are you one of those cooks that gets weird about people sticking their fingers in your food?" she added, sticking a finger out menacingly towards the butter and sugar bowl. "Do you dare me to taste it?”

“I just told you it was gross and you still wanna try it?” Javier asked, laughing as her finger neared the mixing bowl. “I’m not one of those, no, but like I said, I really advise against it.” He made sure the mixer was off before tipping the bowl towards her. “But if you really want to do it, be my guest. Just don’t blame me when it’s the worst thing you’ve ever had. I warned you it was gross.” He had to admit, even though there wasn’t much baking being done and more messing around, he was having a great time. It was always a good time with Jojo, no matter what they were doing. “I’m about to add vanilla, egg, and almond extract though, if you’d rather wait. We’re almost to dough and that tastes a lot better than just butter and sugar.”

For someone who had never been in any relationship before and had only really seen successful ones, Jojo really had a bad habit of waiting for the other show to drop, and so she kept expecting Javier to get annoyed that she delaying their progress, or that she was just goofing off, but it felt more and more like waiting for something that wouldn't come, and that made it easier to be herself. "Yeah! You can't call something gross and honestly not expect me to try and test it out," Jojo snickered. She loved self-imposed dares and trying new shit out, and this felt like a good opportunity to do both of those things. She considered waiting for a moment so she could have the full dough experience as Javier suggested but then she just shrugged. "I'll try it when you get it all doughy too but I'm too curious right now!" Her finger swiped the edge of the mixture and scooped some up. "Cheers," she laughed, popping it into her mouth and keeping eye contact with him the whole time. The taste wasn't as bad as she had been expecting and she covered her mouth with her hands as she laughed. "Dude... is it bad that I liked it?"

Sure, he’d definitely had worse tasting things on the Isle, but this was gross more so because of texture than anything else. Just watching Jojo eat it made him grimace, remembering his reaction the first time he’d tried the mixture. It was not at all the one she gave him now, and Javier couldn’t help but snicker. “I mean, everyone’s got different tastes?” He responded, reaching for the next set of ingredients to add to the bowl. “But I’m telling you. Nothing's gonna beat the dough. I know they say you shouldn’t eat raw dough because of the eggs and what not, but it’s still amazing. I could sit and eat an entire bowl of it, honestly. Who needs actual cookies when the dough tastes a little better?” After adding in the vanilla and eggs, Javier added the dry ingredients, setting the mixer to low and letting it do its thing. “So, thought about how you wanna decorate your snowman? Do we want royal icing or would you rather use fondant?”

Jojo felt even more like smiling at the look on Javier's face; he looked absolutely aghast, and it genuinely cracked her up that she could gross him out a little bit. And then he laughed and it made her laugh, and her heart felt light. She was still getting used to the fact that somebody's emotions had such sway on hers, but it felt so good right now. "I love raw cookie dough, man," she laughed. "I'd eat it all day, but I guess I wait until they're real cookies. That's the Christmassy thing to do, yeah? And I'm not sure. How are you going to decorate yours? Not that I'm planning on copying you, but you're the kitchen genius here! I'm not even sure I know what fondant is, actually, except that the cooking shows say it's hard to use. Which of those is more fun to lick off? I vote for the best licking experience!"

“You have no idea what fondant is? Wow, I really have failed to teach you anything,” Javier sighed exaggeratedly and shook his head. “But at least you know it’s hard to work with, and honestly it doesn’t taste great. It just makes decorations look better. Especially when you’re trying to create a scene or build something. Royal icing it is, but don’t expect it to come right off when you lick it like regular frosting does. As for how I’m decorating… I’m not sure. I guess I was just gonna do a regular old Frosty type snowman. Boring, huh?” He was really glad that they’d gotten the chance to do this, especially since she’d always said she wasn’t any help in the kitchen. It was nice to have someone other than his sister or dad in there with him, and someone he could really joke around with like they had been. Javier really felt a connection with Jojo, and it made him really happy to know that she hadn’t gotten sick of him yet. He hoped that day wouldn’t come for a long, long time, if it ever did come. For now, though, they had cookies to worry about. What the future held for them could wait; besides, it was much for fun to live in the present with her. “Ready to roll it out? You wanna do the honors?”

"It's not my fault you look hot when you're explaining kitchen stuff," Jojo complained, fake-fanning herself as if he was too sexy at this moment to even stand. "It makes it hard to listen to you when I just wanna kiss your face." She was good at saying bold stuff like that over text but in person, it made her blush a little and she let herself listen about the icing instead. "Eh, some people say boring. Some say classic. Me? I say boring," she joked, "but it'll taste delicious for sure." She nodded when asked about rolling out the cookies and she excitedly took the roller to the dough, ready to show her stuff. "You're not going to get behind me like a guy in the movies to 'show me how it's done', are you?" Jojo jested, her strong forearms making quick work of the dough.

Javier “looking hot” was something he was still getting used to; the only time he thought the word described him at all was in a literal sense, not an attractive sort of way. He scoffed lightly and rolled his eyes, muttering a “yeah, right” as he busied himself cleaning the area while she rolled out the dough. “You know, I kind of thought you’d say that,” he joked, moving the ingredients no longer needed out of the way to make room for the icing. Egg whites, vanilla, and confectioner’s sugar were pulled out instead, and measured carefully into a new bowl for the standing mixer. “Wow, do I really come across as that kind of guy?” Javier snorted, trying and failing to feign offense. He traded his expression for a small pout, adding on, “I didn’t think you thought so little of me.”

Jojo was very familiar with the sort of reaction Javier let out when she called him hot -- honestly, it was the kind of reaction she always had whenever anybody complimented her looks. She was convinced she was the worst looking in her family and just sort of weird-looking in general, but that was different; Javier was actually hot, super fucking hot. She'd thought so even before they started whatever this was. "It's true," she sighed, but otherwise let it go as they started preparing the icing and she licked her lips in anticipation for tastiness. Jojo giggled at his false-offense, raising a brow at him. "Maybe I just wanted to get you behind me," she quipped, shrugging a shoulder. "But seriously though, no. You're the least 'that kind of guy' I've ever met. It's why you're my favorite."

‘You’re my favorite,’ wow. Javier hadn’t expected to hear those words or have the kind of reaction he did; he could feel his cheeks warm as a smile tore across his face. The only people he’d been the favorite of were his father and sister, and that didn’t have nearly the same effect on him as hearing it from Jojo. “Favorite, huh?” he echoed teasingly, or at least that’s how he meant to repeat it. He was sure it didn’t come off quite like that with his cheeks still tinted with blush. It probably came off more like a schoolgirl laughing a bit too hard at a joke her crush had just told, which truth be told did describe how he was feeling at that moment a little bit. Giddy, giggling to himself in a slightly idiotic manner in response to something his crush said. Javier cleared his throat to compose himself a bit, busying his hands with the icing that was quickly coming together. “And if that’s what you really want, I guess I can show you how to pipe the icing onto the cookie. Have you ever used this stuff before? It’s kind of fun, a little like coloring if I’m being honest. Just draw a border around the area you want to ice and then fill it in,” while he explained, he separated the icing into several bowls so they could color it for whatever accessories their snowmen would be wearing. “Is the dough ready to cut and bake?”

#para #para: jojo #para: winter bakin'#asujojo #/ hi remember when you said like forever ago this should be posted??#/ it sat in a google doc for way too long after that lmao my bad #/ also titles are hard lmao #/ this one is awful

5 notes · View notes

basketofverbiage · 5 years

Text

Candy and Tradition

So, I decided to challenge myself to write and post 25 drabbles between now and Christmas. Here is the first (also, all the recipes listed are real things my family makes, so if you are curious about them, let me know and I can post some of them)!

For 90% of the year, Y/n was perfectly happy with her life in Seoul. While she did get a little bit homesick from time to time, her beautiful boyfriends made everything better on those days. Namjoon and Jungkook were the perfect mix of brains and brawn, art and sport, sweet and spicy, and kept life interesting enough that Y/n really didn’t miss her home country. However, the 10% of the time where homesickness was paramount was the holiday season. Since she grew up in America, Y/n’s family all celebrated Thanksgiving, and she’d grown used to not being able to do the same in Korea. Her family had never been traditional about the turkey and all the trimmings, so that part was easily displaced for Y/n. In fact, one year, her family had had a taco bar instead; however, the tradition that they kept without fail was that the entire family came together the Saturday after Thanksgiving to make homemade candy of all varieties. While other families baked Christmas cookies together, Y/n’s family spent 8-12 hours making all kinds of confections; if it wasn’t nailed down, it got covered in chocolate that day.

Y/n usually would fly home for a few days to participate in the candy making festivities, but this year it just wasn’t feasible due to her work schedule. Her family was okay with it, and her mom had promised to video call her so that she could see her nieces and nephews experience the day for the first time, but it just wasn’t the same. So, when the week of Thanksgiving came, Namjoon and Jungkook noticed how upset she was becoming.

“Hyung, we need to do something to help Noona. She’s so sad about not seeing her family,” Jungkook told Namjoon as he brought the elder a cup of coffee to his studio.

Namjoon accepted the steaming cup of coffee with a tender kiss to the younger’s lips before speaking. “I know. I’ve been thinking about it all morning and I think I have a solution. What if we call and get some of Y/n’s favorite recipes from her mom and we have our own candy making day here in Seoul? We have this weekend off for a change, and maybe Jin-hyung would be okay with us taking over the kitchen for the day.”

“I’m sure he would because he’d get to eat some of the things we make,” Jungkook said thoughtfully. “When can we call for those recipes? It might be hard to get some of the ingredients so we might have to overnight them from online.”

“I’ll reach out by text since it’s the middle of the night there. Maybe we can tell Y/n that we can’t come over to her apartment tonight because something came up here, and we can stay late here and video chat her then.”

After getting a goodbye kiss for the road, Jungkook headed off to record some vocals for their new album. He felt a bit better now that he had a plan in place to cheer up their girlfriend, and he knew that she’d love the surprise. He’d loved Namjoon since he was 15 but was still amazed at how intuitive the man was and how quickly he could come up with a solution to nearly any problem. He trusted that Namjoon would let him know when their important call was, so he threw himself into his work to finish in plenty of time.

Y/n’s mother was a morning person and responded excitedly at 5 am her own time and scheduled a time to call the boys. They would call her at 10 pm KST; it would still be morning for Y/n’s mom, but it would give her time to get some recipes together. She wanted to scan them in and email them to Namjoon.

Jungkook knew that Namjoon would probably work on music right up until the call, so he called Y/n himself.

“Hello, my Love!” she answered.

“Hi Noona. Have you had a good day at work today?” he asked through the biggest smile. Just hearing her voice squeezed his heart in the best way.

“Oh, you know. It’s been work,” she giggled. “Have my amazing boyfriends been working hard?”

“Yeah, we have. And that’s part of why I called. Something has come up, and we won’t be able to come over tonight, Noona. We have to re-record all over our vocals for 3 songs. The computer they were on crashed and the vocals were lost, so we have to stay late to catch back up. I know you have to work tomorrow, and we don’t want you to stay up too late waiting on us. I don’t know what time we will be finished.”

Jungkook felt guilty lying to one of the loves of his life, but hopefully the surprise they were coordinating would make up for it. It tugged his heartstrings at the way she sounded so sad not to see them.

“I’m so sorry, Noona. We will make it up to you this weekend when we are off,” Jungkook promised.

After talking for a few more minutes, Jungkook made Y/n promise to text him when she got home safely after work so that he could order dinner to be delivered to her. Even if they weren’t physically going to be there, he could make sure that she ate well. He pondered over their plan a bit more as he returned to Namjoon’s studio.

“I talked to Noona. I told her we had to re-record all the vocals for like 3 songs so we wouldn’t be over. We should tell the others so if she asks they will play along until Saturday,” Jungkook told him. “I hated lying to her.”

“I know. I talked to her earlier today after we heard back from her mom, and I couldn’t bring myself to tell her we couldn’t come, so I’m glad you did. When I tried, my voice just stopped,” Namjoon replied.

They curled up on the sofa in the studio and ordered dinner for themselves as well as dinner for Y/n once she arrived home. After they ate, Jungkook curled up into Namjoon’s arms for a bit, just loving the warmth and love radiating off of him. The recipes that Y/n’s mom had emailed came through, so they looked them over and started a grocery list. All the recipes had either standard names or weird Christmasy names; Jungkook didn’t have any idea what the hell an Elf Bite was, but it sounded super good. Y/n’s mom called right on schedule and let them know that if they needed her to she could ship some of the ingredients that they might not be able to find in Korea from America. Namjoon pre-paid the postage for a package since they figured even sending a package second day from America would be expensive and since this was their idea, they wanted to cover the cost of everything.

“Boys, you have to have someone record her reaction to this for me please. I know we were a bit hesitant about your relationship at first, but I’m so happy you found my little girl. You are both wonderful for her,” Y/n’s mom said to Namjoon and Jungkook before ending the call. “You really do bring so much light and love into her world. Thank you for doing this for her.”

The next few days were a whirlwind as the boys worked hard and also spent a lot of time searching out the rest of the ingredients that they needed. Y/n mom had shipped nearly everything they needed for a few of the recipes, and with the help of some of the staff, they were able to get everything together. Jin helped hide everything in the dorm and was wholeheartedly supportive of their endeavor. So much so that he offered to help with the plan.

Namjoon and Jungkook were going to get everything out and get started on the peanut butter ball recipe that Y/n’s mom had sent. She had been very specific about how some of the ingredients couldn’t be measured, but that Y/n would just know if it was right by taste. Jin was going to call Y/n at 6 am on Saturday morning and beg her to come over. He was going to say that he was trying to make waffles and he just couldn’t figure out what was going wrong and beg her to come help him. Y/n loved to cook and to share her recipes with others, and this wouldn’t be the first time that Jin called her at a random time of the day begging for her help in recreating something they had eaten in America. Hopefully, by the time Namjoon and Jungkook had stumbled through the first part of the unfamiliar recipe, Y/n would be there to make the special adjustments to make the recipe complete.

They had stayed at the dorm Friday night so that they would be in place to spring their surprise. Y/n had had to work late so it worked out all around. Once they had showered after dance practice that day, they curled up in Namjoon’s bed and facetimed their girl. She looked so sad and tired, but Jungkook hoped that the next day would lift some of that sadness. Jungkook slept wrapped around Namjoon, their bare chests pressed together, until their alarm went off. At 5 am, Namjoon and Jungkook were sleepily getting ready for their day. Jungkook felt like he had barely slept from his anxiety that they would fail at the surprise, but it was go time. Jungkook made coffee and a light breakfast for them while Namjoon got dressed.

Namjoon came down the hall with Seokjin following behind. They were talking quietly amongst themselves as Jungkook put eggs and toast onto 3 plates and poured three cups of coffee.

“Are you guys ready for this?” Jin asked between bites of eggs.

“Yes, hyung,” Namjoon smiled softy. “Call our baby over.”

Nearly 30 minutes later, Y/n finally arrived. They had left the door unlocked so she could get in with no issues.

“Jinnie?” she called softly as she removed her shoes.

“In here, Y/n,” Jin called from the kitchen.

When Y/n rounded the corner into the kitchen, her mouth dropped open. Seokjin was standing against the back countertop with his phone raised, filming her reaction. Namjoon had both hands buried in a bowl, with powdered sugar streaked up his cheek. Jungkook was laughing as he stirred something in a bowl placed over a boiling pot while still watching Namjoon struggle.

“We’re not making waffles, are we?” she finally gasped out.

Jungkook turned off the eye of the cooktop before coming over and wrapping her in his arms. “No, Noona, we’re not making waffles. We know you were so sad you couldn’t be with your family for making candy with them. So we talked to your mom, and brought candy making to you. Your mom even shipped some ingredients from America for us.”

