#tbl press

[flintandpyrite]

I finally made a saag paneer that tastes as good as the restaurant kind and I had to write it down

Adapted from the serious eats vegan saag recipe except obviously it's not vegan. But trust me! tofu cooked this way tastes way better than any store-bought paneer I've tried, don't ask me why, it just does.

1 lb firm tofu

2 tbls miso paste

1/2 a lemon worth of juice

salt

pepper

neutral oil

1/2 a large red onion, diced

4 cloves garlic, minced

1 inch ginger, minced

1 tsp cumin seeds

1 dried red chili

1 cardamom pod, crushed

1/2 large tomato or 1 roma tomato, diced

1 tsp ground cumin

1 tsp ground coriander

1 tsp ground turmeric

20-24 oz frozen spinach or a mix of frozen spinach and frozen mustard greens

2 tbls plain full-fat yogurt

1/4 cup heavy cream

For the tofu:

Preheat the oven to 375F. In a bowl, mix the miso paste, lemon juice, and 1 tbls oil with a fork until homogeneous.

Press the tofu between some paper towels to get the moisture out, then cut it into cubes, about 3/4" on each side. Add the cubes to the miso mixture and stir to coat. Season with salt and pepper to taste.

Place some parchment paper on a sheet pan and spread the tofu cube over the parchment in a single layer. Bake for 20 mins, stirring occasionally, until the tofu is firm and slightly toasted.

For the sauce:

Heat a heavy frying pan (I used a 10" cast iron) over medium heat and add 2 tbls neutral oil. When sizzling hot, add the onion and cook until softened, about 5 minutes.

Add the ginger and garlic and stir until fragrant. Add the cumin seeds and cardamom pod and stir again. Allow this to cook until it starts to stick to the pan slightly, about another 5 minutes.

Add the tomato dice and stir to unstick any of the onion mixture from the pan. Cook until there is no more liquid in the pan and the tomatoes are falling apart, about 5-6 minutes.

Add the cumin, coriander, turmeric and red pepper to the pan and stir to mix. Add the thawed greens and stir to distribute the spices. Cook for 8-10 minutes until the greens are warm and cooked to your taste.

turn off the heat and stir in the yogurt, 1 tablespoon at a time, until fully mixed. This will prevent it from clumping. Then add the heavy cream and stir. Season to taste with salt and pepper.

Finally, add the tofu cubes and stir to distribute them. Serve with dal masoor chilla, rice, and turmeric chutney.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Pinkdrunk Linkdump

Today (November 18) at 1PM, I'll be in Concord, NH at Gibson's Books, presenting my new novel The Lost Cause, a preapocalyptic tale of hope in the climate emergency.

On Monday (November 20), I'm at the Simsbury, CT Public Library at 7PM

Happy Saturday! As is so often the case, I have finished the week with more stray links that I can fit into my blog, so it's time for a linkdump post, in which an assorted assortment is assembled. This is my tenth such linkdump – here are the previous installments:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/11/05/variegated/#nein

While nostalgia is a toxic impulse (h/t John Hodgman), there's no denying that there once existed an old, good web, and that it has given way to the enshitternet. I don't want to bring the old, good web back, but I would welcome a new, good web, and by studying the factors that contributed to the old, good web's rise and fall, we can both conjure up that new, good web – and protect it.

Above all, the old, good web was contingent, a series of lucky accidents, like Tim Berners Lee's decision to make the code and ideas and protocols for the original web as open and free as possible:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/11/13/this-is-for-everyone/#revisiting

This meant that there was no way to use the law to capture the web. Contrast that with, say, AOL or Compuserve. If you were the Compuserve's CEO and one of your rivals started using your servers to deliver a service that your users preferred, which shifted value from you to this new rival, you could just pull the plug on them. If they came back – using reverse-engineering or fake signups or whatever – you could sue them. Compuserve's bosses made the rules, any rules they wanted, and could kick you off if you violated them. If you pressed the issue, they could get the government to come and fine you, or, in extreme situations, arrest you.

But the open web didn't have these enforcement hooks. If you ran an early website and Yahoo deeplinked to it, you could change the link, but you couldn't make Yahoo stop. The open web was competitive, and that prevented anyone from exercising a veto over who could make the web, and how. It meant that the web was always up for grabs, with key chokepoints like browser market share swinging around wildly from one vendor to another (until Microsoft started illegally tying blocking rival browsers in Windows).

That meant that the "governance" of the web was often just a matter of the technical details of its standards. Code may not be law, but it was sure law-like – if something was in, say, a W3C browser standard, then all the browsers would support it, and then anyone trying to do something cool on the internet could rely on every potential user having it.

Naturally, this made standards development organizations into the sites of vicious power-struggles. These SDOs are classic "weak institutions," lacking the robust rules of, say, a competition regulator, to say nothing of the investigative and enforcement powers of the DoJ:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/04/30/weak-institutions/

But in the old, good web days, the SDOs had an important advantage: the corporate fragmentation of the web. Because of TBL's decision not to create IP chokepoints, even the wildly overcapitalized companies of the go-go dotcom bubble days weren't able to control the web. No one company was indispensable to the web.

If Microsoft wanted to tilt a W3C standard to its advantage, it couldn't threaten to leave the consortium if it didn't get its way. For one thing, the consortium had such a diversity of membership that losing any one member's dues wouldn't sink the org's finances.

For another, if Microsoft boycotted the W3C, that would just mean that the web standards that all those other companies were making wouldn't reflect its priorities or desires. By staying in the W3C, Microsoft got to participate in rulemaking – if it left, it would be relegated to rule-taking.

But the DoJ and FTC spent the ensuing decades in something like a coma. After a failed bid to break up Microsoft – killed when GW Bush stole the 2000 election and dropped the case – America's antitrust enforcers snoozed through decades of consolidation, and the transformation of the old, good web into "five giant websites, filled with screenshots of text from the other four":

https://twitter.com/tveastman/status/1069674780826071040

This turned SDOs into increasingly fraught battlegrounds where giants duked it out among each other for control of the web. In the days of the old, good web, the W3C was able to continue TBL's chokepoint-free ethos, creating rules that forced members to surrender their patents at the door:

https://www.w3.org/Consortium/Patent-Policy-20040205/

But once the enthitternet was fully in force, the largest corporate members became so important to SDOs' ability to operate that even the W3C wasn't able to resist. They started turning out IP-encumbered standards that were so proprietary that even filing bug-reports against browsers could mean jailtime:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2017/09/open-letter-w3c-director-ceo-team-and-membership

Within a couple years, it became functionally impossible to implement a web-browser without a license from one of a tiny handful of gigantic, monopolistic corporations, who could use the license to exercise a veto over both who could make a browser, and what that browser could do:

https://blog.samuelmaddock.com/posts/the-end-of-indie-web-browsers/

Standards development is one of those esoteric, hugely important activities that almost no one knows anything about. Good standards are key to an open, free internet, and as governments around the world grapple with Big Tech monopolies, their plans often include a block that basically reads "insert good standard here."

As exciting as the EU's Digital Markets Act and US proposals like the ACCESS Act are, the "insert good standard here" stuff is wildly underspecified and undertheorized. Making a good standard – one that is robust, flexible and secure – is hard enough even under competitive competitions where the SDO can play independent referee, more powerful than the participants. But making good standards under monopolistic conditions is really hard.

And yet, it happens! Look at the Fediverse, powered by Mastodon and its adaptation of a W3C standard called ActivityPub. The Fediverse has done more for an interoperable, decentralized web than all the other projects of the past decade combined:

https://fediverse.party/

How did something so useful and capture-resistant emerge from the enshitternet, from the same standards-body that gave us a proprietary "standard" that allowed three giant companies to seize the right to authorize the production of web browsers themselves?

Therein lies quite a tale. In a talk for this year's Association of Internet Researchers conference, Robert Gehl talks about the weird, highly contingent factors that delivered a fit-for-purpose Fediverse standard:

https://fossacademic.tech/2023/10/15/APnonStandard.html

Gehl starts by describing ActivityPub as a "non-standard standard." The technologists who created it at the W3C were largely unpreturbed by the Big Tech members, who viewed ActivityPub as unimportant, a folly. While this meant that the ActivityPub creators were free from Big Tech attempts to corrupt the standard, they were also insulated from the discipline of Big Tech standards people, who are expert at propelling a standard to completion while resolving conflicts to create a single, unified spec.

By contrast, ActivityPub's creators made seven different specs, resolving factional disputes by letting everyone get their way. Critical parts of these standards – including support for federation! – was marked as optional in group's charter.

