#plus the single pea on a plate took me out

[wolflover33100aj]

I was cackling along with Night Mind during the Welcome Home update stream when he got to the cookbook

Those hot dog jokes took me out!

[sw124]

BonelyHearts Reader Insert

{Female!ReaderXSkeleton household}

Camping! Pt.1

It was nippy outside, no question there. But you couldn’t beat the sheer beauty of it all. The field was vast and filled with rolling hills turning the loveliest shades of tan from the upcoming winter season. There was not a tree for miles around. You stretched your arms back, breathing in that beautiful air, it was so crisp it would put an apple’s skin to shame. You let out a long breath, watching it curl into its own cloud before quickly dissipating.

“So pretty here...” you whispered to yourself.

“Human! Have you found a spot yet?!”

You turn to see your gaggle of skeleton friends all unloading things from the van, you smile and wave to Papyrus.

“One sec ok I think I found a great spot for us all!”

Happily you half-jogged down the little hill you were standing on and scoped out a nice spot, it was flat and void of twigs and leaves. You stamped the ground to be sure there weren’t any spots waterlogged from rain, but no the ground was perfectly dry and level.

Back up the hill you run and call out. “Guys over here, I found the perfect spot!”

Back down you raced and skipped around the spot, the first skeleton over the hill was Blue with the picnic table; a perfect sign that this spot is claimed by someone. Blue hands you the table and you set it up, he runs back over the hill. The next skeleton to come over the hill is Papyrus with some of the chairs, all neatly marked with everyone’s name on the back of each unique chair, including yours.

You take them and set them up in a line; to both keep them out of the way and to let everyone choose where they’d like to sit when things get ready. Boss and Ash were the next couple of skeletons over the hill bringing the tents. Poplar was close behind carrying some bags, Nox and Rus were the next two over the threshold carrying two large boxes.

You rushed back up the hill to the van and met up with Red and Sans who were digging stuff out of the van. You came up and collected what they just took out and went back to the spot, you set the things down and went back for more. Stretch passed you carrying some of the sleeping bags. You couldn’t help but imagine everyone plus yourself as a bunch of worker ants. You were the one to get the last of the things, the box labeled ‘plates, utensils and cleanup’.

You just reached over the crest of the hill, you watched as Boss and Papyrus began laying out the tarps for some of the tents while Nox and Blue set up the canopy tent, Stretch and Rus were getting the sleeping bags sorted out. Of course Sans was already napping in his chair, you walked over to Ash, Poplar and Red who were getting the portable fire pit ready. You set the things down and grabbed a bucket nearby, you turned to the skeletons.

“I’m gonna go get some water and firewood!”

“Wait human!” You paused as Papyrus walked up to you...Sans neatly tucked under one arm. “Take Sans with you, he needs to do something productive instead of lazing about!”

Sans gave you shrug after Papyrus sat him down, you smile and take his hand.

“Its not that far, lets go lazy bones.” You just had to giggle seeing the blush form on his face.

You and Sans didn’t have far to walk, the communal area was at least just a yard away. You paid for fire wood, making sure to have extra just in case also filling the bucket up with water. You told Sans to teleport the wood back to the campsite you’d be fine walking back with the bucket.

“Actually, I got a better idea.” Taking your hand and in a blink of an eye, the both of you were back at the campsite, firewood and water in hand.

“Ah you’re back! That was quick!” Papyrus took the bucket from you as Sans sat the fire wood down by Red.

“The hell- I don’t know how to start a damn fire, why you putting it by me?” Red growled.

“Well someone’s gotta know, other wise we’re gonna be ‘burned out’ by the end of this.” Sans chuckled, a echo of groans is heard.

You took the initiative, while Sans and Red went back and forth you began setting things up for the fire. Ash and Poplar watched, you balled up some dry-dead grass and layered some small twigs on it. Taking out a lighter you packed you lite the grass, after you got the smaller fire going you started layering on the wood. In a matter of a few minutes you had a nice fire all set.

“Fires ready.” You said, you felt a little proud seeing everyone’s expressions.

“Anything else that needs to be done?” You asked, surveying the layout.

“If you could set up the cooking station under the canopy that would be nice.” Said Poplar, Ash helping him stand up.

Nodding you went to the canopy and start unpacking, you unpacked the snacks first but kept the perishables like the fish inside the cooler along with the vegetables. You took out a large pot, pasta, ramen and other things and set them on a separate fold-out table; preparations for tonight’s dinner. You had just set out the last of the snacks when you heard Nox curse, you look to see him knelt down by a peg and holding his hand.

“Nox, you ok?” You walk over.

“I’m fine, I just caught the side of my hand with the hammer.”

You were quick to take his hand and inspect it, a habit of yours whenever someone had gotten an injury no matter how minor it was. Nox grumbles but doesn’t take his hand away, you gently rub his hand between yours to sooth the wound before standing back up. Giving him a sweet smile, was it your imagination or was he blushing.

“I’m setting up some snacks for when you boys are done, drinks too; I’ll let you know when there done.” You left before he could give you a reply, you had a task to complete.

You arranged the small snack bags into two groups, one side was for the shorter skeletons the other for the taller skeletons. Of course it had everyone’s name written on the baggies but this just made it simpler. Next were the drinks, coco and coffee. You took great pains to make sure the coffee was just right too, you brought a special hand grinder for the coffee beans.

The coco you decided was going to be just as special, you were going to make it just like how your parents did back when you were really small. As you were finishing everything up, something caught your attention. You turned and saw at least a few yards away a giant RV party bus pull in, it was blaring popular club music, you could feel the ground vibrating from it. You wrinkled your nose a little, the smug oozing off the thing was almost too much. You tried to tell yourself it might just be a family and their kids put the music on loud as a joke.....you were dead wrong. The people that stepped out were four young men. You wrinkled your nose again, everyone else around the campground were either elderly/young couples or families. Not these wannabe campers...

You turned back to your task, just ignore them and things would be fine. You took the pot of hot coco and poured them into some mugs, next was the coffee and whatever the boys put in their coffee. You basically memorized everything these boys put in their drinks. You had just finished pouring the last cup when you heard Papyrus’s triumphant laugh. You turn to find a rather impressive sight, three tents but they were all connected with small extension tunnels, length maybe a single meter?

“Whoa...” you whispered.

You had two large tents sandwiching a slightly smaller one in the middle, you walked over and marveled at them. Papyrus walked over, his hand proudly placed on his hips and chest puffed high.

“Yes a magnificent sight indeed human! A friend of ours lent this to us, the tent on the left over here is where I, Boss, Poplar, Rus and Stretch will sleep. Our brothers will be in the tent on the far right and you will have the center tent!”

You blinked, the center tent was yours? You unzipped the front and looked inside, for goodness sake the center tent could fit five fully grown adults it was so huge! It had pockets to fit your phone too, you looked to and saw two opening ‘doorways’? Tentways? Whatever it was called you looked inside and goodness both sides were massive, but then again it probably was for the best since they were fitting five tall skeletons...and five short ones. Thankfully you found you could zip up both sides for privacy.

“What do you think human?” Asked Papyrus.

“Really amazing!” You couldn’t lie, this was impressive.

“Nyeheheh! Thank you human!”

“Well I’m glad your done cause I’ve just finish setting up the kitchen and have some hot drinks and snacks ready.”

You turned to get the drinks as Papyrus called everyone together, the skeletons all propped their chairs around the fire as you passed out their snacks, coco and coffee. You made yourself a cup of warm butterfly pea tea and sat down in your own chair. Rus softly blew across the top of his coco to cool it down before taking a sip of it, you smiled seeing his eyes light up.

“W-Wow...did you buy a new coco brand?” Rus looked at you, stars dancing in his eyes.

“No, I just made coco the way my parents did. No instant coco or coffee for this camping trip!” You giggle.

Ash smiled wildly as he tasted his coco along with his brother, Nox was inspecting his coffee, inhaling its steam to be sure you did a proper job in preparing his drink. You slyly rolled your eyes but didn’t hold it against him, good coffee is hard to come by or make right. Stretch though was not as picky and spoke up.

“Heeeeey this is pretty good, you sure you didn’t use the instant stuff?”

You knew he was poking fun at you but shook your head, you turned back to Nox, you caught a glimpse of his eyes going wide before returning to normal...followed by a fox like grin.

“Well my dear you certainly have been paying attention to my lessons on coffee haven’t you?” He purred.

“Yes, even I must admit you do have a way with making a good cup of coffee.” Replied Boss sipping his own cup.

Blue, much like Rus had stars dancing in his eyes, if the coffee was a little more cooler he might have chugged his entire mug down in a single go but it was still nice and hot so he had no choice but to sip. Red seemed to be restraining himself from downing his own cup as well. Papyrus and Sans were the last to speak up.

“Wowie human this is truly amazing!”

“Yeah, what did you buy?” Asked Sans, looking into his cup.

You smiled. “If you really want to know, I used milk, butter, sugar and coco powder all mixed together in a small cooking pot. My parents would make that kind of coco all the time in winter when I was really little, when I heard we were going camping I thought I’d share it with you guys.”

“Thats really nice...” said Ash, you smile at him...you were making a lot of skeletons blush today.

Papyrus spoke up next.

“So human, what shall we do now that we’re set up?”

[To be continued..]

[A fanfic reader insert for the fan-game @bonelyheartsclub I hope you enjoy and I will be planning more in the future with gender neutral or male centered readers, I hope you enjoy. Also I kinda guessed on what drinks the boys would like so don’t rag on me about getting drink choices mixed up ok? I’ll make corrections when I learn more about the boys]

[survivingthejungle]

everybody wants to rule the world (ii)

(oh, finally it’s here bitch! u want some sadness?)

The next morning came and went smoothly, Genevieve continuing her typical routine of breakfast, walking Bambi and Tex, and then going to the gym to work out a bit and to keep her volleyball skills up to par. When she finally returned home it was already late afternoon, so she showered and made herself some lunch. Her aunts were off at their magic academy, and Ambrose and Sabrina were still out hunting for Herod's crown,  so Genevieve had the large Spellman house all to herself. After finishing her lunch and cleaning the dishes, she went to curl up on a couch in the family room to watch some TV before night fell and her family came home. About an hour into watching reruns of The Mary Tyler Moore Show, Ambrose burst through the front door in a hurry. "You being chased?" she called. 

"No time to talk, cousin," he yelled back down, rushing down the stairs to the basement, "I've got something very important to study!"

:Have fun," she responded, voice softened. She pointed her attention to Tex, who was seated at the end of the couch where she was relaxing. "Y'ever wish you were a witch, Tex?" Genevieve said to him. "'Cause I'd love to know what's going on right now."

A few minutes later, Sabrina came in, seemingly worn out from trying to keep up with Ambrose. "Hey," she said, "You wanna come with us to the carnival? We're leaving in a few minutes."

Geneveive's mouth opened but nothing came out; she wasn't sure what to say in the moment. "Ah-" she started, nervous. "About that… I think I'm going on a date with your friend."

Sabrina's brows furrowed and she smiled a little, confused. "My… friend? Which friend?"

Genevieve struggled again to find the perfect answer. "Mmh.. Uh.. Y- You know the one," she responded, vaguely. 

"Wh- Caliban?!" she yelled in awe, eyes widened once she realized to whom her cousin was referring. "The one who's trying to take my throne?!"

"Don't yell at me like that!" she defended herself, "He kept pestering me and bothering me and I wanted him to go away so I said yes!" Genevieve shouted back. 

"Why the Heaven was he so intent on it?"

"Beans, if I knew, I'd make it stop!" Sabrina sighed in defeat, setting down her purse and kicking off her shoes before joining her cousin on the couch. 

"Well, maybe it won't be the worst thing in the world. I mean, me and Nick and everyone else are gonna be there, so at least you won't be alone. Plus, I know he won't be looking for the crown if he's with you."

"I guess," Genevieve conceded, shrugging. "I just wanted him to get off my case. It's one date, okay? Just the one. I'm sure I can scare him off by the end of the night."

"Aw," Sabrina laughed, "Don't say that! You're a catch, ‘Vieve. Of course he wants to go on a date." "Are you encouraging this?" They both giggled. "Nah, it'll be fine. It's no big deal."

— 

Sabrina was already dressed and prepared to go out, so she waited in Genevieve's room while she changed into something other than her pajama pants and a large sweatshirt. "I can't believe you're going on a date with Caliban," Sabrina repeated, exasperated. 

"Ew, gross, don't say it like that," Genevieve called from the bathroom where she was changing and deciding whether or not she would wear any makeup. "You make it sound like a big thing."

"Sorry." Genevieve stepped out of the bathroom, with just a layer or two of mascara, some concealer, and a bit of blush on her cheeks and nose. She had also changed into a white dress with small navy polka dots and a washed out jean jacket. "So did he say if he would pick you up?"

"Um, you know what? I have actually no idea," she admitted, sitting down on the edge of her bed and putting on a pair of socks. "I guess we're meeting there. I don't know."

"Okay. Well, Nick and I are gonna meet up with everyone soon, if you want to come with."

"Oh, I'll be fine. But thanks, Beans. I'm gonna let Bambi out for a few minutes and feed everyone," Genevieve decided. 

"Alright," Sabrina said, getting up and leaving her cousin's room. "Well, we'll keep an eye out for you." "Thanks. See ya soon."

— 

Thankfully, it was not one of the nights she needed to feed Rhiannon, because Genevieve was not particularly in the mood to have to throw a live mouse into the ball python's tank. For Tucker, she went to the kitchen and grabbed a handful of blackberries, romaine lettuce, and snap peas, threw them on an old plastic plate and set it in his tank for him to munch on as he saw fit. She changed Pico's water and put a few chopped up grapes and strawberries in a small dish in his cage. She called for Bambi to follow her downstairs and let the dog outside while she put food in her bowl and got her fresh water. When Bambi barked at the door to be let in, Genevieve was startled to find Caliban standing there as well. "Oh. Hi, Caliban."

"You look a little surprised to see me," he observed. 

"Well, you did show up sort of unannounced," she told him, letting Bambi inside and allowing him in, as well. "I thought you'd just find me at the carnival."

"Sweetheart, I may be a demon," he smirked, "But I'm not completely without my manners. It would be disrespectful of me if I didn't escort you."

"Oh, respect?" she wondered, setting Bambi's bowls down on the floor and going to wash her hands. "I didn't know that was something you were worried about." There was a hint of mock doubt in her tone. He smiled a bit more genuinely at this. 

"There are a great many things you don't know about me, Genevieve."

"Well, then that makes two of us." Once she had slipped on a pair of shoes and made sure that she had a handful of cash in her pocket, she turned to face him directly and actually give him her attention. "We're stopping to get coffee first, because I'm about to fall asleep."

"Whatever the lady desires," he agreed. They both left the Spellman house, Genevieve yelling a goodbye to her cousin before shutting the door behind them. 

— 

"Can demons have coffee?" she asked as they stepped inside the small cafe.

"We can have anything we wish," he told her, "But I can't say I've ever tried the drink before."

"That's tragic. Do you want some? I'll pay." 

"There's no need to spend your money on me. I'm made of clay, I'll be alright."

"Wow," she said in mock wonder. "Do you have any other personality traits?" He smirked (which seemed to be his default at this point), and Genevieve rolled her eyes. She turned and gave her order to the barista, handing over a few of the singles from her pocket and going to wait at the other end of the counter for her drink. When Caliban wasn't right behind her like she was expecting him to be, she turned back and saw him ordering as well. He pulled out a wad of cash from his back pocket and her jaw almost dropped as he turned and gave her a knowing wink. "You did not just,' she muttered, clenching her teeth and lowering her voice to more of a whisper, "make that money!"

"And what if I did?" he asked, enjoying seeing her get riled up.

"That's terrible!" she chastised. "That's like… cheating."

He gasped. "Have I done a bad thing?" She narrowed her eyes at him.

"You may not care about doing bad things, but I do."

"As you wish," he conceded. Once their drinks were ready, they headed out onto the street and in the direction of the carnival at the edge of town near the forest. 

— 

Once they made it to the entrance of the carnival, Genevieve was on high alert for any sign of her cousin or her friends. "So, Genevieve Sawyer," Caliban started, "How did a mortal like you come to end up living with the Spellmans?"

"Well that's kind of personal," she told him, refusing eye contact. "My dad and Sabrina's mom were siblings. They took me in when…"

"When what?" he asked, voice soft and genuine. 

"Um, my dad… died, and I would have been put into foster care. But Hilda and Zelda offered to become my guardians instead."

"Well what about your mother?" he asked. He had a feeling he may have been crossing a line, but he decided to ask anyway. 

"Let's not talk about it," Genevieve shot it down. 

"I apologize if I've upset you," he offered. He seemed like he meant it.

"It's fine. You didn't know. I just… don't like to talk about it," she explained. She quickly changed the subject. "How's the coffee? Are you a fan now?"

He chuckled, taking a sip. "I'll admit it's not bad," he said, looking down at her, "But I'm still partial to the blood of the damned."

Her eyes widened and she grimaced. "Ew!"

He laughed at her expression. "I'm only joking, darling," he reassured, still smiling. She scoffed and nudged him with her elbow. 

"Not funny, you punk.” She took another sip of her own drink before continuing. "You don't really— "

"Of course not!" he exclaimed. "Must you always think the worst of me?"

She smiled playfully. "Well you don't give me much of a choice," she teased. The sun was beginning to set and the lights of the carnival became more vibrant as time went on. In the crowd of people, she spotted Sabrina's white-blonde head walking beside Nick. "Oh, look!" she pointed out to Caliban. Speeding up to them, Genevieve poked her cousin in the back, startling her.

"Oh! Hey, Geneieve!" she greeted. "Caliban."

"Your highness," he replied, bowing. Genevieve noticed a growing tension between him and Nick, and before things got out of hand, she interrupted. 

"'Sup, Nick?"

"Hey, Genevieve. How's it going?"

"Pretty good, I guess. How ya feeling?" she asked him, silently praying she wasn't stirring the pot. 

"Better, actually. Thanks to Sabrina." They smiled at one another as he put his arm around her shoulder. 

Genevieve didn't notice, but Sabrina did. When Nick wrapped his arm around her and made a lovey-dovey expression, Caliban looked longingly down at Genevieve. 

"Where's everyone else?" the older cousin wondered. Sabrina looked around. "Uh, Harvey and Roz are walking around somewhere. Theo and Robin are on the ferris wheel."

"Who's Robin?"

"New boy. They really hit it off." "Aw," Genevieve gushed, "I'm so happy for Theo! Good for both of them." She finished the last few sips of her coffee. "Where are we headed?"

"Carousel?" Sabrina offered.

"Yeah, I'm down. You wanna go?" she asked Caliban.

"I'll go wherever you decide," he answered.

She let out a small scoff. "How very noble."

— 

Something was off at the end of the carousel ride and Genevieve had no idea what it was. Caliban's entire demeanor had changed and when the ride ended, She decided to give Sabrina and Nick some space while she tried to figure out what Caliban was up to. She gently grabbed her cousin's arm. "Hey, we'll meet up with you guys in a minute," she muttered. Sabrina nodded in understanding. Once they were on their own again, she turned to Caliban. "Okay. What's up?" she interrogated. He was glancing around all over the carnival grounds, barely looking at her. She snapped her fingers in his face, gaining his attention. "Hello? What is going on?"

"Something's not right," he responded cryptically. "Someone's here who shouldn't be here."

"What does that mean?"

"It means it's not safe for a mortal to be here for much longer. You should go home."

She glared up at him, eyes narrowing. "Oh, you think you can just boss me around, now? What's your deal, dude?" Instead of giving a snide remark, he grabbed her face in both hands and looked her dead in the eyes. 

"Genevieve. I'm not joking. Or lying. You really need to leave."

"No!" she shouted. "You don't get to tell me what to do, you spoiled little jerk! I came to this stupid carnival to have fun with my friends. You're not ruining this for me." She sighed out an angry breath and shook her face out of his hands, stepping back. "What is your issue? First you pester me until I agree to give you the time of day, and then all of a sudden you want me gone?"

"I don't want you gone. I want you safe, believe it or not. You're upset with me now but you'll understand later. There's really no time to explain, sweetheart." He tried to grab her hand, his face sincerely apologetic, but she pulled away with a disgusted look on her face. 

"No. Don't touch me." She paused as if to say something else, but decided against it; turning away from him abruptly and storming off into the crowd. 

 "Genevieve," he called. "Genevieve!" But rather than turn around, she flipped him off and kept walking. 

— 

Genevieve had gotten halfway home before Herod's zombie showed up and attacked Nick and Sabrina. She was too far away to hear the yells from the carnival grounds, instead caught up in her own thoughts and grievances. Stupid piece of shit, she thought. I can't believe I let myself get played like that. Who does he think he is? 'Go home, Genevieve'-- Man, fuck off!

Meanwhile, her cousin and her cousin's boyfriend were fighting for their lives from an undead evil ancient king. They tag-teamed spelling him and beating him up with whatever they could get their hands on, but they were fighting a losing battle. Sabrina was thrown to the ground, and suddenly looked up to see the boy her cousin was currently pissed off at. "Caliban! Help me!"

"Beautiful as you are, I am tempted," he sneered. "No. I think not." His face dropped. 

"What about Genevieve?" Sabrina yelled at him.

"I've taken care of her. This crown is my priority." And without another word, he transported himself back to Hell.

— 

After Nick went back to the Academy, Sabrina strolled right into Pandemonium and up to the bastard who had played her cousin and cheated in their quest. He was smug, wearing the crown and strutting like he actually ruled the place. "What does my lady think?" he asked. "It's just temporary until I win the infernal crown, of course." Before he could get another word in, Sabrina smacked him. 

"We could have died!" she shouted. "Why didn't you help us?"

"Help you?" he repeated. "This is a competition. I was watching you. Closely. When I didn't have my eyes on that cousin of yours— "

"If you were watching me, did you know King Herod was coming for his crown?" Sabrina asked, ignoring his backhanded comment about Genevieve. 

"My lady, everyone knows King Herod is a guardian. I assumed you would kill him. … Or he would kill you." He swiped some droplets of blood from her tip. "Or perhaps, you would kill each other. A true monarch knows strategy." He then spoke up loud enough for the whole throne room to hear. "Now, you didn't answer my question! The crown suits me, don't you agree?" Sabrina right-hooked him so hard that the crown came flying off of his head. 

"The first round's yours. Enjoy it. It's the last one you'll win." He was desperately trying not to lose his pride. "And I swear, I'll slice your throat ear to ear before I let you have my throne." She seemed as if she was done, but decided to add one more thing. "And if you ever come near Genevieve again, I won't have to. Because she will."

— 

After Sabrina had showered the blood and grime off of herself, she threw on her p.j.'s and headed to her cousin's room. Genevieve was laying on her pillow pile in a corner of her room, cuddled up with a blanket and Tex laying on her chest. Bambi was snuggled up against her side. She had traded in her dress and jacket for sweatpants and an old t-shirt; she rubbed her makeup off half-heartedly and tied up her hair on him of her head. "Hey, Vieve," Sabrina greeted softly, slowly entering her room. "Hi," she muttered. "Your stupid friend is a piece of shit."

"He's not my friend. And I know he is. He cheated on the challenge tonight. Left me and Nick pretty much for dead just to get that stupid crown."

"I wanna punch him."

"Don't worry. I did. Twice," she winked, sitting on the edge of the bed. 

"Let me get a few hits in next time."

"They're all yours." Sabrina then knelt to the ground and laid down on her cousin's free side, putting her chin on Genevieve's shoulder. "You gonna be okay?"

"I'm so mad at myself. I can't believe I let some piece-of-trash, lying, cheating, dirtbag play me." Sabrina said nothing, just rubbing her cousin's arm in an act of comfort. "If I ever see him again I'll hurt him."

"I know," Sabrina muttered. "You have every right to."

— 

While the rest of the Spellman household was preparing for the Hare Moon, Genevieve spent the day curled up in bed, cuddling with her cat and dog and reading books. At some point in the late, late afternoon, a familiar woosh of heat interrupted her lazy day. "How dare you," she began, setting her book down and picking up Tex, holding him close to her chest. "How fucking dare you show up to my house like you're wanted here." She stood up and walked closer to him, while he backed away from her rage-filled frame. "You complete jackass. You are such a piece of shit. You almost get my cousin killed? And you don't do a damn thing to stop it? You- what, you try to get on my good side, and seem so inconspicuous, just so you can spy on my family and cheat on that stupid fucking contest? And then you show up in my room the next day like this?!" She was shouting now. "Don't you even think of saying a God-damned word to me, Caliban! You skeevy little dirtbag!" She set Tex down on her bed so that her hands were free. "Get out of my room, get out of my house, get out of my life!" Genevieve threw her fists at him, hitting anywhere a punch would land. His chest, his arms, his face; she was going blind with rage. She continued moving toward him in her assault until he was backed up against her wall. The punches kept coming. "Genevieve, stop!" He shouted, trying to push her off of him. "Let me apologize— "

"NO!" she screamed. "Don't order me what to do! You don't get to apologize to me! This is beyond apologies! I don't give a fuck what you say to me, nothing will ever, ever cover this!"

"I know!" He screamed back. Her punches slowly stopped. "I know. Nothing I say will fix anything I've done."

"Then why are you here?!"

"No apology will ever be fit for you, but please, please let me say my piece anyway." She said nothing, so he continued. "I am, truly, genuinely sorry for betraying your trust. And I am sorry I left your cousin defenseless last night. There is no explanation I could give that you would see fit to accept. I will spare you the details of the reasons behind my actions. But please, Genevieve, please know that I never wished to cause you any pain. From the moment I met you, I never wanted to harm you. Knowing I have done so is the heaviest burden I will ever carry."

"Are you done waxing poetic now?" she asked, arms crossed, face void of emotion. He nodded slightly. "Good. Get out of my house."

"Gen— " She cut him off. "You have done enough, Caliban! Leave!" He looked at her longingly, with the saddest eyes she had ever seen, and conceded. 

"As you wish." He threw his arms up and was once again enveloped in a spiral of hellfire. When it dissipated, he was gone. In his place was a large, bright yellow sunflower. She picked it up apprehensively. Genevieve wanted desperately to throw it in the trash, or to stomp on it, or to shred it with a pair of scissors; in the end, she placed it gently on her desk and went back to bed, throwing the covers over her head and silently crying.

[spookyswhore]

Two Peas in a Pod (Part 2)

Summary: Maybe this was a situation better than you thought.

Part 2 requested by @spookysnena

Word Count: 1.4k

Warnings: none, just some fluff

For some reason, today was more exhausting than usual. Per usual, Freeridge was hot as hell but something was off. Maybe it was that time was moving slowly at your job this particular day. Or your raging headache. Or the fact that you’ve been avoiding Oscar ever since the major little debacle at his place three days ago. Or a little bit of all three. See, you kind of left and never really told Oscar how you felt about him. You felt guilty after letting Sad Eyes down and you freaked out and left Oscar on his couch in a confused daze. But you made sure to give him a call and talk it out, with him reassuring you that the situation was okay. You never really been in that kind of scenario before, especially with thinking that it was more for those dramatic rom-coms, so you were feeling a little bit overwhelmed. Which only intensified as you noticed Oscar enter into the store you worked at, and internally panicked. It was obvious that all of your efforts for avoiding him were going down the drain by the millisecond. Oscar approached the counter the same time as Mario, surprisingly. They dapped it up and struck up a conversation about how Ruby was doing amidst his whole shooting situation. According to what you’ve listened to, he wasn’t really doing great. Oscar turned to you, while the other other cashier rang up Mario, and asked you to turn up the radio. 

“Where have you been?” he asked. You ignored his question. You tried to salvage any sort of avoidance you had left, although you got a little bit scared when his voice grew deep. Ultimately, you decided it was best to ignore him and continued to ring up the rest of his items. 

~

It was close to 11 when you ended your shift. Around 10:45. It was apparent what the exhaustion of the day left on your body. All you wanted right now was some food, your bed, and some Netflix if the tiredness in your body allowed it. But, you knew you were going to be in for an even longer night when you saw Oscar leaning against the drivers side of his Impala taking a pull of his cigarettes. 

“Those things stink.” You said, the disgust jumping out of you. You never really grasped the appeal to cigarettes. Your dad used to smoke them before he passed and every single time you would gag. The smell was making you physically sick. “What are you doing here?”