“Um…my loves, I hate to interrupt this beautiful moment, but I have no idea what I’m doing. Please help me,” Namjoon whined.

After she finally recovered from the shock, Y/n jumped right into showing the loves of her life and her best friend how to make the recipe that her grandmother showed her how to make as a toddler. No one was surprise when Namjoon dropped the first peanut butter ball he dipped in melted chocolate onto the floor while Jungkook lived up to his golden maknae nickname by making a peanut butter ball that was perfectly dipped and looked better than Y/n’s example. As time went on, the other members started getting out of bed and following the smell of peanut butter and chocolate until the entire group was standing around in various states of dress, rolling dough into balls and dipping into chocolate. Even Yoongi got into it.

They made so many different recipes of candy. Y/n’s mom had sent over several different recipes: Mounds balls, peanut butter balls, peanut butter Elf Bites, S’mores balls, chocolate covered pretzels, turtles, and peppermint bark. Half of the group was nearly sick from all the sugar, so they ordered pizza. Everyone else took turns in the shower while Y/n, Namjoon, and Jungkook curled up on the couch together. Y/n was sitting in Jungkook’s lap with her legs draped over Namjoon’s gorgeous thighs.

“Thank you both so much for today. I can’t explain how much this means to me,” she murmured to them through tears. “It made me feel less like I was a thousand miles from my family. It was so amazing that you were able to make my family’s recipes with me. Some time it would be amazing to merge the two, but even if that can never happen, I feel like it will be okay. The world won’t end if we start our own traditions here in Seoul.”

#bts fluff #bts fic #bts imagine #bts imagination #bts imagines #bts namkook #jungkook #namjoon #jeon jungkook #kim namjoon #bts poly #bts poly au #bts poly imagine #bts poly fanfic #bts christmas drabble #day 1

34 notes · View notes

letterboxd · 5 years

Photo

Milking It.

Peerless American filmmaker Kelly Reichardt talks to Ella Kemp about her new film, First Cow, her favorite animal performers, and getting down to the nitty gritty of things.

We’re resharing this post to mark the arrival of ‘First Cow’ on VOD. The interview took place timed to the original release of the film in March, prior to the coronavirus pandemic.

With little fuss, Kelly Reichardt has been making some of the most tender and thoughtful films about American loneliness for decades. The quietly acclaimed director, writer and film lecturer began her feature career in 1994 with River of Grass, a runaway story of a couple caught in a tragedy, and now celebrates her ten-title milestone as a filmmaker by gifting the world the peaceful and moving portrait of another pair of nomads in First Cow.

Reichardt has earned her reputation as one of the most impressive and reliable American filmmakers with knockouts including the stripped-back heartbreaker, Wendy and Lucy and the stunning portrait of feminine isolation and frustration, Certain Women. There is always a common thread—and there is often Michelle Williams—but then, also, each film is a rich, vivid new tale that feels like it belongs to you and no one else.

Based on the 2004 novel The Half-Life, written by Reichardt’s frequent collaborator Jonathan Raymond, First Cow has been coming together for over a decade, and feels like the culmination of Reichardt’s finest skills and sensibilities. The story follows Cookie (John Magaro) a taciturn cook travelling alongside fur trappers in 19th-century Oregon, whose ambition comes into focus when he meets King Lu (Orion Lee), a Chinese immigrant. Together, they develop not only an essential friendship, but also a delicious business model, which involves slyly stealing milk from a cow owned by a wealthy landowner. It’s a film of subtle gestures, of deeply tender attentions, with a sharp eye across endless landscapes, and already has devoted fans on Letterboxd.

“I have never felt so well cared for by a movie,” writes Liz Shannon Miller in her Letterboxd review. Zachary Panozzo appreciates the way the film tackles American capitalism as a system, writing that “First Cow, in the most pleasant and honest way, calls bullshit on that.” And Phil Wiedenheft observes: “It feels—like all her work—so simple and elegant that it’s a wonder how [many] histrionics so many other filmmakers have to perform to end up saying less.” And, everyone wants those butter-honey biscuits.

First Cow premiered at the Telluride Film Festival last year and went on to the New York Film Festival shortly after, before impressing European audiences last month in competition at the 2020 Berlinale.

Sharing memories of the writers who shaped her movies, the first film that proved that cinema could show a different view of the world, and the greatest animal performers of all time, Reichardt chats with our London correspondent, Ella Kemp.

Orion Lee as King-Lu and John Magaro as Cookie in ‘First Cow’.

How did you choose where to strip The Half-Life back, to get to a film-sized story? Kelly Reichardt: The novel goes through four decades and they sail to China, so it was way outside the realm of what we could do. It also has a contemporary thread, and that just became a prologue and we settled into the 1820s. We found the main mechanism, the cow, which doesn’t exist in the novel—in the novel they’re selling the oil from beaver glands to China. So once we had the narrative element of the cow, we could work our own way into the script while still using a lot of the themes and stories from John’s novel. And the other thing John did, which was great, was to combine two characters from the novel. King Lu is actually a fusion of two people in the novel.

On paper, First Cow might seem like a straightforward Western but in practice it feels much softer. How do you see it in terms of genre? I didn’t feel any limits by a genre, and I wasn’t really thinking of it as a ‘big W’ Western. I actually see it as a heist film if anything. When I made Meek’s Cutoff, we were dealing with bonnets and wagons and the desert and people crossing West. That felt like having to deal with the whole history of the Western while we set up the camera, but I didn’t feel like that at all here. I just felt like we were telling an intimate story about two people. We were in the minutiae of trying to find out as much as we could about the Multnomah tribes that lived on the Columbia river, and we had fashioned Toby Jones’ character—the Chief Factor—after John McLoughlin in the [retail business group] Hudson’s Bay Company. It was more about researching the beaver trade and definitely taking artistic liberties, while also really trying to stay pretty true in the details to the period. It was such a little world we were building, I didn’t really have the feeling that I was confined in a genre at all.

Kelly Reichardt. / Photo by Jens Koch courtesy Berlinale

You work with outdoor landscapes a lot, particularly in Oregon. There are similarities with Meek’s Cutoff but also with Wendy and Lucy—the nomadic loners, the animal companion… What keeps you coming back to these places? I’ve actually worked outdoors much more than I’ve worked indoors. It’s really the indoors which was really fun to shoot here, because with Tony Gasparro, who was the production designer on First Cow, he and I were able to design these cottages and interiors and build around what [we] wanted to shoot, which is really great and a first for me. But outdoors is where I’m usually mostly shooting. It was recognizable to me at different points in the film that we were recalling Old Joy and Meek’s Cutoff and Wendy and Lucy. It was like the ‘Best Of’ of my movies.

There were some echoes of the other films for sure. It’s interesting to think how that’s happened. Because really, John’s novel The Half-Life is the first thing I ever read of his, and I wrote to him asking if he had any short stories—because I knew the novel was too big back in 2004—and he sent me Old Joy, the short story, which became the first thing we did together. But in between all that we’d been musing together for a decade, whenever there’s a lull in whatever we’re working on, we’d ask ourselves how we could do The Half-Life. It’s been cooking on the back burner for a long time, so maybe it’s bled into other films along the way.

Would you ever consider working in the city? I’m definitely ready to do something contemporary. It could be anything. I will just say on the practical side I do enjoy going away with a crew and feeling somewhat off the grid while making a film, separate from everyday life. When you say a city, I immediately think of New York. Never say never, but it’s just the practicalities of it… even if you can hire the crew you want, it doesn’t jump out at me as the most inviting thing.

In First Cow, your central characters are two men. Did you encounter different things in delving into male psychology after shaping so many rich female characters across your filmography? I don’t think of it in terms of gender, more in terms of personality. Maile Meloy’s short stories that I was working off for Certain Women focus on isolated women, a theme in some of her writing. But it’s really more about getting down to details on all levels of filmmaking for me. You have at some point the bigger picture, but I like to get down to the nitty gritty of things, in the story I’m telling and the people I’m making the story about and not worry about what gender anybody is. It’s more about who are these characters. A big draw to The Half-Life was that the Cookie character was so great. King Lu was totally fascinating as well. So it was more about keeping track of what they wanted, what they were to each other in the minute-by-minute, more even than in the big sense.

Lucy, the very good girl in Reichardt’s ‘Old Joy’.

Evie, the titular cow, is a terrific performer. What is your favorite animal performance on film? Oh god… Lucy! My own beautiful dog in Old Joy (2006), actually. No, of course there’s others. The animal that probably made the biggest impression on me as a kid was in Mike Nichols’ The Day of the Dolphin (1973). That dolphin was everything. You’re always afraid the animals are going to come to some demise. There’s [Vincente] Minnelli’s Home from the Hill (1960), which has the tragic hunting dog there. But it’s such a beautiful film. Whenever a film is named after the animal, you know it’s bad news for the animal.

Do you have a favorite film to teach your students? I’ve been teaching since 1998 so I wouldn’t call anything a favorite, but one film I’ve used in a sound class a lot is the opening scene of McCabe & Mrs. Miller (1971), where we’re just listening to the sound, and we turn off the image and the students describe the space. And so by doing that over the years I have René Auberjonois’ voice so firmly planted in my head, as he’s the bartender in the opening scene. I had the great pleasure of working with him on Certain Women and we wrote a little part for him [in] First Cow where he’s the cranky guy in town with the raven.

What is the film that made you want to be a filmmaker? When I was a kid and I saw Whatever Happened to Baby Jane? (1962) on TV, and there was a scene on a beach at night that happened in black and white. It was the first time I’d seen the ocean in black and white—I grew up in Miami. It was the first time I became aware that people could do something as far as film went. I think when I was in art school, Stranger Than Paradise (1984) came out, and it probably opened the door to a lot of people’s minds—like a lot of people who saw the first band who played their own music and not cover tunes, like, ‘maybe I could tell my own story on film’. It made something seem possible, for myself anyway.

‘First Cow’ is in US cinemas now. An international release is yet to be confirmed. Kelly Reichardt’s films ‘First Cow’ and ‘Wendy and Lucy’ feature in Letterboxd’s Official Top 100 Narrative Feature Films Directed by Women.

#kelly reichardt #first cow #american film #american cinema #capitalism #animal performers #hollywood animals #female filmmakers #directed by women #52 films by women #female director #letterboxd #interview #q&a

6 notes · View notes

doyelikehaggis · 5 years

Note

Handon for the ship ask please?

Who hogs the duvet: Hope, always Hope. Totally an accident, she just moves a lot in her sleep and happens to get tangled up in the duvet, and Landon doesn't want to complain but also the boy gets cold easy, alright, which is fairly ironic considering he's a literal fire bird.

Who texts/rings to check how their day is going: Both of them, but Landon a little more often. He just cares a lot and wants to check up, make sure she's alright and that no Malivore monsters have popped up.

Who's the most creative when it comes to gifts: Landon, because in his eyes, creativity and effort and love are the key essentials to a good gift. And he's right, because Hope melts at every single one, including a little keychain of a Peanut Butter Blast for their anniversary, given to her in the middle of the town square at night during one of the events while they're slow dancing.

Who gets up first: Neither of them really get up early unless they have to, so it's more a case of they both just stay in bed until a class starts or one of them has to move.

Who suggests new things in bed: Despite Landon barely having any idea what he is doing because everything is so new to him, he knows things, he's heard things, and he would like to try things if Hope is up for it as well. She usually is, smiling with surprise as she agrees.

Who cries at movies: Both of them, for sure, but Landon may have cried a little harder during Me Before You and Midnight Sun, even if they both usually end up a wreck.

Who gives unprompted massages: Both of them. They like to give each other the little surprise of it, and Landon likes being able to do something for her while Hope enjoys seeing him so at ease.

Who fusses over the other when they're sick: Oh, Landon fusses. Big time. Hope has to tell him that she's genuinely okay, and no, she doesn't need more soup and she doesn't want to skip P.E. because it's just a common cold but he is convinced that she must have some werewolf sickness or witch hex.

Who gets jealous easiest: Neither of them really feel a need for jealousy. Sure, there are some things in the past that may leave Hope with a couple of doubts, but she knows and trusts Landon, and he looks at her with pure love. He used to worry a bit about Ethan, and possibly Maya, because he can see how she would be attracted to them, but their relationship is one of trust and they both know that they love the other.

Who has the most embarrassing taste in music: Landon. I'm sure he has great taste in music, but also... Landon.

Who collects something unusual: I feel like Hope's version of unusual things are bewitched objects or strange herbs while Landon's are framed plastic butterflies (do not blame me for that, there was one on his desk in a picture of his bedroom, this is canon) and little broken pieces of figures and every notebook he comes across.

Who takes the longest to get ready: Landon, but only because he's clumsy and a bit of a mess in the morning, so it really just takes him that little bit longer because he poked himself in the eye with his comb or hit his foot off of the skirting board on the way into the bathroom.

Who is the most tidy and organised: Landon, strangely enough, likes a little bit more organization in his life than Hope does. She's fine with a bit of mess and having things strewn across her room here and there, but she smiles with such fondness when Landon doesn't even seem to realize that he's putting things back in their rightful places.

Who gets most excited about the holidays: Neither of them, really, at least not at first. Hope doesn't mind the holidays, but it's partially a reminder of what she's lost and going back to New Orleans to see Freya, Keelin, Nik, Vincent, and Declan is nice, but at the same time, it makes her miss the others a lot more, too. Landon doesn't exactly have much more reason to celebrate considering all of his holidays have been spent in crappy foster homes and weren't much of a celebration. But now that he's at the Salvatore School, and he's happy, and Rafael's happy, he has far more festive cheer that even Hope can't help but get a little more into it as well.

Who is the big spoon/little spoon: Honestly? They switch. Sometimes Hope just needs to be the little spoon because she needs to be held and cuddled up in Landon's arms, and he is more than happy with that because he just likes having her close. But there are also nights where the roles are reversed and he feels far safer with her arms around him, tucked up behind him than he ever has anywhere else.

Who gets most competitive when playing games or sports: It comes as a surprise to Landon, but Hope. Usually, she isn't all that competitive because it's unnecessary drama and she just doesn't need that. But give her the right opposition (usually Lizzie) and anything can turn into a competition. Even baking cookies, something that Hope is a little smug about coming out victorious at.

Who starts the most arguments: Hope, despite her saying she doesn't need unnecessary drama. She can go from calm to defensive like a cat raising its hackles in a matter of seconds when feeling provoked.

Who suggests that they buy a pet: Landon, although he is mildly terrified of most animals, if he's honest. Maybe a very small dog or a hamster. Hope says no the hamster, still scarred by the death of the one she had when she was thirteen.

What couple traditions do they have: Walks around the square after getting a Peanut Butter Blast from the Grill every weekend. Dancing in the middle of town during an event.

What tv shows do they watch together: Hope convinces him to watch Cutthroat Kitchen and he is in love with it now. They end up bingeing a whole load of cooking/baking shows. Landon's favourite and Hope's second favourite is Kitchen Nightmares. He also gets her into Legends of Tomorrow and Brooklyn Nine Nine.

What other couples do they hang out with: Josie and Kaleb, Rafael and Ethan, Lizzie and Sebastian, MG and Kym

How they spend their time together as a couple: Hanging out at the Grill (with milkshakes and usually when Landon isn't working, though sometimes Hope will sit at a table while he does until he can get off, watching him with a smile). Sitting by the lake. Trips to New Orleans. Bingeing tv shows. Discussing conspiracy theories that Landon gets Hope into. Attempting to bake/cook together. Landon sits on Hope's bed and reads or works on song lyrics while Hope paints.