Then along came Mastodon, implementing the draft spec for ActivityPub. This triggered two extensions to the deadline for ActivityPub's completion. ActivityPub moved to final draft against the backdrop of the real-world experiences of early Mastodon users. Four of the five ActivityPub authors self-identified as queer, and they set out to make Mastodon more harassment-resistant than corporate social media:

https://fossandcrafts.org/episodes/053-fediverse-reflections-while-the-bird-burns.html

The early success of Mastodon shifted the focus of ActivityPub authors and implementers. In Gehl's words, "half of ActivityPub" is now ignored. Gehl's essay shows how many needles Mastodon threaded to get to where it is today, and while there's an argument that there was a Fediverse-shaped hole in the internet that something was going to fill, the Mastodon-inflected flavor of ActivityPub we got is pretty great.

Gehl is working on a book about this for Oxford University Press, "Move Slowly and Build Bridges":

https://fossacademic.tech/2023/08/17/OxfordUP.html

One of the more contingent elements of the nascent new, good web is Signal, the secure, robust, easy-to-use encrypted messaging tool that has stepped in to fill the gap that encrypted email tools like PGP struggled to fill for years (though that doesn't mean that secure email is impossible!):

https://pluralistic.net/2022/05/01/end-to-end-encryption-is-too-important-to-be-proprietary/

Like Mastodon, Signal threaded a bunch of different needles to get to its current status, and it's still threading needles. In a new article, Signal's amazing new president, Meredith Whittaker and Joshua Lund explain what it costs to keep Signal running:

https://signal.org/blog/signal-is-expensive/

Bottom line: Signal costs $50m/year. The breakdown is fascinating and weird. Signal pays a fortune to send SMS messages to verify your number when you sign up. Here's an irony: as Signal displaces SMS, telcos are making up for lost revenue by charging Signal ever-higher rates to send those signup codes – Signal's spending $6m/year on SMSes!

Storage costs Signal another $1.3m/year. Servers are $2.9m/year. Bandwidth is $2.8m/year. Signal's storage and compute costs are low because they're privacy-first, so they're collecting, processing and storing as little data as possible. Add a couple more zeros per user to approximate the costs for high-surveillance alternatives to Signal.

Because Signal is end-to-end encrypted, they can use untrusted (and cheap) third parties for bandwidth, relaying and storage. Your phone encrypts the data before it leaves your device, and no one can decrypt it except the person you're talking to. That lets Signal shop around for server infra, saving much more. Even so, voice and video calls consume a lot of bandwidth, and it gets more expensive because they jump the connection through multiple servers to prevent the people you're talking to from capturing your IP address.

Signal's got 50 full-time employees – a "shockingly small" team by industry standards. But still: 50 developers, managers, designers, accountants, etc all add up to $19m/year (the org pays "as close to industry wages as possible within the boundaries of a nonprofit").

As Signal scales up, it is discovering new and exciting bugs and problems. A one-in-a-billion bug that may never crop up in a small service can suddenly start occurring on a daily basis once you hit scale. That means Signal will continue to hire engineers to crush these weird little bugs, and they're going to be the kinds of specialists who can preserve privacy while fixing servers.

Signal is amazing. It's been six years since they figured out how to transmit userids, numbers and photos as fully encrypted blobs. Not one of their competitors – not even the "secure" ones from giant Big Tech companies – have managed this. Even Signal's system for embedding animated GIFs is privacy-preserving – the system doesn't reveal your search terms to the GIF repositories.

Today, Signal is tooling up to create "post-quantum resistance" to the system, anticipating the arrival of functional quantum computers that will (theoretically) make short work of existing encryption techniques.

The article ends – logically enough – with a plea for donations. I'm a Signal donor already:

https://signal.org/donate/

The Signal and ActivityPub stories reveal the important interplay between principled individuals and sustainable institutions. Benevolent dictators – whether that's Tim Berners Lee, or Mastodon's Eugen Rochko – work well, but fail badly. No matter how benevolent a dictator is, they are not infallible or omniscient. A critical juncture in any good project is its transition from a dictatorship to a democracy – an individual to an institution.

Take the Archive of Contemporary Music, the largest archive of popular music in the world. It was founded in 1985 by Bob George, who had amassed a collection of 47,000 LPs in a loft he'd lived in since 1974:

https://www.theguardian.com/music/2023/nov/16/archive-of-contemporary-music-new-york

George and his co-founder, David Wheeler, have since grown the collection to 3m pieces of media with 90m songs. They were the first people to start seriously collecting and preserving music that others viewed as ephemeral and disposable. The collection wandered from place to place before settling in a Hudson Valley facility that it is about to outgrow.

In part that's because they're still one of the only places where others' collections can be reliably consigned. When Keith Richards wanted to turn his blues collection over to a facility for long-term preservation, he chose ARC. Now, ARC is working with the Internet Archive to digitize and make available its vast holdings.

But that's a fraught and contingent business, too. The Internet Archive has been targeted with one of those bowel-loosening record-industry lawsuits last seen during the Napster Wars, with Sony, Universal and others seeking damages that would permanently shutter the Archive and bankrupt its founder, the wonderful Brewster Kahle:

https://blog.archive.org/2023/08/14/internet-archive-responds-to-recording-industry-lawsuit-targeting-obsolete-media/

The suit argues that when a library makes 78RPM recordings available for its patrons to check out over the internet, they cannot avail themselves of the copyright exemptions that have been a feature since copyright's inception. Remember, libraries are an order of magnitude older than copyright! The core of this suit is that libraries cannot move into the digital world.

Rather than doing what libraries have done since (literal) time immemorial – collecting works, preserving them and making them available – digital libraries can only license time- and circulation-limited copies of works that can't be preserved. It's a grim vision of a future without libraries:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/11/13/they-want-to-kill-libraries/

Giant corporations are an existential threat to human thriving. After 40 years of neoliberalism, there's a growing recognition that the market's invisible hand would like to swat you like a bug. Hence the rise and rise of the labor movement. Though "union density" (the proportion of unionized workers) is still at an historically low ebb, union support among the public is higher than at any time since the New Deal.

That's why UAW president Shawn Fain is planning a general strike in 2028, calling on other unions "to align your contract expirations with our own" so that all the contracts come up for renegotiation at the same time:

https://inthesetimes.com/article/uaw-auto-workers-general-strike-contract-labor-unions

This is a very clever way to overcome America's ban on sympathy strikes, which was introduced in 1947 with the Taft-Hartley Act. Sympathy strikes – where all unionized workers refuse to provide any service to employers who won't bargain fairly with their own workforce – are a hugely powerful tool for labor movements. Look at Sweden, where Tesla has refused to bargain with the technicians who fix its cars.

In response, the entire Swedish workforce has united against Tesla. Dockworkers won't unload its cars at the port. Electricians won't fix its chargers. Cleaners won't clean Tesla showrooms:

https://www.wired.com/story/sweden-tesla-strike-cleaners/

This is how it's done. Musk has made his fortune by crushing worker power in every one of his businesses, joining the ranks of Apple and Amazon as one of the world's leading maimers and killers of his workforce:

https://www.usnews.com/news/top-news/articles/2023-11-18/us-lawmakers-urge-scrutiny-of-spacex-worker-injuries-after-reuters-report

While Musk's latest turn toward open antisemitism is grim, especially in light of his ownership of Twitter, it's perfectly in character for a man whose businesses have always been charnel houses of "crushed limbs, amputations, head injuries and death."

But Musk can't fire or even intimidate the dockworkers who won't unload his cars. Sympathy strikes enlist workers who are beyond the reach of intransigent employers in aid of workers who are subject to retaliation for striking. That's why Taft-Hartley abolished sympathy strikes.

But if all the major unions are negotiating their contracts in 2028 – as Fain has called for – they can all strike without falling afoul of Taft-Hartley. That's some shrewd tactics.

Even if you believe in markets as a force for increasing human thriving, it takes an act of will to miss how corporations who can exploit their customers or workers will. When it comes to exploitable customers, prisoners are the ultimate captive audience. Most of us are familiar with the horrors of private prisons – especially after the acute phase of the covid pandemic, when corporate prison managers simply left America's prisoners to die.

But prison privatization is fractal. You can privatize a prison facility, but you can also privatize the commissary, the library, the mail, even phone calls and visitations. Some of the slimiest prison profiteers are the ones providing telecoms facilities to prisons. These companies lobby to ban in-person visits and mail and then provide "free" phone service to state facilities – service that can cost prisoners and their families $10/minute.