He took one last pull of his cigarette and walked around the car to open the passenger seat. 

"Get in." He said

You scrunch your eyebrows in confusion and hesitance for a moment but then you realized this is typical Oscar behavior. It was just a little weird especially after the couple days you’ve had. You made your way to the passenger seat and shrugged your bag from your shoulders to place it on your lap, at this point you were honestly over it. Noticing your blatant tiredness, he took your bag and gently threw it somewhere in the back seat. He also reached over you to buckle your seatbelt for you. 

���Thanks…” You muttered tiredly. You slid down in your seat trying to get comfortable and dragged a hand over your face. 

“Long day?” Oscar spoke. 

“Yeah…” 

“Well your day is about to get longer. We’re getting something to eat.” 

“Oscar really? I just want to go home right now.” You pleaded. You absolutely did not have the energy for his shenanigans right now. 

“Please? Then I’ll leave you alone for the rest of the night.” 

Your only response was to ignore him as he took that as a ‘yes’ and started the car. Half an hour later, Oscar pulled into ‘The Joint’, which left you in more aggravation.

“Oscar. You do know this is closed right.” 

“Yeah I know.” He dug around for the keys to the joint and dangled them in the air. “I went ahead and asked Dwayne for the keys so we could have some privacy.” 

You couldn’t help to bring yourself to smile at his gesture. This was really a side to him that no one really gets to see and you feel extra special that he’s showing this to you only. You were so wrapped up in your thoughts that you didn’t even notice your side of the door open and Oscar holding out his hand to help you out of the car. You took his hand and he led you inside where your heart melted into a puddle of liquid mass. The floor of the restaurant was adorned with your favorite flower, the Dahlia, and the sound of violin instrumentals played softly in the background. 

“Where did the big bad, scary gang leader get all of this?” 

“This big bad, scary gang leader called a few connections.” He said, coming up behind you and kissing your neck. He then led you to one of the booths and your eyes landed on the menu. Instead of the usual burgers and fries the joint usually makes, it instead held a special three course meal, catered to your favorite foods, that would be made by Chef Diaz himself. 

“First up, for the appetizer. Buffalo wings. Extra spicy.” Oscar said. 

Your mouth salivated as you devoured the wings. The burn of the sauce satisfying your taste buds. At the end, you sat there licking the sauce off of your fingers and burped. 

“Liked it?” Oscar smirked. He took the finished plate of bones only to replace it with another plate but it only held chicken and shrimp alfredo. Just like the last dish, you devoured the plate like it was your last meal. The savory taste of all of the ingredients was hitting your hungry belly  in the best ways possible. But, for dessert, which was honestly the best part, you wanted to slow down and be a little more intimate for some reason. You asked Oscar to sit and share the cheesecake with you. Time seemed to fly by as you two held a conversation with you about almost everything. Surprisingly, Oscar was very athletic in his younger days.

“So you threw up then passed out?” You laughed.

“It’s not funny. It made me lose the love I had for basketball. All the running back and forth traumatized me.” 

“You are so dramatic.” You said. It got quiet as you stared at his face for a while. “Hey, I need to tell you something.” Oscar stopped his movements and looked into your eyes. 

“I like you. Not in a friendly way either. That’s why I choose you over Sad Eyes. You make me happy. I look forward to seeing you everyday. There’s much more I probably want to say but can’t think of right now but yeah…” 

“Does it help your memory that I feel the same way?”

“Maybe…” You laughed.. It got quiet again but this time, Oscar took the time to capture your lips in a kiss that made you want to tie your heart neatly in a box and give it to him. To have and to hold. Till death do you part. 

“Wow that was…” 

“Yeah.” You both said at the same time. 

“You should really take me home now. I was being serious about wanting to be in my bed” You said, stuffing your belly back into your jeans. As you walked out of the door, Oscar put his flannel from over his tanktop onto your shoulders as he walked you both back to the car. Once you both pulled up in front of your house and decided to be a little naughty and pull Oscar into a tongue tied kiss then exited the car. 

“Bye Oscar.” You dragged on to tease him a little. But before he could get another word in, you ran away into your house like a child while he sat there and laughed at your antics. You plopped onto your bed, which felt like heaven to be honest, and smiled to yourself as you heard Oscar’s car driving down the street, the sound slowly becoming distant. You started to imagine your future with Oscar. A home. A few kids plus Cesar from time to time. Him one day opening up his own restaurant while you manage your own dance company. Things in the love department were finally looking up for you. You fell asleep right after with the wonderful feeling you made the right decision.

[thephantomofthe-internet]

Problem Solver

Steve Harrington x Reader

Word Count: 5,668

Warnings: Swearing, Angst, Abortion

Author’s Note: Hey guys! Lemme know if you want a sequel to this one, I’d love to explore this concept further!

Tag List: @hotstuffhargrove @moonstruckhargrove @mickmoon @alex--awesome--22 @hawkeyeharrington @songforhema @carolimedanvers @thechickvic @lilmissperfectlyimperfect @sunflowercandie @kaliforniacoastalteens @spidey-pal @buckybarneshairpullingkink @marvelismylifffe 

The tile of your bathroom floor was freezing on your bare feet, your fleece pyjama pants around your ankles. It was four in the morning, way too early to be awake on any day, especially not a Saturday. But you needed space to do this. You had to be careful.

The pregnancy test was on the counter, the egg timer ticking down slowly. You had never been more anxious before in your life. You crushed the box tightly in your fist, stolen from the pharmacy; you were too anxious to actually pay for it. You couldn’t let the cashier tell your mother about it or even let her see the receipt.

You needed to not be pregnant. Desperately. You couldn’t be pregnant. You were too young, too scared to be a single mother. It had to be a false alarm.

You felt stupid. You should’ve been careful; you should’ve said something when he didn’t have a condom. You should’ve stopped. But you didn’t.

As the timer got closer and closer to the zero, you grabbed it, forcing it to stop before the trilling ring came out, waking up your whole house.

You took a shaking breath, eyes rolling to the water marked ceiling as your clammy hands reached out for the test, tapping lightly on the counter until you hit the plastic test, pulling it over to you. You eyes fluttered shut as you levelled your head again, crossing your fingers in a silent prayer before opening your eyes.

The pink plus sign was clear as day.

Pregnant.

“Fuck…” you muttered, letting your head drop into your hands. You were so screwed.

All you could do was go back to bed, hiding the test in your dresser, climbing up the heap of blankets, begging the universe to let you sleep and to wake up and for everything to be fine again. But you knew that the universe didn’t work that way; you had to face the problem head on. You let hot, fat tears slip down your face, silent sobs wracking through your gut and chest, your throat tightening into a Gordian knot.

At seven o’clock, you forced yourself out of bed and into clean clothes. You forced yourself to the kitchen and forced a spoon of peanut butter into your mouth, the only thing you thought you could keep down, too upset to eat. You grabbed the yellow phone book off the counter, marked up with sticky notes for important numbers. You carried it to your room, grabbing the canary yellow rotary phone off the hall table, drawing the long cord down the hall and into your room, shutting the door and sitting down in front of it, pressing your back against the pressboard door.

You put the phone by your feet, flipping open the phonebook to the list of medical numbers, scrolling through to find a number for a woman’s health centre. There was a Planned Parenthood in Chicago, a three hour drive away, which felt like a risk, but you called anyway.

You could tell that the receptionist on the other end, who introduced herself as Amy, was trying to be nice to you, but it felt forced and harsh, sympathy training gone wrong. She warned you that you’d need parental consent if you were under eighteen before anything could be performed and it would cost $150.00. You told her that you understood and made the appointment for the next weekend.

You decided not to tell the father, he didn’t need to be involved. In fact, you decided not to tell anyone. You took off work the Saturday of your appointment, but you worked all that week, trying to flush your bank account with enough money to pay for the procedure.

If anyone asked you what happened that school week, you wouldn’t have had an answer. Your mind was on other things, on the drive to Chicago and the appointment itself. You just wanted to be done with that week, but Friday night proved to be the longest one yet.

Sitting at dinner with your parents, you pushed peas around your plate, eyes trailing the clock. “Hey ma? I was wondering if I could have the car tomorrow. I’m supposed to go to the mall in Greenville with Vicki and I thought I’d offer to drive us, since she usually gets Tommy to drive us and that means we have to invite Carol and it’s a whole thing.” You rambled, hoping that the influx of information would confuse your mother enough to give you the answer you wanted just to shut you up.

“Sweetheart, you know that your father and I are going to visit Aunt Shelley in Gary this weekend, we need the car. I’m sorry but you’re just going to have to deal with Tommy and Carol.” Your mother replied, reaching over to cut up your little sister’s chicken, smiling easily, as though she couldn’t feel the walls around you closing in.

“Unless of course you want to come along, I’m sure Aunt Shelley and Uncle Marvin would love to see you.” Your father added, but you weren’t listening, anymore. You pushed your plate away from you, tossing your napkin on the table top.

“May I be excused?” you asked. Your mother opened her mouth to answer you, but you were already turning on your heel and heading out of the dining room and upstairs. You had to be alone again. You needed a new plan.

Alone in your room, you forced your window open, your whole body trembling. Your lungs were on fire, eyes stung with tears. All week you’d been emotional, ready to cry at the drop of a hat, and this little change in the plan was the icing on the cake. You stuck your head out the window, forcing cold evening air into your lungs, trying to catch your breath and lessen the lump in your throat. You needed to calm down; you needed to be rational again.

Looking out at the dark street, streetlights like spotlights over the road, you watched as a car pulled into the driveway adjacent to yours, the only car at the house. You watched as a boy with a careful constructed coif and toned shoulders and arms stepped out, tossing what looked to be keys up and down, his entire body screaming ease and comfort.

Steve Harrington.

You and Steve were sort of friends. Key word sort of. He and you ran in similar circles but you’d never had to be close to get through parties at Tina’s and smoking at Tommy’s. But there were times that you were; first in sixth grade when Macy had convinced you that he was in love with you and you developed a tiny crush on him and then in freshman year when he had an actual crush on you and you had assumed he was just trying to be your friend. Both times had ended in awkward heart break for one party and awkward parties for awhile after until one of you moved on. You got your heart broken when you caught him in the closet at Carol’s making out with Mackenzie Fisher, his first ever girlfriend. And Steve got his broken when he asked you out and you laughed in his face, assuming it to be a joke. Since then, things were a bit tense and awkward, though it lessened when he started dating Nancy Wheeler. You always felt like you were skating on thin ice with him, like any second you could mess up and crash through the ice, even with Nancy around cutting the tension and the power of sticky weed and cheap liquor breaking down the walls of your social hierarchy.

But in that, with your head stuck pathetically out the window, his car was more appealing than even before.

Your fingers flew over the rotary dial, the number still engrained in your mind and fingers. You wondered if his mother was home, his father seemingly always gone on business. But when the phone was picked up on the first ring, you knew he was alone, his mother always took four rings to pick up the phone, not allowing anyone else to pick up the phone out of fear of seeming desperate.

“This is the casa de Harrington, Steve here.” Steve greeted, his tone jovial and relaxed. You could practically see him flopped on the overstuffed brown leather couch in their living room, a hand running through his long tresses.  

“Hey Steve it’s…uh it’s Y/N.” you said, curling the yellow coiled cord around your finger.

“Oh hey Y/N, what’s up?”

You sighed “Look, um this is weird but…I was wondering if you could drive me into Chicago tomorrow…I’d do it myself but my parents are driving out to Gary and I have an appointment out there. If you can’t help me it’s totally fine, I get it, it’s a weird request.” You sputtered, closing your eyes tight.

Steve was quiet for a long time, at a loss for words. Your stomach dropped, practically hearing the ice crack under your feet. You backtracked quickly “Look, I’m sorry this was stupid, I shouldn’t have bothered you, sorry.” You went to hang up the receiver, but a voice rang out from the other end.

“Y/N, wait.” Tentatively, you pushed the receiver back to you ear, unsure what to say “I can drive you, it’s not a big deal. Just tell me what time we have to leave.” He said, his soft an octave softer, clearly concerned.

“My appointments at ten o’clock, so we have to be out early. I can chip in for gas or we can drive it in shifts if you want, or I can find my own way back if you need-” he cut you off.

“Y/N. It’s not a big deal, I’ll pick you up at seven thirty, okay? If you wanna help, you can bring me a coffee, okay?” he replied easily. Steve was being too giving, too genuine, and it made your skin crawl, like he was watching you.

But you nodded, you got him to spill how he liked his coffee, you held back your giggles when he admitted just how much cream and sugar he needed to make the stuff drinkable, you said polite goodbyes and you thanked him again. Then you went to bed, not bothering to wish your parents a good night. Your body felt impossibly tired, a week of anxiety crashing through your body and pushing into dreamland.

Your alarm rang out a six o’clock the next morning, pushing your groggy body out of bed and into the shower, finally finding the energy to wash your greasy hair, eyes closed so you wouldn’t look at your stomach, which you swore was getting bigger every time you looked at it. You dressed cautiously, pulling on the thick knit skirt your mother had insisted you’d need for something, wondering to yourself if this was what she meant. You pulled on warm layers and tied your hair into a thick black scrunchie at the top of your head, messy and tangled and wet but away from your neck.

Your parents were still asleep, they wouldn’t leave for Gary till later that morning, giving you plenty of time to get in and get out without question. You tip toed down the stairs, stepping over the well known squeaky step and into the kitchen. You pulled out a paper coffee filter and dropped it into the top of the machine, filling it with grounds and flicking on the power button, the sound of the water boiling filling your senses. You remembered that you couldn’t have caffeine before the procedure, so you pulled out the electric kettle, boiling a separate pot for you as you dug through the various teas your mother bought on various whims, trying to find something without caffeine that wouldn’t taste like absolute crap. You finally decided on just have honey and lemon, pretending that you were sick made the whole trip feel more normal to you.

You pour the hot drinks into two Styrofoam cup, pouring honey and dropping sliced lemon into yours and enough sugar and cream into the other to make nearly white. You kept your eyes on the Harrington house, hoping that Steve remembered his promise to you.

You scrawled a note to your parents on a scrap piece of paper which you pinned to the refrigerator door.

“Mom and dad,

Me and Vicki decided to go for breakfast before driving into Greenville, say hi to Aunt Shelly and Uncle Marvin for me, I’ll call there when I get home. See you on Sunday!

~Y/N”

You heard a horn honk outside the house, your eyes snapped up to see Steve waving at you from his driveway, his eyes sleepy and his smile wide and soft. You waved tentatively back, pulling your purse onto your shoulders, popping plastic lids on the cups and marching towards the door, forcing a bright smile on your face as you crossed the street to meet him.

“You ready to go?” Steve asked, taking the cup from you with nod of thanks.

You nodded “Yeah, let’s do this.” Steve chuckled, popping the passenger seat door open for you, letting you in with a silly sweep of the hand, earning a little giggle from you. It was going to be a long drive.

Despite music playing from Steve’s stereo, the silence in the car was unbearable. You’d run out of things to talk about fairly quickly, Steve avoided the topic of your appointment out of politeness, but as Chicago grew closer, he needed to know where he was going.

And he worried about you. Ever since middle school when he broke your heart, he’d kept his eye on you, trying to ensure that you were happy and secure in your life. At first he felt like it was an obligation, a way of apologizing to you beyond words, but it became second nature to him, watching out for you as though you were one of his own, a prototype to the way he’d come to watch the middle schoolers he’d adopted. He’d punched out your first boyfriend, a squirmy boy named Brian, after he’d told their entire gym class how bad you were in bed. Did he have a good excuse? No, but listening to some kid treat you so terribly behind your back made his blood boil, igniting a fire behind his eyes and tightening his core. Driving you to Chicago felt like another obligation in watching you, making sure that you were still okay. But it bothered him to watch you twitch in the seat next to him.

“So,” he broached the silence with a brave, easy smile, “Where’re we going here?” he asked, the sign signalling Chicago was only five miles away.

You had been tearing the edges of the map in your lap, trying to calm your twitching hands and racing heart. You reached into your bag, pulling out the yellow legal pad you’d written the directions on, scanning the chicken scrawl for a sign of legible instructions.

“We’re looking for North Humberland Court.” You read, eyes locked on the page. You refused to admit where you were actually going, to admit that it would make it real and you refused to believe that it actually was. You weren’t going to a clinic to have an abortion with Steve Harrington.

“Alright…” he muttered, scanning signs for the street you’d named. The fact that you were so quiet made him nervous. Something was wrong, even he could sense it. “So why couldn’t your parents drive you out here? To the doctor I mean.”

“Like I told you, they’re going to visit some family today, they needed the car. I’m old enough to handle this stuff without them anyway…” you replied quickly.

“Why schedule an appointment if they knew they wouldn’t be in town?” he asked. God, sometimes you wondered if Steve Harrington had any sort of deduction skill. In this case, it worked in your favour.

“It was a mistake, they told me to cancel but it was hard to get and I wasn’t gonna wait around for another chance.” You told him, finding a relaxed smile, leaning back in the chair for the first time in the entire drive.

Steve hummed “Right…” he looked at you for just a second, catching the look of anxious fear in your eyes that made his heart lurch and made him drive faster. You looked almost scary-the smile looked so natural, but your eyes were so far from matching, you almost looked like a psychopath.

“They don’t know that you’re out here, do you?” he said, a smirk pulling at the corners of his mouth. Your head snapped to look at him, shocked that he’d figured it out, which felt silly in retrospect-Steve wasn’t stupid, he just had no forethought when he spoke, making him seem dumber than he actually was.

You opened your mouth to retort, but you had nothing. Instead, you sighed, looking away. “Look, it’s just one of those things.” You said.

“I need to know where we’re going here, Y/N, like are we actually even going to the doctor at all?” he pressed.

“We are going to the doctor, I didn’t lie about that.” You replied. Steve watched you for a second, looking for more cracks in your façade. But your smile had dropped, your face finally expressing what your eyes had been screaming the whole ride. He nodded, turning down the long street you had requested.

“Just tell me where to turn.” He muttered and you nodded, muttering back “Stay in the left lane…”

North Humberland was a longer street than you’d expected, but halfway down in a small, unassuming building, was the Planned Parenthood. You nodded for Steve to turn, watching him for a sign of something, anything. You wanted to know if he judged you, if he was scared or hurt or disgusted-if everyone saw you the way you saw yourself. But he didn’t look like he felt any of those things, he looked eerily calm and comfortable with this scenario, as though he’d been there before. Maybe he had, you realized in that moment how little you knew about him.

There were a few sparse protestors outside, all in pink shirts with Bristol board signs, declaring that you were a baby killer and that abortion is murder. You hadn’t thought much about what you were doing, it just felt like a chore to you like an annual check up or a teeth cleaning. You hadn’t even realized what was inside you was technically a life to these people, a baby to these hallowed few. Watching them and their signs walk their picket line, their glares and scowls targeting your car as you pulled in. They had their teeth bared and their fists clenched tightly around their signs like weapons.

You looked to Steve, in almost the same way you’d look to your parents as a small child, for guidance and support. He sent you a small smile and nodded towards the front door, waiting for you to make the first move. You let out a sigh, pulling your bag off the floor and popping open the side door, dropping your feet onto the pavement. Steve stuck close to you, his hand pressed into the small of your back, pushing you past the screaming hoard who called you a murderer and a sinner.

The girl who answered your call, Amy, was at the desk, her false smile and terrible phone voice matched her face; she looked like the head cheerleader forced to be nice to everyone. She handed you your paperwork and verified your I.D, both of you knowing that it was fake but neither saying anything. You took a seat in the plastic chair, propping the clipboard on your knee. Steve sat next to you, you hadn’t realized that he had taken your hand while you were handling receptionist Amy until he let you go, and you oddly missed it when he let go.

“I wish you’d told me…” Steve whispered, slouching down in his chair to whisper into your ear, arms crossed over his chest.

You rolled your eyes “What was I supposed to say, Steve? Hey, I know we’re not really friends but I need an abortion, wanna come with? Yeah, I’m sure you’d love that call, totally would’ve gotten me a ride here…” you shot back, crossing your arms defiantly over your chest. You felt younger than you actually were, like an angry preteen rather than the girl about the head to college in just a few months.

“Would’ve been better than lying to me...” Steve seemed hurt by your small lie, in a way you didn’t quite understand. You’d done nothing to hurt him; nothing about this situation even truly involved him. It made your blood boil-for once, something wasn’t about him and he had to get his emotions all in it.

“I didn’t lie!” you snapped “I told you I have an appointment in Chicago and I do, it just so happens to be the appointment.”

Steely silence covered you like a blanket. Steve knew you were right, he knew he was in the wrong here. But he couldn’t look at you, it hurt too bad. If he had chosen to stick around, to be genuinely be your friend and not creep around in the shadows of your life. He was sure he could’ve stopped this, he could’ve stopped whatever the hell happened here.

“You don’t have to sit here with me, you know, you can go, like I said I can find my own way back.” You said softly, not bothering to look at him. You couldn’t bring yourself to.

“No, no I’m-I’m not abandoning you in Chicago.” Steve replied “Jesus, Y/N, what kind of person would I be if I just left you here?” it was a rhetorical question, but you thought long about an answer, and not just some snarky comeback, but an actual argument.

You couldn’t think of one. So, instead, you focused on the forms in hand, filling out your health information and signing on the dotted and solid lines. Steve watched you, taking in your little moments of thought and annoyance, the little huffs and the way you chewed on the end of the pen, tapping your fingers on the clipboard in a rapid, uneven pace.

“Y/N?” he asked quietly, his voice almost childlike, like a toddler about to ask his mother an innocent, wide eyed question, tiny hands gripping long skirts.

“What?” you replied, not looking up from the page, trying to remember if you were allergic to any medications, your mother always filling out these forms for you at your family doctor’s office.

“What happened?” he asked, intentionally vague. You both knew what he was asking and the question upset you. Maybe it was just because you were ashamed and embarrassed, but you felt deeply angered by the question.

“Are you trying to ask how I got pregnant? Come on Steve, you know how this shit works.” You replied, chuckling bitterly.

Steve rolled his eyes, his cheeks turning the slightly pink shade. “You know what I mean…” he

“I made a stupid mistake, Steve, it happens. Won’t let it happen again...” You told him, standing up to return the clipboard to bitchy Amy, who smacked her blue bubblegum at you, ushering in the heavily pregnant woman with the green hair and her spiky looking boyfriend.

“Where’s the guy who made the mistake?” Steve asked when you returned. You cocked your eyebrow, urging him to elaborate. “Unless you’re the Virgin Mary, there had to be a guy to help with this problem, where is he? Who is he?”

You smirked “No, no you guessed right. I’m carrying the next saviour and, unlike her, I want out.”

Steve shook his head “Y/N…” he pressed.

You sighed “Look the guy isn’t here because I didn’t tell him, which is for the best seeing as how it was a stupid one night stand and he wouldn’t give a shit about it.” You said, balling your hands into fists, focusing on the white plastic bin of condoms on the front desk, rainbow coloured and screaming ‘You’re sexually active and we want the world to know!’

“What a shit head…” Steve muttered.

You laughed “Yeah, you’d think that...” you brushed a loose strand of hair out of your eyes “You’d probably kill him anyway, or try.”

“Oh yeah? How do you know? I don’t try to fight everyone.” Steve looked you over, leaning his elbow on the arm of the stiff chair, turning his whole body towards you.

You looked him over. He looked far too relaxed to be in a sex clinic, it was both calming and infuriating. “Oh you would...you’re always looking for an excuse to fight with Hargrove...” you grinned, matching his body language, your faces only inches from one another.

Steve’s jaw dropped to the floor and he fell back in his chair, earning a loud laugh from you. He looked so offended, so surprised by the news, like he hadn’t heard every rumour about your indiscretions since freshman year. You stood your ground as Hawkins’s whore of Babylon, leading on the youth of Hawkins to sin as you had, although you didn’t see it as a sin to fool around.

“Oh come on, Stevie, you heard about Lizzie Bishop’s party. Everyone was at that one! I swear even you made a cameo.” You continued, nudging him with your elbow.

“You…you let Billy Hargrove knock you up?” he asked, watching you with wide eyes.

Your good mood dropped away immediately, replaced with annoyance and anger. “I wasn’t trying to get pregnant, Steve, I’ve been on the pill since I was twelve. It just happened. I’m not pretending that it wasn’t stupid.”

“I just…it’s Billy! The guy is a walking advertisement for plan B!” he cried, slapping his knee.

A heavy blush grew up your neck and over your cheeks “Look…you’re right. He’s awful!” you laughed awkwardly, dropping your head into your hands, more embarrassed than amused.

“He’s such a dick!” Steve laughed loudly, but stopped when he looked over at you. You’d finally broken, a small sob wracking through your body. He quickly wrapped an arm around you, rubbing your shoulders. “Y/N...Y/N I’m sorry I shouldn’t have-”

“He’s awful!” you moaned, lifting your head to reveal the tears streaming down your face, your eyes red and shining with tears. “And-and you know what? You wanna know the saddest part?” you stuttered, trying to catch your breath in between words “He’s not even good in bed.”

“What?” Steve asked, reaching over to wipe the tears off your face. The touch should’ve been intimate, it really was, but you were acting so strange; you seemed both deeply upset and a little humoured by the whole scenario.

“He’s a shit lay!” you cried. Steve snorted, he couldn’t help it. You looked so sad but the situation was so comical, he couldn’t hold back the laughter pooling in his stomach. His whole body curled inwards, shaking with suppressed giggles and snorts, his feet kicking in the air.

“I’m serious! He’s absolutely awful in bed!” you said seriously, a small smile coming to your lips, your face warm from the slight embarrassment on the conversation and the raw emotions still swirling around your head. “I don’t know how it’s possible I mean fuck! Brian Frey was better than him in bed and he was a damn virgin! I don’t think I’ve ever been further from an orgasm in my life!”

The whole scene was ridiculous-you and Steve looked like a pair of preteens, giggling over dirty words and sex jokes with an air of secrecy and innocence, hiding the dirty nature of the words like they’d be in trouble if anyone found out. In the context of the clinic, sterile waiting room, they look out of place and wrong, the other woman waiting quietly for her turn watching them with a look of shock and confusion, the joke lost on him.

You heard someone clear their throat and you looked up, wiping away tears with your knuckle. Amy was staring at you with an angry expression, she nodded to the doctor standing at the door, a kind looking woman with salt and pepper hair and pink scrubs. “Lydia Olsten?” she asked, looking up from the clipboard with a polite smile. It took you a second to remember your fake name, but when you caught it you nodded, standing up quickly, slinging your purse over your shoulder. Steve followed suit, wiping his palms on his jeans.

You looked to him quickly, shaking your head. You whispered “I gotta strip down in there, can you just wait out here?”  

Steve nodded, deflating slightly “Right…” he murmured. You turned to follow the doctor, lost by the events of the day. It felt so normal for him to want to come in with you, like he was your boyfriend or your protector or something. Maybe it was normal. Either way, you were glad to have him waiting for you, to not be alone in the waiting room when it was done.

The procedure took longer than you expected, but the doctor was kind enough and the anaesthesia was heavy enough to not feel anything. After it was over, you were told to sit in the examination room for thirty minutes before leaving and to not drive yourself home. You assumed that Amy at the front desk parlayed this information to you, because he was allowed into the room soon after the thirty minutes had began.

“What’s up, kiddo? How’re you feeling?” Steve asked, sitting down on the edge of the examination table.

You scoffed, rolling your eyes “We’re the same age, weirdo...” you sighed “I’m fine, just tired, I think it’s from the anaesthetic.”

“Right...well, we can head out of here whenever you’re ready. I’ll just be in the waiting room, alright?” he said softly, taking your hand in his and squeezing it softly. You nodded, waving as he left the room again. You took your time getting up and getting dressed again. Your body felt strange and sore and you were dizzy from the painkillers in your system. It took you probably ten minutes to get out of the room, but Steve was still there when you got out of the room. It warmed your heart a little bit, even though you knew he’d still be there. It was nice to have someone still waiting for you. You were used to guys who didn’t stick around.

Steve helped you to the car, wrapping an arm protectively around your shoulders, ushering into the passenger seat and rushing out of the parking lot as the protestors continued their brigade of abuse towards the middling groups of girls entering the clinic.