Who made the first move: Landon. And he doesn't for a second regret taking the chance and kissing her in that cell under the makeshift night sky.

Who brings flowers home: Landon, because the boy is a romantic and loves to surprise her with nice things when he can.

Who is the best cook: They're both fairly good; Hope's learned a bit over the years, practising due to her favourite shows, while Landon's skills were more of a necessity in some of his foster homes.

#legacies #hope mikealson #landon kirby #handon #oh look a wild anonymoose #ship ask game

18 notes · View notes

thedisneychef · 1 year

Text

Will You Marry Me Cookie Recipe

Hi everyone! Are you looking for a fun and unique way to pop the question? If so, I've got just the thing - a will you marry me cookie recipe. Not only is it delicious, but it's also an adorable and creative way to get your special someone to say "yes!" This article will give you step-by-step instructions on how to make these marriage proposal cookies as well as some helpful tips. So let's get started! Ingredients Needed I'm so excited to share my go-to recipe for making delicious cookies with you! Whether I'm baking them as a special treat or surprising someone with an 'I do', these cookies are sure to make any occasion sweeter. To make the perfect batch of cookies, it's important to start out with the best quality ingredients and tools. For this particular recipe, all you need is some high-quality flour, sugar, butter, eggs, and your favorite mix-ins like chocolate chips or nuts. You'll also want cookie cutters in whatever shapes you desire heart-shaped ones would be extra special if you're planning on using them for a marriage proposal! Once everything is prepped and ready to go, simply follow the instructions included in this recipe and voilà: Perfectly baked cookies that will win over anyone's heart! Preparing The Dough After gathering all the ingredients, it's time to prepare the dough for my will you marry me cookie recipe! I usually start by creaming together butter and sugar in a bowl. This creates an airy texture that helps make the cookies soft and chewy once they're baked. Once I have that mixture ready, I add in eggs one at a time while mixing with an electric mixer set on low speed. Then I slowly incorporate flour and other dry ingredients until everything is well-combined into a nice dough. Next up are rolling techniques! Depending on how big or small I want the cookies to be, I roll out chunks of the dough onto floured surfaces using either my hands or a rolling pin. It's important to not overwork the dough here because too much handling can cause it to become tough when baking. After making sure each piece is rolled out evenly, I place them carefully onto parchment-lined baking sheets before popping them into the oven preheated to 350°F (177°C). It typically takes 10–12 minutes for these special cookies to bake properly at this temperature but keep an eye on them as they may need more or less time depending on their size and thickness. When they look golden brown around the edges and slightly undercooked in the center, take them out of the oven and let cool completely before serving. Enjoy your delicious will you marry me cookies! Baking The Cookies After gathering all of your ingredients together, it's time to get baking! Preheat the oven and decide what shape you want your cookies to be. You can opt for classic circles or go with something more creative like hearts or stars. Here are some tips that might help when forming your cookie shapes: use a tablespoon measure for evenly sized scoops; roll them into balls before flattening slightly on the baking sheet; if using cutters, press firmly enough so they don't lose their shape during baking. When ready, pop those babies in the oven and wait patiently as they transform into beautiful golden brown pieces of deliciousness. Finally, take out the tray and let cool – then you'll have fresh-baked cookies fit for proposal bliss! Decorating The Cookies I'm so excited that you asked me to marry you, and now I'm ready to make some cookies for our celebration! Once the dough is all mixed together, it's time to get creative with cookie shapes. Using a rolling pin and cookie cutters of your choice, you can create any shape imaginable - from hearts for love, stars for luck or even just regular circles. Next comes the fun part: icing techniques! With royal icing, colored gels and sprinkles galore, the possibilities are endless. You could add stripes or polka dots if you're feeling extra festive. Or if you want to keep things classic, try using just one color of icing with simple designs on each cookie like flowers or leaves. Whatever design combination you choose will look beautiful and delicious! Now when it comes to baking these treats, pre-heat your oven before popping them in. Adjust your temperature accordingly based on what type of cookie shape you’re making – since thicker ones need more heat than thinner ones. And there you have it – perfectly decorated cookies made with lots of love! Presentation Ideas Hey everyone, today I am going to show you some great presentation ideas for a “Will You Marry Me” cookie recipe. Whether you're giving these cookies as a gift or simply displaying them in your kitchen as part of the proposal, there are plenty of ways to make it special and memorable. First up is choosing the right packaging for your cookies. If you want something classic, think about getting creative with ribbons and bows! However, if you'd like to keep it simple yet still have an impressive effect, try out some unique patterns on the box or bag where you'll be putting the cookies. And don't forget about personalizing the package by adding names or funny quotes that match the theme! The design of the cookies themselves can also add a lot of charm and personality to your presentation. Think outside the box when coming up with new designs you could use fondant cutouts shaped like hearts or even write messages directly onto each cookie using icing. Whatever idea you come up with will sure wow your partner! Frequently Asked Questions What Type Of Flour Should I Use? When it comes to making Will You Marry Me Cookies, the type of flour you use can make a big difference. Generally speaking, all-purpose flour is usually used for baking cookies as it's not too heavy and creates that delicious crunchy texture we love so much. However, there are some great alternatives if you're looking for something different! If you want your cookies to be gluten free, almond or coconut flour work really well. For a more unique flavor, try using rye or buckwheat four. These will add an extra depth of taste to your treat. And don't forget about icing flavors and decorations - they can really help bring out those special moments when someone says yes! How Long Should The Dough Chill For? When it comes to cookie dough, rolling technique and chilling time are both important steps. Chilling the dough helps ensure your cookies hold their shape when baking. The exact amount of time you should chill your cookie dough depends on how much of it you have. For a large batch, around two hours is ideal. If the quantity is smaller, about half an hour should do the trick. Make sure you don't over-chill the dough - that can make it too hard to roll out! What Temperature Should I Bake The Cookies At? When baking homemade cookies, the temperature you bake them at is just as important as how long the dough chills. Generally speaking, most cookie recipes should be baked between 350°F and 375°F. This range of temperatures will depend on the type of cookie shape you're making; for instance, thicker or larger-shaped cookies need a higher temperature to make sure they cook through completely. For smaller cookies with thinner shapes, like drop cookies, it's best to set your oven to 350°F so that they don't burn before having time to fully bake. What Type Of Icing Should I Use To Decorate The Cookies? When it comes to decorating your cookies, you have several options when choosing an icing. If you're looking for substitutes, try making a simple glaze out of powdered sugar and milk or melted chocolate chips. You can also experiment with different flavors such as lemon juice or orange extract. There are plenty of ready-made icings available in a variety of colors and flavors that will give your cookies the perfect finishing touch! How Long Will The Cookies Last? Storing your cookies correctly is essential for ensuring their freshness. Generally speaking, most homemade cookies will last about two weeks if stored properly. To do this, you should place them in an airtight container or wrap them in plastic wrap and store at room temperature. For best results, try to avoid storing the cookies near any foods with strong odors as they can easily absorb these smells. Additionally, it's important to keep the containers away from direct sunlight which can cause them to become dry and stale quickly. Following these tips will help ensure that your delicious treats stay fresh and enjoyable for up to two weeks! Conclusion We all know that marriage proposals require something extra special, but who knew it could be as simple and delicious as these ‘Will You Marry Me’ cookies? With the right ingredients, you can create a batch of irresistible treats to make your proposal even more memorable. The best part is that with this recipe in hand, you don't need to worry about baking blunders or trying out complicated techniques. Just follow the instructions carefully and you'll have a beautiful batch of tasty cookies ready for your big day! So why wait - go ahead, whip up some scrumptious Will You Marry Me cookies and take the plunge! Read the full article

0 notes

drlauralwalsh · 4 years

Text

Top 7 Recent Obsessions and 3 Freshly Intolerable Topics

Since my wife died in February, I’ve transformed into an obsessive recluse. I’ve always been a weirdo but now I’m a grieving weirdo. It takes eccentricity to a whole other level. Before, my obsessions were psychology and home improvement projects. Now, work is impossible and I break down trying to choose flowers at the local Home Depot. Removing every last dandelion from the yard is my glorious new passion.

Since I trust you, I’m going to tell you about some of the other strange occupiers of my mind. Like squatters, these topics have moved into my brain to fill up the unused rooms. I vacillate between kicking them out and kinda liking the company. Until new obsessions come along, I’ll play reluctant host to this ragtag collection of ideas.

1. Life After Life

It’s natural to wonder what happens to someone after they die. I’ve been doing some light reading (usually at around 3AM) on what psychic mediums think on the subject. Apparently, we continue life on the other side, often recreating the likeness of our earthly homes and possessions out of familiarity. In my wife’s afterlife, I hope she made some improvements. She’s likely finally found the perfect couch (comfy yet stylish!) and is no longer taunted by the daily dog hair tumbleweeds.

I have a few questions. Does my wife get to meet celebrities? She’d be totally psyched to meet Dolores O’Riordan, the lead singer of The Cranberries, who died in January of 2018. Did she get to watch the last season of Homeland that aired after she died? Can she still water a lawn in contemplative meditation? Most likely, she’s cavorting with her first girlfriend, Suzy. I’m told Suzy was a little crazy in her earth life so I hope she’s not a bad influence.

If I end up living a few more decades, I’ll probably grow and change substantially. Will Patty recognize me when I finally make the trip? Will she and I still be soulmates or will I have to share her? Like, did Suzy claim my wife as her soulmate? I don’t wish anyone loneliness in the after life but dang, I’ve got dibs.

2. Cookie Butter Therapy

If you’ve read my self care tips, you know I’ve found cookie butter solace. Listening to my body’s unique nutrient requirements, I heed the call for that smooth comfort. As a psychologist, it used to bug me when I’d see memes like, “I don’t need therapy, I’ve got wine!” Occasionally speaking aloud, I’d reply, “Hello future client!”

Now, I’m not so sure that retail, alcohol or food therapy is all that bad. I mean, it IS bad in that it doesn’t solve the problem and could turn into something worse. But if keeping your head above water saves your life, perhaps I should reconsider these stopgap measures. Personally, I’m planning a future half marathon to combat the future cookie butter problem. And by planning, I mean it’s on my list to look up neighborhood jogging routes.

3. Signs from Beyond the Veil

After my Dad died in 2002, I looked for evidence that his energy was still around. Losing a spouse takes it to a completely new desperation. Again, according to psychic mediums, we can ask our departed loved ones for specific signs and they will try to send them to us. Oh the pressure! Being an overachiever, of course I wanted to come up with the perfect sign to request from my wife. One that hits just the right balance of inside joke and everlasting love.

To get the ball rolling, I picked the first thing that came to mind. I asked my wife to send me a maroon Nissan Rogue SUV. Weird, I know - but also the perfect symbol of our family. I’m not that great at these requests just yet so I hope she knows I’m asking to see one, not get one as a gift. Years ago, she borrowed my maroon Nissan for a road trip with two little boys who would become my step kids. Having not yet met, questions about the car’s owner became a convenient way to talk about Mama’s new sweetheart.

I started seeing this car EVERYWHERE. There’s this one little problem, though. Have you ever heard of confirmation bias? Psychology Today says, “Confirmation bias occurs from the direct influence of desire on beliefs. “ Basically, I started seeing the car because I wanted the sign from her. The overly enthusiastic part of my brain said, “Yeah, but wouldn’t she also FLOOD the world with whatever sign you requested????” Next time, I’ll ask for money.

4. Meditation

After all the grief festivities were done (i.e. initial horror and subsequent wake and funeral), one of my besties recommended the book, Proof of Heaven by Dr. Eben Alexander. The author is a smarty-pants neurosurgeon who had a near death experience. He woke up out of a coma, wrote everything down, and set about trying to disprove the platitudes he once touted to patients. Anyway, a fascinating book and GREAT for the active griever in your life.

Veering from his conventional colleagues, Dr. Alexander’s career diverged towards the path less taken. He’s now involved in projects with the founders of Sacred Acoustics, a brainwave entrainment audio recordings company. That’s a fancy way of saying guided meditations with binaural beats that create experiences. There’s one that facilitates “communication with spirits across the veil.” Since I’m obsessed with getting back with my wife without leaving my kids and dogs, I became a convert.

Before Patty died (AKA BPD), I was known to dabble in mindfulness and may have claimed I meditated for longer and more often than I actually remembered to do. Don’t judge me, I was a busy mom! With a renewed desperation and time on my hands, I gave these wacky meditations a go. OMG, y’all they are amazing. I dare say I’ve done a little cavorting with my wife (at least in my mind). Seriously, between ADHD and grief brain, I can still knock out a 38 minute ‘Love Body’ meditation, no sweat. In the least, it’s a crutch over the rough spots.

5. Crafty Crystal Suncatchers

I haven’t gone off the deep end (yet) and meditated while balancing my chakras (okay, maybe once) with family heirlooms. If you read more than one book about the afterlife, you’ll pick up on themes. Psychics love auras, butterflies, and RAINBOWS. Since I’ve got time, I figured it wasn’t hard to put together my own suncatcher. You can certainly purchase these dandies but I prefer my own extremely amateur creations - especially since I need one for every window. Not sure what to do with these colorful messages from beyond but they are a comfort of sorts.

You may have gathered that I wasn’t previously into the paranormal. For instance, I knew that smudging was a thing but now, thanks to Etsy, I have my own kit. Same with healing crystals. As a child from a family of geologists, semi-precious gems, variegated rocks and hefty quartz crystals already held a special awe. I must note that my grandfather never mentioned crystal suncatchers as a method for communicating with the dead. It’s all me who’s hoping for yet another channel where, through refracted sunlight, my wife asserts her presence.

6. Documentaries About Death

It’s a widow habit to categorize life events as ‘before’ and ‘after,’ We use these terms with a wistful air of melancholy apology. We didn’t create these terms but they’re used as handy shortcuts before launching into yet another story about our dead spouses. This next tidbit is about me, though.

I love documentaries but before, I’d skip over the downers. Who wants to watch a flick about eroding habitats when your lawn looks so good? Times change and now after, I’ve completely confused Amazon’s algorithms with my new entertainment searches. I find comfort in tragedy.

I recently watched The Bridge, a documentary on the world’s most dangerous suicide locale - the Golden Gate Bridge in San Francisco. Since it was built, upwards of 1,700 souls have leapt to their nearly assured demise. The doc profiles the families of people actually caught on film at the moment of decision. Should sound awful, right? To me, it’s soothing. Not the suicides, but hearing the family process the death. They’re in the soup with me. Their stories make me feel normal.

7. Unique Grave Decorations

I’m only sharing this with you because I know you’ll understand. I threw this one in the mix because I had a brief, but intense love affair with unusual grave decorations. Did you know you can get “grave blankets” to keep your loved one warm? Obviously more popular in northern climes, they're actually giant wreaths of evergreen branches to cover the gravesite. Sadly, they aren’t allowed in my wife's cemetery or I’d be all over it. She was always cold…..before.

Switching gears, turning towards the following topics is a sort of exposure therapy. They each flutter at the windows of my mind and blot out the light (which I need for rainbows). I might as well add them to the growing list of crap I have to deal with eventually. Just so you know, I’m not weird enough to literally keep a list (yet).

1. Birthdays, Holidays, and Other Horrible Occasions

I know they’re coming. I limped through some already. May holds the double whammy of Mother’s Day and my birthday. Despite the embarrassing lack of evergreen splendor, we’ll visit her gravesite where I’ve already smuggled in other decorative contraband. Since I buy presents for myself all the time, for my birthday, I generally request a tasteful yet classic homemade card. I’ll get through the anticipatory dread and trudge through the sewage of my lowered expectations. It’s only another 24 hours to get through.