One of the worst of these companies is ViaPath (formerly Global Tel*Link). Not only did they charge prisoners sky-high rates for contact with their families, they ran a wildly insecure service that breached the data of 600,000 users:

https://arstechnica.com/tech-policy/2023/11/prison-phone-company-leaked-600k-users-data-and-didnt-notify-them-ftc-says/

These prisoners and families had "sensitive personal information" exposed online in unencrypted form, and were not informed of the breach, according to an FTC complaint:

https://www.ftc.gov/system/files/ftc_gov/pdf/Complaint-GlobalTelLinkCorp.pdf

The company went on to defraud state and local prison systems whose contracts they were bidding on, by claiming to have never have suffered a breach.

The sleaze of the prison-tech system is the worst imaginable – which is about what you'd expect. After all, prison-tech is at the very foot of the shitty technology adoption curve:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/02/24/gwb-rumsfeld-monsters/#bossware

The prisoners who are abused by companies like Viapath are test subjects for technology that will work its way up the privilege gradient, moving on to mental patients, asylum seekers, kids, blue collar workers, white collar workers – then, everyone.

This makes prison-tech a great oracle for understanding what's coming for the rest of us in a decade or two. That's why I made prison-tech the McGuffin of The Bezzle, the sequel to my 2023 novel Red Team Blues, which comes out next February:

https://us.macmillan.com/books/9781250865878/thebezzle

High-tech forensic accountant Marty Hench is back in The Bezzle for a story of early-2000s internet consolidation, LA Sheriffs Department gangs, prison privatization, collateralized debt obligations, and the absolute depraved sleaze of prison-tech privateers. If you still have a Twitter account, you can enter this sweepstakes to get an early copy:

https://twitter.com/torbooks/status/1725544405879447745

(There will be other ways to get an early peek for non-Twitter users, rest assured!)

Attentive readers will note that The Bezzle will be my fourth book in 14 months. I'm presently touring my third book of 2023, The Lost Cause, a climate emergency book that Rebecca Solnit described as "a future woven from our successes (Green New Deal!), failures (climate chaos anyway), and unresolved conflicts (old MAGA dudes). I loved it":

https://us.macmillan.com/books/9781250865939/the-lost-cause

Book tours are exhausting and exhilarating. They have the weirdest social dynamic, where you're bouncing to a new city every day or two, having high-speed social contact with hundreds of people at a go, then hunkering down alone in a hotel room to do press calls and answer publicity emails. I've been doing this since 2006 or so, and one mystery I've pondered all that time is the weirdness of stinky hotel soap:

https://www.flickr.com/photos/doctorow/53339503041/

Go to any Marriott, any Hilton, a Comfort Inn or a Holiday Inn, and you will find yourself in the Kingdom of Beige. The wallpaper, art, carpets and bedspreads are all calculated to be as generic and invisible as possible. But the soap and shampoo stocked by these redoubts of nothingness are wildly perfumed. I'm not a big fan of floral perfume anyway, but the hand-soap in your typical hotel bathroom makes Axe Body Spray seem innocuous. No taxi air-freshener, no urinal puck, not even the most lethal of 1960s-era douches ever aspired to the eye-watering, clinging, scent of hotel soaps, shampoos, conditioners and hand-cream.

It's like hygiene perfume is the mid-priced hotelier's equivalent of 1980s Wall Street traders' suspenders: while everything else must be absolutely uniform and staid, this is the one realm where you can really let your freak flag fly. I'm always up for a unfettered freak-flag, but holy shit does this stuff stink.

I'll get a chance to ponder this anew on the tour for The Bezzle next February, and again for Picks and Shovels, the February 2025 Martin Hench novel that's already pending.

I need to get ready for my bookstore event, but before I sign off, one more bit of science fiction publishing news. An indie filmmaker in Paris is working with the brilliant John Varley on an adaptation of his sf classic Titan, and they're trying to raise $65k on Kickstarter to pay for it. I kicked in – a world with more Varley in it is a better world:

https://www.kickstarter.com/projects/superstory/themis-the-next-frontier

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/11/18/collectanea/#bricabrac

Image: Famartin https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:2021-01-06_12_15_43_Cranberry_trail_mix_with_cranberries,_peanuts,_raisins,_walnuts,_almonds,_sunflower_seeds,_pepitas_in_the_Franklin_Farm_section_of_Oak_Hill,_Fairfax_County,_Virginia.jpg

CC BY-SA 4.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0/deed.en

[kaitsawamura]

PROLOGUE

☽ stats ☾ | all other information on this fic including additional warnings can be found on the masterlist

chapter rating: t for thematic elements better suited to older audiences

chapter warnings: fantasy violence/gore, mentions of dispatching monsters, mentions of blood

chapter tags: semi-canon divergent

chapter word count: 2207

divider credit: { link }

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EIGHT MONTHS AGO

The smell of burning wood combined with the brine of high autumn salt air lays thick and suffocating on your tongue. Cries of fear and anger echo out across the sliver of beach that you call home. Fucking pirate monsters. Your face is pressed into the sand, a gnarled hand shoving you down so you can’t move. A knobby knee digs into your spine as you scramble to find anything you might use as a weapon but the only thing your fingers find purchase in is the earth beneath you. The silver bokoblin bends close, its pungent breath making you gag. It chitters and growls and as it gets closer to your face, closer to your neck, you see the points of its teeth. They are blunt and yellowed and dripping with saliva. Still, it is evident they were made for killing. For tearing their prey limb from limb.

You feel the moment when it rears back and plunges down, its maw latching onto the junction of your neck and shoulder and try as you might, you cannot contain the scream of pain that rips from your throat as its teeth sink deep in your flesh. You thrash in the sand, searching searching searching as the creatures grips harder and then yanks back, tearing the skin and muscle. If you thought the bite itself hurt, you nearly black out from this. Blood rushes warm and copious from your veins.

The life is draining out of you at a rate that you realize with a sharp pang in your gut is most likely going to be impossible to recover from. You also realize that if you can’t find a weapon and fast, you won’t even have the opportunity to try. You close your eyes, trying to ignore the stars you’re beginning to see. Something slices raggedly into your palm and you gasp when you latch onto the hilt of a rusty dagger. With all the force you can muster, which is dishearteningly very little, you flip onto your back and kick. Your foot makes contact with the bokoblin’s left side; it lets out a little grunt but the blow seems to do hardly anything. There is a glitter in its eyes as it leans in for another bite. You wait until it’s as close as it’s going to get without doing anymore damage and steel yourself as the last bit of adrenaline in your body rushes through.

Swift as a hightail lizard, you thrust the dagger upward; the jagged broken blade pierces the hide of the silver bokoblin at its neck. The monster screeches, clutching at the weapon lodged in its throat. Blood that looks closer to sludge drips from the wound and bursts in a steady stream when it finally rips it out. The liquid arcs across the ground and onto you but satisfaction ripples above the dizziness crashing over you. You let your head thump back onto the sand as the bokoblin stumbles backwards and falls, dead.

You stare up at the blue sky above you; the sun beats down on your wounded body. You can’t tell if the trickling you feel on your neck is your blood or sweat but you’d wager it’s both. At least if you die here, you took the monster down with you. What is that thumping? It’s a staccato rhythm pounding in your head. It’s your heart beat. Despite the heat, you’re beginning to feel cold. Black swims at the edges of your vision and then takes over as you slip into the dark.

PRESENT DAY

The great evil had been vanquished. This time, it was for good. Link knew. Princess Zelda knew. Her team included some of the greatest minds besides herself; Purah and Robbie had concluded extensive researching and testing to make sure that the Demon King was completely and wholly gone. There were no traces of the Calamity like there had been when she and Link and the Divine Beasts had destroyed him before. No evidence of the chaos he had caused aside from the wreckage that was being repaired all over Hyrule. As the months went on, there were less monsters and more citizens. Many had been in hiding. Families had been ravaged, torn apart and flung to every end of the kingdom. Reunions were becoming commonplace and while there had been great loss, the people of Hyrule were growing stronger than they ever had before. Their persistance in continuing on when the very world seemed to have been ending was one that would be heard across the fabric of time for eons to come. And yet, among the happiness, there was a restlessness growing in Link that both he and Zelda knew well.