The drive back to Hawkins was more comfortable than the way there. You didn’t feel the urge to keep quiet, it helped that you weren’t in the throes of deep anxiety and sadness. You felt more at ease with your surroundings and more comfortable talking and laughing with Steve, letting the open windows blast cool air through your hair and watching Steve laugh and grin with a certain sense of satisfaction, just because you were making him laugh and smile. It was nice, fun even. Steve was fun to be around, you’d forgotten that.

The drive was too short for your liking; you’d been having too much fun to notice the time pass by. Steve pulled into your cul-de-sac, parking in front of your house. His was just across the street, he could’ve parked in his own driveway, it would’ve been easier for him. Still, you didn’t complain, you popped open the door before Steve could pull the hero chivalry act again.

 “Well...thanks for the help, Steve, I really owe you one.” You said with a small sigh, pulling the thick blue cardigan up onto your shoulder again.

“Don’t mention it.” Steve rubbed his arm awkwardly. You gave him a small wave and turned to head towards your house, but Steve grabbed your wrist and gently pulled you back “Wait!”

You turned, flashing him a bemused smile and raised eyebrow. “Listen...this is probably weird, but do you wanna maybe go out sometime?” he asked, looking down at his shoes.

Your smile dropped away and you looked towards the trees behind Steve’s house “I don’t know if I can really stomach dating right now...not after this whole thing...” you gestured towards your stomach quickly, uncomfortable with the saying the words too close to your parent’s house. They weren’t home yet, their car missing from the driveway, but you were still nervous.

Steve nodded, kicking at the pebbles near the curb. You squeezed your eyes shut “It’s not as if I wouldn’t, in any other context I’d say yes, but right now is...”

“Not the best time.” Steve finished, looking up to meet your eye again. He flashed you a lopsided grin “I get it. I’ll just wait for you.”

Your eyes widened slightly “Steve, you have to do that I mean I don’t know when I’m ever going to want to date again, I don’t want you to waste your time...” you said softly, wringing your hands.

Steve shook his head “I’m not worried.” He turned to climb back into his car, turning back to look at you with a smirk “I’m driving you to school tomorrow.”

“But-” you tried but Steve cut you off.

“This isn’t a debate; you’re not walking to school in the cold when I live literally across the street.” Steve chuckled, climbing into the driver’s seat.

You nodded, biting back a small smile “I’ll bring you another coffee then...” you said “See you around...” you turned on your heels heading inside.

You didn’t know what he was trying to do, but you weren’t mad about it.

[minbbydoll]

Dauntless - 전 정국 (002)

↳ Pairing : Yandere Dauntless born!Jungkook x Divergent!Reader

↳ Genres : Angst, smut, action, fluff, adventure

↳ Summary : There are five factions; Abnegation/Selflessness, Erudite/Intelligence, Dauntless/Bravery, Amity/Peacefulness, and Candor/Honesty. These five factions are the way of life, everything you’ve only ever known but what happens when the test fails you and you get caught in a web of lies. Trust the test they say, it’ll be okay they say, what happens when it’s not okay.

↳ Word count : 2.4k

↳ Warnings : Just kook losing his shit(just a tiny bit), mentions of blood(just barely), might offend Koreans ¯\_(ツ)_/¯  (everything is offensive nowadays), a little bit of a panic/anxiety attack, kook being a little sweetie (if you squint)

-

"[Name]!” You turned to look at who called you and it was Jungkook, he smiled at you and walked towards you. “I was waiting for you.” You looked down smiling, “You were waiting for me?” Jungkook nodded and clasped your hand before looking into your eyes, “Of course I’d wait for you, I’d do anything for you, anything.” The meaning he held behind those words was something far beyond your imagination. “Anyway, what’d you get for your faction?” He let go of your hand and leaned in closer to you while whisper-chanting dauntless. You shook your head, “Amity.” He looked down and pouted, “Does that mean I have to learn more about amity?” You shook your head again, “You’ll find out at the choosing ceremony.” He playfully smacked your shoulder, “What if I go before you and choose wrong.” You playfully shrugged, “Don’t know, just pray you don’t or just pray you choose right.” He put a hand over his heart pretending to be offended, “Bold of you to assume I pray.” “Bold of you to assume that I pray.” He laughed at your repeat and slung an arm over your shoulder. “You wanna see something?” You looked up at him and nodded, “Yeah count me in.” - “Woah, this is so cool!” Jungkook shrugged and placed a bowl of chips on the table in front of you. “I thought all the game boys were destroyed during the war.” Jungkook took a chip and placed it in his mouth, “It’s been in my family for awhile so…want some?” He offered the bowl of chips to you, “Oh I don’t eat chips.” Jungkook’s jaw dropped, “Never?!” You shook your head no, “Oh my god, you know what, you better love and appreciate me because I’ll probably have to give up chips for you. You’ll never find a man to ever do that.” You snorted while focusing on a Disney princess game that was in the game boy, “Okay, I’ll let you have that one.” All of abnegation has never eaten chips before, so it wouldn’t be that hard to find someone like that but you’d let him have that one. “Come on, try one.” You paused the game and shifted your head towards him. He held out a chip for you while smiling. “No, I can’t.” Jungkook pouted, “Come on do it for me, you’ve got to be brave and do this, you’re not going to represent abnegation soon anyway.” “Stop trying to find out what I’m going to prefer.” Because I don’t even know myself. Jungkook shrugged, “It was worth a try.” He sighed dejected before opening his mouth and putting the chip in, only to have you steal it from him and eat it instead. “Plus, don’t try to predict me; I’m unpredictable.” Jungkook clapped, “That’s my girl, how was your first chip?” You licked your lips, “It was…new, spicy, and good.” “Good? I’ll take it.” You unconsciously looked at the clock and at the floor then did a double take, “Sorry Jungkook, I’ve got to go back home.” Jungkook looked at you with wide eyes, “But this is your home, why would you want to go back to abnegation?” You paused, “Because my family lives there with me, I can’t stay here Jungkook.”You got up from the couch and stretched your arms, Jungkook thought for a little before deciding you probably want to say bye to your family, who would he be to deny you such a sweet request, he nodded. “Okay fine, let me walk you home.” You unlocked his front door, “No, it’s okay.”He clutched your wrist and hauled you out the door, “It wasn’t a question, I’m walking you home.” - “Bye [Name].” Jungkook gave you a hug and watched you walk into your house before turning around and walking back. He stopped as he saw a modest family, a happy mom and dad and two adorable children. “I swear [Name], we’ll have that no matter what I have to do.” - “[Name], where were you, why’d you take so long?” You put down a plate in front of your mom, “I was puzzled by the faction I got so I took a walk.”Your mom observed you suspiciously,“What was your test result, both of you.” “I got abnegation.” You mother and father nodded before turning to you, “I got amity.”You looked down at your food,“Are you sure?” You nodded, “But I’m most likely not going to choose amity.” Your family nodded and resumed your humble ordinary meal consisting of the traditional chicken, canned green peas, and a slice of brown bread. - How did you get amity [Name]?”You turned to Jinyoung, “I don’t know it just happened, finish washing the dishes so I can dry them.” He nodded, “That’s weird because you’re definitely not abnegation but you’re definitely not amity.” You lightly hit Jinyoung’s chest, “I can be both if I want to.” Jinyoung snorted, “You can be one not both, besides it doesn’t matter you have to choose at the ceremony and you have to stick to it.” Jinyoung could note how your content mood seemed to dampen, and he turned towards you seriously, “Listen [Name] I love you and so I’m only going to say this once, I know you care for our family but do what you desire. I know you’re confused, but this is one choice you can’t change, when you go up there don’t think, just choose.” “Jinyoung, what about mom and dad, what about you?” Jinyoung wiped his hands concealed with suds off with a towel and lightly touched your shoulder, “Hey don’t worry about us sis, no matter what we choose they’ll still love us, blood before faction.” You nodded, “Come on, let’s finish.” - You and Jinyoung were walking close together as you both stepped into the large choosing ceremony hall, your heart rate was erratic and your hands were shaking from nervousness. Jinyoung gripped your hand and smiled at you before gesturing his head towards the abnegation section where everyone else was. You couldn’t help your field of vision going to stop at the dauntless section, and your eyes instantly found his like he was already monitoring you. You gave him a slight wave and smile before turning back to Jinyoung and walking to where both your parents sat. “Psst!” Jungkook turned to his friend Jimin, “What do you want Jimin?” Jimin’s eyebrows furrowed, “Firstly that’s hyung to you asshole and secondly who was that girl?” Jungkook frowned, was Jimin looking at you, why would he look at you, did he love you too? Before Jungkook could answer Jimin; Park Shin-hye from erudite cleared her throat before starting her speech. “Welcome everyone to the choosing ceremony, where you will become full members of our society, where you will trust yourself, and know yourself, this system is what keeps us alive, what keeps us going so everyone please trust in the system but not only the system, trust yourself.” Shin-hye walked more towards the center, “The future belongs to those who know where they belong, the future belongs to those that are certain they know who they are.” Shin-hye stepped back and abnegation’s Kim Sunggyu stepped forward, “Everyone when we leave this room we will all be full members of our society, we will know where we belong and we will lead happy lives, remember forever and always, faction before blood!” Everyone in the room yelled out the same phrase they’ve known since forever, your knee couldn’t stop bouncing from nervousness as you listened to names being called out. “Kim Namjoon!” Your eyes followed said boy as he walked up confidently and clutched the knife before choosing the faction he was born in; erudite. For people like him it was easy, Namjoon is an intelligent person above all else, he knows that being intelligent is who he is and that he couldn’t last a second in a place like amity. “Erudite!” “Park Jinyoung!” Your brother gave you a faint smile before getting up and walking towards the center, Jinyoung closed his eyes before taking a deep breath. Jinyoung had to make a choice, a choice that could significantly influence yours, a choice that he can’t take back, Jinyoung sliced his skin before holding his hand over erudite. Your heart dropped into your stomach as you heard Sunggyu call out erudite, if you choose the faction you want your parents will both be left alone. A single shaky breath came out of you as you tried to calm down your up coming anxiety attack, you couldn’t have one right now. Could you really be so selfish as to choose another faction, could you really leave your parents alone, your parents both looked at you shocked you bit your lip as you felt tears well up in your eyes, you couldn’t choose another faction now, not after witnessing the devastation, humiliation, and broken look in both their eyes. “Park [Name]!” You held your heart as you tried to stand on trembling legs, the fact that crowds aren’t your strong point doesn’t help at all. Once you finally made it, up there, you picked up the knife and held it up above your open palm. You could feel everyone’s eyes on you, it felt like they were judging you, like they were taking about how cruel you were for wanting to leave your parents, you cut into your skin and squeezed your palm to get a drop of blood. You held your hand over abnegation, surely you couldn’t leave your parents, you couldn’t bring them the shame of having both of their children defect but in that moment you saw your blood almost go into abnegation’s bowl you heard something, , someone; Jinyoung to be exact. “I know you care for our family but do what you want. I know you’re confused but this is one choice you can’t change, when you go up there don’t think just choose.” Jinyoung’s voice stuck in your head don’t think just choose, don’t think just choose. You hastily moved your hand to dauntless’ bowl just as your blood drop fell, the smoke hit your hand as you slowly retracted, your choice has been made and nothing can change it. “Dauntless!” You don’t know why but you turned to look at your parents just for a second, just one more second because deep down you know you’ll never see them again. You regret it because the last time you looked at them, they looked at you with hope and love but this time you could see the disappointment your father’s eyes held as he hugged your sobbing mother tightly. The pressure of living in Korea was just so difficult sometimes, you’ve heard of stories that teens only had to worry about grades and family business things before the war but now you have the added on pressure of choosing a faction, a place were you belong. It was even worse that you weren’t fully Korean; you were expected to be more because you were some kind of half-breed. Sure abnegation is supposed to be selfless but old habits are hard to break.

Most of the Koreans that survived the war were hard, unforgiving, and just utterly terrible and unfortunately they past it on, there was a lot of secret shame and disgust for those who chose to deflect from their home faction.

Even though they don’t say it all, the higher ups want everyone to stay in the faction they were born in. They don’t want anyone to travel out of their home faction, what if they become divergent, then they’re harder to control.

The loud cheering of dauntless filled your ears and that's what snapped you out of your upset state. You gave a stoic smile as some dauntless girls and boys cheered around you welcoming you to their home faction. Jungkook made sure to hover over you and not let any hands go near you.

Jungkook grasped your hand and moved you to sit down next to him as the hype of welcoming you calmed down.  You nervously fidgeted with your thumbs and eyes teared up, sure you were happy that you were finally in dauntless but you still couldn't get your parents' look out of your eyes.

Jungkook intertwined his hand in yours immediately sensing your distress, "What's wrong baby?” The name given made your heart flutter, it made you feel a bit better having his comfort somehow with your trust issues you easily trust someone you barely know. 

“My mom and dad— t-they hate me, don’t they?” Jungkook swore he could feel his heart break at your voice crack and watery eyes, “No, no, of course not honey, they’re just upset that they can’t keep you to themselves anymore. I know I would be so devastated if I couldn’t see you again,” Jungkook’s grip on your hand tightened at the thought of not being able to see you again.

He wants to hurt your parents, hurt them for making you sad, hurt them for making him think such indescribable thoughts, how could they make you cry, how could they hurt you like that? Jungkook balled the hand that wasn’t holding you into a fist, he should punch and punch and punch and punch until your parents are begging for him to stop.

He wants them to beg on their knees and cry out, he wants their blood to be spread all over the floor as they admit to the horrid sins they committed, the unforgiving sin of making you cry. 

You wince as Jungkook’s hold on your hand gets unbearable, he looks so angry, you’re glad he cares so much, nobody’s ever cared so much about you sad enough to admit not even your parents. 

You allow him to squeeze your hand as he slowly calms down, “I’m sorry [Name], I promise you’re safe with me, I’ll protect you, I promise.” 

@alyxandraz​

[xserpentlife]

Look at Me

Requested: @thatsouthsidebitch  - Hey are your requests still open? If so, dancing with Sweet Pea after reader comes home from work. Thank you!!💕💕

A/N: I hope you don’t mind, I am going to write this as a headcanon. Also, I do not do headcanons often so if the format is wrong I am sorry. 

Warnings: None

Word Count: 1220

 - You had a really tough day at work, a tough day in general

- First, you woke up late, then your car wouldn’t start 

- Luckily Sweet Pea let you borrow his truck, but it still lead you to be late to work

- When you got to work you realized you forgot your laptop meaning you didn’t have your notes for the staff meeting, due to that you were not engaged at all

- Then, of course, the project you had been working on almost failed completely because one of the people in your workgroup didn’t do their part

- You have to take over and completely do their section, however, that did not matter at all because a few hours later your worst nightmare happened

- You got called into your bosses office

- Instant yelling ensued, you took the blame, then tried to explain what occurred and that you were working on a fix but to her, it didn’t matter

- All she cared was that your job was not completed 

- Then the words came “I could fire you, you know. You deserve to be fired you’ve never been great at your job”

- “I...”

- “But I’m not going to, I know you need this job I mean with where you live and all so... fix the issues and be on time with your notes for our daily meeting”

- You stood not moving, not speaking

- “You can leave now”

- You took your leave after that then began working double-time trying to finish the work that wasn’t even supposed to be your job in the first place

- It took you three hours after your shift ended to finish.

- Pea had texted you hours ago your only response “Can’t talk, boss mad, terrible day, trying to hold the tears in” 

- “It’ll be okay, I love you and I’ll see you when you get home okay” and throughout the time you were still there, random messages from him came

- “Tomorrow will be better”, “I love you”, “You got this”, etc

- It helped a bit and though you didn’t respond he still messaged you every half hours something fo you just to know he was with you, and it meant so much to you

- You were finally done and got into your car instantly breaking down, the anxieties, fears, and sadness from the day overwhelming you completely. 

- You called Pea through tears telling him you were on your way home.

- “Want me to come to pick you up?”

- “no, I’m fine”

- “I don’t mind” 

-”no Pea really plus I have your truck”

- “babe I got the bike plus I got your car running”

- “You did”

- “mhm, now you sure you don’t want me to come?”

- “no”

- “okay but promise me you won’t drive till you calm down a bit”

- “I promise” 

- You spent 20 more minutes calming yourself down before finally diving and making it back to your shared home with Sweet Pea

- As soon as the truck turned off he was at your door as you got out wrapping you in his arms knowing it was exactly what you needed. You were gonna cry but you were trying to hold it together knowing he always hated when you cried.

- “let’s go inside bub”

- “okay”

- Stepping inside you instantly smelled your favorite dinner and saw it on plates at your little table in front of the couches

- “thankyou pea”

- “I made dinner all the time babe you don’t need to thank me”

- “I know but today it just means so much more”

- “let’s just eat okay” After you both finished he grabbed your plates and put them into the sink 

- walking back to you sitting by the couch, but before turning to you he turned out he radio you had, ‘your song’ instantly coming on like he had it all prepared, but maybe it was just fate

- He grabbed your hand lifting you to your feet before bringing your bodies close together

- “Pea”

- “Dance with me”

- “okay”

- As you danced along the emotions were just building and building and as your forehead hit his shoulder, and you felt the warmth radiating off of him you broke down. he was your favorite person, your safe place, the person you could be you around. being so close you couldn’t hold in your emotions anymore. And you cried and cried, as he held you tighter with every sob that left you

- “Babe what’s going on”

- “Everything”

- “Was work that bad?”

- You told him everything after that, even what your boss said to you about where you lived, about how you were not good enough, everything... everything except the fact that she threatened to fire you. You felt him tense instantly

- “She doesn’t have the right”

- “She’s my boss” 

- “Doesn’t matter she has no right to talk to you like that when you work your ass off for her. You work your ass off every damn day, hell you helped her build that company without her”

- “Clearly I didn’t do enough since she almost fired me” he pulled you away a bit

- “She what!”

- “Threatened it sid if she wanted she could and she’s right fuck I don’t even like this goddamn job but I need it I can’t lose it what if she fired me what if...” He put his hand to your cheek while still swaying a bit, but the touch stopped your inner turmoil. 

- “Your a good worker, and she can threaten you all she wants but she is not worth your tears bub. She is not worth a single one, you are one of the best workers that she has, plus baby if you don’t like the job then quit”

- “I can’t quit, Pea we need the money”

- “All I want is for you to be happy and if you’re not happy there than I want you to be somewhere else or nowhere else I don’t care. As long as your happy we will figure it out”

- “Pea... I”

- “No, seriously Y/N what were you telling me when I hated college and my job but paid all that money for it?”

- “that even if you would lose the years worth of tuitions and that even though you were in debt from it, it wasn’t worth working in the field you got the degree in unless you were happy”

- “exactly and we figured that out, and you are not happy either so now is the time that you do the same shit I did, just think about it babe you deserve happiness. Do you wanna stay there?”

- You broke down once again. “No, I fucking hate it every day I just wanna leave Pea, but I just can’t leave I need a backup plan first okay”

- “okay” 

- “Fuck Pea I am so sorry. You made this perfect dinner and I ruined it with all of this”

- “Hey, hey, hey look at me. We will deal with this tomorrow, you’re not alone baby you have me” As his finger brought your eyes to his “just dance with me” 

- “ Okay” and all you did was dance, as the only thoughts in your head was the fact that you had Pea, the fact that you were not alone, and the fact that no matter what you did, what mistakes you made, no matter what you would have him, and that made everything okay. 

[alitheamateur]

The Grind- Chapter 13

431 days. A tragus piercing. A black pencil tattoo permanently etched at the highest point of my right ribcage, and shadow roots in my sandy hair thanks to Becca, my new hairstylist recommended my latest friend, Tia. All things refreshed and renewed in the life of Liv Elliott. Single Liv Elliott. Okay, nearly all. One thing most certainly, and sorely remained the same. My beating heart was still smashed like a steel mallet had turned loose on it. Sure, the festering emotional cut of our breakup was beginning to mend with time. But, we all know with a healing cut, comes a forever scar. Not a scar representing a victorious battle, or a valiant effort. But one of sheer, naïve stupidity.  I choked on a daily spoonful of utter confusion wondering where the road took such a drastic detour towards that killer cliff we had so recklessly plunged from. I constantly fought the burning urge to scratch and claw my way back up the side of that treacherous mountain to find my way back to the earliest road. The road with Colton as my copilot. 

I so graciously allowed myself 2 weeks to hide away. Flounder in tears, Rocky Road, and maybe even a drunken bonfire of most photographic evidence that Colton ever existed. I avoided mascara all together, concluding that some point of my day would inevitably lead to a blubbering breakdown as I hid in the office bathroom. I rearranged the entire span of my apartment, hopeful maybe the new positions of furniture would confuse the ghosts of him that all too often appeared laid out comfortably on the couch, ankles crossed during a Sunday nap. Or slumbering face down with one hand under a pillow and the other stretched out toward the opposite side of the bed, lips loose in sleeping breathes. I couldn’t outrun the flashbacks no matter the effort. Even still, he haunts me on a Saturday morning at The Grind, or on a Tuesday night at my place with takeout from the B-rated Chinese joint down the street. However now, the sickness of utmost sadness, overcome with a rancorous flood of anger instead. Mostly with Colton, rightfully so. But myself as well. The foolish, undignified way I had just fallen under his potent spell, I might as well have just dropped to my knees and waved the white flag the second he introduced himself. And yet, the unsolved mystery remained. HE had said he loved me first. Sure, I felt it near the moment he kissed me after our run through the city that morning, but I chose to bury the words for another time. Colton on the other hand, had no problem spouting off his revelation to me. Nor did he stutter on the admittance of apparently “thinking with his dick” when it came to the matter of our meeting that fateful morning either. One thing I was able to confirm, was the son of a bitch clearly suffered a severe case of habitual word vomit.

The Pilot for me was a bit of a safe haven in a war zone, it being a place I could hide from the demons a bit. My new title at the paper requiring me to cover all things fighting within a 100-mile radius on the other hand, posed a bit of an issue. Thank the holy heavens I had avoided the press conference for his first match following our demise, due to the short, paid hiatus I took to visit Westfield. A taste of nostalgia and familiarity seemed like suitable therapy for a maimed heart, and maybe a good caudle from my parents. An attempted one, at least.

Tony and Elizabeth, said parents, were good parents in general. I won’t take that away from their accomplishments. But when basketball gracefully bowed out of my life, their involvement followed suit. Dad & I always had ball as that bonding clue to hold us tightly together. Saturday mornings following Friday night games always began with film, 150 free throws out back on the handcrafted mock court he’d constructed for me, ending at Al’s Diner for pancakes. That first fateful Saturday after my knee surgery, we tried to replay the film and retreat to Al’s, but when the conversing concerning if I’d pass the current scoring record at Westfield High, or whether I would commit to University of Louisville or SIU no longer applied, we drifted. When the “basketball dad” shadow from the sticker he peeled from the rear window of his pickup truck faded, a hefty portion of the pride he held for his daughter did too.

As far as a closeness with mom, there truly wasn’t much. She preformed the expected team mom duties by hosting bake sale fundraisers, and chaperoning homecoming dances. But that dependable shoulder never pushed much further in the emotional realm of a relationship with me. My dad & I had always held a special closeness, leaving her to feel somewhat shoved to the proverbial back burner. I was never much for the “foofy” tea parties, or pageant queen aspirations she had, which no doubt drove the wedge deeper between the two of us. But, when I moved so far away, it seemed distance, and time had healed some wounds in our connection. When I arrived at the simple square, two story siding home on Lake Lane, my first friend in life, our Collie, Indiana nearly mounted to hood of my car to get to me. No doubt, his name sake my dads favorite action movie character, and my home-state.

“Hey Indy, you sweet boy! I’ve missed you, ya’ big guy!” I rumpled the cashmere like white coat around his neck.

Mom galloped out the red front door first, dad following suit at a slightly slower pace.

“Liv, honey! Oh, we’re so glad you’re here! We’ve missed you,” my mom squealed towards me with open arms.

“We really have missed you, kid. Look at ya’!” Dad persisted with the ever annoying greeting of ruffling the top of my head like some socially incoherent teenage boy.

They probably did miss me, I’m sure. But, apparently not enough to ever offer a visit with me since moving my things to the city of Pittsburgh. No matter what bitterness flowered, as I dragged deeper into adulthood, I had resolved that you only got one set of parents, and the importance of appreciating the ones you did get was dire. So, I decided to nurse some long dwelling resentment and go into this visit with a forgiving heart.

“I missed you guys, too. Things still look exactly the same around here.” I inventoried those familiar, award-winning rose bushes my mother grew in the landscape, and with attached garage door open, I was able to see dads tool shop sanctuary in exactly the shape I had left it. Not a hammer out of place.

“Let’s get you inside, sweetie. Dinner will be done soon, & I’m sure we have some catching up to do.” Mom placed her hands over my upper arms, guiding me into I’m sure a spotless house, while dad unloaded my suitcase from the back hatch of my SUV.

 Steaks cooked to perfection courtesy of Tony Elliott, self-proclaimed grilled master, were served in the newly remodeled dining room, and the 3 of us sat in the same assumingly designated spots that we had for all my childhood years. I did miss a motherly, prepared with love, home cooked dinner so I wasted no amount of time scarfing down the contents of her delicious spread.

“How are things with the promotion, Livvy? They aren’t taking advantage of ya’, I hope?” Dad dropped his fork gently to his plate, taking a sip of his tea.

“Things are good, dad. Ryan, my boss, really does treat me excellently. He’s always super complimentary of my work.” I assured.

“Sounds like a nice guy. Maybe someone has a little crush?” Elizabeth winked while sorting through the last few sprigs of lettuce in her salad bowl.

“Ha! No thanks, mom. He’s an awesome guy, but I’d never see him like that. Plus, I could never date my boss, you know that.” I scoffed all too quickly.

Alright, you fraidy-cat. Get to it, here! Tell them. About him.

“Plus, I think I need a little break from men these days.”

“A break? Meaning there’s been some boys around since you moved?” Mom was the first to chime in, while my dad sat idly by, trying to appear casually at ease. But, I knew he was hearing every syllable of the exchange between his wife and I.

“Just one guy, mom. Well, there was one guy.” My attention never left the chopped, leftover chunks of food on my white porcelain plate. “Remember the first piece I did on Mixed Martial Arts? My first front page?”

“Liv, don’t be ridiculous. Yes, it’s laminated and framed in the living room. Go on..” she answered, leaning on her hand as an elbow rested on the table for a blinking second, before she retracted it, minding her usual manners.

“I was with one of the competitors. Like, in a relationship for several months actually. Colton, the fighter who I was working one-on-one with.”

There, at least he’s out in the open now. The dirty secret is out.

“Was, meaning not anymore then?” Dad finally broke his cold silence.

“Not anymore, no. We haven’t been together for a while now. But, I….. I uh, I didn’t handle the split so well. Which is part of my reason for coming to see you guys.”

My mind spun like a tilt-or-whirl trying to sort through what needed to be said, and what I should leave out. They didn’t need to know how harshly he’d spoken to me, nor the pathetic amount of sick days I’d used to wallow in my tear-stained sheets and overindulge on snack-packs.

“It sounds like things were serious, honey. Frankly, I’m a little hurt you never told us about him.” My mom had taken an overbearing interest in me when I started dating in high school. Boys were something she saw as her forte, I assume. Dad and I had basketball, now she and I could have boys, and relationships. So, the lack of sharing about my now ex-boyfriend seemed to perturb her.

“It was serious, mom. Yeah. I loved him. I was in love with him. Case in point, why I didn’t handle our breakup with much dignity.”

“What happened, Liv? Anything I should be concerned about,” dad inquired in the ultimate “dad” tone of voice.

“It just didn’t work, guys. It’s done, and life goes on. Nothing more, okay?”

Life goes on, huh? Let’s practice what we preach, dear.

“Losing a love is hard, sweet pea. But you’re a strong, successful young lady, and you’ll recover just fine. I know it!” Mom smiled.

I admired her A+ efforts for the “mother bear” sermon. It’s what I needed, truly. No matter how I wanted to tell her I needed those little chats years ago. I needed that reassurance back when I thought life hated me, and some karmic attack had been yielded on my life. Recently though, she had been heartily trying with our relationship. Both of them had. And although the repairs were long overdue, and far from complete, I was thankful nonetheless.