2. Getting Married Again

I can’t even think about what’s next. Or rather who. When I do think about it, I feel sorry for the sad sap who’s attracted to the runner up spot. Here’s the thing, I think about getting married again ALL THE TIME. My fantasy only went as far as imagining waking up in a fully formed relationship. Because I loved being married to my wife, it seemed reasonable to want our life reinstated. As the days turn into months, finding someone new continues to stubbornly insert itself from outside my head. I blame Patty. She always insisted if she died first, she’d want me to remarry. Less charitably, I countered that if I died first, she could never remarry because I’m her one true love. She apparently wants the last word.

To be fair, I am only 45 years old. When my stepson asked, I told him I was going to marry the dogs. He just doesn’t want me to change my last name, so on that we’re cool. Like passing me a note, Patty’s best friend from high school also delicately floated the idea. Even my brother-in-law said he wouldn’t want me to pass up something special. They all want me to be happy. I don’t want to want to get married again. It feels like forcing myself into a loveless, arranged marriage. With my luck, I’ll live another forty years. Maybe I’ll feel differently if my wife sends me a convincing sign.

3. The Next Death

The completely self absorbed grieving person I’ve become can’t even think about the next shitburger tragedy that’s surely on its way.. You’d think I’d have a guess who it might be but you’re wrong. I never would have put my wife on the shortlist but here we are. With new obsessions hoarding space in my grieving mind, it’s too crowded to handle another disaster. So I just don’t think about it.

If you’re grieving too, I want you to know you’re not a weirdo. Or at least you’re a weirdo like all of us - another broken toy tossed onto Bereavement Island (like Fantasy Island but more sad). I was never particularly interested in psychics, grave ornaments or dead people (beyond famous authors). Grief turns you inside out until you no longer recognize the person you were before. It wasn’t so easy to tip me over and I certainly didn’t cry in public. Falling into grief is similar to falling in love. With both, I lost my appetite, deeply felt things I’d never felt before, and became completely obsessed. In the end, grief is just another stage of love. An unfortunate byproduct of the grandest home improvement project. I’m comforted to realize that even as I’m swept up by transient passions, I’m essentially the same loving partner at my core.

#grief #afterlife #psychics #weirdo

1 note · View note

viranlly · 5 years

Photo

What To Expect When You’re Not Expecting The Outdoors in Vancouver

in partnership with Tourism Vancouver

It’s no doubt that Vancouver is one of the most beautiful cities in the world. Some even named them one of the best cities to live in. Yes, I absolutely agree (I’ve been here 11 years now, somehow). I mean... what’s not to like? Fresh air, the mountains, oceans, and of course, the great outdoors that put Vancouver on the map as a global tourist destination.

But what if, you’re not even remotely interested in the outdoors? *I have to admit, I’m probably the least outdoorsy person out there (don’t @ me!)* Will Vancouver still be enjoyable if one is not planning to go to Capilano bridge or doing the Grouse Grind?

The answer is yes.

Vancouver is also home to some of the most talented, hard-working and innovative chefs, bartenders, and restauranteurs in the game. Making it a city that’s filled with delicious eats, drinks, and exceptional coffee culture - don’t believe me? Ask Chris Morocco from Bon Appetit Magazine ;) Plus, we are blessed with the bountiful amount of fresh ingredients, whether it’s fruits, veggies, seafood particularly, and even meat.

Every January, the city also hosts the annual Dine Out Vancouver Festival, a culinary festival that invites both locals and visitors to explore and experience what Vancouver has to offer. For the 18th edition of Dine Out Vancouver this year, there will be 318 restaurants participating in this two-week-long festivity. If you’re local, this time of the year is also a fun time to play tourist in your own city - which, I do, occasionally.

While I might not know where Garibaldi lake is on the map, and I definitely don’t know where to go for the best three-day camping trip (not that I want to do that ever), I do know exactly where you should be sipping your martini and eat your world-renowned aburi sushi. You can trust me on that.

Without trying to sound like a know-it-all, here’s how, in my ideal world, I would spend a typical 48 hours in Vancouver.

8:30 a.m - Ride Cycle Club.

Nothing like starting your morning with a loud, steamy and sweaty spin class. The playlist is always on-point; the instructors, typically with a sexy, raspy voice, definitely gets you going first thing in the morning. There’s so much joy in watching everyone move to the beat, all together. It’s an experience for sure.

10:30 a.m - #dailycortado at Revolver.

If you know me at all, Revolver is practically my morning home base. The rustic, charming, long hallway is usually filled with highly (or soon to be highly) caffeinated individuals, chatting, working, or geeking out about coffee and other stuff (anything from cameras to vintage Rolexes). The menu is simple and straight forward, with beans selection rotating daily -- hence, Revolver. Solid pour-over bar, well-executed, picture-perfect espresso-based bevies too. But this is not the place to order a skinny, two pumps vanilla, one pump hazelnut, caramel macchiato - if that’s even a thing lolz.

11:30 a.m - Snack and fresh flowers at The Birds & The Beets.

By snack, I mean, a freshly sliced of pillowy yet perfectly crusty sourdough with butter and sea salt - as simple as that. Or do the one with their house-made preserves if you’re fancy. Should you need another jolt of caffeine, their coffee is pretty damn good too. Pick up some fresh flowers on your way out too. ALSO, come back later at night when this cute coffee shop turns into Juicebar, a natural wine bar where all the cool kids hang out and drink magnums of pet-nat all night.

12:30 p.m - Deep-fried everything tacos at Tacofino Gastown.

It’s problematic how addicting the crispy chicken tacos at Tacofino can be. I’ve had my days when all I ate was variations of this crispy chicken taco: as a burrito, as a ‘salad’ bowl, as a taco again, and repeat. Juicy tender chicken, pickled veggies, epazote chimichurri, drizzled with buttermilk chili crema - mouthwatering. Their fish tacos are also delicious, it’s, as a matter of fact, their claim to fame, nuff said. You can’t also say no to their nachos, with a glass (or pitcher) of margs, obvs.

2 p.m - Stroll and shop through Gastown.

Drooling over luscious house-plants and Japanese cookware at Old Faithful Shop, selecting new fragrances at Le Labo, I also might as well pick up body balm at Aesop. Oh, and of course, stopping by Roden Gray to see some Thom Browne.

4 p.m - Spritz o’clock at Di Beppe.

Get a table at the cafe to people-watch while drinking bottled, branded Aperol Spritz. It’s an afternoon well spent, you gotta wait til’ 5:30 for happy hour anyways ;)

5:30 p.m - Happy Hour at L’abattoir.

L’abattoir, hands down, has one of the most beautiful bars in the city, with one of the strongest beverage programs too. The cocktails, both original and classic, are always crafted with such passion and precision. The Avocado Gimlet particularly is now a L’abattoir and a Vancouver classic: bright, boozy and herbaceous. Their wine list is a fun one to explore. Whether you’re feeling playful and adventurous, or classic and familiar, the team will find the wine for you. Their happy hour is probably my favorite one in the city: short but sweet. Make sure you make it there 5:30 on the dot to score the highly coveted bar seat (find me in the corner of the bar). You MUST order their iconic baked Pacific oysters, covered in a mountain of foamy truffle-garlic butter. Oh! and the pan-fried sweetbreads on toast is unforgettably delicious. L’abbatoir Dine Out menu can be found here.

7 p.m - Dinner at PiDGin.

One of a few restaurants in Vancouver that figured out how to perfectly marry the east and the west. An Asian-inspired menu, by the way of French cooking, using the freshest ingredients from the Pacific North West. Every dish is always a burst of flavours: rich and indulging without being pretentious. The umami-filled Foie Gras rice bowl is one of the most drool-worthy dishes. So uniquely, and iconically Pidgin. It’s a dish that has stood the test of time and has been there since the restaurant opened its’ doors six years ago now. Their beverage program is also focused on showcasing Asian spirits and flavours: numerous Japanese whisky, craft cocktails, and an impressive sake library. Explore Pidgin six-course Dine Out menu here.

10:30 p.m - Nightcap at Botanist.

I’ve talked about Botanist a lot, and I mean, a lot. While they’re still relatively new, they managed to sky-rocket their way to the top of the restaurant scene. With their award-winning bar team and innovative bar menu, it’s no surprise that Botanist is one of the best bars in the country. Sitting at the bar, sipping Botanist martini, while geeking out about cocktails and spirits is always a fun way to end the night. Botanist martini is an ideal nightcap: boozy, velvety, and obviously tasty. It’s like a vesper that gets an elegant Fairmont makeover, with a Pacific North West influence. This year, Botanist is hosting a Punch Brunch as part of Dine Out Vancouver AND to kick off Vancouver Cocktail Week next year. So exciting!

Day 2

10 a.m - Breakfast at Nemesis.

A hip and happening coffee shop with an impressive brunch menu and delectable baked goods. Of course, the coffee is stellar, and the space is beautiful with bright lights streaming through the windows. Their brunch and pastries, however, have been stealing the show for quite some time now. If you’re in Gastown, the cauliflower hash and the steak and egg are essential. If you happen to be across the bridge, the burrata and scrambled eggs on croissant loaf and is to-die-for. Not to forget their dreamy, kinda fancy croissants (think about Reuben sandwich, strawberry cheesecake in the form of croissant kind of fancy). Oh, and both of their cookies: the insanely luscious classic chocolate chip and the updated ferrero-esque cookie sandwich are worth crossing the bridge for.

12.30 p.m - Aburi lunch at Miku.

If there’s that one place I usually take visitors for the sake of impressing them, it’s Miku. It’s probably one of the most well-known Vancouver restaurants that even Beyonce was spotted dining there. The menu is unique. The world-famous aburi sushi is iconic. And the seafood? It doesn’t get any fresher than what Miku offers. Let’s not forget the multi-million dollar waterfront view, overlooking the harbour and North Vancouver. Their sister restaurant Minami is doing a Dine Out Lunch special too, by the way.

2:30 p.m - Nap.

It’s absolutely necessary.

5:30 p.m - Dinner at Como Taperia.

Oh what an exciting time when Como finally opened its’ doors in Mount Pleasant last year! The premise? A no-fuss-no-muss Spanish tapas restaurant with vibrant food, fabulous Gin and Tonics, and unbeatable conservas list. The room has been buzzing with people since day one - until recently they placed second on Enroute Magazine Best new restaurant. Even more people are now trying to get in to Como. The foie burger is simply a must, and so is the crispy eggplant, drizzled with honey. The oxtail, pepper and frites is so tenderly delicious. They’re also doing fun happy hour starting at 4, offering free tapas- just like they do in Spain. Drink the El Bandarra vermut on tap while munching on the tapa, or make sure to check out their daily tortilla feature.

8 p.m - Cocktails at Hawksworth’s Bar.

Hawksworth is probably as swanky as a Vancouver restaurant can get. While the dining room is very much upscale and can be intimidating, the cocktail bar is lively and chic. Again, get a spot at the bar and start with the Hotel Georgia Cocktail: bright, juicy and refreshing, inspired by the historic hotel itself. If you’re feeling extra fancy, they have a ‘from the vault’ menu that features classic cocktails made with vintage, extremely rare spirits.

10:30 p.m - A burger and nightcap at Pourhouse.

Located in the charming water street, Pourhouse is a cocktail bar nestled in one of Gastown’s historic buildings. The room itself is very old-school America in the prohibition era - luxurious, charming and welcoming. The menu is fairly simple but everything is well-executed. The Pourhouse burger is particularly memorable. I’ve vouched for this burger as the best one in town over and over again - no, I don’t want to argue with anyone on this. Classic cocktails are always crafted so meticulously here: Manhattan, Boulevardier, or a cognac Sazerac. You can’t go wrong with any (or all) of them. Their Dine Out menu this year is outstanding and really showcase what the team can do in the kitchen.

Well, that’s one hell of a list for y’all. I surely hope this helps with planning your delicious next trip to Vancouver!

Discover the full list of restaurants participating in this year’s Dine Out Vancouver Festival here!

See y’all in the 604 soon!

instagram @viranlly

food | lifestyle | restaurant

#DOVF #Vancouver #Vancouver Food #Travel #Travel Story #Foodie #Vancouver restaurants #Dine Out Vancouver #popular #radar #feature

4 notes · View notes

ecfandom · 6 years

Note

okay so in that case... food/grocery shoppin' before christmas. feat. ellie on lexa's shoulders, picking out things from the top shelves.

I am incapable of writing anything less then utter ridiculousness, so here’s this drama fest.

Also, I didn’t have Ellie on Lexa’s shoulders, but they DID go shopping. So.

And finally, these last few months have been a rough one, financially, and while I love writing, it is incredibly time consuming. So, I’m linking my Kofi page here, which I hate doing, but alas, it is what it is. No need to feel any pressure. It’s there if you’re interested.

Sunday was usually a busy day for shopping at the local grocery store in the tiny town of Polis, Maine. The only one for miles, it was the practically a staple, a beloved gathering place. However, it was a particularly dreary day that kept most residents home, leaving the store nearly deserted save for the few brave Christmas Eve procrastinators.

Trisha, the only cashier on duty, sat at her stool, cringing every time the doors slid open letting in a gusty, winter wind determined to freeze everything in its path. Shivering at the thought of it, she turned up the small heater at her station and hunkered down in her oversized sweater.

Christmas music echoed through the empty aisles of the store, the wind howled, and colorful lights flickered happily on the small Christmas trees set just inside the door, oblivious to the storm that raged outside. A mechanical Santa danced merrily by the produce, greeting the gusts of wind and the patrons with equal abandon.

Trisha leaned her elbows on the surface next to her register, her chin upon her hands, and surveyed the quiet goings on around her. She liked this new town of hers. It was cozy and pleasant, just like the people. A flash of light from a car’s headlights cut across the doors, blurred by the heavy snowfall as a truck traipsed up the ramp from the side road and into the parking lot. Trisha tracked it lazily, wondering whose wife it was this time that had sent their thoroughly scolded husband out in the storm to pick up the Christmas turkey they should have grabbed days ago.

The truck swung carefully into a parking spot outside the front of the store and idled for a moment, its headlights lighting up the flurries of snowflakes slanting down in unrelenting volume. A figure hopped out from the driver’s side, tall and dressed well for the storm. A native, no doubt. A Florida transplant herself, Trisha had no concept of what winter wear truly meant. She’d thought her sweater and p-coat would be enough. She had been wrong. This figure though, dressed in dark wash jeans and a heavy Lumberjack coat, looked entirely unperturbed as they jogged around to the back door of the truck and leaned inside.

The store doors jingled as they slid open and the new arrivals ran in, one large, one miniature. She watched them with the curiosity of a newcomer getting to know her new neighbors as the woman-- not someone’s husband, then-- stomped snow free from the heavy boots she wore. Trisha smiled, almost laughed, when the pint-sized thing next to her watched for a moment, then quickly followed suit. The routine went on, well practiced and utterly endearing. The woman twisted herself to and fro, shaking snowflakes from her coat, pretending not to notice the young girl copying her every move. It was only when the woman moved to her hat, pushed it back, and shook water out of her hair that she finally made a show of it for the little girl. Pitching herself forward and shaking her head like a shaggy dog, the woman let out a sound resembling that of a motorboat until the little girl could no longer copy, too overcome by a fit of giggles.

Trisha was entranced, in love with the display of unbridled affection. It made her happy that she had a place to call home, happy that it was Christmas--white and festive and wonderful. So unlike the place she’d just come from. Lost in thought, Trisha barely noticed when the display stopped, but when she did, she was momentarily caught completely off guard by the warm eyes that drifted over to her, and the mesmerizing grin she received at having been caught watching the adorable exchange. The woman was stunning, an unfamiliar and breathtaking combination of handsome lines and beautiful features. The little girl was just as gorgeous in the way that some children had wonderfully expressive eyes, a beaming smile, and a passion and enthusiasm for the world around her. As they passed, Trisha was nodded at by one, waved to with a tiny hand from the other, but all she could really do was stare after the enthralling pair as they disappeared down an aisle.

