#p.s. psych au is not being abandoned

[piratefalls]

sentences sunday

uh...hi? it's been a minute. i watched one of my favorite lesser known 90s romcoms the other day and a lightbulb went off in my head. will it turn into anything? who knows. but here's too many words of chef!buck and businessman!tommy for those who may be interested.

Buck decides to take a peek into the dining hall and is met with the sight of a room full of people crying, waxing poetic about love and broken hearts over the Duck a L’Orange, roasted green beans, and white and wild rice medley with almonds he never could have made two weeks ago. He’s…confused, to put it mildly. He’s had some enthusiastic reactions to his food recently: some unnecessarily angry and others uncomfortably euphoric, but nothing up to this point has reduced his customers to tears. It’s baffled him since it started, but when he looks back and thinks about how he was feeling when he made those dishes - angry at a rude patron, aroused after Tommy first kissed him - the rapid shift in the quality of his cooking starts to make more sense.  Somehow his emotions - his passion, his love, even his current heartbreak - are finding their way into his food, and his customers can feel it too. Now that he’s aware, Tommy’s fear of Buck having put him under some kind of spell makes sense. It hadn’t been his intention, but what he feels is real, and he thinks the same is true for Tommy. He just has to find a way to prove it. So with this knowledge in mind, he heads back into the kitchen and starts thinking about how much he loves cooking. Focuses on how he feels most at home in a kitchen, and the magic of sharing a meal with the people he loves. He closes his eyes and thinks about what feels like home to him. Home is fresh baked bread infused with thyme and rosemary. It’s the dull thud of a knife on a cutting board. It’s flour handprints on an apron and laughing into glasses of merlot. It’s warm soapy water and damp dish towels and the roar of a gas burner igniting. It’s saltfatacidheat. It’s dancing in the warmth of a preheating oven and kissing on the kitchen ceiling. It’s sweet Georgia peaches and Rainier cherries and sour lemons. Home is where love is stored. Home is a kitchen in a tiny little restaurant that, not so long ago, almost ceased to exist. As he settles into the feeling, Buck calls his second audible of this service. Tonight, instead of the pretentious crème brûlée with candied pecans they’ve already started prepping, dessert is a riff on the recipe that started it all: a golden brown caramel eclair, this time with a light vanilla bean whipped cream.

thank you to @onthewaytosomewhere @judasofsuburbia @priincebutt @thinkof-england for being the most encouraging and best people to share a chat with.

and to @blueeyedgrlwrites and @alasse9 and so many people for the tags the last few weeks.