 I hadn’t been back to my stomping grounds since I’d left slightly over three years prior, so I had my fair share of hellos to exchange, most importantly being my childhood best friend, and the shooting guard to my point guard, Sara. She hadn’t spread her wings from our small town, instead chose the “marry my perfect high school sweetheart and have the most painfully adorable twin boys on the planet” lifestyle, which suited her beautifully.  She met up with me at the local dairy freeze for a greasy order of cheese fries after ending the work day at her parents’ dental practice where she was employed as a hygienist. Sitting alone at the wooden picnic table carved with an array of heart enclosed initials of couples I knew never made it past junior year prom, I felt strangely foreign in the little town now. Distant, or homesick. Every hardware store clerk or mail carrier knowing about the family pet you had to put down because all news travelled like an unruly forest fire in Westfield, now seemed displeasing rather than endearing. I basked in a bit of big-headed pride realizing I had maybe outgrown this little corner of the world, and home suddenly felt eastbound. Whether that had anything to do with my recent ex had yet to be determined.

Sara arrived right on time, going straight for the counter to order her favorite Dr. Pepper ice cream float as she put it “first things first.” The girl may have been the only person in the whole population of 2,000 whom I held in trusting regard, so she was kept up to date through a hefty amount of text messages about the tumultuous romance of Liv and Colton. We exchanged a squealing hug before diving right into the heavy matter.

“How are you? First off, you look freakin’ amazing. The big city looks good on you, Elliott,” Sara flopped into her seat, pulling off her pink labcoat.

“Shut up, you liar. The bags under eyes have bags, Sara. I’ve been a sloppy, sobbing, bitchy, pathetic mess for going on two months now. Like, who am I and will it end?!” I felt so light being able to genuinely come out in the open with all the emotion I was dealing with. A crucial missing piece to my life in the Burgh was a real, true friend such as Sara. Someone to take shoe shopping, and call drunk at 3 a.m. when you’re well into a half of bottle of Pinot and can’t keep from hysterically bawling over the ghastly way your boyfriend spoke to you.  A woman needs the Lavern to her Shirley to share life with.  

“It’s called love, honey. Welcome to the party,” she sucked vigorously through the straw of her float. “We’ve been waiting for you to show up.” I appreciated her gracious attempt to lighten the mood.

“Well if this is what it’s all about, I won’t be coming back.” I spoke mumbled chewing on a fry.

“It doesn’t always turn out this bad, babe. You just fell really, really hard. Which means getting over it will probably be equally as difficult. As much as I hate to see you like this…”

“Easy for you to say, Sara. You practically married Prince Harry or something. Can’t I just borrow yours sometime?” I clowned.

Her husband was truly the best of the best, and he’d been that way since the beginning. So, I always harbored some envy of sorts toward the seeming perfection of their relationship.

“In all honesty, Sare, I don’t know that I’m going to have the same feelings for whoever comes along like I did Colton. I’m not going to be irrational enough to say I’ll never love again, because I know that’s just silly and overdramatic. I’m just not sure it’ll be as raging and romantic, ya’ know what I mean?”

Just as she was about to hit me with some bogus line probably directly from an article she’d read in Cosmopolitan, a familiar voice intruded.

“My God, am I having a flashback right now?” Our varsity head coach Eric Gibson yelled from the open window of his parked car.

The guy was a true, unadulterated saint. He’d pulled me from the 8th grade roster to dress up for him on JV, so I lost count on how many games we’d competed in together. He shed nearly as many tears as my own father had when I collided with that player from Carson County causing me to close out my chapter as a ball player. He quickly locked the doors to his vehicle with two beeps of the horn, and made his way eagerly to us.

“Coach, how are you?” I stood to meet his incoming hug. With Sara still residing in Indiana I’m sure their paths crossed frequently in town.

“I’m doing fine, Liv. Shocked to see you here, girl! Are you back in Westfield?” He patted Sara with a coy hand to the shoulder, and we returned ourselves after the exchange of greetings.

“Oh, no no. Just here for a visit. I finally got the chance to take a little vacation from work, so I thought I’d come check in on Sara, and my parents.”

“Yeah, you’re a real superstar here, you know that? Everyone had a field day when your article made the front page for your paper. It was the talk of the town!”  

I blushed vividly at his statement. “Thanks, coach. It’s really nothing though.”

His mouth opened wide in defense. “It most certainly is something, Liv. It’s a huge accomplishment! Don’t be so modest. Hard work deserves to be recognized, and I know you’re no stranger to working hard in everything you do.” He paused to nudge my shoulder that grazed his. “ You’re talented, Elliott. And scrappy as hell when need be! Those big shots at that newspaper better just stay outta your way.”

Suddenly, there it was. The switch of undignified pity had self-destructed. Leave it to Coach to set me straight as he always did. I was scrappy as hell! The 4 games I’d been ejected from back in school clear evidence. It was time to exercise that same fearlessness and grit to scratch myself to the surface again, leaving behind this lonely, moldy grave Colton had dug for me. He may have outweighed me by an easy sixty pounds, and could’ve snapped me in half in the concern of strength. But mentally? It’d have to be ruled a no contest.

That night, back to square one in the little town in Indiana, over cheese fries & cheap milkshakes, with an out-and-out smack reminder courtesy of coach Gibson, I awoke. The sleepwalking, gray way of life a thing of the past. I excused myself from the parade of self-pity I had long been the grand marshal for.

“Maybe she’ll take your word for it, Coach. I’ve been trying to get that very same thing through that thick head of hers.” Sara interjected, slurping the last traces of whipped cream from her glass.

“Okay, okay, you two. Lay off before it all goes to my head.” I shook with a chuckle, and decided then and there, that I was going to find peace and satisfaction in life when I got back to Pittsburgh, someway, somehow, no matter what. I wanted my heart back from him. The heart he clearly had no use for any longer.

TAGS: @torialeysha @eap1935

[edge-lorde]

no work tomorrow time to blog

im going to put this in a read more because this is about to get boring folks

i want to learn how to make a few good meal foods because im a grown up now and i should be able to. problem is, when i think of what i want for dinner i think spaghetti plus meat, but i need vegetables to survive. i dont like most vegetables. 

recently my friend took me to a vegan sandwich place where it occurred to me that not a single thing on their menu sounded appetizing at all. when people try to make a “good” vegetable dishes they are usually very complicated and jumbled together, altogether too much effort for something that is not at all better than the original. i wanted to like oven roasted veggies but when my vegan sister made them they were just all jumbled together in a bowl and were still wet :/. vegans are supposed to be the ones out there LOVING this stuff and living off veggies only and they cant make one dinner dish that looks remotely appetizing to me. 

 i also am not fond of any kind of soup or casserole type dish, and ground meat. i love beef but i will not eat a burger. i will double not eat a bean burger. for me to eat a sandwich you gotta have a good meat on there to get me through the door, or else id rather just eat bread and lettuce on separate plates. 

i wish i could survive off meat, cheese, and bread but alas i cannot. here are a few rated vegetables.

1. corn. the only good vegetable is corn on the cob. no-cob corn is ok too, but i would only consider eating leftover corn if it was still on the cob. 

2. broccoli. base vegetable. is palatable. tastes like the color green. i know how to make it. would not eat leftovers of. 

3. potatoes. in fry form? very very good, but no longer healthy i think. same with chips. defeats the purpose of eating vegetables if they arent healthy.  i dont like mashed potatoes or chunks. texture is not good. sweet potatoes are the same thing but also too sweet. 

4. sweet peas. yea i can fuck with these. would not eat leftovers still though.

5. carrots. are almost good. either too cold and hard to be a regular snack + weirdly sweet, or cooked and mushy and still sweet :/. had them roasted with Parmesan cheese before, which i love, and i wanted to like them but they were still way too sweet! i couldnt even really enjoy the cheese anymore. 

6. lettuce. another base vegetable. the crunch is good. is like eating water. most people serve them in salads with dressing on it, which is way too much. preferred method of eating is plain or on a sandwich. but if i dont cook it am i getting any nutrients?? tastes like water, theres no nutrients in water. 

7. kale. im enchanted by the idea of kale chips but every time ive had them they are not as good as i had hoped. sometimes they are also still wet instead of dry and crisp and those are worse. would still eat if out on a table in a large bowl. 

8. okra. had fried okra once and it was just like.... this is a chicken nugget with no chicken in it.... i would like there to be some meat in here please. 

9. peas. ok. kind of mushy but still tolerable. 

10. lima beans. worse than peas, not as bad as real beans. 

11. tomatoes. bad. bad flavor, too wet. will tolerate in a sandwich. will similarly tolerate on pizza but i prefer as little as possible. do not like the sauce. had a v8 once and it was like tomato soup. gross. 

12. green beans. the taste is bad but my mom made it a lot growing up so i will eat it. its still bad tasting though! even after all this time.

13. onions. the crunch is bad on this one. always added to other things in chunk form and i hate biting into them. 

14. celery. the crunch is too much and the taste is very bad! plus its rough and stringy and gets caught in my teeth. an all-around chore to eat. 

15. all beans. ALL BEANS ARE TERRIBLE. i hate them so. the texture is extremely bad, the taste is never good, they are always added into other things to make them worse or given by themselves covered in sauce, and theres always so much!! i shudder to think of having to eat them as my primary protein source. 

there are other vegetables but these are the ones i have savored the most.

what i need is a DRY, CRISP VEGETABLE that is SALTY and NOT BITTER, not mushy at all and not too sweet. i thought i found this in tostones but are they really still healthy if they are fried that much? TT___TT the other way they serve cooked plantains is way to mushy and sweet.

the internet says just smother them with cheese but are they still healthy if i do that...?

[emmakillianfan]

The Recipe - A Captain Swan Little Bang Story

Summary: Chefs Emma Swan and Killian Jones both have their reasons to compete in the Culinary Championships for a large cash prize. But when they are paired as a team, they must learn to work together or it could all go up in flames. Part of the Captain Swan Little Bang 2018!

A/N: Here is my contribution to the @captainswanbigbang ‘s little bang! Thank you so much to all the mods for organizing it and for all your hard work. I was able to combine two of my greatest loves in this story - Captain Swan and culinary competitions. I could not have done it without the incredible feedback of my beta reader, @aloha-4-ever , who offered suggestions, kept me on track, and helped me change my idea when the first one turned the wrong direction. And of course this story is all the better with the incredible artistic work of @cocohook38 who made the incredible illustration of Emma and Killian as chefs. She took my idea of them in this story and made it reality. If you like her work, check out these great shirts. One of the designs is hers!   Proceeds will go to Little Hearts, Big Hopes to find research for Jacobsen Syndrome, a charity supported by Jennifer Morrison.  https://represent.com/store/emma-s-ugly-ducklings

Rated: Teen for a little language and mild affection

Triggers: None unless you have a food allergy

Available at: Archive and FF.net.

There was always something magical about cooking to Emma Swan. From the first time she had thrown ingredients into a pan and watched them meld into something wonderful and tasty, she had been mesmerized by the transformation that to her was pure magic. So when she aged out of the foster care system at 18, she found herself working long shifts at a diner and taking a cooking classes at a local community college.

Yet after a long day where she crafted creamy risotto that made the Italian master chefs cry at its beauty, Emma found that she was a fan of the simpler things in life. That particular night she was standing over a single frying pan with a golden brown sandwich sizzling to that perfect melted state where the butter, cheese, and bread would meld into a sinfully good grilled cheese sandwich.

“You won’t win the Culinary Championships with a sandwich,” her roommate Ruby announced, dropping her bag on the farm table they had restored during a snowy weekend when the entire city had shut down. “What? No objections that competition cooking isn’t your style?”

Emma lifted the corner of the sandwich to inspect her work. “I think we’ve already had that argument. I did my time, earned the accolades. Why would the Championships want to invite me back?”

Running a hand blindly through her dark hair, Ruby sighed. “Why wouldn’t they? You’re unbeatable. You won every freaking competition.”

Emma kept her eyes on her sandwich, pressing the slotted spatula down on it and then letting the bread rise back. “If I’m so unbeatable, then what’s the point? Nobody’s going to watch me win again. And if I lose, then I lose reputation and credibility.” Since her string of wins, Emma had found herself in the role of executive chef at one of New York’s small but popular restaurants.  

Always with a flair for the dramatic, Ruby held her phone out to her friend and shook it from side to side. “Fine, I’ll read the good part anyway. They are giving you a guaranteed bonus and appearance fee.” For Ruby, food was about money. She was the granddaughter of a restaurant owner and now worked in New York with a variety of chefs to help them start their own establishments. But to Emma, she was a friend and roommate, plus part time coach and assistant if it meant she got to hang around television types.

Peeking at the underside of her sandwich again and deeming it good, she flipped it easily and finally gave her dark haired roommate some attention. “So I just show up and cook?”

“That’s the idea,” Ruby said, breaking off a piece of the cheese that Emma had sliced for the sandwiches she was making. “Everyone will be paired up with another chef. You’re not in it alone. Then when there is only one pair standing, they both get a cash prize and you compete against your partner for a chance to go against other chefs from around the country. How savage is that? Turning on your own partner. The national winner gets $500,000.” Ruby shoved the phone down into the tiny little bag she was carrying and crossed her arms. “Imagine it. No don’t imagine it. Plan on it. Think about what you can do with that money.”

With her green eyes back on the sandwich, Emma sighed. “You’re thinking Ingrid’s.”

“Yeah,” Ruby said with an emphatic nod of her head. “So what do you say? Put on those chef whites and compete?”

Emma slid the sandwich on the plate and began to prepare a second one, knowing her roommate was hungry too. “I’ll think about it.” She concentrated on the satisfying sizzle of the pan for a moment.

“That’s Emma-code for I’ll think of reasons not to do it.” Ruby looked sourly at her friend. “You’ve done these before. Why not now?”

“I told you that I would think about it. I will. I need to look at schedules, expectations, requirements, and all of those little details.” She flipped the sandwich. “Such as, who would I partner with anyway? You?”

Ruby scoffed. “I’m no chef. I help pain in the butt chefs like you start their own restaurants. But you touch the food. I draw the line at that. Anyway, I already talked to the scout slash production assistant. They said not everyone entering has a partner already. There are probably half a dozen on the show who would kill to work with you.”

It was a running joke between the roommates that Ruby was a front of the house person. She could sell steak to a vegetarian, but she couldn’t grill one to save her life. “I could just get a loan to fix the restaurant up. Seems a little more responsible.”

“What if you win? Your former foster mother left you a beautiful house on the coast of Maine. It’s huge. Imagine the restaurant we could turn it into! What else are you going to do with it?”

“The kitchen is nonexistent,” Emma reminded her, adding a bit more of the herbed butter to the pan. “There was a stove with only one working eye. The refrigerator was blowing hot air. And did you notice there were no counters? There’s not a health inspector drunk enough to give me a permit.”

“So,” Ruby said as she snagged the now completed sandwich and saluted her friend with it, “if you win the whole thing, you get $500,000. That’s more than enough to get the kitchen outfitted and the renovations complete.” Closing her eyes as she bit, Ruby smiled around the melted butter and cheese sandwich. “I take back what I said. Make these for the judges. It would win the entire thing.”

***AAA***

Two years ago the red numbers of the countdown clock glared mercilessly at Chef Killian Jones as he felt the sweat beading on his brow. The bitter stench of burned garlic wafted up from the singed pan, along with the realization that he had no time to recreate the dish for the judges. The other competitors were calmly plating mounds of food while his plates remained empty.

There were only seconds left on the clock when he balled up the logo-decorated apron and threw it over the pile of dirty pans and mixing bowls. “I quit,” he announced, ignoring the camera that followed him as he pushed through the swinging doors and past the producer, Mr. Gold, who was whisper-shouting into his headset at some unknown production assistant.

A few days later a certified letter and legal paperwork arrived at his apartment in Maine stating he was being sued for breach of contract. Known as a rebel and a fighter, Killian didn’t fight this time and eventually paid the full amount due with the only asset he had left – his beloved sailboat.

Waking up that morning in Storybrooke, Maine, he had felt that same gut-wrenching dread as he had two years before when the clock ticked down his doom in the industry. Granny’s wasn’t exactly the best of career steps, but none of the better restaurants even took his reservations after the show aired. He was grateful for the opportunity to work, even at a themed diner that served the same 40 or so customers over and over again.

“What did you do to that chicken pot pie Leroy ordered?” Granny asked, holding the swinging door between dining room and kitchen open with her hip. She was staring at Killian with her eyes peering accusingly over a pair of wire rim glasses.

“I froze some of the fresh peas and ground them fine,” he explained, rubbing his hands on the towel over his shoulder. “Dusted the dough with that and some sea salt to add a bit of bite to the dish.”

“He’s practically licking the plate, and asked for another one to go. See if you can make that old grump smile for the second time in one night, will you?”

“Aye,” he said with a grin as he turned back to the prep table and began to gather his ingredients. “I do love a challenge, particularly when it is 10 minutes until closing and the kitchen should have been shut down already.”

“He’s a paying customer,” she reminded him, letting the door bounce as she turned back to the dining room. “And you know what I always say, right?”

“A customer’s money is always good money,” he chanted wearily. “Tell him it will take a bit of time, but I’ll have it piping hot for him before he finishes his next pint.”

Killian sliced through the carrots with precision and grace, the blade of his knife catching the artificial light of the overheads. He was not a man who liked mediocrity or disorder, as a few of the line cooks had learned when their stations had not been as uniform as they should have been.

Since most of the staff was already gone for the evening, Killian worked in silence for as long as he could. There was something therapeutic in the coolness of the dough under his fingers and the scent of the vegetables, chicken, and béchamel simmering on the stove, as he worked the dough into the small round pan. He was just sliding it into the already warm oven when he heard the familiar clearing of a voice in the rectangular window between kitchen and dining.

“What can I do for you, mate?” Killian asked, taking a cloth to the buildup of flour on the steel table. “Marian craving another slice of Granny’s chocolate cake?”

Robin folded his arms on the ledge of the window and laughed. Known for his renovation techniques and business skills, he ran one of the best restoration companies on the coast. He also handled much of Killian’s business affairs since the chef had little interest in that himself. “Not yet. We don’t...well, it’s far too soon for that particular craving symptom. My news is for you, mate. I just heard from that talent scout woman. She wants you to come in for an interview about that cooking competition show. Bloody brilliant opportunity I’d say.”

“Show?” Killian asked, not remembering what his friend was talking about now. They had more than a few late night discussions with and without a few libations to keep tongues wagging. “I hope you would know better than to sign me up for some ruddy competition. Those days are over.”

Robin offered a quick reminder. “You’d get a daily fee to be there, a guaranteed $100,000 in cash and prizes for the finals to share with your partner, and of course the purse is $500,000 for the national win. More than enough to get you out of this place and running one of your own.”

“Quiet, mate, I don’t think Granny heard you plotting my escape.” Like all chefs he wanted his own menu, his own rules, but you didn’t tell your boss that while you were still trying to bring in a paycheck. “And besides. She barely lets us take a sick day without a two week notice. You think she’ll go for me disappearing to compete in a bloody reality show?”

“She will if you promise to mention the diner’s name and address enough,” Granny interrupted, her pursed lips indicating she had heard the conversation. While she had to be joking, her stern expression didn’t indicate the mirth behind the suggestion. When he froze in place at being caught discussing such an idea, she softened and almost smiled. “Killian, I’m not blind. You’re a fine chef and this place is beneath you. Go and spread your wings. If it works, you’ll probably put me out of business with whatever crazy scheme you’ve got next. If you fail, well there’s always a spot for you here.” Sighing when he didn’t jump at the opportunity, she turned toward the door and paused again. “I could just fire you and then you’d have to go, or not make rent.”

“Gold won’t want me on the show once he realizes I’m the one who left without warning,” Killian protested, returning to the duty of cleaning the counters. “It was not a pretty sight. I just gave up.”

“A mistake you won’t be making again,” Robin noted. “Baby steps, Killian. And he seems willing. Now you just have to prove him wrong about you.”

Yanking on the faucet’s hose to spray down one of the leftover pans, he grimaced. It wasn’t obvious where the scowl was directed, but part of it had to be the idea of competing again. “I am fine with the status quo. I don’t need this hassle.”

“Too bad,” Robin said, “As your agent and business partner, I already told them yes.”

“I’ll fire you,” Killian called over his shoulder. “Don’t think I won’t.”

“You’d have to pay me to make that threat work, mate. I am volunteering, and you’re doing the show.”

***AAA***

Emma was the last of the competing chefs to arrive, but as the call sheet dictated, she climbed out of the cab in party attire for an event to meet the rest of the cooks. She was hustled through a long hallway, stopping just before the room where the welcome banquet would be held.

The girlfriend of the producer, Belle French, gave her an overview of the competition as she walked on impossibly high heels past the door leading into the party.

“So about the contract,” Emma began, adjusting the strap of her red dress. “I noticed that it said, ‘chef duos in duels.’ I’m not really…”

The petite brunette nodded her head, checking the clipboard she had cradled in her arms. “It’s not a big deal. It’s just to stir up drama. Anyway, we have the perfect match for you.”

Bobbing her head affirmatively, Emma squared her shoulders. “I’ve been more of a solo chef as of late. I don’t even have a sous chef at the moment. It’s just a little…”

“We…I mean, our producer, Gold, took care of that,” the woman answered, brushing back her thick hair. “He works somewhere here in Maine. On the coast I think? Isn’t that where you’re thinking about opening a place?”

“It’s not that small of a state,” Emma remarked easily. “So do I get to meet him prior to cooking with him? I mean no offense, but I’ve seen some of the chefs on these shows. Gold doesn’t always go for quality. That Walsh you gave me last time carved the protein like he was peeling a banana. Even a monkey can break down a chicken, Belle.”

“Sure, sure,” Belle said breezily, checking her list again. “Killian’s competed before so he’s not completely green…it’s just that…well, I’ll let you meet him.”

Emma’s gut was telling her to ask why he didn’t already have a partner, especially since he was apparently fabulous. But whoever he was, he was an unknown. That led to her other question.

“And this Killian guy didn’t have a friend, wife, or someone? Or does he just suck? There has to be a reason.”

“Aye, there’s always a reason,” a new voice said as she spun to find the source. Find it she did. Standing next to one of the tables, wearing a dark henley and what appeared to be two-day stubble, was a dark haired man who must have missed the party attire memo. He flashed a too-white smile before taking a few steps toward her and sticking out a hand. “Killian Jones.”

“Emma,” she offered, knowing that he must have recognized her from the way his eyes seemed knowingly confident. “So maybe you could answer that question. Why don’t you have a partner?”

He finally dropped his hand when she didn’t shake it. “Perhaps I’m just a bit picky when it comes to partners.”

“Right, and I’m supposed to believe that. I should warn you, I’m really good at spotting a lie. And right now, buddy, you’re pinging my radar.”

She knew she must have gotten to him a bit, as he clenched his jaw, and twin splotches of red appeared on his cheeks. “It’s good to have talents, love, but I’m not the dishonest type.”

***AAA***

Having already met his partner, Killian curled his hand around the sweating glass of rum and gave a congenial nod to the bartender hired for the party. The room was only about half full of chefs who were left to mingle just out of range of the production. His own partner was chatting with two sisters who were partnered together.

Another chef named Arthur was standing near an ice sculpture talking to a married couple with a plate full of fruit tarts that were among the assortment of finger foods offered. The second married team was standing off to another side, the rust-haired woman excitedly studying every single item on the table.

He had yet to sample much of the food other than a large prawn that seemed to scream his name. The table he was standing next to at that moment was piled high with aged sausages and thinly sliced beef and lamb carpaccio. He was studying the cut on one of them when he heard the familiar voice of his partner in this adventure.

“Please tell me you’re going to do more than look at that meat,” she said, lifting a few slices with the silver tongs. “I have done at least a thousand of these competitions and the vegetarian chefs are always the first to go home.”

He felt his jaw drop slightly at the sight of her. He had been so on the defense about her doubts earlier that he had not noticed how she looked nothing like the television version of herself either. Usually on camera in her chef whites and her hair in a severe bun, she demanded respect and attention. Now, she was a vision in a red cocktail dress and loose curls down her back. “I assure you that I know how to do more than simply slice and grill a few vegetables, love.”

She laughed, a joyful sound though not quite as carefree as he thought a confident woman such as Chef Swan. “Just checking. I mean if you want to be first out, that’s fine for you, but I’ve got a reputation to maintain.”

He reached over and plucked one of the sausage bites before dropping it into his mouth. A full mouth would keep him from having to make conversation for a moment. It tasted like sawdust on his tongue as he watched her study him carefully, as if she was trying to taste the spicy concoction through him. Swallowing, he managed a small but bright smile of his own. “And you think that I will be the first one out? Are you mad, love?  I mean Chef, milady…”

“Chef’s fine,” she said, grimacing. “So if you’re not the vegetarian chef, then you’re...rustic Italian with strong Mediterranean flavor influences?”

He shook his head again, feeling a little more at ease with her. “Now, love, do I sound like an Italian chef?”

Her shoulders rose and fell with a silent chuckle. “I admit all the British accents are messing with my guessing game. You can’t all be cooking pub food? The judges won’t be too kind if they get half a dozen dishes of bangers and mash, or fish and chips.”

Lifting a dark eyebrow at her clearly judgmental statement, he waited until she bit off some of the charcuterie. She did not make a show of closing her eyes and preening dramatically at the savory food. Instead, she chewed rather methodically and let her eyes crinkle only slightly as she swallowed. “For such an educated palate, you seem to have a low opinion of English cuisine. It has won a reputation for being bland, which is accurate in only some cases, but that’s not what I make.”

She hummed in response. “So you’re rustic comfort food with hints of French stuffiness? Wait, that’s probably those two.” She gestured toward the two men, both of whom were newly married to their non-culinary wives, competing together.

“You seem to want to place a label on everyone. What if those labels don’t fit?”

She ran her tongue over her lip to enjoy more of the saltiness of the cured meat. Her green eyes glowed with challenge and she lifted her chin defiantly. Shifting her weight, she glanced over him as if to size him up to her standards. “I want to know what I’m up against and who I’m working with, Chef.”

“I suppose you’ll see my style when it comes to competition. You never know. I might be the expert in Asian fusion.”

She beckoned him closer with two fingers, making him breathe in the sweet scent of powder mixing with the spicy perfume over the strong wafting aromas of the food. He prayed she didn’t notice the way his eyes partially shut or how he swayed in her direction before stopping himself. “I don’t think so, Chef Jones. See that woman there?” She pointed her elbow toward a dark haired woman with her back to them. “That’s Chef Mulan. She spent seven years perfecting her skills with sushi and sashimi. I am sure you must have some skill to be on this show, but you’d never beat her in that particular way.”

Killian tilted his head and studied the woman in question. “Sounds as though you are a fan of the clichéd, Chef Swan. One’s heritage and ethnicity don’t always dictate their palate. I may have English blood in me and fancy a good serving of fish and chips from time to time, but I detest clotted cream and Yorkshire pudding.”

The blonde chef’s lips twitched into an almost smile. “I will take that under advisement,” she said, taking a step backward. “I’ll leave you to it.” She was turning around when he spoke out again.

“And what of you? Do you label yourself with some moniker that is supposed to describe your food? Molecular gastronomy perhaps or comfort food?”

She spun back that half turn to face him, those palely painted lips twitching again. “I would think you would know the answer to that by the shows and competitions I’ve done.”

“I’ve seen what the magic of the camera shows about your food, but what does the camera not show about you?” Still he persisted, enjoying that ember of a spark in her eyes when someone actually challenged her instead of just bowing to her requests and lavishing praise on her.

“Wouldn’t you like to know, Chef Jones?” She finished, then turned away from him and walked over to join a raven haired woman standing near the producers. He appreciated the view of her, even in retreat.

“Perhaps I would,” he said to himself.

***AAA***

“Good job,” Ruby said in a stage whisper, resting her chin on a folded hand and keeping her eyes on the contestants still milling about. “You flustered that poor guy right before he has to cook. Need I remind you that he’s your partner? Are you trying to lose the competition, Emma?”

Emma threw back the rest of the wine in her glass, not tasting the sweet bitterness on her tongue. “He wasn’t flustered, Ruby. He was a cocky jerk who will probably chock.”

“Cocky? A chef is being cocky?” Ruby splayed her hand over her chest that was revealed by the plunging neckline of her red top. “I’m shocked. How could a chef be cocky? P.S. I know him. He works for my grandmother. Not a bad cook. You know Granny wouldn’t hire him otherwise.”