“Where will you go now?” Moonlight streamed in through the window of Zelda’s private chambers, across the stone floor and onto her bed where she lay with her knight. He was quiet, as he usually was. The princess (soon to be queen, he mused internally) lay across his chest, an arm slung over his stomach. Since she had returned to her human form after the last battle, they had taken to sleeping in the same bed; it was the only way she could get anything close to sleep. She still dreamed strange dreams and had a difficult time sticking to any normal sleep schedule. He traced circles into the skin of her arm.

“There’s restoration efforts in Lurelin Village. Bolson is heading the project.” He doesn’t offer anything other than the facts. Zelda can read between the lines. I don’t know why I can’t stay put. I just have to go. It hadn’t surprised either of them when this urge for going had sprouted up the last time Calamity was killed. Link had spent so long in slumber and then so long traveling that he didn’t really know how to stay in one place anymore. And Zelda was always busy now; she had council meetings and relief efforts of her own to attend to.

“You know you always have a place here, in the castle. With me.” He nods against the crown of her head, breathing in the floral scent wafting gently from the golden strands. Zelda too, left words unsaid, he could tell. I love you. Don’t go. I love you. I know you must do this. Maybe some years down the road, he wouldn’t feel such a pull in his heart. He just had traveling in his blood and once it ran out, he would come back. Wouldn’t he? The sensation of a plucked string sang behind his rib cage. There was something waiting for him out there. He just didn’t know what. “You should be the one stepping in as Captain of the Guard, you know.” Her words are prim, clipped, said with a smirk.

Link grunts in sarcastic acknowledgment. Zelda knows that things have changed; duty was still everything to Link but not in the same way it was before. It had always been less about the monarchy and more about its people but now… Link was loyal to Zelda but outside of that, he had no use for the palace or any of its frills anymore. Neither did the princess, really, but she had a kingdom to lead. Her people were just as important to her; she served them in different ways than Link.

“I’ll be leaving at dawn, Little Dragon. I already sent the letter to Bolson.” Zelda’s eyes are heavy but they snap back open at Link’s words. She draws in a quick breath, both at the term of endearment and at the knowledge that his departure was coming so soon. She should have known better than to think he wouldn’t have been ready to go before he had told her where he was leaving for.

“Of course, your assistance will be appreciated, I'm sure.” Zelda replies quietly, grasping onto Link tighter. If only for the night, she can pretend that this is where he belongs.

You hear Bolson’s voice before you see him; he’s nudging at you with his sandaled toe, intoning enthusiastically with words you can’t quite understand in the throes of your sleep-laden mind.

“Link… coming here… be here… the end of the week!” The fog clears too slowly from your brain as you roll back over on your cot, burying your face in your pillow with a groan. You didn’t sleep well again; you don’t sleep well most nights anymore. Nightmares still plague your dreams. The silver bokoblin’s attack had left you with a nasty scar. You slip a hand up to touch at it, wincing when you find that it’s still impossibly sore. Complete mobility in your right arm is a thing of the past. Since training yourself to be ambidextrous has proven to be much more challenging than you’d thought it would be, there’s a lot you still can’t do.

“Did you hear me?” You finally roll over to look up at Bolson with squinted eyes. The ground is lumpy beneath you. It’s probably time to find a better spot to pitch your tent. Your back and limbs and neck all protest when you sit up, yawning. The architect is so obviously impatient, you decide to move a little slower. His foot taps in the sand, his arms are crossed, and he continues to huff the longer you take.

“Hm, I heard something about our savior Link. I didn’t sleep very well and since I was so rudely awakened,” you blink up at him with a sarcastic grin, “I didn’t quite catch the rest of it.” Bolson throws his hands in the air and rolls his eyes. But then he’s looking down at you and the taste of what you perceive as pity sits bitter on your tongue. You had lost almost everyone dear to you in the attack. Things were slowly getting back to normal now that Link and Princess Zelda had defeated Ganon; there were less and less attacks from dwindling monster ranks. It didn’t change that fact that life would never be the way it was before. Bolson takes a step closer, as if he might put a comforting hand on your shoulder but then steps back, thinking better of it.

“I said that Link has heard of the restoration efforts here and has decided to come help. He sent correspondence by way of Rito Post. The letter arrived this morning but was dated two days ago so we’ve already lost time to prepare. I know there’s not much that we can offer him yet in the way of private quarters but I want to give him the warmest welcome we can.” You think Bolson goes on to say something else but once again, you don’t hear a word.

Link is coming back to Lurelin Village. It should be excitement coursing through your veins, reverence, and yet… The sensation fluttering in your stomach is apprehension. You’d heard plenty of stories from Bolson about what a good young man he was (and cute too!). Why, if it hadn’t been for Link, Bolson wouldn’t have gotten to see as much of the world as he had. Stories were plentiful from those who had encountered him elsewhere, words like selfless, courageous, strong, intelligent, good good good, flowed easily from peoples’ mouths.

Yes, he deserved a welcome far grander than any of you could give him. And that made you want to crawl in a hole and not come out.

“You didn’t hear a word I said did you?” Bolson looks at you, hands on his hips. You give him a sheepish smile, stretching in place then stand, amused by all the pops coming from deep in your joints. “Give me just a few hours today and then you can come take a nap.” Words of protest form on your lips but he finally closes the space, gently placing his hands on your shoulders and forcing you to make eye contact with him. He is far kinder to you than you are to yourself; nearly everyone lost something or someone in the chaos. You are not made special in your sorrow. “You need it, you deserve it and I won’t hear another thing about it.” There’s a sparkling determination in his eyes that you know you won’t refuse. He knows the moment you give in and smiles, bright and unabashed. “Excellent. There’s smoked Armored Porgy with eggs and tomatoes waiting for you when you come out.” Your mouth waters.

“Thanks Bolson.” He waves at your as he steps from your tent. A few hours of work and then a nap… It was more wasted time than Lurelin Village could afford but if there was anything about you and your people, it was that the community was strong. Someone would be there to pick up your slack and in time, you would be able to return the favor. It was a group effort. Now, it was a group effort to make a place for Link. You smile to yourself as you step outside, blinking into the rising sun. Its rays glint off the waves in the distance. The air is already warm but it smells salty and fresh. A storm head gathers in the distance, promising a reprieve from early summer heat.

The breeze whispers someone’s coming. Someone is coming, indeed.

[chaoticconstellation]

(Sorry if people ask a lot) But do you happen to remember Crumbl’s waffle cookie recipe? My partner loves them, and I’d like to surprise them + not give Crumbl my money

It’s the the chocolate chip cookie recipe sans the chips. add in 3 tbs vanilla and 1.5 tbs maple syrup—like not real syrup, the fake kind— and very important 1 tbls BUTTER emulsion (it’s basically an extract) with the eggs. roll the dough out into smooth balls, flatten the top then chill for 10 minutes. then you can cut in the waffle pattern. we had a press for this, but gently pressing with a butter knife should work fine. bake as normal.

the syrup is literally just pancake syrup, again not real maple syrup. like log cabin brand.

the “butter” butter cream is 2c salted butter, 1.5c powdered sugar beaten together.

good luck!

[alpine-hoplite]

Made some '72 survival bread today

Not burnt as the rind would imply, definitely dense and honey forward. Suprised I cant taste any of the lemon jello. I'd be pressed to say this is more of a depression era tier dessert bread.

[nancylfitness]

Creamy Roasted Cauliflower Soup

Utilize the time while preparing meals to fit in a few repetitions of healthy activity.

Ingredients:

Large head of cauliflower, about 2 lbs.

3 Tbl. Spoons extra virgin olive oil

1 med onion

2 cloves garlic, minced

4 cups milk, low fat

Powdered milk, 3 Tablespoons

Yogurt, 2 Tablespoons

Butter, 2 Tablespoons

Instructions:

Preheat oven:  425 degrees F.

Stretch, shoulder & arms, upper body with Shoulder Flexion exercise:

Raise right arm, to point at the ceiling.  Keep elbow straight.

Hold for a couple of seconds.

Lower right arm, while raising left arm up toward the ceiling.

Hold for a couple of seconds.

Continue alternating arms for 20-25 repetitions.

3. Cut cauliflower into florets; cut carrots into 1 inch pieces; chop the onion.

Leg Swing

Stand on right leg.  Hold onto a support, if needed.

Using control, swing left leg back and forth.

Repeat, swinging the right leg. Swing each leg 15-20 times.

5. Toss Cauliflower and Carrots with 2 Tbl. Olive oil. Try standing on one foot while tossing, rest foot/leg, as needed.

Stand straight.

Begin with the knees low and, as you warm up your body.

Start bringing the knees up.