“So, baby--” Lexa said as she pushed them towards the baking aisle.

“I’m not a baby!” Ellie squealed. “I’m a big girl! Henry is a baby!”

“You’re right. Please forgive me.”

“You’re forgiven, Mommy.”

“Phew!” Lexa wiped the back of her hand over her forehead in exaggerated relief, and grinned at her little girl. “Thanks, big girl.”

“You’re welcome,” Ellie said seriously before returning to her eagle-eyed perusal of the shelves. “We need sugar.”

“You’re correct. Anything else?”

“Flour and butter and...sprinkles?” She added at the end, sounding a bit unsure of herself but looking hopeful.

Lexa smiled down at those inquisitive blue eyes and felt a pang for her wife, the resemblance even more uncanny now than it had been when Lexa had first met the two of them nearly three years ago. They’d been gone for less than a half-hour, and already Lexa wanted, maybe needed, to have Clarke in her arms again. They’d spent all morning cuddling to the sounds of the winter storm rolling in before being awakened by the distressing calls of their five-year old, who--upon a rushed arrival into the bedroom--promptly through up all of the Santa cookies she’d snuck down to the kitchen to eat. With that, the day reared into action and hadn’t looked back. Three night shifts in a row this past week, and Lexa longed for the comforting feel of Clarke tucked into her arms where she could keep her safe and warm. She smiled and shook her head, running her hand through Ellie’s wind-swept hair.

“Yeah, we can get sprinkles if you’d like. We need icing too.”

“Yes! Icing!”

“You have to promise not to eat this batch though, sweetheart. You’ll get sick again and Santa won’t have anything to eat. We won’t have time to run to the store again before he comes.”

“I won’t,” Ellie swore, eyes wide and earnest. “I promise. I really, really won’t.”

“Okay, love. I trust you.”

“What’s trust?”

“It means I believe you.”

“Oh. Thanks, Mommy. I trust you too.”

“That’s good. You can always trust me.”

“ I know. You’re a good truster person. Mommy, I did not feel very good from those cookies.”

“That’s because you ate twelve of them.”

“Yeah.” Ellie nodded and rubbed at her stomach. “That was not good.”

“No, I imagine not.”

“But I’m not going to do that again!”

“That’s a good idea.”

“Do you think Santa will still come?”

Lexa paused. “Why wouldn’t he?”

“Because I was bad,” Ellie murmured, her head downturned.

Lexa smiled at the sweetness of her little girl. “You weren’t bad sweetheart, you just made a questionable decision.”

“What’s quest--questio--” she stumbled on the word and frowned. “What’s that?”

Lexa grabbed a bag of chocolate chips off the shelf and hesitated in thought. “Questionable,” Lexa repeated, sounding it out. “It means something that is probably not a good idea because it raises a lot of doubt.”

“What’s doubt?”

“Like disbelief.”

“Oh.”

She handed the chocolate chips to Ellie to store in their canvas grocery bag and pushed them along. “Does that make sense?”

“Yes.”

“Okay.”

“So, not bad?”

“The decision wasn’t a very good one, but that doesn’t make you as a person bad. Sometimes, we make bad choices, but that doesn’t mean we are bad because of it. We have to make mistakes in order to learn. You’re a smart girl and you know better than anybody else what feels good for your body and what doesn’t. Now you know that twelve cookies is too much. Next time, you can remember that and it will help you make a better decision.”

“No more cookies ever,” Ellie groaned, looking up at Lexa with such earnestness, Lexa couldn’t help but grin.

“I think maybe one cookie at a time would be okay.”

Ellie pondered it. “Yeah, that’s maybe okay. Just one cookie. Can I have one cookie tonight?”

“Let’s see how you feel. Does your tummy still hurt?”

“No, but it still feels a little weird.”

“Yeah, I bet,” Lexa commiserated, and pushed them down another aisle.

“But if I feel better, can I have one cookie?”

“Let’s see what mommy thinks when we get home. She’s the smarty doctor.”

“And you’re the smarty firefighter!”

“You got it, kiddo.”

“And I’m the smarty baby!” Ellie cheered, completing the chant that had at some point become ritual in their household.

“I thought you were a big girl?” Lexa teased.

“Oh yeah.” Ellie frowned in thought. “Can I still be the smarty baby?”

“Of course you can, smarty baby. You can be whatever you want.”

“What will Henry be?”

“He’ll be the noisy baby.”

“Oh. Is that bad?”

Lexa grinned. “We’ll have to wait and see.”

“I think he’ll be good.”

“I’m sure you’re right. What’s next?”

Ellie furrowed in thought, then brightened. “Can we get some juice?”

***

It was half past noon when Clarke found herself rousing from a nap she hadn’t intended to take. She blinked sleep from her eyes, but made no effort to move. The couch beneath her was soft and plush, the air pleasantly warm from the crackling flames in the fireplace. The sky outside was a dark grey, despite the early hour, and the lights inside her home glowed wonderfully against it. The tree was lit, the garland across the mantle dotted with lights as well. It was beautiful and cozy, and her lids felt heavy once more. Clarke let her head drop back and curled her legs up further beneath the heavy knitted blanket atop her.

She checked her watch, mildly concerned that Lexa wasn’t back yet, but the storm had likely put road speeds at a crawl. Lexa was no novice when it came to navigating through a winter storm, and so she told herself to be patient, and gazed out the French doors to the backyard, watching the flurries come down around her. Her hand drifted to her stomach and rubbed at the swell, smiling softly to herself.

“They’ll be home soon,” she mused, smiling down at her stomach. She loved being pregnant, more so than she might admit out loud. Her first time around, things in her world had been so dark and uncertain. On many days, it was only Ellie’s constant companionship inside of her that got her through. This time, everything was different. Life was happy and safe. She had a wonderful home, a wonderful extended family close by, and a wife that made her world go ‘round. It was nothing like the first time--except for the joy of carrying the little life inside of her. That was exactly the same.

While this pregnancy, like Ellie’s, had not been without its scary, and sometimes painful complications, Clarke cherished these moments. In no time, Henry would be here. The love would be the same, would grow tenfold the second she saw him, but nothing quite compared to the nine months of growing their child inside her, nourishing and protecting him with all that she was. She could hardly stand to wait any longer to meet him, but their connection would be forever different, and she knew that a part of her would grieve this time with him for a little while, just as she had with Ellie.

A flutter in her stomach made her smile as she continued to stroke her belly, pausing each time to catch the fleeting motions.

“Oh hi there,” she cooed fondly, a laugh in her voice. “Did you have a good sleep?”

A small limb pressed against her from the inside and she imagined him stretching, blinking awake slowly just as his sister did, just as she did.

So much of Ellie was from her. There were moments, extremely rare and not so often now, when Clarke thought she’d seen Jack in the shape of a gesture or the curve of an expression. That had been when Ellie was younger, mostly a baby. These days, what wasn’t Clarke, or an Ellie original, was entirely Lexa. While Ellie resembled Clarke physically in every way, it had only taken three years for Ellie to morph into a tiny version of her wife. They moved the same way, spoke the same way, their facial expressions nearly identical. It was incredible to watch, if she could keep from tearing up long enough to do so. Recently, Clarke had noticed that they had the same smile these days, and that was perhaps the loveliest part. Lexa had saved their lives and had introduced a love and happiness Clarke had never in her wildest dreams imagined she could have. She adored seeing Lexa in their little girl, and couldn’t wait to see how they would continue to rub off on each other.

For the first year or so of Ellie’s life, it had mostly just been the two of them. Henry would be born into a world full of family, all making up important parts of his life. As her due date loomed closer than ever, she often wondered what wonderful combination of the people she loved she would see in him. Would he take after Lexa, as Ellie had? Would she see her father in him? Her mother’s eyes, maybe? When fitful, he settled for Lexa’s voice. At the sound of Ellie’s, he launched into excited flurries of movement. At her own voice, he stirred gently, as if listening, as if responding. Already, he seemed so attuned to all of them. It didn’t really matter who he ended up resembling most, or even if he was entirely his own, she was just excited to meet him.

“You are the most beautiful thing I have ever seen,” Lexa said quietly from the opening of the front hallway, her shoulder braced against the wall. When Clarke sat up and turned, she was instantly breathless by the immensity of love and attraction in Lexa’s eyes. It was the way Lexa always looked at her, and every time, it made Clarke’s heart swell. Lexa strode into the warm living room and took Clarke’s face into her hands, kissing her soundly.

“Hi, baby.”

“Hey,” Clarke breathed, content now that her people were home. “Where’s Ellie?”

“Taking off her boots.”

“Is it still crazy out there? We missed you.”

“It’s not so bad.” Lexa placed a warm, sure palm on Clarke’s belly, holding her and their baby, and kissed her again. “I missed you too. How do you feel? You doing okay?”

“Yes. I’m fine, sweetheart.”

“Good,” she said and ran her fingers through Clarke’s hair, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

“Mommy?” Ellie called, plodding down the hall.

“Where’s my sweet Elliebean?”

Ellie rounded the corner from the hall, her cheeks flushed from the biting air, her hair wild from the hat she’d plucked off and thrown somewhere. Her red and white polka dotted socks left wet footprints in her wake, slipping and sliding across the hardwood until Lexa stepped around the couch and caught her by the arm, steadying her.

“Say hi to mommy, then let’s go change your socks before you get cold.”

“I’m already cold,” Ellie reasoned, handing her grocery bag to Lexa before skipping over to Clarke.

“Hi baby,” Clarke greeted, humming happily at the kiss she got to her cheek and belly.

“Everyone keeps calling me a baby,” Ellie sighed. “I”m not a baby, I’m a big girl. Henry is the baby. Hello Henry,” she said in a muffled greeting, her face pressed to Clarke’s stomach for a moment before pulling back up.

Clarke chuckled at her and then turned to Lexa with an inquisitive smile. Lexa watched on from the kitchen with a grin and a shake of her head. She shrugged at Clarke’s look. Clarke turned back to Ellie and brushed the hair out of her face.

“You will always be my baby, but you are also a big girl, you’re right.”

“Will I be your baby even when I’m big like you and mommy?”

“Even then.”

“Really?”

“Forever and ever.”

Ellie seemed to ponder this for a moment before deciding with a nod that she liked the sound of that. “We got cookie stuff!”

“That’s great! Are you going to save them for Santa this time?”

“Yes, I promised.”

“That’s good.”

“Do you truster me?”

“Trust,” Lexa corrected from the kitchen. Clarke laughed and looked over at her again, wondering what on earth their conversations must be like when she’s not around. Lexa just grinned and continued putting things away.

“Oh yeah,” Ellie corrected, “do you trust me?” She asked, pulling on the front of Clarke’s shirt for her attention.

Clarke turned back and was caught almost breathless by the beauty of her sweet, inquisitive face. “I do trust you,” she said, taking Ellie’s cold hands. She rubbed them between hers, warming them up. “I trust you very much.”

“Thank you,” Ellie responded, matter-of-fact, making Clarke laugh once again.

“You’re quite welcome, you silly goose.”

At Ellie’s shivering, Clarke frowned and pulled her into her lap, snuggling her close. “Let’s take those wet socks off. Are your boots leaking?”

“No, I did a snow angel at the store and the snow crawled in my pants and then it slid down my leg!” Ellie huffed, yanking her socks off.

“Oh no! You’re going to turn into a snow man!” Clarke exclaimed, laying back and tucking Ellie into her side as Ellie giggled and insisted that would not happen. She drew the knitted blanket over them, then the velvet one that rested over the back of the couch. In no time, they were both flush with the shared heat of their bodies pressed close. Ellie’s thumb creeped towards her mouth, a habit they’d still not managed to kick, as her head grew heavy on Clarke’s shoulder.

“Mommy?”

“Mm?”

“Can I have one cookie tonight?”

“How does your tummy feel?”

“It feels okay.”

“Yeah?”

“It’s a little bit grumbly.”

“I’m sorry, baby.” She slipped her hand beneath Ellie’s shirt and rubbed the soft, warm skin there until her little eyes began to drift shut. “Maybe after dinner. Too much sugar isn’t good for you.”

Ellie nodded, nuzzling her ice cube nose into Clarke’s neck. “Twelve cookies is too many for my body.”

Clarke laughed quietly and pressed Ellie close. “Is that so?” She asked, but Ellie was already out. Clarke kissed the warm top of her head and closed her eyes, following her into sleep soon after.

***

Lexa sat at the kitchen table, watching her girls nap as she read the news on her new iPad, courtesy of Roan. She barely understood how to use the thing, but she had to admit that the accessibility to any news article she could possibly want was nice. She watched them for an hour, occasionally checking on the turkey they had roasting in the oven for dinner with the gang later that night. A dinner she would have to miss thanks to her fourth night shift, on Christmas Eve no less. Sighing, she stood and crossed to the kitchen, pouring herself a cup of coffee. She’d have to be up for another thirteen hours and could use all the caffeine she could get.

She got through another three articles on the current state of veteran affairs before Clarke began to stir. She watched her run her fingers through Ellie’s hair and kiss her head. They looked so incredibly cozy in their cocoon of blankets. So soft and warm. Lexa ached just looking at them. The storm had yet to let up, and though the air inside the house was toasty, a chill passed through her at the sound of the howling wind. She got up, poured herself another cup of coffee and fixed a mug of tea for Clarke.

“Good nap?” She asked quietly, handing the mug to Clarke who sat up gently and resituated Ellie into her lap. Ellie nestled herself further into her mother’s side and stilled again.

Clarke took the mug and cupped the back of Lexa’s neck, running her hand through the hair at at her nape, loving the solid warmth under her palm. Her eyes went sad, and Lexa frowned.

“What is it, sweetheart?”

“When do you leave?”

“Mmm.” Lexa scooted closer on her knees. “I’ve got to get going pretty soon. After Ellie and I make the new cookies.”

She ran the back of her fingers over the smooth skin of Clarke’s cheek. She was so warm. So soft. Lexa couldn’t get enough of her or the bundle in her arms. They had changed her life so much in the last three years. There were days when Lexa walked around their home with so much love in her heart it threatened to send her to her knees.

“You know how much I love you?”

Clarke smiled and scratched at Lexa’s nape, chuckling when Lexa nearly went slack. “Almost as much as we love you,” she whispered, and pulled her in for a kiss. The angle wasn’t great, with Ellie between them, and Lexa’s knees were going numb, but Clarke’ lips were so warm and soft. They were perfect. They were hers. They were home.

***

“Be sure to keep your lights on, and keep your defroster running.”

“I will.”

“And go slow, you know how the stop lights are in the storm.”

“I know.”

“And take the corners easy because the--”

“Sweetheart.”

“Yes?” Clarke paused with Lexa’s jacket in her hands.

Lexa grinned up at her from the floor where she knelt, tying her boots. She stood and rested her hands on Clarke’s hips, pulling her forward until her belly stopped them from getting any closer.

“Everything will be fine, love. I’ll be home before you know it.”

Clarke helped Lexa into her jacket, then slid her hands up her arms and rested them on her shoulders. She gazed at her wife, taking in the strong line of her jaw, the beautiful color of her eyes, that unbelievably charming smile. There had been a time when Clarke swore she didn’t have any more love or trust to give to someone after her father had died and she’d wound up in an abusive relationship. Then, Lexa had come along with her endless charm and bottomless reserves of kindness. With Lexa, everything had changed. Clarke brushed her hands across Lexa’s chest, smoothing down the uniform beneath the coat.