Emma was about to ask more, when August Booth summoned the contestants tapping a fork against his wine glass. While not a chef, August had been a food critic and writer for years. She’d butted heads with him, but found that she respected his opinion most of the time.

“Seriously though, he’s one of the cuter ones here. Did you see those blue eyes? Of course you did, you were standing there with him. Do you think they’re contacts?”

“I wasn’t looking that closely.”

“Right? So you ignored most of the chefs here, something you always do by the way, and ended up talking to him because…”

“We’re paired together and I was worried he’s not good enough. He happened to be standing there looking confused over a display of sausages and other meat. I thought...anyway, don’t read into it, Ruby. Do you blame me for doing a little research?”

Ruby grunted, “The only CIA you know is the Culinary Institute of America. You, Emma Swan, were checking out more than his culinary pedigree.”

Sticking her tongue out at her friend, Emma crossed over to the group of experienced and yet nervous chefs gathered around the judge and host. The cameras were already circling, capturing the uneasy energy of what was clearly going to be their first challenge.

She was right, using the remnants and leftovers of the appetizers and hors d'oeuvres they had been noshing on for the last hour, they were supposed to create two new dishes for the judges.

He had chosen some of the tuna, which he was currently marinating in the limes and coconut milk that he’d swiped from the bar. Having found bits of cucumber, he combined them with the tuna and shallots to make a tuna poke in a lettuce cup.

Emma’s knife, plastic though it might be, sliced easily through the small fruit items that she had gathered from the tables. Not stopping the motion of the knife, she gave a side glance at the table’s meager ingredients. To her left was a small bowl of a yogurt-based dip with honey on top. If she was able to scrape the honey from the dipping sauce, she could drizzle it over the sugared fruit.

“You’ll need something to cut the sweetness a bit,” he said. “The honey and the sugar, love? That’s enough to send the judges into a diabetic coma.”

Her sharp intake of breath did not deny that was what she was thinking or that he was right about the overwhelming saccharine taste that would put her on the bottom of the competition. She decided to merely acknowledge his observation with a pithy, “I’m aware.”

“No offense intended,” he chuckled, nudging a saucer holding four lemon slices in her direction. “You’re a bit of an open book. But for the sake of that infernal competition clock, perhaps you’d consider these. Might add just the right bite to the dish.”

“I thought you would going to use those with the fish. You have to use it to make your ceviche, don’t you?”

He laughed at her question, insisting that she take the lemons. “I visited the bar and was able to get a dash of lime juice and coconut milk. It will make my dish truly sing.” Wiping his hands on his apron, he dashed off again in the direction of the dessert table.

That was odd, she thought as she began the process of drizzling the honey over the mound of fruit. Hers was supposed to be the sweet component to their duo, and his the savory. What on earth could he need from the dessert table? Not wanting to spend too much time analyzing his movements or palate, she grabbed the lemon slices before he could get back and liberally doused her fruit with the tangy citrus liquid.

She let the berries and fruit rest while she inspected her ingredients again. She could have used the yogurt dip as the base for a parfait, but the assignment was to craft an amuse-bouche, something that was to tickle the tongue in a single bite, and a parfait would be considered too large and cumbersome.

Suddenly her partner was back, tossing a napkin in front of her that was piled with a few ginger snaps and sugar cookies decorated with lemon flavored royal icing. He winked as he obliterated the two ginger snaps he had kept for himself with the bottom of a shot glass before passing the glass to her. “For your tart,” he said as if they had already decided on her dish. “You can form it in that, and use a bit of that icing as a binder. I was only able to grab one, but you can slide it out and make…”

“I know how to make a tart,” she snapped, grimacing at the small glass with its crumbs still clinging to the base. “You don’t think…”

“The clock on the wall is telling me that overthinking is a luxury at this point. Best put your misgivings about me to the side and get to work on the crust. Otherwise those judges won’t find you so brilliant when they are eating a macerated berry in their bare hands.”

She hazarded a glance at the other table where Zelena was sprinkling pistachios over chicken and Regina was using hollowed out apple as a vessel for the deconstructed apple pie. That wasn’t surprising, as Regina seemed to think apples went with everything. Mary Margaret was capping off a delicious looking shrimp toast, while David was filling tall shot glasses with a soup of some kind.

“It’s not wise to worry about the competition. One doesn’t win by worrying about what the others are doing.” Killian spooned his fish and veggies into the center of the lettuce leaf and rolled it, folding its ends delicately and placing it in the center of a saucer. He stooped down and looked over the rim of the plate to inspect it, making miniscule movements to adjust it just so.

“Do you always talk like that?” she asked, sliding out her first tart and placing it on the plate as he began the process for another of his wraps.

“Like what?”

“Like you write fortune cookie advice for a living? I was just seeing what they were making. It’s not like the judges get palate cleansers between contestants. If they taste their dishes first and they’re horrible, that can carry over to ours.” She frowned as her next tart didn’t seem as firm as the first. The last thing she would want would be for it to crumble in a judge’s hand.

“Add a bit more water to make it more dough-like,” Killian suggested, plating another of his rolled wraps. When she looked doubtful, he smiled. “I promise. I wouldn’t steer you wrong.”

She assumed it would be a mushy mess, but the couple of drops of water truly helped and allowed her to easily plate the four bites. There were only 90 seconds left before the buzzer and her hands shook from the stress of it all.

“It looks brilliant,” he whispered, his voice closer than she expected. At some point during the plating he had moved to the same side of the crowded prep table as her, sidling up beside her to the point that his whispered encouragement was warm on her ear. She gave him a nervously tight smile in return.

Filming of the judging scenes were rough, as there was more direction from the producer and retakes to get reaction shots from everyone. All the sets of chefs were told repeatedly to react but not to overly extend themselves or their emotions. “I have no use for dramatics or hysterics,” Mr. Gold told them each pointedly. “Smile, nod, and say thank you, but don’t cry, scream or throw things.”

By the time the judges approached them, Killian was shifting his stance and kept running his fingers over the stubble on his chin. Her green eyes shot over to him and half expected him to pass out as August instructed the other two judges to try his wrap after Killian explained it. His previously controlled and confident tone was replaced with his thicker accent and shakiness that did not seem natural on him at all.

“Delicious,” Emily said, the first of the judges to speak. She placed a hand over her mouth as she chewed, a delicate move that made her seem more ladylike than August’s method of robust chewing. “I’m tasting hints of coconut and...” She ran her tongue around her mouth. “I’m also getting lime? Did you marinate the tuna in lime?”

“Aye, I thought the coconut milk and lime would provide a richer flavor.” She could tell the compliment had relaxed him more, as he let his shoulders fall and there was a soft exhale as if he had been holding his breath while they ate.

“You’re known as a seafood chef, aren’t you?” August asked, not bothering to even mask the disdain. Emma had always known him to be fair with her, but he was a food critic. Criticism came naturally to him, slipping from his full lips as easily as the white lies he spouted about his credentials. Emma knew about those too and was not above making him worry she might out him as a fraud if crossed. “I would imagine you wouldn’t do so well if you had attempted something with venison or pork?”

“Most people like to put all chefs in these neat little boxes and assume we are talentless gits when it comes to anything else. I have quite a bit of experience when it comes to seafood, but I enjoy making people savor their dishes no matter the protein or accompaniment.” Killian flashed a smile that was not exactly innocent as the camera panned around to the side to capture another angle.

It was Belle’s turn to offer her thoughts. Unlike Emily Gale, she was not a chef or restauranteur. But she was well read and known in culinary circles as a foodie with a most educated palate. She dabbed at the corner of her mouth and eyed the plates in front of Emma before she spoke. “I’m liking the combination of flavors, and the addition of the cilantro gave it a kick. It’s unexpectedly good with notes of freshness one wouldn’t expect from buffet leftovers. And using ginger snaps rather than raw ginger was genius.”

“Cut,” cried the producer who clearly thought he was a director too. In his perfectly fitted suit, Mr. Gold approached the table with his signature cane in hand. “This is just too nice. I need some darkness, shade, something. Is there something you didn’t like about this man’s dish?”

Belle and Emily’s eyes darted downward as they considered this request, but it was August who spoke first. “The texture is off. The filling felt like mush in my mouth.”

Once they had all expressed some doubt about Killian’s dish and the camera crew got the shots they wanted, it was on to Emma’s contribution. She lifted her chin up a fraction of an inch and offered tight smiles as they complimented her flavors and textures. August even winked as he commented on the smart decision to cut the sweetness with the acid of the lemon.

“Good job, love,” Killian said as the cameras and judges moved on to another table. He quickly corrected himself to call her chef, but she didn’t respond right away.

“Thanks,” she finally said, not blatantly staring at the judges deliberations over the competition. “I didn’t think of the lemon and you…”

“We are a team, are we not?” he asked. “If we don’t help each other out, we won’t get very far.”

Emma nodded as she watched the judges sampled Regina’s deconstructed apple pie next and remarked over the perfectly brown color and firm yet soft texture of the dough that she had apparently made from soft rolls. Looking down at her own small tarts, Emma frowned. How had Regina browned the practically anemic-looking rolls? Their only source of heat were the votive candles used in the decor. It would not have been enough.

“Either she can conjure fireballs in her hands,” Killian whispered to her, his mind clearly on the same page as his partner, “or she had a blowtorch in her purse.”

***AAA***

Someone would probably complain, Emma thought as she slid her key into the lock at Granny’s Bed and Breakfast. One of the remaining contestants would see a conflict of interest with the teams being required to live for the week where Killian normally worked and she had connections with through Ruby. Officially, Granny was not part of the competition or crew, but she was a comforting sight to the chefs who knew her. Granny had even let Killian sneak into the kitchen and make snacks between the rounds. But at that moment Emma didn’t really care where she slept.

The impromptu round of competition at the kick off party had left both Mal and her daughter and Sean and Philip eliminated for uninspired food. During the the second round, a romantic dinner for a couple on their first date, Regina and Zelena again came in first. That challenge had resulted in Mulan and Arthur being knocked out for overcooking the duck. The duo had left arguing with each other to the end over who had turned the burner up so high.

Emma wasn’t proud of her performance yet. She and Killian had been near the middle on the first round and second place in the second round. At least they hadn’t been in the bottom, but they would need to pull out two strong showings to get through to the finals.

All the teams had been doing interviews for talking-head pieces and reshoots of critical moments until nearly midnight, followed by decompressing drinks after that. Since two of the remaining teams were married couples, and the other included a complicated relationship between two sisters, she had found herself naturally pairing off with Killian. At least that was what she told herself as she found herself laughing at his jokes and sharing witty observations.

“It hardly seems worth the trouble,” Killian had said when he opened the door to stairwell that led the back part of Granny’s and all the quaintly nostalgic rooms. “If I was assured a good night’s sleep in the near future, I might just stay awake to avoid the grogginess of competing after an hour or two’s nap.”

“You’re not totally wrong about that,” Emma said, lacing her fingers together and lifting her arms to stretch. She didn’t miss the way that Killian’s eyes focused on that bit of skin exposed by her rising shirt. “But it’s hard to resist the idea of shutting my eyes for a few minutes. Knowing me, I’ll probably sleep through my alarm though.” She lowered her arms and jokingly collapsed against the door, her forehead touching the cool wood.

“Go,” Killian said, his accent thicker with the lack of sleep. “I’ll be sure to come wake you if I don’t hear you rooting about when you should.” If she hadn’t closed her eyes for that moment, she might have noticed how he rubbed the pad of his thumb against his fingertips as if wanting to reach out and touch her.

“I don’t know that I trust you enough for that. I mean I barely trust my alarm clock. I meant what I said earlier. Thanks for your help today. I’m sorry that I doubted your abilities.”

“It’s my pleasure, Emma. Perhaps we might have a cup of coffee in the morning and discuss our game plan?”

She closed her eyes briefly. “Would that mean getting up earlier? Because no matter how cute you are, Killian Jones, you aren’t worth losing sleep over.” Later when she was in bed, eyes heavy and breathing controlled, she remembered calling him cute. It cost her another few minutes of sleep as she tried to recall his reaction to it. Sleep encompassed her before she ever had the chance to remember his pleased and yet shocked smile and sort of shuffle step that spoke of humility.

It turned out that having coffee with him didn’t require her to lose any sleep. A few moments after her alarm went off, she heard the knock on her door. He stood on the other side, freshly showered and hair damp as he ran a hand over his chin. “Just ensuring you are awake and ready to compete. We’re to gather outside the diner in a bit. I presume you’ll be there?”

She crossed her arms over her chest and squinted at him blearily. “I’m awake,” she said, her voice sounding slightly hoarse from the short time of disuse. “Are you…”

“Not a morning person, I see. No matter, Emma. I’ll get us that coffee and we can share it while we await our next assignment.”

Sure enough, when they joined the others and listened to a litany of rules about the next round, he slid a foam cup into her hand and moved his own cup toward hers as if to say cheers. “Can’t have you falling asleep in your mise en place.”

She took a sip of the warm, strong liquid, swallowing as she rolled her head back in a mocking display of supposed ecstasy over the drink. “You seem to be racking up points there, Chef. Are you trying to weasel your way into my good graces so that I’ll let you win if we’re the final two?”

“I’ve been accused of being devious, but I assure you that’s not the case here. I’m just trying to be a good teammate. And if caffeine makes you more alert and a better competitor, I have no issue in fetching it for you.”

It was not that she wasn’t grateful. She was. But she had said thank you a dozen times at least to the man who seemed half pirate and half Yoda with his sage advice and ability to understand her better than most after 24 hours of knowing each other. It made her feel both supported and inadequate in a way that made her uncomfortable. She was used to winning competitions that focused on traditional techniques and the artistry of food. This competition was a different beast with limited time and ingredients, the focus being creativity and ingenuity rather than skill and precision.

“Why are you doing this?” she whispered from behind the raised cup.  

“Doing what? Bringing you coffee? I thought we already established that I want you to be in top form. I’m not here to lose, darling.”

“Competing.” She noted that Zelena seemed to be gazing in their direction while pretending to listen to something her sister was saying. Tilting her head toward Killian, Emma lowered her voice further. “I know it’s about the money, but is there something more?”

“I suppose we all have our reasons,” he said, his eyes glinting as she leaned closer. “The money is as good as any for me. I competed before, you know, and walked out before I could be kicked off for a mess of a dish that should have been a slam dunk.”

She frowned. “Redemption?”

“Something like that. I paid a hefty price for my exit and wanted to buy back what was once mine.”

She didn’t get to ask him any more than that, as the instruction sheets for the next challenge were announced by August. Contestants would be left with $20 to scrounge for food on a small island about 30 minutes away. There was only one small store on the island, five homes, and otherwise only natural resources.

“We’ll be taking a ferry over to the island in just a few minutes. Pack up your knives. You’ll have an outdoor kitchen with equipment and basic seasonings on the island.” He smiled, cleared his throat and delivered the lines again, letting the cameras get him from another angle. “You’ll also have access to equipment for fishing or hunting. Not both.”

Killian gave Emma a quick glance. “Any ideas now?”

“Not so much,” Emma said, standing and slinging her knife bag over her shoulder. “You’re the seafood guy. Feel like fishing?”

***AAA***

The ride to the island was shorter than they had hoped, leaving very little time for strategizing after Mr. Gold reiterated the expectations that they should all interact more and show their dislike for the other teams. It was Ariel who noted loudly that he seemed to only talk about personalities and not the flavors or food. When they got there it was still early morning and there was nothing man-made to be seen in their direct vicinity other than the dock. The heat of the day was not even in full force, but the contestants were already shedding their chef jackets. Emma noticed that Killian’s fitted black t-shirt made him look more like a male model than a chef, and couldn’t miss his appreciative gaze at the gray tank clinging to her own defined curves.

Mary Margaret and David were the only ones who chose to hunt rather than fish, but that didn’t surprise Emma. Mary Margaret was known for her prowess with a bow and arrow and was sure to bring back some sort of protein that was unattainable to the rest. Killian admitted that he was not much use with that or a crossbow, leaving them to take the rudimentary pole, line, and hook.

“You want to fish while I check out the store for what it’s got?” Emma asked, cupping her hand over her eyes and squinting to see if she could spot the place they were told was close. “I am not expecting much, but I’d like to hit it before we worry about making camp.”

“Aye,” he said, looking over at Zelena who was going to do the fishing for the sisters. That might be worth sticking around for just to watch. “I’m not sure we have much of a list or a plan, but it’s best to be getting on with it. See if you can find some fresh vegetables for a salad.”

It was still early summer, so produce was not going to be at its peak. Still, Emma was hoping to find some lemon for the fish. Perhaps some of the homeowners would have rice or pasta that she might trade for or some sort of starch. Turning back toward Killian who was already carefully threading the fishing line, she frowned. “Do you think we might look for clams? It’s early in the season for them so they’d be small, but just imagine!”

“Brilliant! You head to that store, and I’ll see what I can do about getting some clams.”

Emma threw her chef jacket onto the pile of camping gear and darted ahead to try to beat some of the others. She ended up being second to arrive at the store that sold little more than jerky and fishing bait and lures. But she was able to get a pack of smoked bacon for less than $2, knowing that would highlight most any fish Killian caught.  

As she walked along the path toward two of the houses, she slapped at a mosquito that had been buzzing about her. The marshy area of the island was a breeding ground for these nuisances that seemed to be ready to feast on her. The first family she met was nice, but had very little in terms of fresh food. Still she managed to obtain a can of creamed corn, half a bag of rice, and two rather small onions. The second family offered her some cereal--a sugary, oddly colored mess that she couldn’t imagine using, a small bottle of wine that was the type you’d find on sale at a grocery store, and two unopened cans of beer, which they gave her in exchange for her butternut squash soup recipe.

Despite the last few years in New York, Emma was sure that she had never walked so much. Her sensible chef shoes were caked with muddy wet sand and had started to rub her feet raw. Hair was escaping her expertly braid and her skin was pink from the sun and numerous slaps trying to kill the mosquitos. Worst of all, she was limping from a tumble over an exposed root.

“Catch anything?” she asked when she stumbled back to the shore, dropping down to the sand with her finds beside her.

“In the cooler there.” Next to him was a blue cooler on wheels with their names written on neon green tape. She peeked in to find ice and two blue fish. It was a disappointing haul, as blue fish tended to be on the oily side and trashy. She added the bacon and covered it all back again.

“Blue fish?”

“Aye, we’d have better luck if we were on a boat, but blue fish it is. Cut out the bloodline and it should be tasty. I was thinking we might make a taco if we had…”

“I’m afraid I didn’t get much for tacos.” She showed him the assorted items. “I was thinking maybe soup with the clams. A nice broth and steamed clams is always a good choice. And we could beer-batter the blue fish. That might be good.” Sliding her shoes off, she rubbed her feet. “There’s three more houses so we might get lucky for some other sides. I just needed a moment to rest.”

He shifted his weight and watched as his lure bobbed out ahead on the water. “Perhaps we should switch. I can go to the other three and you could see to the fishing. I’ll take the shore route so I can look for clams while I’m at it.”

“I’ll stay.” Looking over at some of their competitors, she could see that Eric had nearly filled the cooler with different fish and was well on his way to setting a record. Zelena’s container was empty, but she seemed unfazed by the lack of protein.

He bent down and helped her put some of the ice on her already swelling foot. “You’re sure you’re alright? We don’t need to call the medic team, do we?” The tips of his fingers lingered at the ends of the makeshift ice pack. “I could carry you back to the ferry.”

She refused his offer by rolling her eyes. And by the time he returned she had more than doubled their stock of blue fish by catching three more and adding two stripers while she was at it.

“You’re lucky,” Zelena had told her, with a knowing  smile. “Killian’s not bad to look at in the least.” Like they had assumed, Zelena wasn’t the most adept at catching fish and had fallen face first into the sand. Yet, she had come out of the faceplant looking alluring and camera ready. Her tank top was tied just under her breasts and her damp hair was curling in a way that most women paid good money to recreate.

Emma wanted to ignore the woman who was clearly trying to get into her head with talk like that. Instead she concentrated on pulling in her line and casting it again. So what if Zelena was right? He wasn’t bad to look at. He was a good cook. He seemed like a good guy. That was the problem, she thought as the water rippled in front of her. She didn’t get nice guys. She got guys who wanted quick flings. She attracted guys who had wives and wanted to keep their trysts a secret. She got liars and scoundrels. She never got the nice guy. And she had made her peace with it.

“I found a few things,” Killian said, dumping the sack. “And…” he pulled out the other smaller sack from the loop of his belt. About 20 clams. It’ll be a feast.”

She limped over to where he was standing, ignoring the blatantly concerned look on his rugged face. “Good job,” she said, offering uncharacteristic praise. Wrinkling her nose, she pointed at some items in the sack. “Green tomatoes? Those aren’t tomatillos. What were you thinking?”

“It’s too early in the season for ripe ones. But I once knew a southern chef who taught me how to make a fantastic fried green tomato. I also thought about pickling them in some vinegar for a nice relish to go atop our beer battered blue fish.” He began to collect their ingredients. “We should go make camp, love, and get our kitchen in order. Can you walk?”

“I’ve got this,” she said, throwing one of the bags of food over her shoulder. She nearly lost her balance, but by throwing her hands up like a gymnast on an apparatus, she returned to normal. The concern in his expression was both comforting and disconcerting as she slapped his pack against his chest. “Let’s go, Chef.”

It didn’t take long to get to the camping area. Concerned about her ankle, Killian volunteered to set up the tent after getting the fire going. This allowed Emma to cut and prep the food. It didn’t get past Emma that he was instilling a lot of trust in her, as she fileted the fish instead of him. He didn’t even mention that her cuts, while good, were not at the same angle that he would have done and probably left too much yield on the bone. She appreciated that.

“It’s been a while since I cooked outside,” she said, mixing the marinade for the blue fish by hand since there was no electricity for the equipment she normally used for the purpose.

“Girl Scout camp?” he queried, looking at her curiously.

“Hardly. I was a foster kid so organized events that people paid good money to do were out of the question. I’ve done this with some friends over the years though and always remember how much I love it.”

“Aye, it’s something I always say I should do more of, but time and circumstances rarely allow for it.” He poked at the fire to stir it up a bit and peered over the lip of the pot where the clams were soaking in the broth of cornmeal, creamed corn, white wine, a little butter and a few dried herbs. “Good choice to go ahead and start our clams, love. I rather like the idea of letting the soup simmer overnight to build flavor.”

She smiled at his compliment, covering the fish in the bowl with the beer based marinade. He had managed to find a package of tortillas. While they wouldn’t be as good as homemade, they would do well for a soft fish taco.

The only thing missing was dessert, but the selections had been low. So far their one idea was to grill the two bananas they had gotten from one of the homes to make what would resemble sauteed plantains.

“It was a good find,” he said, plopping down next to her. His forearms rested on his bent legs. “Let me see your ankle.”

She frowned, closing the lid to the cooler. “It’s fine, Killian. I promise.”

“Aye, no doubt that you will deny it hurts until it bloody well falls off. But despite your protests that you are fine, as you say, and refusals to utilize the medic, I have concerns. I can see from here that the swelling is still present.” He extended his right hand and wiggled his fingers in her direction to encourage her. “I promise to be gentle.”

Frowning, she straightened her leg and extended it in his direction. Even through the soft denim of her pants, she could feel his fingers gently running down the long limb probably more than he had to in order to inspect the injury to her ankle. She didn’t protest though, even minimizing her breathing to near stillness as he pushed up on the end of her jeans. “See, it’s fine.”

“It’s still swollen and a bit warm to the touch. We should get you one of our packs to use for elevating it. Can’t do to have you limping about tomorrow when we must be at our best.” He quickly doctored up a way for her to elevate her ankle and keep it cool with ice.

Quirking an eyebrow at her as she reached down to adjust the ice over her injury, he smiled. “I suppose I should volunteer to wait on you hand and foot as it were. We have a few things leftover that we won’t be using tomorrow. Might I offer you something to eat or drink?”

She fell back onto her elbows, craning her neck to look at the sky through the canopy of trees overhead. “It feels weird to have a campfire and no s’mores. But if we had chocolate and marshmallows, we would have a good dessert option.”

“Perhaps next time.”

Her head fell to one side and she caught his gaze. “You assume there will be a next time for us to camp. I’m kind of hoping the rest of the competition will be indoors.”

He didn’t clarify what he meant. Instead, he stood up and foraged through the odd assemblage of ingredients they weren’t using. Stooping over the cooler, he frowned at the addition of the two fish she had not mentioned. “You got stripers?”

“Not enough for the competition,” she admitted, “but yeah. What do you say to using them for dinner?”

“I’d say my assessment about you being brilliant is correct.” He lifted the two fish up and waggled his eyebrows. “A feast for two it is. And I say we crack open that second beer. No sense letting it go to waste.”

Later she was holding the paper plate with the rather meager but well cooked dinner on her lap. “I’m not too much of a foodie to enjoy beer out of a can.” Reaching over, she plucked it from his hand and popped the cap. She took a long gulp of the cold and bitter beverage. “Reminds me of college.”

Chuckling, he took his own sip and settled next to her again. “I think I’d have liked to have seen that. You in your younger days, carefree, and a bit wild. It must have been a sight.”

She broke a bit of the flakey fish off with her fork. “I don’t think I was ever carefree. But I did have friends and enjoyed the occasional party.”

He had yet to bite into the food, his eyes studying her slightly sunburned face. “I would say that it is a shame that you didn’t experience that state of being carefree, but I doubt you would accept the condolences. I’m sure that your beginnings made you into who you are today.”

“And have you figured that out yet?” she asked.

“As I told you, you’re an open book in many ways,” he finally took a bite of the fish, his eyes closing briefly to assess the taste and texture of his own work. Opening them again, he met her green and curious eyes. “But I would never tell a lass that I have her all figured out. You do continually surprise me.”

“In a good way?” she asked before closing her mouth around the fork again.

“The best,” he confirmed. “I know we are only paired for a short time, but I feel like you have challenged me at each step. That’s an impressive feat for a New York City chef competing in Maine.”

“And that’s what you’ve figured out, that I’m a New York City chef?”

“Aye, that and that you love garlic and cinnamon, though not together. You worry more over what your diners are thinking of your food than the classical flavors and techniques we learned in classes. There’s something about perfect knife cuts that makes you smile. I think you probably prefer gelato to ice cream. And while you are clearly a savory chef, you have a sweet tooth.”

The tenderness in his tone and expression amazed her as she waited for the sarcastic punch to hit. It didn’t. “You might be right,” she answered so softly that he barely heard it.

“I know that you enjoy your work as an executive chef, but you have dreams that are bigger than that. Perhaps that’s the wrong word though. I think you probably have simpler dreams that involve cooking your own food in your own restaurant.” He brushed a bit of sand off his leg.

“Don’t all chefs want that? And you think you have me figured out by watching me cook?”

“By watching you in general,” he clarified, bowing his head and murmuring the words. “You are quite guarded, but there are moments, just a few, when you let the real you out to the world.”

His face was so close to hers in that moment that she barely had to lift her head to press her lips to his. If he was shocked, he did not reveal it except by a slight gasp. Slow and thoughtful, his lips moved against hers with gentle firmness. A moment later he pulled back a fraction of an inch, the blue of his eyes dark in the dim light of the fire. An errant curl that had escaped her messy braid was between his fingers as he studied her.

“Don’t,” she said, reaching up and cupping his cheek in her hand. “Don’t apologize or make an excuse. Please.”

“I wasn’t intending to,” he said, leaning his cheek further into her palm. “Perhaps you might be willing to share a bit more about your beginnings. I would be honored to know you better.”

She yawned and watched the wispy gray strands of smoke rise from the fire and disappear into the night sky. “Not much to tell. I changed home every few months and learned to travel light.”

“Never a home that stuck?”

“Well, there was one when I was about 14. A woman named Ingrid. She had a few of us she watched over. And one by one they were either reunited with their parents or found adoptive parents. I didn’t.” She was quiet for a moment, waiting for him to encourage her perhaps. While he said nothing, his eyes studied her in that attentive way he had. “Soon it was just me. She tried to adopt me, but it didn’t go through or maybe she changed her mind. I moved on to another group home and didn’t know why. It hurt. Not knowing why the one person who seemed to want me left me too. God, I should be over this. I am a grown adult now.”

“I don’t know if we ever get over not being wanted,” he answered. His arm rested on her shoulders and his hand dangled until she caught it with her own, locking their fingers together. “Wounds are made when we’re young tend to linger.”