Face forward; maintain open chest; keep back straight.

Breathing pattern should be steady & slow throughout the entire exercise.

Place hands against a wall ~ chest height.

Step back ~1 or 2 feet with body at 45-degree angle.

Lowering body toward wall until nose is almost touching wall.

Press body back up to start position. Repeat for 10 – 15 reps.

Stand w/ back pressed against wall.

Slide down into a sitting position by moving feet forward & lowering buttocks.

If pain restricts range of motion, only lower as far as you can with control.

If you can, lower yourself until your thighs are parallel to the floor. Hold this position ~ 10 seconds, longer if possible.

9. As cauliflower is near “done baking”, simmer 1 Tbl. olive oil and the onion in a soup pot / slow cooker, Add salt.

Standing, rise up on toes up while keeping heels on the floor.

Hold position 5 to 7 seconds.

Now, rock back on heels, pressing toes to the floor while raising heels.

Hold position 5 to 7 seconds. Do this several times while stirring.

11. Add garlic, stir constantly ~ 30 seconds; add milk.

12. Transfer the cooked cauliflower into soup pot/slow cooker. Increase heat to medium, monitor/maintain a slow-simmer.

Stand with good posture; feet ~ shoulder width apart, knees slightly bent.

Hold dumbbells or cans of soup or household item in front, palms facing thighs.

Keeping arms straight raise the dumbbells at arm’s length overhead.

Slowly return to the starting position. Repeat for 8 – 10 repetitions for each arm.

14. When done simmering, remove from heat and let cool for a few minutes.

15. Working in small batches, carefully, transfer hot soup to a blender. 

16. Add yogurt and butter to blender, blend until smooth. Return to slow cooker.

Sit straight and erect.

Draw shoulders back, bringing elbows back and inward.

Squeeze shoulder blades. Hold for 6 seconds. Repeat 4-6 times

18. Top soup with Parmesan cheese. Serve. Keeps 4 days in refrigerator.

Nutrition:  Serves 4. 226 calories per serving.

Saturated Fat, 5.4 g

Trans Fat 0

Polyunsaturated Fat, 1.4 g

Monosaturated Fat, 9.3

Cholesterol, 15.3 mg

Dietary Fiber, 5.3 g

Sugars. 7.7 g

Protein, 5 g

[wondersxwomen]

Maraschino Cherries

If you like ingesting tons of toxic chemicals than store bought Maraschino Cherries are for you. If you prefer your food to be chemical free, this recipe is for you.

It will take you a total of 3 days to complete this recipe.

Ingredients: 6lbs pitted cherries For the Brine: 4 Quarts Water and 2 Tbls Pickling Salt For the Syrup: 9 Cups of Sugar, 6 cups of water, 2 lemons, 2 tsp Almond Extract. Optional- Red food coloring.

Day One: Step 1: Wash cherries in cold water and vinegar. Pit your Cherries.

Step 2. Make your brine. Bring water and pickling salt to a boil. Once water is boiling and salt is dissolved, turn off burner and allow brine to cool for ten minutes. Place pitted cherries in the jars. Pour brine over the cherries and cover. Let sit for 24 hours.

Day Two: Step 3. Drain the cherries. Discard the brine. Rinse cherries in cold water and rinse out the jars.

Step 4: In a saucepan, combine sugar, water, lemon juice (also put in food coloring if you choose this option). Bring water to a boil. When sugar is dissolved (and water is boiling) remove cherries from the heat. Step 5: Pour new syrup brine over cherries, cover and let stand for 24 hours. Save extra juice/syrup for the next day.

Day Three: Step 6: Before you begin working with the food prep all of your materials. Fill your caner bath with water and turn on the heat so that it is boiling when you are ready to can.

Wash your jars, and lids, in soap and water. Most recipes you see on line will tell you to clean jars in boiling water. This was how they cleaned things in the old days, back when people made their own soap. Soap today is able to clean these jars well enough to skip boiling them. Set your jars up in your work space.

Step 7: Drain cherry juice into a saucepan. Add the left over juice, that you saved the previous day, to the pan. Bring juice to a boil. I let my mix boil for about 15min to ensure it is thick and syrupy.

Step 8: Remove from heat, stir in almond extract. Pack jars and ladle syrup over the cherries. Leave 1/4 inch at the top. Seal jar and place in the caner. Make sure there is at least an inch of water above the jars. Boil cherries in the caner bath for 10 minuets.

Step 9: Remove jar and set aside to cool. After 12 hours, if the lid remains down, do not press in when touched, it has sealed and can be stored in a cupboard for later use.

[sugarswings]

Really easy sugar cookie bars that use coconut oil instead of butter. These have coconut extract and are topped with pink tinted shredded coconut because coconut sugar cookie bars are so yum. I spread 1/2 with strawberry jam before frosting (super yum!). Swap your fav extract to change up the flavor. #cookiebars #coconutbars #pinkcoconut #coconutcookies #coconut For the #coconutcookiebars 2 1/2 cups flour 1/2 tsp baking powder 1/2 tsp salt 1/2 cup coconut oil 1 cup sugar 1 large egg 2 Tbl sour cream or Greek yogurt 2 tsp coconut extract# 1/2 cup coconut flakes (optional tint your fav color) Preheat over to 350 Mix sugar and coconut oil until fluffy. Add egg, sour cream and extract. In separate bowl mix flour, baking powder and salt. Slowly add flour mix to egg mix. Press cookie mix into 9X9 pan. Bake for 18 mins or just golden on top. Let cool and spread with buttercream or you fab frosting. Top with coconut flakes (these were tinted pink) https://www.instagram.com/p/Co3XsUksLF0/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[mood2you]

Here it is. I'm gonna try it

Spinach Stuffed Chicken with Sun-Dried Tomatoes

4 servings

1 1/4 pounds fresh spinach

2 tbls unsalted butter

1 large garlic clove minced

Salt and freshly ground pepper

1/4 cup drained oil-packed sun-dried tomatoes, thinly sliced length-wise

4 large boneless chicken breast halves, with skin, pounded to a 1/4 inch thickness

Four 2 1/2 by 1/2 inch sticks of Italian Fontina cheese

2 tbls all-purpose flour

2 tbls olive oil

3/4 cup chicken stock or canned low-sodium broth

1 tbls fresh lemon juice

1. Place half of the fresh spinach in a large nonreactive ovenproof skillet. Cover the skillet and cook the spinach over moderately high heat, turning occasionally with tongs, until wilted, 2 to 3 minutes. Add the remaining spinach and cook, turning until wilted, 1 to 2 minutes more. Transfer the spinach to a colander and rinse with cold water until cool. Squeeze the spinach dry, then coarsely chop it.

2. Wipe out the skillet and return it to moderately high heat. Add 1 tbls of the butter and the garlic to cook, stirring, until the garlic is fragrant and softened, about 3 minutes. Add the spinach, season with salt and pepper, stir for 3 minutes. Transfer the spinach to a bowl and let cool. Stir in the sliced sun-dried tomatoes.

3. Place the chicken breasts on a work surface, skin side down. Spoon the spinach mixture in a mound across each breast and press the fontina cheese into the spinach. Roll the breasts around the stuffing and secure with two toothpicks; smooth the skin over the meat.

4. Preheat the oven to 400 degrees. Season the chicken rolls with salt and pepper and dust with flour. Heat the olive oil in the skillet. Add the chicken rolls, seam side down, and cook over moderately high heat, turning, until they are browned all over, about 8 minutes. Transfer the skillet to the oven and roast the chicken rolls for about 15 minutes, or until the cheese is melted and juices run clear when the meat is pierced with a knife. Place the chicken on a plate, discard the toothpicks, and cover loosely to keep warm.

5. Pour the pan drippings into a small heatproof bowl and skim off the fat. Set the skillet over moderate heat. Add the chicken stock, lemon juice, and the degreased pan drippings, and bring to a boil, scraping to dislodge any browned bits from the bottom of the pan. Boil until the liquid is reduced to 1/3 cup, 4 to 5 minutes. Remove from the heat and stir in the remaining 1 tbls butter.

6. Slice the chicken rolls cross-wise 1/2 inch thick. Arrange on plates, spoon the sauce on top and serve.

Tracey Seaman

When you want to write a recipe with frozen spinach but if you don't say "fresh" no one will care

[flintandpyrite]

Heyyy! I was going through your cooking tag and saw you mentioned you’d be willing to share your yogurt recipe? I’ve been wanting to get into yogurt making (I easily eat a standard tub a week and that’s just on my own lol.) so I am real curious to see what others are doing/ where they get their cultures etc etc.