She went to speak, but a pair of lightning-quick feet came skidding down the hallway, slamming into them, and arms wrapped around Lexa’s legs in a tight, little grip.

“There’s my girl!” Lexa scooped Ellie up and gave her a bounce, looking for a smile that didn’t come. “What’s wrong, honey?”

“You’re leaving.”

Lexa frowned and tapped the full bottom lip of Ellie’s pout. “I have to go to work, babygirl. You know that, we talked about it. I’ll be back before you wake up.”

“But what about Santa?”

“What about him?”

“He can’t come unless everyone is asleep!”

“As long as you’re asleep, sweetheart, Santa will come.”

“You sure?”

“I’m sure.”

“Okay.”

“Are you gonna be a good girl for mommy?”

“Yes!”

“Good. You’re such a sweet girl.”

Ellie threw her arms around Lexa’s neck and buried her face in Lexa shoulder. Lexa could feel the tiny kisses being pressed there and she closed her eyes, holding Ellie tight. She hated night shifts--the missed dinners and bath times, the bedtime stories over the phone and the sleepy whines for her to come home. When the holiday shifts had come down from the chief, she could have passed off her shitty hand to someone beneath her who had no say--that new douchey lieutenant who thought he was hot shit, maybe--but Lexa wouldn’t do that. She couldn’t. Clarke had known that, had told her that, had asked only one thing of her: come home safe.

“Ellie, sweetheart, let’s say our good nights. Mommy has to go to work,” Clarke said gently, rubbing Ellie’s back.

Ellie peeled back her head and looked up at Lexa, big puppy eyes tearing her heart wide open one eye-lashed blink at a time.

“Are you coming back?”

“Oh,” Lexa cooed, brushing back Ellie’s hair, “I always do, don’t I?”

Ellie nodded, then let her head sink back to Lexa’s shoulder and began to thumb at the metal name tag over her breast pocket. Lexa met Clarke’s eyes over Ellie’s head and furrowed in concern.

“She’ll be okay,” Clarke said, voice intentionally chipper, “Right, Elliebean? You’re okay. Let’s give mommy kisses and then get ready for dinner. Grandma and your aunties are coming over soon! Are you excited?”

“Yes,” Ellie murmured, head still tucked firmly in place against Lexa’s neck.

“Alright, then, let’s get our kisses and let mommy go.”

Clarke walked Lexa to the car, their hands clasped until Lexa pulled open the door to her truck and slid in.

“She’ll be okay. It’s just because it’s Christmas Eve. It has her a little thrown off.”

“I hate this,” Lexa sighed, starting up the engine. She leaned her head into Clarke’s breast, her cheek pressed to warm, plush skin where Clarke’s sweater dipped down.

“I know.” Clarke threaded her fingers through Lexa’s hair, gently combing while she held her close.

“You gonna be okay getting the presents under the tree tonight?”

“I’ve got mom and the girls. We’ll be okay.”

“Okay.” Lexa leaned up for a kiss, smiling against Clarke’s lips as she got one, two, and a third for good luck. “I love you.”

“I love you too. I’ll see you soon. Be safe.”

***

Lexa walked into the fire station to a round of laughter in the loft. Sagging out of her coat and bag, she climbed the stairs to the lounge, her chest aching a little with every step at the thought of what she’d just left behind.

“Hey, Cap!”

She gave a nod in greeting, then sniffed the air. “What’s that smell?”

“Alonzo’s got cookies in the oven. Tryna’ bring a little cheer around here tonight.”

Alonzo, a large black man with a beautiful smile and sparkling eyes, came around the corner from the kitchen with a tray of still steaming cookies. Lexa smiled at the cheers that erupted, but her heart sat heavy at the reminder of her little girl. All she wanted to do was take care of tonight’s calls, get everyone home safely, and be with her family when the sun rose.

“Evening, Cap. Cookies?” Alonzo crossed to her with the oven pan, looking ridiculous, but charming in his oven mitts and apron slung over his uniform.

“No, no, I’m good, thanks.”

He shrugged and turned to the rest of the crew who were on him like sharks at a feeding.

“You look down, Cap,” Lincoln said from where he sat on the back of the couch, XBox controller in hand.

“Nope. I’m good.”

She stood with her back to the loft railing, watching them play video games, destroy the foosball table, and stuff their face with cookies. There were a lot of new faces thanks to their annual holiday hiring boom. With trees burning down houses every day, tourists inexperienced in winter road conditions sending their car into telephone poles, and storms snowing people in, they needed all the help they could get. Despite the new recruits, the camaraderie filling the fire house was full and boisterous. It made her smile to see them all enjoying themselves, but she couldn’t bring herself to get there with them.

Her gaze flicked across them and landed on the blonde woman in the corner, quietly murmuring into her phone. Alanna was their newest recruit, a driver engineer from LA who’d quickly made a reputation for herself as being calm and competent behind the wheel. Lexa liked her, saw a bit of herself in the young driver, and perhaps kept a closer eye on her than she did some of the other newbies. Alanna was driven, determined, and would make an incredible captain, maybe chief one day, if she kept at it.

Roan joined her on the railing, surveying the group. “You think we’ll have a slow night?”

Lexa drew her gaze away from Alanna and back to the rowdy group settled around the couches. She grinned, not looking at him as she spoke. “On Christmas Eve? Not a chance. You know the all hell breaks loose on holidays.”

“And full moons.”

“Yep.”

“You good?”

“Yeah. Just. You know.” She shrugged and folded her arms across her chest. “Thinking about home.”

“How’d Ellie take it when you left?”

“She was clingy. But she understood.”

“Uh huh. Annie was the same. Christmas makes it hard. You want to be there for all the excitement just as much as they want you to be. How’s the Mrs.?”

The corner of Lexa’s mouth twitched in a smile. “She’s good,” she said, a softness and fondness to her voice that Roan had come to associate only with the people Lexa called family. He considered it a great honor, a privilege, to have that tone directed at him from time to time.

“And the baby?”

She smiled, full and unrestrained this time. “He’s perfect.”

Lexa dug into her pocket for her wallet and pulled out a folded picture. She unfolded it and handed it to him. The sonogram, though the date at the bottom put it at only a week old, was well worn from the constant folding and unfolding. Despite the love, the picture was clear. A little fist rested below a round cheek, sweeping nose and tiny, closed eyes. He looked healthy and strong, and--if Roan dared to say--took after the kid standing next to him. His heart gave a slight lurch at the thought of how far she’d come.

Roan let out a low whistle. “That’s a handsome kid, Lex.”

He handed it back to her and Lexa took it, nodding. She carefully folded it up again and stuck it back into her wallet.

“I think Clarke’s about done being pregnant,” she said with a chuckle, “she’s exhausted.”

“Mm. The small ones have it tough.”

“Don’t let her hear you calling her small. She likes to think she’s big and scary.”

“Wonder where she gets that from.” He shot her a knowing grin as she just shook her head, biting back a smile.

***

Lexa had just finished FaceTiming with Ellie for bedtime when the alarm bell rang through the fire house, signaling a call. She pushed back from her desk and grabbed her coat, navigating the halls and the stairs like a seasoned professional as she rounded people up and got them to the truck.

The bite of the wind tore viciously through flesh, even with the sixty pounds of PPE on their back as the truck weaved through the empty, snowy treats. It was a ghost town. Street lights flickered and lit as best they could, but were dwarfed by the black expanse of the night. Cars left parked on the road sat beneath piles of snow. A few lit store fronts dotted the otherwise grey expanse around them, but not a person stirred as they passed through the usually bustling part of town.

Lexa leaned over and pointed at a road on the navigation screen.

“When you make this turn, I want you to ease up on the brakes.”

“Okay,” Alanna said, eyes on the road. “Why?”

The question was out of a desire to learn, and not out of defiance. It’s what Lexa liked about her--her drive and dedication, her desire to learn, to do her job and do it well.

“We’ll be coming up on McArthur Bridge. It’s going to be a sheet of ice on top. The call pinged off of a cell tower near by and we’ve got arial up there to help locate the incident, but I’m willing to bet it’s on that bridge. People spin out and hit the rails every year. When you make the turn onto it, ease up on the gas, but don’t hit the brakes.”

When they came to it, Alanna did as she was instructed, her breath coming in concentrated puffs of condensed air.

“Easy,” Lexa murmured, her gaze bouncing back and forth from the road ahead to the rearview mirror where she kept an eyes on the back of the long truck, ensuring that it was staying on track. “Easy, easy, there you go.”

The truck made the turn, it’s tires slipping once or twice before gripping again.

“Keep her at a crawl,” Lexa said, voice calm and steady.

The McArthur Bridge, a looming six-thousand foot bridge, stood stately at the edge of town. Cutting across the bay, it was a popular route during the summer, leading out of town towards the cape where people vacationed for the three months of their warm weather. It was a beautiful drive in nice weather. In the winter, it was a death trap.

“Cap, I think...holy shit.”

Alanna pulled the truck to a stop, and looked to her, eyes wide. Lexa sat forward in her seat, peering through the heavy snowfall. About a hundred yards ahead, she could just barely make out the flashing read taillights of a silver car, pitched at an unusual angle above the ground.

“What am I looking at?” She muttered, gesturing for Alanna to ease forward. As they did so, the picture came into focus and Lexa’s blood went colder than the air around her. “Stop,” she ordered, hard and unwavering.

Alanna, unfamiliar with ice and panicked by what she saw, hit the breaks with too much force, sending the rear of the truck whipping around beside them. Alanna turned the wheel hard the other direction, trying to overcorrect before Lexa could worn her not to. The truck axles groaned under the pressure as the cab lurched, and began to tip. Lexa cursed and gripped the handle above her head as the truck went sliding across the ice on two wheels. It scraped and moaned, rattling its occupants around like marbles in a tin box. Lexa forced her eyes to stay open and her breathing to remain calm.

“Oh shit, oh shit, fuck, Captain--” Alanna gasped, desperately trying to regain control of the truck. “It’s gonna flip! It’s gonna flip--”

“Let go of the wheel!” Lexa shouted over the roar of rattling metal. “Get your hands off the wheel!”

Just as Alanna did, the truck crashed to it’s broadside with a sickening slam, torquing the wheel so hard it practically tore off. Had Alanna’s hands been there a second longer, it would have ripped her arms out of the sockets. As the truck groaned to a halt, Lexa undid her seatbelt, and turned herself around, checking on the crew in the back.

“Everyone okay?”

At the collective “Yes, Cap”s, Lexa turned back around and let her head fall to the window.

Alanna turned to look at her, eyes wide and chest heaving.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered from where she sat above Lexa, held in place by her belt.

Lexa peered up at her and offered her a sympathetic smile. “I’ve been through worse.”

At Alanna’s questioning look, Lexa didn’t elaborate. Instead, she hauled herself out of her seat, reached over Alanna, and shoved the driver’s door open, giving them a way out.

When Lexa climbed out of the truck and peered down the bridge, her reasoning for stopping the truck all came back to her. Her brain could barely make sense of what she was seeing. The silver car, pitched at the odd angle, sat perched atop a destroyed retaining wall. It’s nose hung over the side of the bridge, threatening to plunge it into the water below, while the rest of it hung on only by the back tires caught on large pile of ice.

“Holy shit,” Roan muttered, coming up beside her. “Looks like a clogged drainage pipe.”

Lexa stared, heart pounding in her chest. The car tipped back and forth with every gust of the wind, threatening to send it over.

“I want everyone to stay right where they are,” she ordered calmy, her gaze travelling the length of the sheet of ice they stood on to where it connected up with mound of ice holding the car back. One wrong move and it might all crack. “Roan, get the Coast Guard on the phone. Tell them we need a bird here right now.”

As he disappeared, Lexa took one careful step forward and called out. “This is Polis Fire and Resuce, can you hear me?” Lexa shouted over the wind, trying to cut the distance.

“Don’t come any closer!” Came a shout, riddled with sheer terror. “Don’t come any closer, you’ll send me over!”

“M’am, I’m not going to let that happen. I need you to just listen to the sound of my voice and stay calm, can you do that?”

“Don’t come closer!”

“Alright, I’ll stay right here. Is that okay?”

There was a long silence, then a resigned, “Yeah. Okay, yeah.”

“Good. Are you hurt anywhere?”

“I--I think my--my--I can’t feel my legs! Oh god, why can’t I feel my legs?”

“Alright, it’s okay. It’s okay, just stay very still.”

“Is my back broken?! Oh god, is my back--”

The woman inside must have shifted, because Lexa watched in horror as the car began to tilt.

“M’am! M’am do not move! Do not move, keep very still!” She inched closer, heart racing as the car rocked back and forth.

“Help me!” The woman screamed.

“Stop moving! Just stop moving!” Another rock sent Lexa’s stomach into her throat. “M’am! You have to stop moving!”

Lexa held her breath and took several careful, but sure steps forward, eyes tracking the tiny fractures her weight sent racing through the ice.

“What’s your name?” She asked, trying to keep the woman calm. The woman only continued to scream.

“Captain!”

Lexa turned, squinting through the falling snow. She was halfway between the car and her crew now. Roan was barely visible through the sheet of white.

“Incident command is on its way!” He shouted over the sound of the wind.

“What about the bird?”

“Ceiling’s too low!”

Lexa’s heart sank. There was no way they’d be able to get to her from the bridge. It was too unstable, and any equipment that could secure the car would be far too risky bringing out on the ice. She racked her brain for an idea, all the while continuing forward one tiny step at a time.

“M’am?” She asked, close enough to hear the whimpers emanating out of the car now.

“Please help me,” the woman cried, “I don’t want to die.”

“I’m not going to let that happen, I just need you to stay very calm and very still. I’m right here.”

From twenty-five feet away, Lexa could see the woman through the window, her entire body shaking in fear, or perhaps from the sobs the woman could not get under control.

“Please don’t leave.”

“I’m not going anywhere. I’m right here. I’m right behind you.”

“Don’t come any closer.”

“I’ve got everything under control, okay? I just need you to trust me.”

She watched the woman nod, quick and terrified. Lexa cringed at the movement, but continued inching forward when the car remained balanced.

“I’m Captain Griffin-Woods. What’s your name?” The woman turned ever so slightly as if trying to get a glimpse of her. “Don’t move,” Lexa reminded her, calm and gentle, “It’s alright, I’ll come to you. You just hang tight.”

“Trisha,” the woman said, her voice shaking as she strained to be heard over the storm. “My name is Trisha.”

***

An hour later, Lexa was as close to the vehicle as she could get without rupturing the large rock of ice keeping the car from going over. She could see Trisha’s profile from where she crouched ten feet away. Her skin was pale and streaked with tears.

“How ya doing, Trisha?”

“So cold,” she chattered, her gaze staring straight ahead at the grey expanse before her.

“I know, just hang in there. We’re gonna get you out of there.”

“Is the helicopter coming?”

“Any minute now this storm will clear up.” It wasn’t a no, but it wasn’t what either of them wanted to hear.

There was a long silence. So long, Lexa worried that Trisha had gone to sleep on her again. She looked back at the commotion of the command center set-up a hundred yards back. She could just barely make out the outline of what had to be the chief in command, watching her with hands on his hips, a steady presence of support where nothing else could be done.

“Trisha?”

“I’m here.”

“I’m going to get you out of there. I just need you to stay with me.”

Trisha had been so still for so long. The car had finally stopped tipping back and forth when the wind direction had changed. Things had been stable, under control. Why Trisha chose to jerk around in her seat at that moment, sending the car ninety degrees in the air, Lexa might never know, but when the car went over, there was only one thing she could think to do.