“Sounds as though you have a few of those wounds too?”

“Nobody makes it through their youth unscathed. Some are just luckier than others, I suppose.” His thumb trailed over the fleshy part of her hand.

She tilted her head to better look at him. “Tell me?”

He gave her a short version of the loss of his mother, betrayal of a father, and loss of a brother who he had adored. There was talk of the boat that he had always wanted and the loss of it.

“You mean that Gold was the producer on that show? He sued you and you chose to come back again?”

“I’m not proud of that performance, love. He doesn’t seem that concerned though.”

Her brow creased thoughtfully. “No, he doesn’t seem concerned about much other than the drama of the competition. So if you win, you’ll buy back your boat?”

“That’s the plan. What about you? Some posh and proper bistro in New York?”

“Actually, I’m looking at a place here in Maine,” she admitted, her head hitting his shoulder as she told him of Ingrid leaving her a tall Victorian house that was way too big for her to live in and screamed out as perfect for a seaside restaurant. Her voice sounded dreamy as they discussed menus and sustainable fishing that would make the place her dream. Her eyes closed as she imagined simple elegance and clean flavors.

“As enjoyable as this moment is, love, I was just thinking that perhaps we should be considering sleep. We got precious little last night, and tomorrow…”

“You really shouldn’t be so practical,” she said, throwing back her head with a moan of frustration. “Because now I am going to think about how much I want to sleep.”

Laughter from Mary Margaret and David’s camp filled the circle of campers, while the lights of the camera crew at Regina and Zelena’s site drove away some of the feeling of purity from the experience of camping. “I don’t regret it, Emma. I just would rather kiss you without the fear that your sleep addled brain wasn’t wondering who I was or about my intentions.”

“I know who you are, Killian. You’re not the only one who has been paying attention.”

***AAA***

Mr. Gold and the judges arrived around 10 a.m. the next morning, though filming had been going on for a while. None of the teams were particularly chatty with each other as they put the finishing touches on their plates. With Emma’s limp less pronounced and the swelling going down, she was hurrying about as if there wasn’t a problem. Stirring the freshly chopped onion into the green tomato salsa, she didn’t see  it when it happened, but she certainly heard it.

When she looked up, she saw Killian take about five steps back from the fire with his left hand cradled in his right. She dropped the spoon into the mixing bowl and hurried over to him. “Are you alright?”

His eyes were narrow and glassy as he stared at his hand as if it had commented some sort of offensive treachery. The towel that he normally wore over his shoulder or at his waist was haphazardly covering his hand, but Emma could already see the red splotches of blood coming through the thin fabric.

“Killian, look at me,” she said, steering him away from the fire. “Come on. I’ve got you.”

It was David who alerted the medic to the problem and Ariel who flagged down one of the production assistants. Emma didn’t move from his side until he reminded her of their task. “Get the fish. It’ll burn if we leave it too long.”

“You can’t possibly be thinking about food right now,” she hissed.

“Aye, and you are too. Go win this thing, Emma. I’ll be fine.”

Squeezing her hand on his thigh, she put on a new set of cooking gloves and checked the fish that was close to overdone at that point. His knife was on the ground, as was the lime that didn’t look quite ripe enough. She pulled the fish, and using her own knife, rough chopped the blue fish for the tacos. Her eyes and focus were on Killian, who looked to be in pain as the medic spoke to him and the production assistant in hushed tones.

Skirting around the cameraman who was capturing her own nervous reaction on tape, she grabbed for the box of salt and seasoned the clams heartily before going back to throw the premade tortillas on the grate of their makeshift grill. Killian had spoken earlier about the importance of heating them just before the judging, which would a smoky flavor. The bacon would create that as well, she thought. So with her stealthy glance still on Killian, she threw the bacon slices onto the grill grate and heated them. Once they were crispy enough, she broke them into smaller pieces and combined them in the salsa. There was still quite a bit left over and so as a last minute addition, she threw the rest of crumbled bacon into the broth.

“Chef Swan,” Mr. Gold said, his cane digging into the sandy earth. “I know you must be frantic what with your partner’s injury, but if you would be a dear.”

“What do you want?” Emma asked distractedly.

His sickening sweet smile grew wider as he watched her push back her hair with her forearm. “Dearie, you know we are filming a television show here. It’s important that we have these details, you know.”

“Look, I’ve got seven minutes left and a lot of plating to do. Can we just get on with it?”

“Of course. I just hoped we might shoot some B-roll of you doing a few things around the fire. Stirring your food? Adding some herbs or spices? You’ve got a box of salt there. Why don’t you pretend to put some in while we film?”

The exhale of her breath sent the errant hairs around her face flying as she grabbed the salt and poured some into her hand. “Can you do that again, a little slower this time?” Gold asked.

She said nothing, adding more to the heaping mound. Her head turned to get a better view of what they were doing to Killian as two EMTs were rushed in from the direction of the docks. Her stomach dropped and her hand shook as she felt the salt overflow from her cupped hand. She jerked it back and dropped the rest of the mound down to the sand. “Excuse me,” she told the producer and cameraman, pushing past them to hurry over to Killian.

“What’s going on?” she asked, staring down at his wrist and hand now covered in bandages.

“They want to get an x-ray of it, but I may have sliced my tendon,” Killian said, his jaw tight and his eyes flashing with anger. “I’m a bloody klutz to have used the knife so carelessly.”

“Oh God,” Emma said, yanking her glove off to touch him. “Are you in pain? What am I asking? Of course, you’re in pain. I’m going with you to the hospital. I want…”

“Emma, the competition…you need to be here for the judges. I’ll be fine. I’ll be back for the next round. We’ve both got plans for that money.”

Only, he wasn’t back for the next round and neither was Emma. While he was being taken to the hospital, Emma had stood alone at the table where she served the residents of the island and the judges the fish tacos, rice, and clams in the white wine broth. She had run out of time to make the dessert, but nobody could really blame her when she was working alone on a two person task. No, the complaints weren’t about the lack of sweetness. They were instead about the saltiness of the clams in their broth. She had seasoned them too much and the added bacon had made the dish so salty that it was inedible to most of the people there.

With her head lowered and bile rising in her stomach, she heard the news announced that she and Killian were eliminated from the competition.

***AAA***

“So I called that contractor about redoing the floor at Ingrid’s,” Ruby said two months later as she breezed into the kitchen of the restaurant where Emma was working. “He said he could do them next week. Great, right?” Steam from the pots and pans on the stove rose high and the clatter of plates from the wait staff echoed in the room.

Emma slid the pan into the oven and closed it with a resounding slam. Lifting her knife, she returned to the vegetables on the cutting board and began to chop. “Excuse me, but did we somehow come into money that I’m not aware of or something? Because last time I looked at my bank account, I was not seeing it. After I oversalted my last dish on the show, I am lucky my boss didn’t fire me.”

Ruby plucked one of the berries out of the dish waiting to be cut and popped it into her mouth. “So you’ll get a loan. It’s the American way.”

“Seriously?” Emma asked, her knife rocking against the bamboo board. “Ruby, you know this business better than I do. I can’t just go get a loan to redo a house as a restaurant. I’d need equipment, staff, food, insurance…I can’t do it. I’m going to be cooking someone else’s vision for the rest of my life.”

“Pity party, table for one,” Ruby chided, leaning her elbows onto the cold surface of the prep table. “Look, you did well on that show. I’ve been watching the raw tape. Investors are already impressed..”

“I oversalted the food, nearly burned the fish, and…”

“And they still had a hard time deciding whether or not to send you and Killian home. By the way, he’s doing better. Granny’s got him back in the kitchen on the days he isn’t doing physical therapy for his hand.”

Her non-response included spinning around to add some freshly chopped peppers to the simmering pot on the stove. Other than the tense rise of her shoulders and the shallowness of her breath, Emma’s reaction to hearing his name would have gone unnoticed by someone who wasn’t her best friend.

“When I went to visit her for her birthday, he asked about you, you know? Wanted to know how you were doing.”

“And I’m sure you told him,” Emma answered sourly. “Ruby, I screwed it up for us. He trusted me and I screwed it up. He needed that money too.” Her eyes dropped as she remembered the wistful way he had spoken about his boat and the idea of sailing along the shore with no real destination in mind. Truthfully, the thought appealed to her too.

“And that happens sometimes. It was a competition, Emma. You either win or lose. It’s not like you don’t get other chances. There’s another show that is casting right now. I could make calls. But I think we need to look at this one a little bit closer. And maybe explain why you didn’t even go to the hospital to see him when he got injured. I know you’re a great winner, Emma, but I thought you had it in you to be gracious in losing too.”

“You know why I didn’t go,” Emma said, her voice trembling. “I let him down and couldn’t face him. It was easier to just go back to what I know best and move on. I’m too much of a broken mess to even deal with screwing up like that.” It had just been a kiss, she told herself, ignoring that they had talked late into the night and she had slept with her head on his chest as he watched the fire that night. It was easier to say it meant nothing. Who would go traipsing after a guy in another state after a single kiss?

“I think he has a thing for broken messes. I don’t know if you saw it, but his eyes light up when he says your name.” Ruby’s smile grew. “It’s not even something he can hide.”

“What? With anger?” Emma tried to joke. It fell flat.

“No, I wouldn’t call it that.” Ruby dug into the designer knock off bag she carried and pulled out a DVD. “This is the raw cut of the show. Would you do me a favor and watch it? Just watch it? Even if you don’t enjoy seeing his obvious interest in you, you’ll appreciate the take down of Regina and Zelena for cheating. The look on Gold’s face when he realized his own interference was going to cost them is priceless.”

“I don’t have time for television shows,” Emma said, drowning out Ruby’s response with the blender. When she finished making the sauce, her friend was gone and the disc sat catching the light on the counter. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to watch.

***AAA***

“You could call her,” Robin suggested, passing a plate to one of the servers at Granny’s. “If you don’t know her number, you at least know where she works.”

“Are you suggesting I show up there and stalk her?” Killian asked as he slid another pancake onto the plate and doused the stack with syrup. “Hi, I’m the now one-handed git who works one step above fast food and kissed you that one time. Fancy a drink?”

“Don’t be dramatic. You have two hands.” Robin shrugged, having heard his friend’s pitiful excuses before. “And no, I was thinking more along the lines of calling her there. But if you think showing up would work better, I vote for that. Take some time off. You got that insurance settlement that is going to make a hefty downpayment on that 30-foot Catalina sailboat and your appearance fee for the show.. So why not a trip to New York?”

“No thanks, mate. Rejection is not something I would like to relive.”

“Have you always been this stubborn?”

“It’s one of my more lovable traits, mate. That and my ability to cheat at any game of poker. Speaking of which, are you hosting this week or is it John?” Killian flexed and stretched his left hand carefully as the doctors had instructed. The surgery to reattach the tendon was arduous and the recovery tough. But he was trying to do his exercises nightly and had spent hours in therapy to better use the injured appendage.

“You care for her. And from the footage the Widow Lucas’s granddaughter showed me, the woman seemed to fancy you too. I don’t know why she didn’t visit your lousy arse in the hospital. But I do suspect that a call from you wouldn’t be unwelcome.”

The ding of the bell from one of the servers indicated another order being placed. Killian reached for it and nearly faltered as his hand cramped up. Tearing it down on his second try, he grimaced. “Not now.”

***AAA***

Emma spooned some of the whipped cream onto the steaming mug of hot chocolate and watched as globs of it melted away. With a sprinkle of cinnamon on top, she curled her hands around the too hot mug and padded on sock covered feet into the living room.

Normally Ruby didn’t wait up for her unless she wanted something, but she had yet to say a single word as she sat curled up on the loveseat reading a bodice ripping romance and munching on cheese doodles. Dipping a finger into the whipped cream and licking it, Emma watched her friend expectantly. Ruby simply turned the page in her novel and chewed louder on the cheddar flavored snack.

“Fine,” Emma said, curling her legs under her and reaching for the remote. “I’ll watch the damn footage. Happy?��

Ruby said nothing and simply dragged a cheesy finger across the page in her demonstration of concentrated reading.

The large screen filled with scenes of the short time they were in the competition, Emma recognizing the efforts the contestants made. What she hadn’t noticed at the time was becoming increasingly clear on the video evidence. Killian’s eyes often lingered on hers and his smiles became brighter each time she spoke to him or showed any attention in his direction. When she smarted off at one of the judges, he was practically beaming with pride. Her own reaction wasn’t exactly subtle either.

“The interviews are even better,” Ruby said, finally dropping her book and pretense.

Ruby was right. Killian spoke of food with great respect and passion, but he was speaking of her with nearly equal reverence. His face flushed and his words stuttered when someone off camera asked if there was something going on between them.

“This isn’t making me feel better,” Emma complained, sipping down more of the chocolate drink. “Why am I even watching this? So what if he was interested in me? I clearly ruined it by getting us kicked off the show and then being too chicken to even show up to see him at the hospital.”

“Right,” Ruby said, digging her hand into the bag and pulling out another crisp puff. “I mean nothing to see here. Move on.”

Emma frowned at the screen as Regina and Zelena waxed philosophical about their differences of opinions and similar palates. Then the footage of Killian’s injury filled the screen, followed by her mistake, and then the announcement that she lost. Her finger hovered over the stop button on the remote when Ruby told her to wait. “For what?”

The image of Killian in his hospital bed filled the screen and Emma let her finger continue to hover. “It was my fault,” Killian told the camera, his expression somber and his face pale against the starched sheets of his bed. “I had already salted the broth and didn’t tell her. She didn’t know.”

“But he didn’t salt it,” Emma protested to the television. “I know. He wasn’t near the pot of broth. He was trying to cut that lime and…”

Ruby reached over and pulled the remote from her friend’s hand. “Pretty dramatic statement, right? He was trying to take the blame for your mistake.”

“That’s just…”

“Romantic?”

Emma rolled her eyes. “I was going with stupid.”

“Right,” Ruby said, nodding thoughtfully. “Stupidly romantic then.”

Ruby made her watch the rest: the stunning disqualification of Regina and Zelena in the penultimate round for cheating, followed by a black screen with white typography stating that Mr. Gold had been removed from the production for his part in sneaking the women ingredients, tools, and recipes in some sort of deal for them to win and become the faces of his brand of frozen dinners, and the thrilling showdown between the married couples resulting in a close victory for David and Mary Margaret. Between the winning pair, it was Mary Margaret who won the whole thing though you couldn’t tell by the exuberant celebration. As Ruby turned off the television, Emma sank back against the cushions of her couch. “I can’t believe he did that. He could have let me take the blame; it’s my fault. I don’t get it. Why did he do that?”

Exasperated, Ruby threw the blanket covering her legs off and stood up from the love seat. “Ask him, Emma. Freaking ask him. I gassed up your car. I packed you an overnight bag. I called your boss and traded in some of that vacation time you’ve been hoarding. I was trying to trick you into going to Maine with me to see about your plans for the restaurant at Ingrid’s old house. I even lined up some investor appointments so you can do this the real way instead of the competition show way. But I’m going for the emotional appeal. Now get your ass in gear, put some hot chocolate in a thermos, and go ask him yourself.”

“Ruby…”

Her exasperated friend was jangling the car keys in front of her. “You can yell at me in the car. Let’s go. We’ll talk about the restaurant on the way.”

***AAA***

Granny’s most frequent customer had sent the meatloaf back twice, claiming it was bland. Killian was ready to kill him. A scent of burnt grease permeated the air as he directed the two line cooks to prepare the easier dishes between shouted replies from the restaurant’s proprietor.

Sashaying into the kitchen, Granny lifted the lid on the rosemary laced tomato sauce and breathed in the scent before turning her attention toward Killian. “Take a break would you? You’re clearly not on your game today.”

He dropped his mouth open to speak, but shut it in recognition that she was right. “I’m just going to take a walk.”

The older woman’s glasses swung from around her neck as she leaned over to inspect another pot simmering away. “Go on with you,” she said cheerily. “Be back in a bit?”

“Sure,” he said, wadding up his apron and pushing through the back door. He knew better than to say he was getting fresh air when all he could smell was the stench of the dumpsters. He rounded the building and was about to head east toward the docks when he saw what appeared to be the familiar blonde head of his television partner. It couldn’t be, he thought bitterly. Why would she be in Maine?

He was already at the docks by the time Granny quit hugging Emma and telling her to stop being a stranger. And he had bought a pound of fresh scallops for a dish he wanted to try by the time Granny had lectured Emma about her lack of confidence in taking chances. He was a block away when Emma ordered her favorite grilled cheese and Granny told her that she was short-handed, so cook it herself.

He caught sight of her standing at the grill before she even turned around. “Best keep your eye on it, or it will burn,” he said, not sure what else he could say in that moment that wouldn’t be clichéd or heavy handed.

She turned her head slightly to confirm his presence and then shifted her eyes back to the sandwich. “You think I don’t know how to cook something as simple as grilled cheese? I thought I was an open book.” She lifted the edge of the sandwich and studied it. “I guess not a cookbook though, right?”

“I think you traveled an awfully long way to eat a burnt sandwich.”

With a flick of her wrist the flame beneath the pan disappeared and she slid her sandwich onto the plate. It was then that he noticed she had made two. “I didn’t travel all this way just to make a sandwich I could easily do at home.”

He nodded, gesturing to the two prep cooks to take their breaks. He knew Granny wouldn’t mind. She might even understand.

Lifting the two plates high, she carried them over to the prep table in the middle of the room and gestured for him to join her. Along with the sandwiches, there were onion rings and a simple dipping sauce she had mixed just before he arrived.

“Why did you come here?” he asked as he took a seat on a stool that wobbled. “I didn’t really expect that you would show up here. I assumed you would rather forget our awful encounter.”

“This is where I could explain that I’m still going to open my restaurant here. But that’s not the reason right now. Or I could tell you how Ruby forced me. But I’m not big on following directions other than a recipe. So the shortest answer is to ask you why. Why did you try to save me when you didn’t do anything wrong? Why did  you risk your reputation?” Her voice faded into a hushed stillness that seemed unnatural for a restaurant kitchen.

“And you think I have the answers?” He licked his lips nervously. “I hate to shatter the illusion, love, but I don’t. When I heard what the judges said, I felt responsible. I had distracted you. You would not normally make such an error, so I tried to take a bit of the burden from you. Even if it wouldn’t get us back in the competition on a technicality, I didn’t want you to lose your dream of opening that restaurant. And with the way Gold seemed to be playing it, investors were going to be hard to convince to fund you.”

“You traded your chance at getting your ship back for me?”

“Aye.” He met her gaze with an unwavering focus.

She nodded slightly and gave a nervous laugh. “Besides, you made that amazing striper for me. I thought I owed you.”

“Grilled cheese in exchange for striper cooked over a fire?” he asked, straddling the stool across from her. “I do hope it’s the best grilled cheese ever.”

She broken off a bit of the sandwich and popped it in her mouth, chewed and swallowed. “So yeah, it’s the best thing I make. It’s the first thing I ever made actually. When I watched the bread brown and the cheese melt, it felt like I was performing magic.” She leaned back, suppressing a sigh. “And given how I screwed up whatever was going on between us, I could use a little magic right now.”

He bit into his with his dimples deepening. “I’m impressed. You make a hell of a grilled cheese and you shared a bit about your beginnings. And for the record, you didn’t screw anything up.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t come to the hospital,” she blurted out. “I didn’t think you would want to see me. I didn’t think you would want me…”

“I must have done a piss poor job of showing you my intentions if you could think I didn’t want you, Emma. And you owe me no apology. I was there out of my own carelessness and to the detriment of our team. You must think me a complete…”

“I think of you,” she interrupted. “And not in a bad way. Look, I know we didn’t get to know each other that much. And I know we only kissed once, but I…I want to know you too Killian.”

“And I you.”

“So any suggestions on how we do this? I’ll admit that I’m not sure of the steps here. I’ll probably screw it up.”

Standing up and circling the rectangular table, he grinned as he pulled her up to stand. “I’m sure there is a recipe, love. Or we might make it up as we go along?”

She tilted her head back to look up at him, matching his happy grin. “I think I can do that. Sometimes the best recipes are the ones you make up as you go along.”

His lips covered hers hungrily, devouring the softness. Arms around him, she melted into his embrace. And in that moment, their hearts like ingredients joined to make the perfect combination.  

[happys-crazy-queen22]

Clingy and Protective Chapter 4, The Final Chapter

(Gif Credit to @ghoulscott)

Tag list @k-n-e @heyheyhey-its-val @smilexoxoes

Happy Reading Dollies. Hope you all enjoyed it as much as I did writing it!!

Thank you all.

"FP, you have a shit ton of explaining to do". You barged in to Whyte Wyrm, all the attention went to you as you yelled through the bar, Sweet Pea coming in behind you with his head lowered avoiding eye contact. "You're not suppose to be in here, Serpents only". Tall Boy ordered. "Fuck off Tall Boy, you piece of shit". You walked right past him straight to FP. "What did I do this time"? He ran his hand down his face. "I heard that this little job that Pea did was on your call". You stood there with your hands on your hips and a bitch face plastered all on you. "Who said that"? "Tall Boy here told Pea that it was your idea that you sold drugs". You said pointing to Tall Boy trying to sneak off. "Tall Boy, what is she and Sweet Pea talking about"? He came off the stage, walking to Tall Boy. "I don't know man, you know these kids making shit up to just save their own skin". "Plus she's mad cause I interrupted her from getting laid, she has it out for me". He chuckled. You rolled your eyes and blushed. "Oh fuck you Tall Boy, you just want FP out so you can take over and get us in shit we dont need to be in". Sweet Pea spoke up making you smile, he was standing up for himself and his club. You were proud of him. "Tall Boy, I told you that I didn't want us to get in this kind of business". FP came up behind him. "So you disobeyed direct orders from me, if we wanted to get into drugs we would had a vote, and I think everyone here doesn't want to do it". FP looked around at everyone shaking their heads in disappointment. "So what should we do to you Tall Boy"? "Lets have a vote, who here thinks Tall Boy should be ripped from his jacket and exiled from being a Serpent"? "All in favor"? Everyone in the bar raised their hand, even you. You knew it didn't matter but you figured why not, he has put you through hell for the last couple months, he should get whats coming. "I think thats a fair vote, don't you Tall Boy"? "You can't be serious , letting a non Serpent and a girl tell you what to do"? Tall Boy got into FP's face, getting everyone on their toes. "Since I got out, I knew you were pushing me out so you could be president, I felt that". "Even when I was inside I felt that". "She just made it perfectly clear to me, that I was right". "When you got out, you started going straight, making this club weak". "I'm just trying to make these men and women have some balls". "Instead of becoming a joke, no ones going to fear us if we arent strong, doing things by the book is not us". Tall Boy walked around talking to everyone. "Well it is now, we have enough stuff on our plates as it is, we don't need the FEDS coming in and raiding our home, because of drugs and your stupid idea". Jughead stood up, walking to FP. "You dont get a vote on what we do anymore Tall Boy". said Sweet Pea. "So get the hell out of my bar and leave the jacket". FP went back to his seat, watching Tall Boy sling his jacket on the floor. "You'll regret this". Tall Boy slammed the door. Sweet Pea hugged you as he let out a breath. "I'm sorry Y/N". "Hey its okay, we got you out of this and back were you belong". You looked up at him and pecked his lips. "Y/N"? FP called you over. "Thank you, I knew something was up but couldn't prove it". "I guess a girl wanting her boyfriend home can make things happen". You laughed, FP smiled knowing a woman can get what they want, when it comes to a man. "I just want to say, you would be a great Serpent and we would love to have you". You looked at Sweet Pea as he talked to the group, you wondered if he would be happy if you joined. "I'll think about it, Sweet Pea needs to know what I want to do first". "Okay, you know were I am". He winked at you. Smiling you walked over to Sweet Pea, wrapping your arms around his waist. "Everything good"? He rested his chin of your head. "Yeah, lets go home". "Yeah, I have lots to make up to you". He wiggled his eye brows as everyone around us whistled. You smacked his arm. Grabbing your jacket you headed outside and into the night. Closing the door to the trailer, you took off your shoes and laid on the couch, watching Sweet Pea disappear in the bed room. "Babe, I know you just laid down but could you come here for a second". Sweet Pea yelled from the bed room. You huffed, rubbing your eyes. "I'm coming". Shuffling in the bedroom, you straightened up at the site you saw. The room was candle lit, with rose peddles on the bed and a warm vanilla sent drifted around the room. Coming out of the bathroom was Sweet Pea in his Serpent jacket, clean cut and smelling so good. For the little time he had, he out did himself. "What's all this". You gushed. "I wanted to make up for what an idiot I was for messing up everything, so I took what the money was for and did this". He came closer to you, giving you a single rose. You smelt the flower, it smelt just like him. "Thank you Sweet Pea, I'm sorry for being clingy, over protective and just wanting you to myself, I know the club comes with jobs but I just want to come first every once in a while". "I know, this is why I took the job". "Plus I like you being clingy and I really love that you're over protective, I could have gotten into the biggest mistake of my life and have you taken away".  "Thank you Princess". He got down on one knee, opening a little black velvet box. It was a ring shaped as a snake with diamonds as the eyes. You gasped, covering your mouth, tears started to fall. Your heart beating fast, hand trembling as he took it. "Y/N Y/L/N will you marry the Serpent that I am and make me the happiest man in the world and become my wife"? "Yes, Yes, YES". You squealed. He slide the ring on your finger, kissing your hand, getting up and wrapping you in a hug. Smashing his lips into yours. You both pulled away gasping for air. "I love you Y/N". "I love you Sweet Pea, I can't wait to be your wife". "So are you going to take FP's offer"? "How"? "He asked me after you caused the scene in Pops if it was alright if you joined". "So what do you say"? "If you are alright with it, then I'm joining". "I know what I have to do to get in and I'm willing to do it, when that means being with you forever". He picked you up, spinning you around. "My wife and fellow Serpent". He shouted, you giggled taking it all in. Putting you back down, his lips attacked yours. "Can we pick up from our anniversary"? "Oh yeah". That night you made love to Sweet Pea, it felt like the first time again but more special. Knowing you were going to spend the rest of your life with him. Through thick and thin. Ride or die. Romeo and Juliet but with out the suicide. It was going to be all worth it. He was your one and only, no one could replace Sweet Pea or get in the way of loving him. No one.

[freshstartfromtheheart-blog1]

Shepherd's Pie

“Happy St. Patrick’s Day!” is what I was saying a little over a week ago as I purchased all of the fresh ingredients to make my very first shepherd’s pie, from scratch. I was so proud to come up with this idea for my second recipe and adventure in the kitchen. What a fun idea for St. Patrick’s day, and it was something I definitely have never tried to cook on my own before. This year instead of staying out late, decked in green from head to toe with giant light up shamrocks on my head, I chose to spend a quiet night in listening to music preparing a lovely meal.  

I have to admit I got a little caught up and a little busy this past week and haven't been able to post until now, but hey BETTER LATE THAN NEVER :)

I have only tried Shepherd’s Pie before a couple times in my life and each time it was only because someone I was with ordered it at a restaurant as their meal and I had a few bites. Or when I worked at a Preschool a few years back they served it there for lunch, pretty fancy lunch huh?  Although it was just instant mashed potatoes, teeny tiny frozen peas and carrots, and some mini meat balls mixed all together in a bowl with some shredded cheese on top. Either way,  whipped up in a restaurant or served buffet style in the preschool I always thought it was delicious, and I couldn't wait to try to make my own from scratch! 

Many recipes I found for Shepherd’s Pie called for ground beef, but I decided to go with chuck roast to make it more of a hearty stew to enjoy on this cold, windy, night in.  

I followed the recipe step by step, I started by browning the meat in batches just as it said but my favorite part was chopping up the delicious fresh veggies. Adding more veggies into my diet is definitely a must, and I was proud of myself for not going the easy route and buying them already chopped and frozen. :)

The celery was the easy part, I felt like I was on a roll! Then it was time to chop the carrots, and this ordeal set me back about 45 min. ;)

I’m not a big fan of cooked carrots mostly because of the texture, so my bright idea was to grate them instead. I love the taste and I didn’t want to leave anything out of the recipe (except the onions of course) ;) I still haven't been able to develop a liking for onions....just yet. Plus I did a little research and one of my favorite chefs Gordon Ramsay grates his carrots in his recipe. NICE!