Thank you!

Of course! This is the method I use but there are many. If you don’t have all this equipment you can get basically the same results using a large sterilized glass jar and a towel for the incubation step. I prefer the simplicity and ease of the instant pot (and I got mine for free! Check your local facebook marketplace to see if someone is giving one away near you!!) but it’s not an absolute necessity.

When I was eating yogurt every day for breakfast, I would make a half-gallon at a time (8 cups of milk and 4 tablespoons of yogurt). These days I do 4 cups at a time since I'm eating less of it. Remember to save the last 2-4 tablespoons of each jar so you can make more!

Things you will need for this method:

Instant pot with yogurt setting

Thermometer (instant read is best)

Whisk or spoon

4 cups of milk

2 Tbls Yogurt— you want yogurt where the only ingredient is milk/cream and culture. No pectin, agar, “thickener”, sugar, or flavoring. My personal favorite brand is Brown Cow but that’s only available in parts of the US.

Steps:

Place your milk in the instant pot. Press “Sauté” and stir every 30 seconds or so until the milk starts to steam. Check the temperature frequently. You want to heat it to 185F/85C and keep it there for 3 minutes. In the instant pot, this usually means turning the saute function off around 180F and stirring continuously while it continues to heat from the residual heat. Admittedly this is way easier to do on a stovetop so you can try out both methods and see which you prefer. Heating the milk to this temperature and holding it there denatures the milk proteins and creates a better yogurt texture.

Turn off the Saute function and then remove the insert from the instant pot. Allow the milk to cool, either on the counter (which can take 40 minutes!) or in a cool water bath while stirring. Take care to not get any water in the milk. You want to get it down to 110F/43C, which is the optimal temperature for the yogurt culture.

Whisk the yogurt into the milk thoroughly. Place the insert back into the instant pot with the lid on and turn on the Yogurt function, set for 14 hours. I usually do this in the evening so the yogurt is ready when I get up.

When the incubation is complete, carefully remove the insert from the instant pot and place it in the fridge for 1-2 hours to cool. Once it is cool you can scoop it into a jar or container. It is best to allow it to cool in situ because this improves the texture. Scooping it too soon may result in grainy yogurt.

I like my yogurt fairly liquidy (because I mostly use it as a substitute for buttermilk in American baking recipes) but if you prefer thicker yogurt you can strain it through a cheesecloth or very fine strainer at this point. Keep the whey-- it can be used in bread to replace the water or marinades.

[moonstruckswans]

Someone on twitter subtweeted me and said I needed to see a therapist because I support Tom and Liz's relationship. I find it very fascinating how all the arguments comes down to the first chapter of the book. So much for standing in the way of another ship, Tom.

[tblpress]

James Spader’s interview

Today Newspader - September 22, 2014

You can read the article in TodayOnline: http://www.todayonline.com/entertainment/television/blacklists-james-spader-man

[ventingblacklist]

[sydnikov]

cover image by me, images are not.

Pairing: Sebastian Aho/Reader

Word Count: 10.5k

Summary: Four times Sebastian Aho hit you in the face with a puck and one time he didn’t. Two of those times you scorned his existence, one time you let him buy you something as an apology, the other you kissed him on the cheek, and, finally, you kissed.

Warnings: Heavy cursing, injuries, brief mentions of blood, kissing, suggestive content

A/N: SURPRISE MFS!!! But holy crap, I had so much fun writing this!! I’m lowkey sad to say goodbye to it bc it was my comfort fic during this series against tbl. I kind of hate the ending but :/ idk how else to close it out, sO— I hope you guys like this as much as I do!! As always, feedback is very much welcome, and ily all <33

Who knows, I might even write a part 2 if it's received well 👀

Puck Me:

The first time Sebastian Aho hit you in the face with a puck, it was purely coincidental. You were only a few rows back from the glass (courtesy of your friend), and unfortunately happened to be moving your head to the side just in time for the puck to smack you straight across the face and send you to the medical ward mid-game.

Did you expect the attention from everyone around you— hell, even the whole arena? Yes. Did you expect the pain? Of course. A frozen puck being flung from the ice at who knows how fast was going to hurt no matter what direction it was coming from.

Did you expect the player who managed to strike you to visit you in the ward? Never in a million years.

“What?” You grumbled, irritated at your friend’s sudden poking at your arm while you were trying to catch a look at the massive wound along your nose and cheekbone under the ice pack the medical staff instructed you to hold.

“Look!” your friend hissed, and turning your head lazily to see what they were pointing at, you didn’t see at first why they were being so persistent at getting your attention.

At the medical ward’s doors was a rapidly growing crowd of the arena’s staff, and as you squinted through the brief haziness in your vision - and damn it, you really didn’t want to be having concussion symptoms right now, you had work in the morning - to see what was going on, it only took a few seconds to see who was causing such a commotion.

Because coming right through those very doors and being dragged by what looked like a few other people dressed in suits and probably even one of his teammates was Sebastian Aho, looking like he wanted to be anywhere else other than here.

“What’s he doing here?” You mumbled tiredly, and your friend looked at you like you had grown a second head. To be fair, the massive cut that was swelling a deep purple and blue probably did look like you were growing some kind of tumor, but details, details...

“He’s the one that shot the puck over the glass and hit you in the face, didn’t you see him before it hit you?” No, no you didn’t, because you weren’t exactly paying attention before a puck was suddenly flying into your face with a spray of ice and then ow, ow, ow…

You sighed, watching as an employee tugged him by the elbow and led him to where you were sitting on the small hospital bed, your friend sitting in a chair next to you.

Sebastian shuffled in place, looking just as awkward as you felt and was resolutely avoiding eye contact. Unbeknownst to you though, he was actually feeling really guilty because even though he showed absolutely zero attention to the fans when on the ice, he still loved his Caniacs fiercely and would have never wanted to hit one of them with a puck. But he was also really shy, not just because of his less-than accurate English and introvertedness but because you were really pretty too, even with an ice pack pressed to an ugly bruise blooming around a nasty cut.

You didn’t know any of this, of course, just saw the persona of a man who seemed to give zero shits about being here and was only being forced to come apologize by his team to uphold an image that he truly felt guilty and wanted to apologize to you in person on his own accord.

Yeah, no. You were tired, in pain, could really use a drink right about now, and just wanted to go home, not deal with socially awkward hockey players.

Just as Sebastian was gathering the courage to open up his mouth and speak, you beat him to it, brushing back an annoying strand of hair that kept falling into your line of sight.

“Look,” You started, watching as his head shot up in surprise that yes, you did speak first. “You don’t have to pretend you want to be here, to do all this,” you waved your free hand around, briefly closing your eyes as a flash of dizziness almost overwhelmed you. “Mumbo-jumbo, apologizing crap; I know you’d rather be anywhere else other than here so let’s just call it a night and go home, okay?”

Your friend’s incredulous stare was burning into the side of your head and Sebastian stared, utterly dumbfounded and confused because wow, he didn’t think anyone had ever spoken to him like that before.

“What?” He asked dumbly, eyes briefly flickering from your friend’s apologetic expression to your indifferent one. And then he started to get annoyed because he didn’t know what to do right at this moment when you looked so utterly unbothered by his presence and that made him feel uncomfortable because you were supposed to be the blubbering one, not him. Right?

You scowled at the man, and maybe in the morning once you analyzed the conversation you’d regret being so short and snappy with the star player of the Carolina Hurricanes, but look, you were tired and irritated and just wanted to sleep, alright? You didn’t really want to deal with cute finnish hockey players, especially ones with such soft, puppy brown eyes—

Woah. You blinked once, twice. That was definitely not a road you wanted to go down, not right now, not ever, really.

“Just,” You muttered quietly, sending a pleading expression your friend’s way to please tell the medical staff to hurry up so you could just go home already. “Go back to the locker room or something or wherever you came from,”

Thankfully, your friend got the hint and quietly slipped away to tell one of the people in the room that you were really tired and just wanted to get your stitches so they could drive you home. It worked, and soon two or three of their employees were hovering around you, the gaping expression of Sebastian Aho being blocked as an older woman gently removed the ice pack from your face and began to work on your cheek.

“You done?” A staff member Sebastian couldn’t remember the name of asked him distractedly, and when he nodded mutely he was soon being led away from the room, staring back at you with something akin to longing, curiosity, and even regret before the doors closed and you were blocked from his view.

Little did the two of you know, this would most definitely not be the last you’d be seeing of each other.