Lexa dove forward.

***

Clarke sat in bed with her bedside table lamp on. The windows moaned and the house shook with every growl of the wind, but she was warm under the blankets, albeit lonely. She ran her hand over her belly, smiling when she received a gentle kick in greeting.

The clock on the wall above their nightstand read one in the morning. She, Raven, Octavia and her mother had finished putting the present under the tree an hour earlier. While her mother had gone to bed and the girls had put on a Christmas movie in the living room, the volume low enough not to wake Ellie, Clarke had receded upstairs for a hot bath. She had been so cold all night, and it had nothing to do with the storm outside. She missed her wife, worried about her, and her absence chilled so thoroughly she trembled even with the heat on.

It hadn’t always been this bad. Going back to school, starting her residency, and raising Ellie made it hard to think about anything other than what was directly in front of her throughout the day. There were always moments--a lull in work or a quick coffee break--when Lexa passed through her mind and she couldn’t stop thinking about the dangers her wife may be facing. Then, work would come rushing back, some new emergency needed tending to, and Clarke’s mind would once again be too tied up to think of anything else. She’d get home, Lexa would be there waiting for her, or arrive soon after, and they’d do it all again.

It wasn’t until her second trimester with Henry that the anxiety began to creep in. The nightmares were the worst part. She would wake up, chest heaving, slicked in sweat, with images of Lexa’s mangled body still at the fringes of her mind. She would walk into work, find herself suddenly in the morgue and pulling open a drawer that revealed Lexa, cold and blue and lifeless, only to open her eyes and realize she was still in bed. The worst were the ones where she watched helplessly as Lexa burned.

Everyone assured her that nightmares were normal, yet Clarke could never quite shake the pervasive, nagging sense of impending doom. Her mother told her it was the normal stress every mother felt during a new expansion of her family. Her therapist told her it was residual fear from doing her first pregnancy on her own. Her obstetrician told her it was hormone fluctuation. Clarke, however, thought it was a lot simpler. For Clarke, there was only one explanation: Lexa was her world.

They had not been together too terribly long. After the proposal, the wedding came a year later. The news of Henry came a year after that. And yet somehow, Lexa felt like an entire lifetime. Their love had been a raging, white-water river at first--swift, unrelenting and powerful. Then, it was a cool, still lake on a blazing summer day--calm, comforting and revitalizing. The longer Lexa stayed, the deeper she dug into the very fabric of Clarke’s being. She took up residence in dark, unforgotten spaces of Clarke soul, dusting things off, turning on the light, furnishing her with love and kindness, safety and contentment, passion and adoration. Lexa was home, and everytime she walked out the front door of their house, home went with her. Without a home, everything was terrifying.

Clarke crawled out of bed and crossed to the dresser. She dug through a drawer until she found one of Lexa’s old sweatshirt and slipped it over her head. Even with the eight months of growing baby clinging to her stomach and hips, the sweatshirt was roomy on her, accounting for Lexa’s broad shoulders and strong torso. The arms were humorously too long and the collar was worn. It wasn’t meant to flatter, just to remind--to embrace and comfort and keep out the cold. Had it not been Christmas Eve, she may have gone to her daughter’s room, scooped up the tiny, sleeping thing for some magical, healing snuggles as she often did on nights Lexa was out. But as such, she let Ellie sleep, and passed the time with her nose burrowed into the old sweatshirt, closing her eyes at the traces of Lexa’s cologne imbedded into the fabric.

***

Lexa clung to the iron rung below the bridge so hard her forearm burned sharp and hot despite the freezing air around her. With her other hand, she gripped Trisha’s wrist so tightly, she worried briefly about hurting her. Trisha was screaming, Lexa could tell, but it was muffled beneath the sound of her own heartbeat and the adrenaline coursing through her veins.

She looked up at the hand keeping them both from plunging into the water a hundred feet blow, thankful that she had the thick, rubber-palmed gloves on. The tacky surface kept her nearly clued to the icy support bar. Taking a deep, steadying breath, she looked past where Trisha dangled beneath her and watched the car sink slowly beneath the black surface, tail lights still visible even as they became fully submerged.

Her eyes met Trisha’s and she saw shear terror in them. They were wide as they could get, pupils so large her entire eyes were nearly black despite Lexa’s helmet light shining directly into her face. It was that terror that finally snapped Lexa out of her shock. Everything had happened so quickly, she could barely recall any of it. The car had started to go over, she had flung herself inside, and somewhere along the way, she’d yanked Trisha out of the car and caught herself before they followed it into the water. Now, Trisha flailed about, gasping at Lexa in garbled nonsense.

“Hey!” Lexa called down to her, stern, but not unkind. “Trisha, I need you to stop moving.”

Trisha kicked at the air as if she were underwater, trying to fight her way to the surface. Every thrust of her foot sent Lexa swing along with her, straining the grip she had on the bar keeping them alive.

“Trisha, stop moving. Trisha--Trisha!” To no avail, Lexa barked down at her as the woman continued to panic. Had they been in the water, she would have certainly drowned them both by now. Lexa’s shoulder ached at every tug, but Lexa only tightened her fingers around the bar and vowed to hold on. Lucky for them, the bar was narrow and easy to get her entire fist around. Add to the fact that Trisha was a slight woman, maybe one hundred and twenty pounds when wet, Lexa felt relatively okay about her odds of keeping them out of the water.

Nevertheless, each attempt Trisha made at kicking herself back up to the bridge, sent pain rocketing up Lexa’s arm and rattling around the small, frozen bones in her hand like a pinball machine.

“Trischa, I need you to calm down. You’re hurting me.”

“Don’t let me fall!” Trisha screamed, clawing at Lexa’s torgo with her free hand.

“Hey, listen to me. Trisha. Trisha, if you don’t stay still--” Lexa thrust her head back and adjusted her grip on the bar, beginning to question her confidence with every struggle from below her. She dropped her head and stared straight into Trisha’s eyes, boring into her.

“Trisha, god dammit! Do not fucking move another muscle!” She commanded, voice louder, harsher than it had been in a long time.

Trisha instantly stilled.

“Thank you,” Lexa breathed, adjusting her grip once more. “I’m sorry I yelled, but if we’re going to get out of this, I need your attention.”

Trisha swallowed and nodded, eyes fastened to Lexa’s face.

“I want you to grab onto my waistband with your other hand.”

Trisha did as she was told, and Lexa felt a minute relief in the pressure on her grip at having slightly stabilized her load.

“Captain, we’ve got the wench set up, we’re dropping in. Hang tight!” said someone, likely Lincoln, from above her.

“Hang tight? Are you kidding me?” She looked up just as an apologetic face appeared over the side of the bridge.

Lincoln grinned. “Sorry. How ya doing down there?”

“I am not slipping,” she said, widening her eyes towards her fist, then towards Trisha.

Understanding, Lincoln nodded quickly. “Copy that. Almost there.” He shouted something at the people behind him, and Lexa took the time to look down at Trisha and offer her an encouraging smile.

“You were at the store,” Trisha said so quietly, Lexa almost didn’t catch it.

“The store?”

“This morning. At Harrison’s.”

“Oh. Yeah, I was.”

“I rang you up.”

Lexa took in the face staring up at her. It was pale, caked in dirt and a little blood around her hairline, but she was right. She had rung her up. She had given Ellie a complimentary ornament, in fact.

“You did,” Lexa confirmed gently, tightening her grip on Trisha’s wrist when the sound of the mechanized wench grumbled above the howl of the wind. “We’re almost out of here, Trisha. You just keep looking at me, alright? Don’t look down.”

Trisha shook her head and Lexa felt her hand tighten around her waistband. A moment later, Alonzo came over the side of the bridge on a rope, about three feet to the left of them, as Alanna leaned over and monitored his position, giving orders to the winch operator to lower until he was parallel with Lexa.

“Hey, Cap. I’m just gonna get you secured in here and--”

“No. I’m fine. Get Trisha in a harness and get her up.”

“But Cap--”

“Do it.”

Leaving no room to argue, Alonzo looked up at Alanna and nodded for her to instruct the winch operator to lower him once more.

“Alright, Trisha, I need you to grab onto Alonzo. He’s going to secure in and--”

“No, no, no I don’t want to let go. I’m not going to let go,” Trisha gasped, tightening her grip on Lexa. Her legs began to flail again and Lexa cringed at the strain it put on her arm.

“Trisha--don’t--hey, just stop moving. Just calm down.”

“Don’t let me fall!”

“Hey, listen to me,” Lexa huffed, chest heaving in effort. “Do you remember the little girl I came into the store with this morning?”

Trisha nodded.

“Her name is Ellie. She’s five years old and she’s the light of my life. I told her I’d be there to open presents with her in the morning, and I plan on keeping that promise. I’m going home tonight and so are you, do you understand me? I just need you to do everything I say.”

Trisha hesitated, eyes searching Lexa’s face. Then, with more certainty this time, she nodded.

***Lexa pushed through the door as quietly as she could, kicked off her boots and let her jacket fall to the floor. She’d pick it up in the morning when there wasn’t a large bag of ice bandaged to her shoulder. That would be the first thing to go as soon as she got upstairs.

She tiptoed into the bathroom and shed the her clothes, the ice, then donned a pair of boxers and a t-shirt. The clock above the read four in the morning. As carefully as she could, she slipped beneath the covers, grimacing at the shot of pain in her shoulder as she scooted herself into place behind Clarke. Lexa carefully ran her hand up Clarke’s thigh, over her hip, and up her side, smiling at the feel of her old sweatshirt beneath her fingers. Clarke had missed her, it seemed, and Lexa had missed her right back.

In fact, Lexa had not stopped trembling until the moment she had Clarke’s hips tucked into her pelvis and her warm skin beneath her palm. She had come so very close to never seeing them again tonight. Her job always entailed potential for danger, but tonight had hit her hard. Tonight could have been the night Ellie lost one of her mom’s on Christmas eve. The night Clarke lost her wife. The holidays would never be the same for her family, and Lexa ached at the thought of being the cause of that pain. She had made a promise to come home to them every night, and she had come too close to breaking that promise this time. As her team finally pulled them up and over the bridge, as Trisha hugged her and thanked her, as the team drove them to the hospital, and as Lexa lay through an hour-long MRI scan, all she could think about was getting her hands on her girls.

She had kissed Ellie on the way to the bedroom, careful not to wake her, and now she needed her wife. She needed to feel the press of her body against hers, the warmth of her skin and the strength of her heartbeat. Even in sleep, Clarke was so steady and strong and alive. Lexa pressed her face to the back of Clarke’s neck and inhaled her scent. She smelled like an afternoon rain storm, fresh and clean and revitalizing.

She felt Clarke shift beneath her hands, but it wasn’t until Clarke had turned and was kissing her that Lexa drew out of her thoughts. Clarke’s sigh skittered across her face on a puff of warm air, and in an instant, Lexa’s hand were everywhere, caressing and pulling and holding her close. She felt like she was suffocating and Clarke was the oxygen she so desperately needed. Lexa couldn’t get enough of her.

“It’s okay,” Clarke murmured against her lips, “you’re okay.”

“What?” Lexa asked, breathless and distracted. She dove back in for another kiss before Clarke could answer. Clarke slipped her hands beneath Lexa’s shirt and splayed them across Lexa’s back, tugging her close.

“Everything’s okay.”

Lexa nodded against Clarke’s forehead, trying to catch her breath. Something was off, but all she could think to do was press closer, kiss harder, love harder.

“Hey,” Clarke cooed, dropping her hand to the center of Lexa’s chest. She didn’t push, but she held it there and leaned back when Lexa dipped back down.

Lexa frowned. “What’s wrong?”

“You tell me,” Clarke said quietly, a soft hint of laughter to her voice, but her eyes were concerned.

“What?”

Clarke ran her thumb across Lexa’s cheek, and finally Lexa felt it. Tears. All at once, they welled up inside of her and she gasped, choking on the ferocity of the emotions she’d bottled away to get the job done.

“Oh, sweetheart. It’s alright.” Clarke threaded her fingers through Lexa’s hair and gently tugged at the nape of her neck, guiding Lexa’s face to her breast. She held her close as Lexa shook and buried her nose into her collarbones. They didn’t speak for a long while, not until Lexa let out a shuddering sigh and began pressing kisses to Clarke’s throat.

“Are you hurt?” Clarke asked, her voice small and unsure because she had to ask, but she hated to know.

Lexa shook her head and nuzzled at Clarke’s jaw, kissing at the new skin when Clarke lifted her chin.

“Lexa.” Clarke’s voice was breathy from the attention being paid to her, but there was an edge to it, a warning and a reminder that a lie would be worse than whatever it was Lexa had gotten herself into.

“It’s not bad,” she conceded quietly.

“Show me.”

“There’s nothing to show. Just some strains.”

“Lexa.”

“I promise. I had an MRI.”

Clarke tensed in her arms, and Lexa kissed her, urging her away from the anger and the worry.

“Where? What needed an MRI?”

“Everything’s fine.”

“Lexa, I swear to god.”

“I have a mild strains in my shoulder and wrist. I promise, that’s all.”

“Are you in pain?”

“No.”

Clarke arched her brow.

“Okay. A little.”

“Mhm. Did you ice?”

“Yes. There’s a bag currently melting in our bathroom sink.”

Clarke sighed and dropped her forehead to Lexa’s, breathing in the distinct smell lingering on her wife’s skin.

“You smell like winter,” she whispered, and pressed her nose to Lexa’s cheek. She kissed the curve of her jaw, the corner of her mouth.

“It’s cold outside.”

Clarke nodded and folder her lips into Lexa’s, letting their warmth, their indescribable softness chase away the pain and and anger and worry until there was nothing left between them but the hot press of skin and the hushed moans of desperate lovers. Raging against the exhaustion in their bones, they took comfort in each other’s pleasure until fatigue finally won the battle, and pulled them into sleep just as the sun was beginning to rise.

***

Lexa shuffled out of the kitchen, her hair a mess, her eyes squinting in fatigue. She sipped at her third mug of coffee as she waded through layers upon layers of wrapping paper scraps, and sank into the couch next to Clarke.

Ellie sat amongst a pile of toys, shifting her attention from one to another as she gave a running commentary on all of it to the family that sat around her. Lincoln, Octavia and Abby, sat on the floor next to her, while Raven stood by the tree and recorded sporadically from her phone. Anya fiddled with the build-your-own tricycle she had gotten her niece, and Lexa watched it all from her place on the couch, amazed at her incredible life. Tucked into her side, Clarke leaned up and pressed a kiss to her jaw, earning her a sleepy hum.

“Tired?” Clarke asked, smiling as Lexa yawned into her coffee.

Lexa only grinned, refusing to be baited into speaking of the illicit activities they’d taken part in with their family under the same roof.

“When’d you get in, Lex?” Octavia asked, nodding in approval when Ellie thrusted a toy truck for her to inspect. “Lincoln said your last call was crazy. How long were you hanging--”

“Wow, that’s not--it wasn’t crazy, it was totally chill,” Lincoln quickly interrupted, his wide eyes cutting from Octavia to Clarke. Lexa rolled her eyes when Clarke stiffened, and buried her face into Clarke’s hair, resigned to the fact that she’d pay for the reveal later.

“Hanging around,” Octavia amended with a sheepish grin, “I just meant, how long were you hanging around...the fire station?”

“Octavia,” came Lexa’s muffled groan, “please stop talking.”

“Blame Lincoln! He’s got a big mouth.”

“Hey now. I told you you weren’t allowed to bring it up.” He swallowed, realizing how his words sounded, and looked to Clarke like a deer in headlights. “Because...there was nothing to bring up. It was...an easy night?”