Trying to budget my money a bit better I bought the most.....lets say inexpensive grater from the grocery store, that was my first mistake! It took me close to 10 minutes to grate ONE SINGLE CARROT. With an EXTREMELY sore arm and 5 more carrots to go I came up with another bright idea. Why don’t I put them in the blender! Quick, easy, and I should have nicely shredded carrots in just a couple pushes of a button. No...No...and NO! this did not work. All that happened was big chunks of carrots banging around the blades making a horrible noise. At the risk of breaking my roomates blender it was back to the grater because I was not giving up on those grated carrots. Over 30 minutes later I fully grated 6 LARGE carrots! I even alternated hands and got a killer arm workout in the process. Do you want to see what 40 minutes of hard work grating carrots looks like?

NOTHING SPECIAL!  And this is what took the most effort of this whole recipe. The important thing is I was DETERMINED and I did not give up! ;)

Next up was the chopping of the garlic, which I was looking forward to after the carrot fiasco. I set aside 6 cloves of Garlic and after trying to peel one of the cloves, that TOO was taking FOREVER. So at this point I turned to google for a quick trick to peel the skin off garlic. I found one. I was a little skeptical at first, it said to place the cloves of garlic into a hard container with a lid and SHAKE SHAKE SHAKE for a couple minutes. At this point I was glad I had the house to myself that night because i’m sure this looked absolutely ridiculous. After shaking that container as if there was no tomorrow, I was surprised to find this actually worked! WOW! All of the skin came right off.

Google was again my best friend because I needed a substitute for the cup of red wine. I used beef stock, but other choices included: vinegar, ginger ale, grape juice, apple juice, cranberry juice, pomegranate juice, lemon juice, liquid from canned mushrooms, tomato juice, or even just water.

I followed the recipe and combined all of the ingredients and allowed them to simmer, and let me just tell you my house smelled ABSOLUTELY AMAZING! As all of the flavors combined together I couldn't help but taste test this, over and over again. SO incredibly flavorful I could have just stopped there and eaten it just like that! But I moved on to the mashed potatoes. And for the record I have not made mashed potatoes from scratch many times in my life, if at all and they are so SIMPLE and WAY better than instant potatoes. I could have eaten a giant bowl of those alone too!

Now it was time to transfer the ingredients to a casserole dish and bake!

I really wanted to pipe the potatoes on with a pastry bag to make it look pretty, but the one problem I had with this recipe is there was not enough mashed potatoes AT ALL. Or else I just went a little overboard with the taste testing ;)  There is supposed to be a thick layer covering the top of the stew and I barley could spread them into a thin layer to cover it. OH WELL, into the oven it went. I knew it would still be delicious! 

I’m KICKING myself now, but I did not take an after photo :( 

While trying to plate this for a perfect after photo it came out UGLY UGLY UGLY! I did not want anyone to see it. But let me tell you it was one of the most DELICIOUS things I have EVER tasted. It was full of flavor and came out tasting perfect!

I’m bummed I was so worried about what people might think of my after photo. This was a dish I was truly proud of, and worked hard on (lets not forget the carrots)  Even though it didn’t look perfect on the outside doesn’t mean it wasn’t absolutely amazing!

SUCH IS LIFE, things may not always be perfect but life sure can be amazing when you take the time to enjoy the things you love to do. It’s as simple as PIE ;)

Ingredients

2 pound beef chuck roast

6 tablespoons all-purpose flour, divided

4 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil

1 large onion, chopped

4 ribs celery, sliced

6 carrots, sliced

6 cloves garlic, minced

1 cup high-quality red wine

1 1/2 cups beef stock

2 tablespoons Worcestershire sauce

1 tablespoon balsamic vinegar

2 bay leaves

3 sprigs fresh thyme

1 1/2 cups frozen green peas

Salt and pepper

2 pounds gold Yukon potatoes, peeled and cut into 3/4 inch cubes

4 tablespoons butter

1/4 cup half and half

Chopped chives (for garnish)

Instructions

1. Cut chuck roast into 3/4 inch cubes and place in a medium bowl. Sprinkle with 3 tablespoons of the flour and toss to coat each piece.

2. Heat olive oil in a large non-stick or iron skillet. Brown meat in batches. Do not overcrowd skillet and add oil as needed. Remove from skillet and set aside.

3. Add onion, celery, carrots and garlic to skillet and saute for six or seven minutes. Add three tablespoons of flour, mix well, and cook for two to three more minutes. Deglaze skillet with wine and cook for 2 to 3 minutes. Add beef stock, Worcestershire sauce, vinegar, bay leaves, thyme, 1 1/2 teaspoons salt and 1/2 teaspoon pepper. Return beef to skillet and stir to combine.

4. Bring to boil, reduce heat, cover skillet, and simmer for 30 to 40 minutes, or until vegetables and meat are tender. Add frozen peas and mix to combine. Adjust salt and pepper to taste and remove from heat.

5. While stew is cooking, place potatoes in a medium large pot and cover with cold water. Add two tablespoons salt to water and bring to a boil. Reduce heat, cover pot, and cook for 15 to 20 minutes or until a knife pierces potato.

6. Drain potatoes in a colander. Mash potatoes with a potato masher or push them through a ricer. Add butter, 2 teaspoons salt, and 1/4 teaspoon pepper. Stir until butter is melted. Add half and half and stir to combine.

7. Preheat oven to 400 degrees.

8. Transfer beef filling to a casserole dish or finish the pie in the skillet as long as it is oven safe. Spread potatoes evenly over beef mixture with a icing spatula or large knife. Or, pipe the potatoes with a pastry bag.

9. Bake the pie for 30 to 40 minutes until bubbling and potato topping is slightly browning. Garnish with chives and serve immediately.

[crazy4tank]

Thailänder Chicken Coconut Curry

New Post has been published on https://foodloverrecipes.com/blog/thailander-chicken-coconut-curry/

Thailänder Chicken Coconut Curry

This particular Thai Chicken Coconut Curry is made from tender chicken and vegetables within an easy coconut curry sauce created using red Thai curry paste. It is fantastically flavorful and better than takeout! Keep it low carb by offering with cauliflower rice.

A few years back when my family went to Thailand, We took a morning and visited a Thai cooking class. It had been so much fun to learn about the flavors plus cooking methods of another culture whilst visiting that country and it motivated me to come home and create more of my favorite Thai foods inside my own kitchen, like this Thai poultry coconut curry that balances the particular four flavors of Thai cooking food: salty, spicy, sour, and fairly sweet.

Every Thai meal balances at least two, but occasionally all four, of these flavors. It’s a huge part of their culinary tradition!

In Thai chicken coconut curry, it’s the play involving the sweet coconut milk, spicy crimson curry paste, sour lime juice, plus salty fish sauce that gives this those classic Thai flavors that individuals love. Using store-bought red curry paste makes this an easy weeknight meal, and even my cooking instructor within Thailand said that hardly anybody right now there makes their own curry paste mainly because it’s so much work and utilizes so many difficult to find ingredients.

What you will need to create Thai chicken coconut curry

Chicken: We prefer using chicken meat in this recipe, but upper thighs would be great too! Just cut the chicken into 1-inch parts for easy cooking.

Salt & Pepper: Season the chicken prior to cooking by sprinkling it after some salt and pepper. It helps create the flavor of the dish instead of waiting to season it by the end.

Oil: Any neutral-tasting oil is useful for cooking the chicken.

Veggies: I enjoy add zucchini, bell pepper, plus onion to my curry, but it is a great dish to use up whatever you have got in the fridge. Sugar snap peas, broccolini, green onions, and eco-friendly beans also work great! Just keep your amounts about the same and you can swap your preferred vegetables in and out.

Garlic: Everything is much better with garlic, right? One fascinating thing I learned in my Thailänder cooking class is that they use smaller, but much more potent garlic within Thailand, but this recipe has been written with large garlic cloves in mind that most of us are familiar with.

Ginger: I highly recommend using fresh ginger rather than subbing dried ginger in this formula.

Thai Reddish Curry Paste: You are able to adjust the amount of curry paste to create this dish more spicy or even mild depending on your taste. We all consider this “medium-spicy” as written, if you are concerned about too much heat, you might like to cut the amount in half, or if you would like it really spicy you might want to add one more 2 tablespoons.

Coconut Milk: Make use of full-fat coconut milk for the best taste.

Fish Spices: This is one of those things that might scare some away, however it adds awesome flavor without producing the dish taste “fishy”. It will be adds authenticity!

Lime Juice: You can even provide lime wedges on the side to squire more lime juice on if you like issues extra pucker-y.

How to make Thai poultry coconut curry

Preparation the chicken and veggies: Cut the chicken into bite-size items and pat dry with paper-towels, then season with salt plus pepper. Wash and chop the particular veggies so they are ready when it is time to cook.

Temperature a little oil in a large frying pan over medium-high heat, then add the particular chicken and cook without mixing for 3-4 minutes. Then when they have a bit of a brown crust on a single side, stir them and keep cook until mostly cooked via (but they don’t have to prepare all the way just yet). Transfer to some plate.

Add a bit more oil to the pan if required, then saute the veggies intended for 3-4 minutes. The goal would be to just soften them but keep them tender-crisp rather than mushy. Include the garlic and ginger plus cook 1 minute more to build up their flavor.

Mix in the coconut milk, red curry paste, and fish sauce. Provide for a gentle boil, then slow up the heat to medium-low and come back the chicken to the pan. Simmer for a few minutes until the chicken can be cooked through.

Finally, stir in lime juice, then flavor and adjust with more lime juice, seafood sauce, or salt as required. Serve over cauliflower rice .

More dishes along with classic Thai flavors

If you love Thai food like this reddish colored curry, you might also enjoy Coconut Mango Sticky Grain or this Thai Sweet Soup Salmon .

Thailänder Chicken Coconut Curry

This Healthy Thai Poultry Coconut Curry is made with tender poultry and vegetables in an easy coconut curry sauce made with red Thailänder curry paste. It's fantastically tasty and better than takeout! Keep it keto and low carb by helping with cauliflower rice.

four. 43 from 7 votes

Print Pin Price

Course: Main

Food: healthy

Keyword: chicken, cocoa

Preparation Time: 15 minutes

Cook Time: fifteen minutes

Servings: four people

Calories: 499 kcal

Substances

one 1/2 pounds chicken breast cut into 1-inch pieces

Sodium and pepper

2 tablespoons olive oil divided

two zucchini sliced

one red bell pepper sliced up

1 yellow onion sliced

4 cloves garlic clove minced

1 tsp fresh ginger grated

four tablespoons Thai red curry insert

1 (13. 5-ounce) may full fat coconut milk

1 tablespoon fish sauce or more to taste

one tablespoon fresh lime juice or even more to taste

Instructions

Pat the chicken pieces till dry, then season with a spread of salt and pepper. High temperature 1 tablespoon of the oil within a large skillet over medium high temperature, then add the chicken and prepare without stirring for 3-4 mins. Continue to cook, stirring until browned a bit and the chicken pieces are mainly cooked through. Transfer to a dish.

Include the remaining oil to the pan, after that saute the zucchini, red bell pepper, and onions for three to four minutes just to soften a bit although not so long that they go mushy. Include the garlic and ginger. Prepare another 1 minute.

Add the coconut milk, red curry paste, plus fish sauce, and whisk jointly. Bring to a gentle boil, after that reduce heat, and return the particular chicken to the pan. Simmer for some minutes until the chicken is prepared through.

Stir in lime juice, then flavor and adjust the seasoning with increased lime juice, fish sauce, or sodium as desired. Serve over cauliflower rice .

Equipment

Skillet

Coconut Milk

Thai Red Curry Paste

Nutrition

Providing: 1 providing | Calorie consumption: 499 kcal | Carbs: 13 gary the gadget guy | Proteins: 40 gary the gadget guy | Body fat: 33 gary the gadget guy | Over loaded Fat: 20 g | Cholesterol: 109 mg | Sodium: 574 mg | Potassium: 1216 mg | Fiber: 3 g | Sugar: 6 g | Vitamin A: 3541 IU | Vitamin C: 64 mg | Calcium: 74 mg | Iron: 5 mg

[liloelsagranger]

New Rocketshipping-oneshot (still SFW - I hope)

Hello my friends :) Excuse my absence for such a long time. Things have been busy, plus I was on holidays and not really active. Anyways, I wrote a new oneshot and let me tell you this: It cost me so much overcoming to write this. As some of you may now, I do have problems with NSFW-fanfictions and oneshots, because on the one hand I’m a true Rocketshipper and I believe that Jessie and James belong together, but on the other hand, I don’t want to read that they’re doing IT. So, while writing this oneshot, I felt strange and insecure, because I wasn’t sure if it’s too much for my standards. My diligent readers know that I like to write innocent stories, kissing and making out is okay, but NOT more. This time, there are some hints that might make you wonder. I hope you won’t hate me for this and are still able to enjoy “Despacito”. Attention: Since English is not my mothertongue you might find some spelling mistakes or syntax errors. I apologize in advance. My mothertongue is Swiss-German so I normally imagine a sentence in German and try to translate it as well as possible into English, sometimes there is a lack of vocabulary or I don't find a match or the appropriate idiom but I want to improve my English and become a better writer. Another thing I want to make clear is that I use „..." to introduce direct speech! „ are not commas but the German quotation marks, just to avoid confusion. Note from the author: During my holidays in Italy, I gathered a lot of impressions that led to this oneshot. One of my hobbies, you may also call it a tic, is to observe people of all ages, enjoying their days off, happy-go-lucky, no worries, no sorrows. My boyfriend and I used to play a game called „Truth or truth“, because adding the dare-factor would have been too complicated to ply in public. We had so much fun learning about secrets of the other person, but also about wishes, dreams and plans for the future. The title of this oneshot „Despacito“ is a tribute to this Latin-American song that was played in each and every single bar, at the mall and at the beach. It’s been long ago since I last published something. This story demands much will-power, I wanted to write something that evokes certain emotions but at the same time I wanted to feel comfortable when committing my ideas to paper. Have fun. Despacito It was the time of the year, when Team Rocket was allowed to take a few days off from work. The laborious and vain hunt for Pikachu could wait. Meowth had informed his team mates long ago, that he would turn back to his former pack and try to pour oil on troubled water. Jessie and James had agreed and decided to take the next flight to a destination far away from their usual whereabouts: Italy. Back at their base, the lavender-haired man rummaged around the attic where they used to store battered suitcases and carpetbags. It didn’t take the agents long to pack in their belongings, some very small summer dresses for Jessie and a couple of shorts with a palm print for her best friend and travel companion. They booked two tickets to the east coast of the boot, a tiny, but inviting hotel and made sure that it provided meals on a full-board basis, since they wanted to fill their bellies and gorge on opulent meals and creamy desserts. Only two days later, Jessie and James arrived in Rimini. It was a typical tourist city. People from all over the world snatched their deckchairs and parasols, trying to get a nice suntan. Their room was rather small and needily equipped. There was a double bed with dark brown pillows and an orange coverlet, fitting curtains and a tiny bureau with only one chair. Jessie entered the bathroom. „James, we don’t have a shower,“ she exclaimed, starting to feel uneasy. How would she be able to spend a few days in a minute bedroom without the possibility to wash off the tickling and itching sand? Her friend joined her and examined the wet cell. „Well, there it is,“ he pointed at a shower head. „It seems that the water drains directly off the floor,“ he explained. Jessie sighed with relief. She didn’t want her immaculate skin to suffer. James unpacked his shirts and pants, satisfied to get himself out of uniform for the upcoming week. The magenta-haired woman slipped into a light blue sundress, applied some lipstick and mascara and was ready to have a feast. They walked downstairs, meeting other guests on their way to the dining room. Each of them greeted them welcomingly, but Jessie noticed the inquisitive looks in their eyes. ‚Do they assume that James and I are a couple?’ she asked herself while fetching a salad bowl. She took a peek at her team mate. He was fully concentrated on the wide range of vegetables presented on silver trays. The owners of the hotel, a young man and his aunt, were hurrying from one table to the other, busy reading every wish from their sojourners lips. Some people had allergic reactions to certain food ingredients, so they always needed a further ace up their sleeves in order to provide the guests with tidbits. Jessie piled up eggplants, carrots and tomatoes, snatching the salad tongs from under an elderly man’s nose. She had to admit that she was starving. Being a Team Rocket-member meant to live in poverty. Sometimes, she, James and Meowth had to share one single cookie. They always endeavoured to share it equally, but conflicts couldn’t be precluded. James called her to their assigned table. „It’s nice here, isn’t it?“ he said, observing Giovanna who approached them with an oversized dish filled with Pastina. „Oh, my little darlings. Look at you, nothing but skin and bones,“ she tweaked James’ arm. He blushed sheepishly. „We’ll feed you up, don’t worry,“ Giovanna poured hot broth into their soup plates. Jessie and James thanked her and began to spoon out the peas and  noodles. They were slurping and smacking without regard to others. Some of the guests turned around, shaking their heads and not showing any understanding for Jessie’s and James’ table manners. The second course consisted of a pork cutlet alla Valdostana. Team Rocket’s eyes radiated stronger than the sun. It made their mouths water. „Delicious,“ Jessie munched. „I’m going to move to Italy and pursue a career as holiday entertainer, spending the rest of my life gormandizing in style,“ she laughed. James was glad to see his partner smile. After a couple of forfeited showcase performances, Jessie seemed to have lost her motivation and steadfast self-confidence. He wanted her to forget about the loss and provide an opportunity for different thoughts. The dessert was not long in coming. The cooks had surpassed themselves. Giovanna and Francesco served their guests chocolate pudding with Amaretto-crumbles on it. The pudding was literarily melting on their tongues. Jessie scraped the remains off her small plate, licking the teaspoon. James picked up the crumbles from the tablecloth, he had never eaten something more scrumptious before. „Meowth would definitely love it here,“ he supposed. „That sweet tooth wouldn’t get enough of these delicacies, he’s such a glutton!“ Jessie wiped off the chocolate from the rims of her mouth. „Would you like to take a walk?“ James asked her. She nodded and they stood up, greeting their neighbours, before leaving the dining room direction shopping street. „Are you going to watch the spectacular fireworks? You’re adorable,“ Giovanna shouted from behind the counter. Jessie looked at James. Both felt a little bit overstrained with the owners cordiality and care. Never had the Team Rocket-agents experienced such benevolence before. Giovanna and Francesco saw about their customers with great welfare, making them feel sheltered and in good hands.  Jessie and James made a turn to the left. James was visibly nervous. Could these few days off finally lead him to a long-awaited desire? He couldn’t tell Jessie the truth. How would she react? Would she rebuff him or did she feel the same? Meowth wasn’t here to interrupt him a second time. James tried to focus on the countless minimarkets, gelaterias and bars. They squeezed themselves through a crowd of people until they spotted a cafe bathed in cool purple colors. They sat down on two seat cushions asking the waitress for the drinks menu. „Ugh!“ Jessie had a disgusted expression on her face. „What’s wrong, Jess?“ James asked, observing the waitress how she tried to clean the filthy toilet with her bare hands. „The list of beverages is sticky as if someone had spilled his drink on it,“ she dropped the card and stood up. „Come’on, that was a huge mistake. Let’s find a better place to get wasted,“ she took James by the hand and they tiptoed out of the bar, Jessie pursing candies into her small bag, some kind of reparation. Her friend followed her silently, pleasantly surprised by her gesture. They walked straightaway until they reached another bar called „The Pirate’s eye patch“. It was a rather dark place with a few tables and chairs along the street. The waitress yawned widely, obviously tired and exhausted after a never-ending working day. She approached Jessie and James, presenting them with a new and unused drinks menu. „I’ll go for a Mojito. What would you fancy?“ James wondered, wistfully watching his team mate. „Sex on the beach“, Jessie replied. James jumped up. „Okay, let’s go“, he kidded.

Her jaw dropped. „James!“ she nudged him with her elbow. „What’s going on with you?“ I haven’t seen you so serene and happy-go-lucky in months,“ luckily he couldn’t see her blushing to the roots of her hair. James chuckled and sat back down. „I was just joking, Jess Jess“, he caressed her thigh. „Take things easy. I think it’s just the weather, the sea and the fact that we don’t need to care about Ash and his yellow rat for a change. It’s the two of us, relaxing, sunbathing and glutting ourselves till the doctor comes,“ he answered.  Jessie cocked an eyebrow. James used to be the restrained and fearful pathetic guy who enjoyed nothing more than spending time with his beloved Pokémon and who was afraid of committing himself to a relationship or even think about it. Even if it was just a joke, an insignificance, it made her wonder. Was he hiding something? Did he feel the same? She let the matter rest. The waitress took their order and disappeared behind the counter, urging the barista to prepare the drinks. James slumped into his chair, finally realizing that he didn’t need to work on a new mecha, nor fearing a phone call from their boss. The drinks were served and the agents clinked glasses. „To us, to an unforgettable holiday,“ he winked at Jessie. They took a sip of their cocktails, puffed and blew. „It’s so strong,“ Jessie had tears in her eyes. „Hey, you wanted to get wasted, right?“, James took another sip of his Mojito, fishing out a slice of lime and sucking it. The sourness made his hair stood on end. „Let’s play truth or dare,“ Jessie suggested, slowly but surely feeling the alcohol. „Oh no, please give me a break!“ James yammered, he was crushing ice with a straw. „Okay, then let’s play truth or truth,“ she said, hoping that he would join in. „For all I care.“ „Here are the rules: You’re only allowed to ask one question at a time. You’re not allowed to answer your own question and the questions have to be terribly personal. Don’t ask me about my favourite ice cream flavours. No one cares about it. Get it?“ „Got it!“ „Good. Question number one,“ Jessie turned the chair to her friend. „Which Pokémon that accompanied us on our journeys did you like the most? Choose,“ she asked him. „That’s unfair. You know exactly that I love all my little babies and that they’re of great importance to me. Think about Koffing and his sad eyes, or Chimecho that I had to leave at my grandaparent’s home, or Mime Jr., man that’s hard,“ Jessie noticed how James struggled with this question and she already knew the answer. He would never favour one of his Pokémon, they were his children. „I can’t decide, Jess. Love them all,“ he admitted. „Well, that’s really going to be fun playing truth or truth with you,“ she took another sip of her drink, watching a group of young men walking past their table. They were muscly and well-conditioned, giving her the eye. James harrumphed loudly. „Jessie, if you have had the opportunity to become a nurse, would you be happier by now?“ She briefly considered that thought. „No,“ she answered. „Why not?“ he wanted to know. „Because I would have never met you and Meowth. Although we like to go for each other’s throat from time to time, I’d miss you guys. We’re family, right?“ she gazed into his emerald-green eyes and smiled. „To the best trio,“ they clinked their glasses one more time, their foreheads touching. James was so close to her ruby lips. He could feel her breath on his face. He wanted to do it, but backed down. After a moment of silence, Jessie pulled away. „Next question. Would you ever turn back to Jessiebelle?“ she asked. James who was taking a big sip from his Mojito, chocked and blanched. „Never,“ he yelled.

„Not even for a large sum of money that would release us from our debts?“ she wondered.

„No, Jess, no!“ he was close to tears. „She’s a maniac! If I were so stupid to turn back and accept the marriage, she would probably torture me to the bones, like she used to do it when we were teenagers,“ his voice cracked. Thinking back to his ruined childhood made him shiver. He wanted to change the subject as quickly as possible. „I’m going to ask you: is there a person in your life that you would like to kiss?“ he inquired. Jessie nodded. „Yes, there is,“ she had a mischievous grin on her face and giggled. James loosened his collar, he felt tipsy. Jessie tied up her long hair. „James, have you gained experiences with women yet?“ she asked, clearly strucking a nerve. He hung his head in shame, remembering the time he dated Jessiebelle. „Yes, I have,“ he admitted whispering, not proud to call that southern battleaxe his ex-girlfriend. „How was it?“ Jessie dug deeper. „Unfortunately, terrible. I would like to forget about that relationship and move on“, he confessed. „Do you think you could ever fall in love again?“ she wondered. James looked at her.  „Hey, only one question at a time. Your rules,“ he tried to make the atmosphere more relaxed. „Please, tell me, because I always thought that you were...“ what seemed an irrelevant question turned into deadly seriousness. He had to distract his team mate, the questions were way to personal for his taste. Even drunk and hardly able to conceive a thought, James had an uncomfortable feeling when talking about relationships and love. „It’s half past ten. Shall we go to the beach and watch the fireworks?“ he proposed.

„Sure. Shall we just stand up and take off or do you want to pay the drinks?“ Jessie was already leaving the bar. James picked out some coins from his shorts and laid them on the table. He stumbled upon the curb and Jessie had to catch him in her arms.

„Watch out, James,“ a car sped past them. He looked at her with a dreamy expression, tired and completely out of sorts. „You saved my life, blue-eye“, they were still standing in this tight embrace, until Jessie shoved him away in a playful manner. Sure, it was a romantic mood, they had both drunk enough to forget complying with formalities, but was she really ready to take the next step? Jessie tended to be reserved and cautious. Men had often disappointed her and had dropped her like a hot potato. It was difficult for her to trust anybody and even though James was her eternal partner and best friend, she wasn’t sure if this holiday could turn into a hot summer-romance. They walked down to the beach and took a seat on a deckchair. James laid his arm around her shoulder and pulled Jessie towards him. She leaned back into his chest, reaching out for his hand. It felt so unreal, they had undergone untold adventures, faced dangers and had to make sacrifices, but this was new. Jessie felt safe in his warm embrace. Both looked up to the sky where the firecrackers exploded, covering the beach in gold and silver colors. The people applauded and clapped their hands. It was wonderful, it was calm, it was far away from trouble. Jessie turned around to face her team mate. „That’s what I needed,“ she spoke under her breath. James kept silent, he was simply staring into her sapphire-blue eyes. They drew closer to each other, James’ pulse raced. He cupped her face, leaned in and kissed her long and intensively. Jessie, who was taken by surprise, let it happen. She relished the moment, feeling his soft lips on hers. He was a gifted kisser. Their lips parted. „Yes, I think I could fall in love again,“ James said, tenderly stroking her face. She looked down embarrassedly. He lifted her chin, tucking a stray strand behind her ear. „And I thought you were...“, Jessie held her peace. „What?“ he asked. „Not interested at all,“ she admitted. James laughed and wrapped his arms around her waist. „I’ve been waiting so long for this moment,“ he crushed his lips on hers, kissing her passionately. She returned the gesture, tilting her head slightly to the right. „Let’s go back to our hotel,�� Jessie stood up and grasped at his hand. They walked back to the busy street where people were still shopping for souvenirs and postcards. Jessie and James squeezed once more through the mob, turning off to the right into an unlit byroad. She wrapped her arms around his neck. He pushed her against a wall, pressing his body against hers. They couldn’t stop kissing. Finally, after so many years, they had dared to open up. „Blame it on the Mojito, Jess, but urgh, you’re so hot,“ James kissed her neck. Jessie had never expected James to say something like that. He had called her hot. He liked her and he liked her body. She was a queen – his queen. James fetched the keys of their room, saluted the night watchman before disappearing into the elevator, where he and Jessie continued their make-out-session, ending up in a fervent French Kissing. They could hear the bell ring, the doors opened with a ‚plop’ and the Team Rocket-members stumbled into their bedroom. James threw his travel bag from the bed, Jessie locked the doors behind her. „Why did it take us so long, James?“ She began to unbutton his chemise, took it off and dropped it on the floor. James closed his eyes to heighten the intimacy. They tried getting a little more adventurous when suddenly, they could hear a rustling next to them. Jessie switched on the lights to see what was causing this disturbance and to their surprise they spotted Meowth sitting on the bureau-chair, observing his team-mates with the widest grin on his face. „Ha! I knew it! Told ya that yous are acting love-love all da time“ he said, smiling roguishly. I’m planning two new fanfictions: “Maria’s Butler II: Saving Al Capell’“ and “Broken Halos” (based on the episode “We’re no angels”)

[soprana-snap]

Popcorn Ceilings

Happy really, really, really, REEEEEALLY late Birthday Alisha! @rivendell101

This was inspired by you and B’s Natsu and Gray brotpcop! AU with private investigatorLucy! ...as well as that one fic of yours where drunk Lucy crashed in Natsu’s bathtub! 