• ~;~ •

The second time Sebastian Aho managed to hit you in the face with a puck was a month later, and once again, completely coincidental, with you being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Again.

You’d be less mad about it if your seats weren’t farther up from where they were last time, but of course they were and you still managed to be right in the way of the damn puck as it came soaring over the glass. And again, to be fair, they were only a few seats back, but still.

And the fact that your friend kept bugging you about the look of both horror and anticipation that appeared on Aho’s face once the jumbotron showed where the puck had gone (and conveniently hit) was just irritating you more. You didn’t want to sit through fifteen minutes of awkward mumbling and half-assed apologies from Sebastian Aho again.

Even if he was pretty cute.

“I’m telling you,” Your friend whisper-yelled beside you, ignoring the fact that several people were in the medical ward and could easily be listening in. “He’s going to come in here again to see you and—”

“I doubt it.” You interrupted quickly, attempting to smile as one of the doctors dabbed at your bloody chin with a cotton swab, but it probably looked more like a wince.

Your friend glared at you, yet again ignoring everyone else except for the two of you. “Well, if he does, try not to scare him off this time, okay? I want to ask him for an autograph since someone didn’t give me a chance last time.”

You just rolled your eyes, gesturing towards your battered chin. “Who got hit in the face with a puck again? If anyone deserves to get an autograph, it’s me.” You teased, enjoying the way in which your friend immediately opened their mouth to retort, and then—

“I’ll be happy to give you an autograph if you want one.”

A quiet voice that somehow managed to be the loudest in the entire room had you startled, and you immediately whipped your head around to face Sebastian Aho who was standing a few feet away from you, still looking awkward and even embarrassed at how the two of you had gotten so quiet at his sudden appearance.

Your friend shot you a very smug look.

...Damn it.

You quickly recovered though, crossing your arms with a scowl that made you flinch at the movement from your chin it caused. “I’m good.” You responded defensively, ignoring your friend’s quiet groan from beside you at your closed-off attitude.

And really, you didn’t know why you were denying an autograph from Sebastian Aho of all people, because in different circumstances you would have been jumping for joy at the chance to get a jersey signed, especially from the star player himself.

Maybe it was because he had hit you in the face with a puck twice, albeit accidentally, or maybe it was because of the butterflies in your stomach at his soft, shy and yet determined gaze that had you melting on the spot.

Dating, your love life, had been fucked up for you a long time ago. A long time ago only being just a few years, but bad date after bad date eventually had you thinking that maybe you just weren’t the type of person who could do relationships, despite your desire at having someone to be your partner in crime in life, to have someone who just got you.

So yeah, you didn’t like the idea of this hockey player strutting (or more like awkwardly shuffling) into your life and giving you nervous little butterflies when all of the other previous love interests in your life had done the exact same, and only for everything to fall apart.

Sebastian looked stumped at your reply, but he recovered a lot quicker than you thought he would which sent a brief pang of annoyance through you because damn it you liked being in control.

The centerman quickly straightened up his shoulders, and even sitting on a bed with added height still made you realize how much shorter you were. “Can I buy you something then?” He asked, and oh that made you bristle— if you were a cat you were sure you’d be hissing and raising your fur right now.

Because he couldn’t just buy you something as some sort of apology to get out of giving you injuries twice in the span of a month. You had to take time off from work to heal, and that meant less money on your paycheck, something you couldn’t really afford.

Somewhere deep down inside you knew those weren’t his intentions at all, not when he looked so earnest when offering, but you were so determined to shut down any sort of feelings that were bubbling up for this man that you’d come up with any excuse at this point, even if it was wrong to be judging so harshly.

“No.” You firmly denied, and it wasn’t as satisfying as you thought it would be to see his face fall at your rejection. Luckily you were saved from his defeated-looking puppy dog expression when the medical staff pushed past Sebastian and finished up fixing up your chin, and you were even more glad that this wouldn’t keep you off work for as long or take as long to heal.

It still hurt like an absolute bitch, though. That you weren’t happy about.

And as your heart sank just a little bit more with each step Sebastian took when exiting the room, well, you just hoped this wouldn’t be happening again any time soon.

• ~;~ •

The third time Sebastian Aho hit you in the face with a puck, you had seen it coming a mile away but unfortunately couldn’t get out of the way in time before it was knocking you right back down into your seat. You were convinced at this point that either A. The little shit was aiming it towards you on purpose, or B. You just had really bad luck.

The latter seemed more believable, but the former made it easier to try to hate him.

Three months since the last incident and the star centerman was still finding ways to fuck up your life.

This definitely had to be the most mild wound of all out of the other two, only grazing your jaw when you stood up just before the end of third period to try and sneak off to The Eye to try and buy a shirt you had been eyeing a few games back.

But the ushers still made you go up the medical ward, and with that already being worse enough, since this time it was only a miniscule rash and bruise the arena had no problem showing a more up close shot of the puck flying right off of Sebastian’s stick, over the glass, and right to your face, and any hope you had of possibly escaping without any of the players, without Sebastian Aho, noticing went right down the drain.

Especially when they showed his damn reaction in a split-screen view of the shot, which was a pinch of his brow and a clenching of his jaw in concern, and then when he recognized you that same expression stayed but this time with the added addition of lips turning into just the most subtle of smiles— or maybe smirk, you couldn’t really tell with all of the staff rushing you to the medical ward.

Waving your friend off from following you, because really, you were fine, they were all just overreacting— you huffed as one of the doctors made you sit down on the same bed from last time as they all rushed around, and it was because of all the commotion that you didn’t spot a certain hockey player sneaking in unnoticed.

The same doctor who tended to you the previous times approached you, and when she recognized you she just rolled her eyes with a laugh. “This is what, the third time in just the span of a few months? You have an affinity for bad luck or something?”

Her tone was dry but her face showed nothing but amusement, and even with your irritation at practically being manhandled into the medical ward you couldn’t help but laugh at the absurdity of it all.

Because what were the chances you’d get struck in the face by a puck mid-game two, now three times?

You didn’t realize you had been lost in your thoughts until the doctor backed away from cleaning up the scratch on your jaw, peeling off her gloves and throwing them in a trash bin by the bed. Again, you thanked whatever gods that were watching you (or probably weren’t, because hello? A puck to the face three times now?) that they wouldn’t be keeping you for long to make sure you were okay again.

You waited patiently for the doctor to gather your release forms and a few waivers saying you wouldn’t sue, etc. and while she did that, you let your eyes casually sweep around the room, taking in the staff cleaning up, the posters and signs related to the Hurricanes, Sebastian Aho leaning against the wall on the other side of the room talking quietly to—

Wait just a fucking minute.

Your mouth fell open, and you gaped at the man standing here in the room despite really not being that surprised he was here. He had seen you get hit by the puck, after all, but you supposed you were so surprised because you weren’t as injured, clearly, and didn’t think he would feel the need to have to check up on you again.

Even if all you did previously was snap at him, but.

Sebastian finished whatever conversation he was having and suddenly he was making eye contact with you and practically strutting to your bed, only stopping once he was right in front of you.

Gulping, you watched, speechless, as the hockey player looked to be having some inner war inside his head as he observed you, and then that expression turned to determination and confidence as he opened his mouth to speak.

“I’m getting you something at The Eye.” Was all the son-of-a-bitch said, and you struggled to find the words to respond, suddenly irritated at how he was stating so rather than asking because damn it, you didn’t need his charity!

Yes, that was definitely why you were mad. Not because of his caring gaze or the brief flashes of adoration swimming through those warm brown eyes.

“But—”

“Nope. No buts. Sign your papers, we’re going as soon as you finish.”

And damn it, you could do nothing but stare at the man, almost watching yourself through a screen as you nodded weakly and signed the release forms on autopilot, completely stumped at where in the hell Sebastian had found this sudden confidence that was able to render you speechless.

Your stomach churned, but not uncomfortably.

When you finished, Sebastian was suddenly taking a hold of your wrist and dragging you out of the ward, the same doctor flashing you a brief, knowing smile before the doors slammed shut and the centerman led you through the empty arena hallways.

And then, for the first time since seeing him tonight, Sebastian paused, steps stuttering before he came to a stop and then he was turning to look at you, eyes so open and warm, darting back and forth from your own wide eyes and then back to his soft hold on your wrist.

He opened his mouth, but nothing came out and now he seemed to be at a loss for words. His grip on your wrist began to slip and oh, that’s why he was so quiet, he was worried about crossing your boundaries, and this fact really had no business making your heart flutter.