Everyone turned to look at Clarke, who simply rolled her eyes and waved them off. “I don’t want to know,” she said, scratching at the nape of Lexa’s neck. “As long as she comes home, I don’t want to know.”

Lexa kissed her head and sat back up, momentarily glaring at the guilty couple on her floor until she was distracted by the small hands pressing into her legs as Ellie made her way onto the couch and into Lexa’s lap.

“Look, mommy,” she squealed, holding up the firefighter doll for what had to be the fifth time that morning. “It’s the one I wanted!”

“I see that! Pretty cool, bean. Did you thank Grandma for getting it for you?”

Ellie twisted around to get a look at her grandmother, and scrambled down Lexa’s legs. She slipped and slid through the wrapping paper scraps until Abby scooped her up and snuggled her close. Lexa watched them murmur to each other, Ellie occasionally bursting into a fit of giggles at something Abby had whispered or the onslaught of tickling fingers at her belly.

Clarke’s head on her shoulder pulled her attention away and she gazed down at her wife.

“You happy?” Clarke murmured, nuzzling close.

“Extremely. Are you?”

“More so than I thought I ever could be.”

Lexa leaned down and kissed her, grinning against her lips when Raven turned her phone on them and said something about lovebirds and no mistletoe and keeping it PG.

“Merry Christmas, baby,” Clarke whispered. “Thank you for coming home.”

“Are you kidding?” Lexa asked, pulling away to take in the beautiful home filled to the brim with love and family. “I wouldn’t miss this for the world.”

269 notes · View notes

carmenlire · 6 years

Text

Color Me Blue Ch. II

read chapter one

read on ao3

Magnus unlocks the front door of his bakery, reaching to turn on the lights on autopilot. It’s just past four in the morning and as Magnus takes in his space, he’s struck for the millionth time by how much he loves what he does.

Though that love can only become more fervent after some coffee.

Heading towards the back, Magnus shucks off his coat and places it on the hook by his desk, followed soon after by his scarf-- a little ugly and a lot colorful, courtesy of Madzie-- and gloves. Throwing his apron on and tying it at the waist, Magnus washes his hands before brewing a cup of coffee strong enough to kill a man-- at the first sip of caffeine, he breathes out a sigh and lingers over his mug while he reads over the day’s planned menu and checks his email for any special orders that might have come in.

It’s December 23rd and as he polishes off his coffee, Magnus rolls up his sleeves-- he's wearing yet another festive sweater-- and gets to work.

He opened Bane’s Bakery straight out of culinary school. He’d been twenty two and on the verge of accepting another apprenticeship with a world renowned pastry chef in Paris when he’d walked past this little gem in the heart of Manhattan and had fallen in love with the space brimming with personality and possibility.

It had been a few hard, long years full of sweating out budgets and building a clientele that had come to find Bane synonymous with perfection.

Magnus woke up each and every day knowing that he’d found his little slice of contentment.

Rolling out shortbread dough for the day’s buttered reindeer cookies, Magnus wryly thinks that contentment has become just the slightest bit frayed at the edges.

Oh, he still loves what he does. He still wakes up and looks forward to putting his own spin on macarons or cupcakes or blondies. He likes the challenge and creativity required to make a beautifully packaged dessert every time. More than once, he’s wondered that it was what he was made to do. Baking is his lifeblood and Magnus loves being such an integral part of people’s lives-- whether its in celebration or commiseration or just to add a spot of brightness to their days.

Still. Baking has become something of an escape for Magnus. He can admit-- to himself at least-- that he’s taken to pouring all of his energy into his chocolate mousse and sherry frosting. He has his family and he still enjoys the occasional morning at home, but something’s missing and has been for a couple of years now.

Magnus blames the holidays for the fact that his single status stings just a bit more than usual. Dusting his hands off, Magnus wipes his hands on a towel and heads to the front, flipping the sign to open and turning the lights and tree and other assorted decorations on.

He heads to the back and starts bringing the morning’s selections out, lining them up neatly in the display case. It’s a riot of color and texture and as he does every morning, Magnus goes to the public area and studies the case, making sure that everything is shown to advantage.

December is one of his favorite baking times and the case reflects that. There’s a snowman shaped cake resting in its cake stand on top of the glass and inside there are sugar cookies in a dozen different colors in the shape of Santas and ornaments and ribbons. There are cupcakes covered in red and green frosting and dusted with granulated sugar to resemble snow or blue and white menorahs and Magnus is pleased with the overall effect.

He opens at six am and within minutes, he’s greeting regulars. Occasionally, he’s reaching for baked goods before the customer even approaches the counter. He knows that Mrs. Maisel likes her pistachio and raspberry muffin every morning and that Mr. Grantham orders a dozen chocolate cupcakes every Saturday for his weekly brunch.

Still, others are a mystery and it’s that unpredictability that keeps Magnus in this business. He helps twins decide on their favorite cookie and gives suggestions when a young woman comes in, desperately needing personalized desserts for her family holiday party that afternoon.

The morning passes in a quick blur and Magnus is having a hurried lunch in the back-- he’d given his staff the day off-- and looks up from his half eaten sandwich as the door swings open.

“Catarina, what brings you here? I thought you’d be working.”

Cat walks in, immediately reaching for a tray of cooling brownies resting on the stainless steel table. Magnus slaps her hand away and she glares at him as she replies, “I’m on my way in and thought I’d stop by and pick up some goodies for my nurses. No one wants to be working today but hopefully your pastries can be a bit of a pick-me-up.”

“Let me finish my lunch and then I can help you,” Magnus says, taking an extra large bite.

Cat looks at him, faintly disgusted. “First of all, half a sandwich does not a lunch make and secondly, I am perfectly capable of boxing up my own cookies.”

“I’m the proprietor,” Magnus says primly, taking a drink of his tea. “I’m the one who helps the customer, not the other way around.”

Catarina rolls her eyes and grumbles but doesn’t say anything as she waits for Magnus to wash his hands. They head out to the front area and Magnus picks up a deep red box, opening it and laying down holiday-printed wax paper.

Cat narrows her eyes at the display cases as she thinks. She settles on half a dozen frosting covered brownies and a dozen Christmas cookies, buying him out of reindeer shortbread.

She goes on to order a selection of vegan and nut free desserts along with his more traditional pastries. As he rings her up-- adding a white chocolate mocha-- Magnus sends her a dry look.

“You’ve bought me out of damn near everything, dear.” Glancing at the clock, he continues, “I’m still open for another two hours.”

Grinning, Cat just says, “You’re welcome. You’re still coming over tomorrow evening, right?”

Magnus just sends her a droll look as he closes the two boxes and starts wrapping them with silver ribbon. “Of course I’ll be there. Everyone’s been coming over to your house on Christmas Eve for ten years now. Why the hell would I miss it?’

“Oh, I don’t know,” Catarina says with an innocent look. “Maybe you’ve met someone.”

Magnus doesn’t get a chance to do anything more than scoff before she’s continuing with, “No, you’re right. What was I thinking? You haven’t brought anyone with you to the party in four years.”

“Three,” Magnus mutters and doesn’t even flinch when Cat flicks his shoulder.

“When’s the last time you went on a date?”

Cutting off the excessive ribbon, Magnus looks up to see his friend’s face. With a sigh, he recognizes the look in her eye.

“No.”

“You don’t even know what I was going to say,” she says with an arch look.

“Yes, I do, dear. You have someone that you want to set me up with. Well, the answer is no,” Magnus says firmly.

“And why not,” Catarina demands. “You just turned thirty five. Don’t you want to share your life with someone?”

“No need to have me halfway in the grave yet, Catarina. Good God,” he muses as he heads to the back to finish frosting the now-cooled brownies.

Cat follows behind and sits down across from him, watching in a sort of fond interest as Magnus starts icing the brownies with a deft hand in a swirling pattern. Thankfully, they’re in the midst of an afternoon lull and there are no customers to overhear Catarina’s wheedling.

“I’m only thirty five,” he repeats. “There’s no need to find myself a companion to settle down with in my old age yet.”

Rolling her eyes, Cat snags a brownie that falls apart, ignoring Magnus’s protest. “You know that wasn’t what I was saying. I just think that you’ve devoted so much time to this bakery that you’ve closed yourself off to anything that might challenge that. You’ve got to know that isn’t healthy or wise.”

“Catarina, my friend, I work twelve hour days and get up before dawn most of the time. There aren’t many people who would tolerate that. Can’t say I blame them either,” Magnus says absently as he forms a row of rosettes on the edge of a brownie.

“What about a doctor? They’re used to long hours.”

Humming in thought, Magnus shakes his head. “Doctors are unpredictable, dear. At least my schedule is predictable. I don’t need to worry that my significant other is going to be called to work in the middle of the night. Or that they’ll work themselves into the ground for a forty hour shift,” Magnus says, thoughts snagging on the man he’d met yesterday.

Magnus had been in the back whipping up a batch of meringue when he’d heard the bell on the front door ring, signalling a new customer. He’d taken a critical moment to continue making the mixture, not wanting it to eventually fall apart in the oven if he stopped without adding all of the egg whites, one at a time.

Wiping his hands on a dish towel, he’d pushed the swinging door open to reveal the most gorgeous man he’d ever seen. He was obviously operating on no sleep or coming off a three day binge with the way his no doubt heavy five o’clock shadow had grown into a beard and the way shadows bruised his eyes.

Still, he was breathtakingly beautiful and Magnus had taken a minute to watch him, full attention caught on his bakery display with all the excitement of a child.

He’d tried to ignore the relief that had come over him when he’d realized the man was a doctor freshly off shift. They’d talked a little and Magnus had found himself secretly but overwhelmingly charmed as the man had ordered a hot chocolate sweet enough for an army.

What had started out as a routine transaction had turned into more. Magnus didn’t know why but he’d seen the hint of interest and couldn’t help but return it fully. He usually didn’t flirt-- much-- with his customers but there was just something about the earnest yet exhausted doctor that had him opening up, his smiling tipping from merely professional friendliness to welcoming.

He’d been unforgivably pleased when Alec had told him that he’d be back with a subtle smile.

Resolutely, Magnus has not been looking up at every chime of the door’s bell today. With a sigh, he entertains the idea that Alec had been merely humoring him.

More’s the pity, he thinks and looks up as Catarina clears her throat pointedly.

“Yes?”

“What’s got you so preoccupied?”

Waving that away, Magnus merely offers a smile. “What always has be preoccupied? I’m thinking about next week’s menu.”

“Don’t you see, that’s what I’m talking about,” Cat exclaims. “Wouldn’t you prefer to think about someone instead of your blasted chocolate and spun sugar?”

“No,” Magnus says distractedly. “I never get tired of thinking about dessert. You of all people should know that.”

Rolling her eyes, Catarina stands from her chair, reaching for the two boxes of pastries she’d chosen.

“I just think that you and this doctor would get along. Why don’t you just give him a chance?”

Plating the finished brownies up to take them to the front, Magnus just shakes his head. “I’ve given you three chances, Cat, and all three people you set me up with were utter disasters.”

“Name one,” she demands.

Magnus just gives her a look as he uses his back to open the door. “Antonio.”

“What was wrong with him? You went on three dates.”

“Yeah,” Magnus says dryly. “Unfortunately, it took me that long to look past his admittedly gorgeous face. When I did, though, I couldn’t quite ignore how much he talked about his pet parakeet.”

“Parakeets are cute,” Catarina offers defensively.

“Not when you get to listen to their mating rituals for an hour and a half straight,” Magnus returns grimly.

“Okay,” Cat acknowledges. “But that was only one--”

“Bridget.”

“Oh,” she says morosely. “Bridget.”

“She ordered the most expensive thing on the menu-- which, okay-- and then ducked out before it even arrived.” He winces. “I’m still annoyed that I didn’t see her grab my wallet.”

Cat nods, wincing in sympathy. “You had to call me from the hostess station to pay for dinner and take you home.”

“She didn’t even leave me enough money for cab fare.”

“That really should have been a warning sign that she was embezzling from the hospital,” Catarina muses.

“So, you see dear, I am not going out with anyone else you suggest. I’d go so far as to say that I’d run in the other direction from any of your prospective dates.”

“Still,” Cat insists. “The person I have in mind is different. He’s the head of the ER, for starters, and his background is in pediatrics.”

“Not exactly a ringing endorsement for a boyfriend,” Magnus interjects with a raised brow. “If he’s the head of any department and not seventy years old, that means he’s a workaholic. Plus, the emergency room? That just says he’s used to being on call for all manner of emergencies.”

“It says he’s dependable and likes kids.”

Magnus harrumphs and Cat opens her mouth just for Magnus to speak first.

“I appreciate what you’re trying to do-- I do-- but I don’t need any help with my love life. So, I’m in a little bit of a rut. It happens to the best of us. For your information, I went on a date just last month.”

“And?”

“And while she was perfectly friendly, there was nothing there. I’m not incapable of dating, dear, I just don’t want to. I’m focused on my business-- I’ve been thinking of opening a second location-- and I’m perfectly content to wait until love comes my way.”

“Sometimes you have to grab fate my the balls and bend it to your will,” Cat says darkly but her expression softens as she looks at Magnus.

She lays a hand on his from over the counter. “I’m sorry if I’m beating you over the head with a potential blind date. I just see how hard you work and how much love you have and I don’t want it to go to waste. I want you to find someone, especially since it’s supposed to be the happiest time of the year.”

Magnus smiles softly at Cat, one of his oldest friends, and pulls her in for a hug. “I promise I’m not whiling my days away waiting for my soulmate. I have my family and friends and my bakery. I think I have it pretty good, don’t you?”

“Not as good as if you had someone to share it with,” Cat mumbles into his shoulder.

Laughing quietly, Magnus pulls back to give Catarina a fond is slightly exasperated look. “I’ll make you a deal okay? If I don’t find someone by New Year’s, I’ll let you set me up. Okay?”

Narrowing her eyes, Catarina studies him. “You’re just saying that so I get off your back.”

With a grin, Magnus just counters, “Are you really going to look a gift horse in the mouth?”

“I suppose not,” Cat sighs. “I really think you’d like him, Magnus. He might work more than he should, but he has a heart of gold. He’s pretty easy on the eyes, too,” she teases, pulling away and taking a step back, grabbing her pastries.

Barking out a laugh, Magnus sends her an arch look. “You know me too well, my dear.”

Catarina just grins smugly, before turning on her heel and making her way to the front door.

The bell dings and soon enough, it’s silent in the bakery. Magnus sighs a little as he stands in front of the counter, taking in Bane’s Bakery in all its holiday glory.

Christmas is his favorite time of year, though he silently acknowledges that there’s only so much that his customers can give him. Sure he likes see the kids’ eyes light up when they see the display case and he loves creating special orders in the back and working in the morning quiet, just him and his dough, but as Magnus watches the Christmas tree in the corner complete slow revolutions and sees the way the lights seem to glow just a little brighter in the afternoon gloom, he wonders if Catarina isn’t on to something after all.

Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to have someone to go home to, someone who could taste test his latest recipes and tell him they were good even when they're obviously garbage.

It might be nice to have a reason to slow down, someone else to focus some of his energy on.

Magnus’s mind flashes to the man from yesterday and he distantly thinks that he would have said yes in a heartbeat if Cat was offering Alec up.

Magnus certainly wouldn’t mind getting to know him better.

Shaking his head to clear his thoughts, Magnus looks up as the door opens, bringing a laughing family and a gust of cold air dusted with snowflakes.

As he focuses on his latest customers, Magnus tamps down his lingering thoughts of love and romance.

He has better things to do and better ways to spend his time than pining for what he doesn't have.

#color me blue #my writing #malec fic #malec christmas fic

41 notes · View notes