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His wet boot soles screeched on the polished tile, his shoulders tensing at the cacophonous noise. In his grip, the gun shifted, aim dropping lower by inches. “Oops-”

“Quiet, flamebrain.”  His partner, Gray Fullbuster hissed at his side, his own pistol still held up and ready. He had his jet black hair greased back, looking more like a misplaced business man than a cop but at least he had a sharp eye and a quick draw. Especially helpful when the power to the building was off, save for a few flickering emergency lights on a generator.

They were both going blind into the hornet's nest so to speak.

“I was quiet!” Natsu hissed back, readjusting his pistol as if his lack of attention never happened.

Gray's lips quirked, but Natsu knew it wasn't from amusement. “I was talking about your yapper. Every time you open your mouth, you're loud...and stinky.” he added as an afterthought, “Do you ever brush?”

What a dick.

“Do you ever hear the stupidity that comes out of your pea brain?” Natsu retorted in a whisper, pausing at a corner to cock his gun up. Gray followed suit on the other corner, the two of them mirroring the other in image and breathing. The first time they were truly silent and one unit.

3...

     2...

1...

They moved as one, twisting to point their weapons down the hall in opposite directions. Their eyes scanned and pinpointed all possible threats, index fingers poised to fire.

“Clear.” they both muttered, relaxing.

'Back up just entered the opposite side. If our guys are still dumb enough to be here after we pulled the power, we'll catch 'em.' A voice buzzed from their earpieces, stern and hardened from working the beat.

“10-4 Captain.” Gray murmured into the little radio on his shoulder, unable to hear any reply since it was muted. “We got the first floor almost clear. Proceed to the second.”

“Ass-kisser.” Natsu teased with an emotionless face, although the humor in his tone was hardly hidden.

“Shut it. We got this already bagged. They can take the rest.” Gray snapped, already moving down the right hall, careful not to let his boots squelch on the floor. Down the left hall, a single window offered a glance outside. Rain was still pouring down, keeping the outside light away.

Every so often, thunder rolled, shaking the very walls of the building. It shook Natsu down to the bones too, stirring up the thrill with every quiver.

“Steady. Two more rooms and we can stake at the stairwell.”

Gray huffed, adjusting his grip on the weapon. “Shouldn't I tell you that? You are practically bouncing.”

Of course, he was also thriving with energy, his heel twitching. Not even his partner missed it. They were both ready for action, wherever it may happen.

They sneaked closer, Natsu gesturing to the room on the left with a silent point of his index and middle finger, casting a glance of understanding when Gray tilted his head toward the right. Get in, get out, and don't get shot if there wasn't something nice on the other side.  

Natsu shivered when his back hit the wall, his uniform dry by now but everything under it not so much.

If he got sick because of this, his girlfriend would kill him.

Lucy hated getting sick, and if he brought the plague to her, he'd never hear the end of it. Much like his job, Lucy's job as a freelance journalist revolved around actually being well enough to snoop for facts and being where the action was.

Plus, she absolutely hated cough syrup and remained painfully stubborn about suffering rather than just taking it.

Shaking his head clear of thoughts about his girlfriend, he took slow, steady breaths to bring his attention back to the door...and what may lay beyond.

Across the hall, Gray held up his hand, all five fingers splayed out.

One by one, each ticked down until the second they would act.

Natsu felt the coil of his muscles before Gray got to the number one, already twisting and bringing his leg up, swinging it hard enough to strike right by the lock. Silently, he prayed the door was built to open away from him, because he'd have a hell of a time explaining to Erza why he broke his leg kicking a door that was impossible to kick down.

He felt the impact all the way to his chest, hearing the door crack as it shattered just around the lock, flying open to slam into the wall hard enough to break the drywall. Oops, he thought with a cringe. That wasn't quiet.

The room was dark, the only light from a foggy window to the left. Still, he could make out the computer chairs and lecture hall style layout, the desks hollow and easy to see under.

The room was void of anyone he wanted to arrest, sans anyone, actually. Despite that, he felt the coil if his gut trying to tell him something.

He chanced a look over his shoulder, catching sight of Gray squinting into a janitors closet before turning to scowl back at him.

“Really? You couldn't open the door like a normal person? Now the district is gonna have to pay damages. Idiot.”

“Shaddup! It was cool as hell!” Natsu snipped back, feeling the hairs on his neck prickle.

“Cool as hell, but stupid as shit.” Gray agreed with a cocky smirk, making a show of shutting the closet door before patting the functional doorknob.

Before Natsu could retort, it happened again: the hair bristle.

His face must have shown some form of awareness, for Gray's amused grin faded to a serious glower, his eyes darkening to polished coal.

Wordlessly, they crept into the room, holstering their guns for a more close combat setup. Should there be violence, Natsu preferred to grasp it with his hands. Gray followed suit, his breathing quieting, just like a hunter would before making a shot at the prey.

All was quiet.

Crrrrrrrrrreeeeeeeeeaak

Both cops stiffened, casting each other wary glances.

“That...wasn't you farting, was it?” Gray whispered.

Natsu, for once not laughing at the word 'fart', shook his head.

They listened so intently that their ears might have well as grown three sizes, eyes narrow as they simultaneously fished for flashlights.

With two clicks, both flashlights lit up the room, leaving no shadow safe for long.

“There's nobody-” Gray breathed, resisting the urge to flash Natsu's eyes with his light.

Grrrrrrruuuughhhhh

It was a spine tingling sound, like nails on a chalkboard or a fork on a ceramic plate. It nearly paralyzed them both with how real and how close it came.

From above. That was when they heard a muffled, but very real voice hiss, “Oh crap.”

Natsu took a cautious sidle back, Gray mimicking as they both gazed up as if in a sci-fi film about aliens. The drop ceiling looked simple, the mineral popcorn tiles as plain as they would be in a first grade classroom.

What was odd was the festering bulge right in the center of four ceiling lights, the tiles and the bars that supported them buckling.

It took the pair about two second to realize what that meant in regards to the investigation.

“Incoming.” Natsu said, stepping even farther away just as the ceiling lost the battle with gravity, tiles and bars crashing down to the floor, knocking over computer monitors.

A body never hit the floor.

The flashlights were great, but even they could not stand up to the cloud of dust that plumes through the air, bits of mangles tile still raining down every second or so. Natsu assumed it was dust, although asbestos wasn't too far out of the ballpark. He covered his nose and mouth with his collar flap just to be safe.

The smoggy cloud dissipated slowly, revealing a picture that both cops never expected to witness with their own eyes.

A woman hanging upside down, tangled in wires, and flashing them her panties.

A woman, frantically trying to push down her skirt despite having one leg strung up like a snared animal's, her blonde hair clotted with black soot and other miscellaneous debris.

A woman, much to Gray's sudden amusement and Natsu's shock, that was Lucy Heartfilia in all her glory.

Her pupils shriveled as Gray's light shone true, her nose wrinkling as the hand that wasn't currently trying to spare her dignity shielded her brow. “Lucy?” Gray chuckled, more out of disbelief than anything else.

Her eyes flashed, her petrified expression changing like the wind. “Gray! Nice to see you!” she chirped, as if getting caught dangling out of a ceiling at a crime scene was as casual as Sunday brunch, “How's Juvia?”

The cable that tangled her twisted, in turn twisting her body to circulate and lose sight of Gray, now turning to face Natsu: who had more than enough time to gather his senses at the sudden arrival.

Her cheery face dropped like a stone, a wary smile now in place. “Hey babe~” she breathed, nervously fiddling with the hem of her shirt, the skirt now dropping and revealing pink Hello Kitty panties. Natsu tried not to focus on them too much.

He licked his lips. “No 'Hey Natsu! Nice to see you!' for me?” His tone was borderline bitter.

Lucy flinched, her cheek pinking. “Well...you're going to yell at me.”

He frowned deeper, crossing his arms and raising a brow. “Pray tell, why do you think I'd yell at you?”

Her answer was lost as her body continued to slowly spiral, her eyes now bringing Gray into sight.

“Juvia's good. She loved the cookie recipe you sent to her on Pinterest.”

Lucy sighed. “Good, I was afraid she missed it. She has to make it for Erza's party. I think it will be a great-”

“Oi, pay attention to me!” Natsu's voice squawked.

The woman's face shuttered with dread. “Hold that thought Gray, I have someone on hold.” she said as her body still rotated, bringing her to face her boyfriend again.

“You're gonna be mad that I hid in a ceiling-”

“A ceiling of a building probably filled with criminals? Maybe.” he said with a frown.

Lucy shot him a scathing glare, the force losing value due to the fact that she still was upside down, her hair that was loose hanging like branches of a willow tree.

“Okay, maybe after some perspective this wasn't a good idea, but I needed this story Natsu! The news site is thinking about making me a permanent journalist, so there has to be a good hook!” She didn't get to add on as her orbit brought her twisting back around.

“He's got a point, you know. This is by far the dumbest thing you've done.” Gray quipped when they made eye contact.

“Shut up, Gray.” she hissed, folding her arms and waiting to face the other irate cop.

When Natsu came back into view, Lucy put a pout upon her face. “You know I can't resist writing the perfect article.” she whined.

Natsu scowled deeper. “No. Don't use that face on me. It won't work.”

Lucy flinched, but then pouted harder, her lip quivering. “Natsu~”

Her boyfriend shook his head. “Nope.”

She was turning again, the cable starting to hurt as it tightened, her toes going numb. As a small mercy, Natsu reached out and stopped her orbit, keeping her facing him as he said, “You know how I feel about you investigating crime scenes...when a crime is happening. We've talked about this. Remember the bank robbery?”

Lucy blinked, shrugging. “You mean the robber that somehow knocked out the guards but then proceeded to try and rob the bank with a banana? Sorry, I happened to be at the bank to make a deposit. That one doesn't count.”

“How about the time that lady beat up the other parents of her son's little league team?”

“I did everyone a service by arriving on the scene and taking evidence!”

Natsu sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You're so much trouble.”

Lucy grinned at that. “Oh, am I?” she purred, giving him a sultry look. “You going to punish me?”

Gray gagged. “Okay, maybe we should get back on topic. Why are you in the ceiling?”

The blonde shrugged as best she could, white spots dancing across her vision. “Climbed in from the air duct and found some guys in here. So I hung around and snooped once they left, making sure they didn't see me...and then climbed back into the air ducts and waited for the coast to be clear. But, then you guys showed up and-” she trailed off.

“So we just missed these guys.” Natsu muttered.

Lucy fidgeted with a whimper, drawing all attention back to her as she whined, “Can you guys...get me down please?”

“Oh! Right.” Gray lurched, his hands hovering over her hips, waist, and then bare legs. “Uh-” he groaned, flashing Natsu a hesitant glance.

Natsu frowned, slapping Gray's hands away and set to untangling his girlfriend from the cables. He worked silently, even if there was a hint of a smirk on his lips when her skin formed goosebumps under his touch. Every so often, he'd brush his knuckles along her skin, just to flash her a smug glance when she gasped.

“Guys, I'm still right here.” Gray said, kneeling down and holding out his arms to catch Lucy before she fell headfirst onto the floor.

And she did about a half second later, her head cradled in his hands as the rest of her body began to fall...only to have Natsu catch her by the ankles and gently bring her down.

“Okay, now hand it over.” Natsu ordered once she had blinked away all the spots in her vision, her eyes dazed by the flashlights.

Lucy blinked again, brows furrowing. “What?”

The man held out his palm, curling his index finger every few seconds. “The evidence. I know you found some.”

Gray's jaw slackened, his eyes darting to stare at the stubborn blonde as she turned up her nose. “And what makes you think I found anything?” Her tone was haughty, her lips in a tight little frown. If Gray didn't already have Juvia and didn't know Lucy as personally as he did, he might have thought it a cute display.

But, he knew better-knew her better-and knew she was definitely hiding something.

Natsu, however, voiced it better than he ever could. “Because I know you, Lucy Heartfilia, and I know that you will indeed put yourself in dangerous situations for proof and sources. So, hand it over.”

The pair had a staring match for five seconds, static energy practically sparking to life between their eyes before Lucy sighed and reached into her cleavage. Both men nearly flushed scarlet as she dug in, having enough sense to avert their eyes while she pulled out a small, silver flash drive.

Natsu snatched it, pocketing it over his left bicep. “Alright. Now that's over, Lucy Heartfilia, you're under arrest.” He said, fishing out his pair of handcuffs and quickly making sure he had both of her wrists contained behind her back before she could react.

“What?! Natsu!” She screeched loud enough to make them all cringe. “Are you really arresting me?!”

Gray even rose a brow at him, not expecting his partner's cunning gleam as he helped his girlfriend up.

“Aye. You are trespassing on a known crime scene. It won't stick, so you'll be home by dinner.” Natsu said, a little smile curling his lips.

Lucy had none of it. She scowled and stuck out her tongue. “You're an ass and you sleep on the couch tonight.”

Gray stepped back as Natsu whined, taking in the couple with a huff. Of course, Lucy's warning fell on deaf ears.

“Aw, Lucy, don't be like that. It's all in the name of justice-”

“Justice isn't gonna save you from me, you jerk. Who arrests their girlfriend?!” Oh, she was huffing and puffing, her eyes stony as she glared at the back of her boyfriend's head. If looks could kill, Natsu would be feeling the grip of death on his shoulders.

Gray sighed, watching as Lucy and Natsu bickered back and forth like an old married couple, both too stubborn and probably sexually frustrated. After all, most of the guys did wonder about getting their girls...or guys into cuffs.

Unfortunately for Natsu, Gray thought as his partner escorted a still raging Lucy out of the office, he got it all wrong and would indeed be sleeping on the couch: not next to a dynamite blonde and a pair of well used handcuffs.

[londonlanded]

Week 58

And all of a sudden, I’ve got less than a week left. The goodbyes are hitting harder and more frequently, they’re going from being weekly to multiple times daily, as is the nature of parting. 

Monday, started my morning off the way I have been all summer, with a cup of coffee and the St. James Church groundskeeper, Kostas, for company. He imparted a few extra doses of wisdom since he knew he’d only get 5 more chances to, and I really, really tried to enjoy the view. 

Tuesday, a last meal at the restaurant Penny introduced me to, with the angel herself. Farmstand has sustained me this year nearly as much as the girl in my company, I’m going to try and not think about the months of rent I could have paid had I not been shown the beauty of their gluten free, 85% vegan, 100% feel-good menu. 

More importantly though, it was my last moments with my stellar company. Penny and I have had such a funny saga of a friendship, it’s waxed and waned over the years but the takeaway of the whole thing is that she’s been a piece of home this year, both when I knew I needed it and when I didn’t. She’s the reason I’m here actually – I was visiting her in New York when I caught my early flight home and met Plane Lady who turned my world on its head. I proudly announced that to the rest of my guests at my goodbye fiasco last week, too, and realized only there that I was introducing the girl who’d made my whole life with the rest of them possible. At Leicester Square station, we said our goodbyes, but ours was one that weighed a bit less than some of the others I’ve had recently. Not for lack of love for the girl, quite the opposite, if anything. Probably because I see our home town in her eyes in the years to come, and I find it hard to doubt nearly twenty years of having her around. That’s right, first grade through 2018, I have bridges whose strength I’ve questioned on occasion, but the one between us isn’t one of them.

Wednesday, I popped out to attempt a trip to the bank (hot tip don’t go at lunch time you’ll never get seen since money moves quickly everywhere outside bank walls apparently), and on my way back to the office, swung into the Banksy exhibit that’s opened literally across the road from work. It’s a small exhibition, but a good one, and I actually think I preferred these pieces to those I’d seen in Amsterdam last time I saw his work. I know he’s anonymous, but I only say him since there are rumours he’s the lead singer of the band Massive Attack, which means he’s tentatively been identified though not to the point of being forced into admission, which is something I genuinely hope never happens. Some things are best left a mystery.

Wednesday night though, that’s when the day got good. I set off from work to meet a friends’ sister who’d just moved to London herself, and was struck with the hardcore Canadian accent I’d forgotten about. Fresh off the plane, Lindsay sounded just like home. While I spend a lot of time with Penny, she’s spent so much time in the states (read, the past 5 years), that her accent has softened on top of not being too strong to start with. I don’t really come across Canadians much in my little London life, so hearing this Oakville girl tell me about her last moments in Canada, punctuated by Tim Horton’s and a tattoo of mountains she keeps getting told look like a British Columbia skyline, really brought me home.

But that’s not the highlight, though the highlight was just as homey as Lindsay had made me feel. We met Anatholie and Jack, my replacement at the Worldwide Sales Office (who I recruited, thank you very much) and her boyfriend, at Covent Garden station before finding our way to the very same Canadian bar Penny and I had stumbled across the week before. The Maple Leaf sports bar is as tacky as you can imagine, and looks a lot like some of the less classy locations we’ve got at home. Still, we weren’t there for the sports, we were there so that Lindsay and I could show off one of our national treasures to my non-Canadian kids. I had decided to indoctrinate my foreign friends one last way, by convincing them of the infinite beauty of my nation using chips, gravy, and cheese curds, at one of the only poutine-selling outlets in the city.

Rosie, Sophia and Nicki were already waiting, and had decided on their food before we’d even stepped in the door. Before we even ordered, the first Canadian epiphany of the evening came to pass when Rosie realized that there’s more than one kind of hockey in the world, and that when a Canadian is talking about hockey, they’re probably not referring to the type that’s played on a field. I want you to imagine the look on someone’s face who has just realized that they’ve had a number of conversations with people that may or may not have been about the topic they thought they were discussing. Rosie’s born and raised London, and not the sporty type so I forgive her, but I definitely won’t forget the tears of laughter that sprung from her once she realized how ridiculous she sounded after having said the sentence, “oh my gosh, there’s hockey on ice!”

Anyway, back to the real purpose of the evening, Lindsay and I went for the weird, bastardized British version of the stuff (aka peas were served on top, no thank you), but we made sure the rest of our crew stuck with the classics. I went for a Bulwark cider, made from Nova Scotia apples that I haven’t had since Uni, and the rest of the table gave Sleeman a go. Two orders of the classic stuff, one of triple pork, and one with burnt ends (aka charred short rib ends), chicken wings and mac and cheese, we were one carb-and-oil-loaded table, but damn were we ever happy about it.

Verdict after first bites? Lindsay shouted, ‘yes, squeaky cheeeeeeeeese’ and I laughed in agreement, since, before that moment, I hadn’t realized that was the quality-control method that was required in order to determine cheese curd authenticity, but once she said it I realized she was bang on. Canadian verdict; cheese was on, fries were on, gravy was a bit on the sweet and British side but hey, no one really thinks about the gravy quality as much as they consider the rest of the equation, so I’ll forgive them. The rest of the kids were thrilled at their choices, and most importantly of all, our resident Belgian approved of both her pint and her plate. I’ll take the win, thank you.

Thursday, a day dense with exit interviews at work, where I was offered the chance to come back to the company by three different people. While I don’t know how likely it is that my career in hospitality extends beyond this week, it’s nice to know that my performance has earned me the chance to open the door again if I choose to. I popped out at lunch to say bye to Anette who’d come back to London briefly, and before the day ended, one of my colleagues dropped this on my desk and made my day a bit brighter than it had already gotten.

One of the directors had bought me a little goodbye gift since I’d gotten her a thank-you one, and on the envelope it came in, she’d written a little note to the person I’m hoping to be. Just FYI, in the show Suits, Jessica Pearson is the phenomenally dressed, confident, level, rockstar boss of Harvey Spector. Her badass character was part of my initial inspiration to pursue this little legal adventure I’ve decided to embark on. I’d be pretty satisfied if I wound up being half the lawyer she is in the show, I guess we’ll see. More importantly, and in the same subject line, I got my first list of readings on Thursday, too, all to be done in time for Monday. Looks like the fun has begun. 

Thursday was also the day I’d dedicated to packing up everything I own, and stuffing my musty, London clothes into a suitcase in preparation for the purge I do once I get back home and have access to a washing machine that doesn’t imbue my entire closet with the smell of the building it’s standing in. Turns out I own just as little as I thought, and I might not even have needed Brooke’s help a few weeks ago when she brought a bag back for me. 

Regardless, I filled the extra space with bonus stuff I wasn’t counting on getting to keep, and took the dozens of decorations down off my walls, realizing only after I’d done so that my room was brighter, and far less fun without them. I also realized that my room’s definitely better suited to a single bed, note to the future tenant if they feel like acting on that one (though the tenant happens to be a friend of mine, so I’m going to bet on them keeping it as they knew it). By 1:00AM, I was packed and spent, and was finally letting my weary head hit the pillow for the second last time.

Friday, my last day at work, another hefty round of goodbyes, this time with a slightly deeper dose of finality. I spent my last morning, for now, sitting in my favourite spot on the grounds of St. James Church Piccadilly, waved goodbye to Kostas the groundskeeper, got my final free coffees from my friends at Pret (two, plus lunch on the house, my budget is really going to miss those folks, almost as much as I will!). It was a beautiful morning to say goodbye to the place that has seen me through so much.

The office was quiet, the day passed more quickly than almost any other I’ve had, and with a quick phone call from the VP who was working from home but who ‘wanted to hear [my] voice one last time before I embark on my next journey,’ my career at the London Worldwide Sales Office came to a quiet close. Anatholie and I were the last two in the office, tying up some loose ends in her training and on a project we’d been tasked with, and with a final thank you, she left me in the place I’ve called mine for the past 6 months. Another desk cleared out, another page turned, I walked out into the light rain with a slightly heavy heart, but a much more satisfied soul.

By the time the light was fading, I walked into Paris’ flat for the last time, turns out last week wasn’t it after all. Some endings, well, aren’t. And thank god it wasn’t, because that room was filled with more love than I’ve ever seen it, comparable only perhaps to last Saturday’s crowd. Though the party was technically for Paris’ departure, there wasn’t a single person in that room that wasn’t losing me, too. I didn’t hit until just then, when the first few friends walked over to hand me tokens of their individual sadness, letters and pictures and small gifts to keep them in my mind long after they’ve left my day-to-day life. The sadness didn’t hit as hard as I thought it would, but the denial seemed to supersede any capacity of mine that existed for any outright demonstration of feeling.

It also seemed that was only true for me though, as the rest of the evening was peppered with more tears than I’ve ever had shed for me at any other time. I don’t think I’ve ever seen so much sadness, and known outright that I’m a big part of the cause, but known at the same time that it stems only from love. I’ve never had friends like this before, nothing to do with the lives I’ve built before this one, but it’s entirely to do with the nature of the environment I’ve found myself in. It’s non-academic, professional, and fundamentally built on people who have no one but the friends they make and the connections they foster.

We’re a bunch of kids, alone and building our lives in London. No one’s got their parents, no one has anywhere else to go, there’s nothing immediate beyond the people you surround yourself with. We found love in each other because we needed it to survive. And now, when we lose one of the pillars around which our safety net has been intricately woven, we notice. We don’t fall apart, we have many, many, strong and tall beams that hold the rest of it together, but we feel it. The world as we know it shudders and shakes and gives way to the new reality where there’s a piece of it that’s missing, and before the healing can begin, the acute feeling of loss is the only one anyone notices. And when you’re the beam that’s being freed from the tethers you chose to tie yourself down with, you’re left with a feeling of loss that, if you’re anything like me, your body will deny you until it’s ready to stop plowing blindly forward through life. If you’re anything like me, you look back only once you’re able to do so fondly, and without longing for what you’ve left behind.

I do not know when my new reality will set in, when I’ll finally register that I’ve lost this old one, but I know when I do, I’ll really fucking feel it. I am not looking forward to that moment, those moments, as they’ll fall together with increasing frequency if I know myself at all, until finally they, as a whole, become true. Don’t get me wrong, I am entirely the agent of this change, but that hasn’t remotely mitigated the consequences of electing to go through with it. At the end of the night, it was Paris, Veronique and I on his couch, talking about their plans and laughing at the uncertainty that plagued them. The fact that my next three years are relatively prescribed are the reason that I’ve got the most consistent and predictable future of anyone in attendance on Friday night; this is the hotel business, and part of the reason it’s not for me.

You need to move upward, and if not, you need to move on. I’m as keen as the next person to ascend in rank and responsibility, but my passion for hospitality isn’t quite as intense as my desire to face the inherent volatility of the industry. I’ll leave it to the professionals, one of whom I’m done pretending to be. That said, this industry has taught me more than any other I’ve worked in, and it’s done so without also bringing me the professional success that I’d initially associated with personal growth. This company, these people, this line of work has changed me in ways I never imagined were possible. There’s a time and a place for directed ambition, much like there’s one for fleshing out the corners of who you are. This year in London has been the latter.

Vero and I hugged tightly in the back of our Uber, she stepped into the flat I remember walking into for the very first time, knowing I was going to find a friend on the other side of her front door. I remember the day we met, too, I was sitting in the PBX office, bouncing childishly on the exercise ball I’d claimed as my seat for the day, and wondering who this immaculately-dressed intern was. One day of crossover, one day spent training her on what my job entailed before she moved onto another department to ensure she got full exposure of the hotel’s 5 departments and 40+ roles within them. We got on so well that we broke into peals of laughter enough times to earn a telling-off by one of the other agents on duty at the time. But by then, it was too late, we were already friends. There was no doubt or hesitation, only the immediate and mutual understanding that we had less that morning than we had when we left work that day.

Saturday morning was slower than I’d wanted, but the weight of my week was starting to set in, and so was the exhaustion associated with preparing for a new life while packing up an old one. Armed with printouts of my readings for Monday, and covered in the dust swept off the few things in my room that hadn’t been taken from their resting places already, I packed up the last of my things just as I heard the doorbell go. Giulia had turned up, a little later than her initial plan which was to show up at our send-off the night before, better late than never holds true, even for my Swiss German, clockwork girl. 

She shone a little last-minute light on my life before Paris turned up and helped me carry the last of my donation items to the Oxfam box down the road. We had a little photoshoot on my street and G and her sister went off on their London adventure before Murat and Mandekh showed up to help me finish mine.

Murat and Paris took to trying to defy the laws of physics in the boot of Murat’s car, trying to fit my bodybag-esque duffel around my other bag, which was made a touch more challenging since I had to fit a hard-shell carry-on into a bag that looks like it should be soft. After a quick stop at Tesco for British nibbles for the people at home, we were on our way, and my little entourage disembarked with me at the Queen’s Terminal, and helped me heft everything I owned through check-in and bag drop.

And then, it was time to go. The tears I’d been doing a decent job at holding off found their way onto Paris’ shoulder, as his found their way onto mine. He told me he couldn’t believe he wasn’t going to be seeing me later, that this was really it, for now. I couldn’t feel it either, the finality of my turning around and walking away was too far from the realm of realistic for me to have imagined it before that moment, even at that moment. I don’t remember the last time I clung to someone, and I don’t remember the last time someone clung to me. I also don’t know that I’ve ever cried so much in public and simply not cared. One last time, I was experiencing the gift that only airports, train stations, and bus bays can afford. The beauty of transience is that it holds no expectation, we were as ourselves as we allowed ourselves to be. And that afternoon, we set our sadness free.

I had a thought while walking down the stairs to my gate that day, carrying my guitar and my backpack, trusting the staff that I’d handed my bags to that the rest of my material world would make it home, too. Well, I had many thoughts, but one of them stood out above all else. That my life will never again be the same, but that there is nothing more powerful than the moments you realize you’re never going to have again. I know I have a few more of those coming in my life, that every monumental change is accompanied by its own series of palpable shifts in the day-to-day. but I’m not sure that the rest of my shifts will be quite so acutely different as this one will be to the world I’ll be entering on Monday. I am trying to think of this transience as a gift, that the stark contrasts are there to show us how lucky we are to be human, and capable of such a diverse array of experience. The optimism will come, but for now, there’s a bit more denial than there is acceptance. But there is far more love than there is loss, and as it is, life not yet given me a greater gift than it did when I landed here. We cannot lose anything without having first gained, and the question now is not whether I did, but just how much.

I also learned a lot about goodbyes, and I think I managed to verbalize the single most important thing about them, or rather, the most important thing about the absence of them. Goodbye implies, at least for me, that there’s nothing more to say. I think the majority of the people in my world know that when it comes to the way I see them, that will never be the case.

And with that said, I think I’ll put this one to bed, but only until we all meet again. Here’s to all of our adventures between now and then, and it seems that, at least for me, the next one has already begun.  

Thanks for giving me a reason to keep writing. It’s just my life, but I’ve always believed that it’s better shared. 

e