Almost feeling like you were being possessed, some unknown force guiding you as you held eye contact, you intertwined your pinkies gently because even though some part of you wanted to, you weren’t ready for, well… Whatever the hell was going on between the two of you now.

That seemed to be all the confirmation Sebastian needed, for he soon flashed you a wide smile that took your breath away before squeezing your hand back, continuing through the hallways and eventually reaching The Eye with what looked like a lone, snoozing employee at the cashier.

It almost felt like a ghost town with how empty everything was.

When Sebastian pushed open the doors abruptly, the cashier suddenly shot up from his seat, looking around wildly for the source of noise before settling on the two of you entering the shop, and then you watched as recognition for the star player of the team settled across his face in the form of wide eyes and a gaping mouth, and you had to hold back a laugh because yeah, me too.

The hockey player who currently held your hand captive tugged you forward, and you looked up to find him already looking at you, and you realized he was probably waiting for you to go looking around for what you wanted.

Then you remembered that you really didn’t want him to spend his money on you, even if his nonchalance about it proved how he really didn’t care if it was for you, the confidence in his gaze unwavering and making your stomach flip, but no, you weren’t going there.

Crossing your arms, you ignored the only employee in the store and glared at Sebastian, refusing to give in to the pout on his face even if it did make you melt inside.

“I’m not letting you buy me something when I’m perfectly capable of doing so on my own.” You stated, watching as he copied your expression and crossed his arms.

“Yes, but I feel bad,” He squinted at you, a brief quirk of his lips letting you know he was amused at the immediate surprise on your face at his words. “And I really want to repay you for, well...” He shrugged sheepishly, a hand suddenly brushing against your cheek and you internally screamed at the way your walls were slowly but surely crumbling down at his gentle ministrations.

Throwing your arms up with a groan, you practically growled at the infuriating smirk on his face once Sebastian saw you had finally given in. “Fine,” You eventually agreed - though certainly not willingly - and poked a finger at his chest. “But this is a one time thing only. Got it?”

And the centerman just shrugged, smirk still plastered across his beautiful face and you narrowed your eyes at the infuriating hockey player, knowing he wasn’t really agreeing to anything and probably just wanted to rile you up.

You wouldn’t admit that it was working, but Sebastian could certainly tell and was enjoying the fact that he was finally breaking past your barriers he for some reason really wanted to get past, even if it was just resulting in your anger and irritation. For now, anyways, Sebastian thought with a satisfied hum as he watched you almost stomp around the store, hunting for what he assumed was a jersey.

Hopefully a jersey with his name on it, and woah, that thought surprised him— though shockingly enough, it wasn’t unwelcome.

Sebastian was soon broken out of his thoughts by you waving him over, and as he saw the devious grin on your face he couldn’t help but narrow his eyes right back, wondering what had you grinning like a Cheshire cat.

When he saw the ugliest shirt he had ever seen in The Eye— no, in his existence, Sebastian did nothing but scoff in disbelief, eyebrows raising incredulously as he saw the price. And of course, he really didn’t know why he was surprised when he saw it was probably the cheapest thing in the store.

Based on the mischievous glint in your eyes, you most definitely picked it out for that purpose only.

He rolled his eyes, putting the offending piece of clothing back on the rack and walking back to the front of the store where he knew his jerseys were being sold at top price. If you weren’t going to be fair, then he wasn't going to be fair either.

Though secretly you both knew you enjoyed the challenge, enjoyed riling each other up. You because it made it easier to ignore whatever feelings were blossoming for the soft yet cocky hockey player, and Sebastian because he liked seeing the red flush bloom across your cheeks in irritation. You were also really pretty. And cute. And beautiful, and—

Sebastian ignored the warmth in his cheeks, finding a jersey with his name printed across the back in what looked to be your size.

He watched your eyes widen as he held it up for you to see, and smiled at your being speechless.

“I think this will do, you agree?” You, of course, didn’t respond, merely narrowed your eyes in response and tightened your arms across your chest, the both of you knowing Sebastian had won this round.

Scowling, you merely turned away and let him lead you to the register where the still-gaping cashier remained, mumbling out a thanks as the younger boy handed you the bag and finally walked out into the cool autumn air with the centerman strolling casually beside you.

Once you reached the parking lot, you came to a slow stop, watching as Sebastian did the same and turned to face you. You didn’t know why, but the thought of having Sebastian walk you to your car had you stomach swimming with butterflies and that was something you did not want to investigate right now, so what better way to put a stop to it then make sure it doesn’t happen at all?

“Well,” You started, avoiding eye contact by looking just over his shoulder. “Thank you for this,” You mumbled, holding up the bag with his jersey for reference, “Let’s hope we don’t have to go through this again, right?” Your attempt at joking was thwarted by the sudden look of disappointment that crossed Sebastian’s face, but just as soon as it came it was gone and you were stuck wondering if you had merely imagined the longing in his eyes.

“Yeah,” He muttered, fiddling with his hands as his eyes swept up and down your body, seemingly searching for something unknown. And when he looked back up at your face, meeting your eyes, he seemed to find whatever he was looking for in the confusion and nervousness ever present in your expression, and as a stupidly cute, knowing smile spread across his face you began slowly backing away, having not realized how close the two of you had gotten.

“See you,” You awkwardly waved, avoiding his eyes as you quickly turned around and marched off towards your car. You didn’t catch Sebastian’s response, didn’t really want to either, but as he watched your silhouette disappear with the setting sun’s light, he could only think one thing:

Sebastian was going to find you again, preferably without hitting you in the face with a puck again. Even if he knew that was too good to be true.

• ~;~ •

The fourth time Sebastian Aho hit you in the face with another damn puck, well, you weren’t even surprised at this point since your body seemed to just attract small frozen and flying objects.

This time only a week since the last time he fucked up your face (surprising, you knew) though to be fair, you were a few rows back from the glass which made it much more easier for a puck to find its way to your face.

No, you weren’t surprised, weren’t even mad either to be honest, but you were completely and utterly shell shocked by the person who shot it up at your face in the first place, because this time Sebastian freaking Aho did it on purpose.

Well, he didn't mean to smack you in the face with it on purpose, but you get the point.

Just moments before, you were leaning your elbows on your knees and resting your chin on your hands, ignoring your friends’ conversation beside you and instead watching the players as they skated around the ice during warmups. Playing against the Tampa Bay Lightning this game, the two teams were evenly matched, almost too even, and you could already tell both were going to have a hard time getting any shots on the goal, if any at all.

It also didn’t help that both goalies were practically Gods, you hummed to yourself, eyeing Vasilevskiy and Nedeljkovic respectively.

And then when you looked back over at the Canes’ side of the ice, sweeping over the numerous jerseys and almost subconsciously seeking out a certain number 20, you found the one with ‘Aho’ printed across the back bouncing a puck up and down on his stick and you had to stop yourself from rolling your eyes as you watched him deliberately toss it towards the glass, but of course never actually look at the squealing fans right in front of him.

Show-off, you scoffed to yourself. It's as if he wanted to seem conceited.

And then, like you were living in some cheesey rom-com, as if the hockey player himself KNEW you were shit-talking him, Sebastian Aho’s eyes met yours and you were stuck, trapped, in his eyes - those warm brown eyes - unable to look away as you both took the other in.

It was only as you watched a slow smile creep across Sebastian’s face did you realize you really weren’t that far away from the glass to begin with, only four or five rows back, and it was with that thought did a sense of dread begin to fill you because lord all-fucking-mighty, Sebastian was aiming the puck on his stick up towards you, holding mischievous eye contact as he did so and you were about to shake your head, mouth the words ‘no’ or something because you did not have good hand-eye coordination—

And of course, he fucking threw it anyway. And, like you expected, you remained frozen in your spot as the puck soared over the glass and hit you with a loud smack! right on target: your nose.

Fucking son of a bitch— hands swinging upwards to cup your throbbing face, you held back a loud curse for the sake of any kids around, attempting to blink away the tears but not succeeding very well. You hadn’t felt this level of pain since the first time you were hit, and all you could really think about is why your reflexes had to be so bad— and if you were going to have another nasty bruise that you had to try to hide with makeup.

As you were leaning heavily against the side of your friend as several of the medical staff helped lead you away to the medical ward - practically your second home at this point - you failed to notice the way Sebastian’s face was pinched up into the most guilty of looks, his teammates (mostly Teuvo and Andrei) awkwardly trying to console him while holding back their own awkward laughs at the situation.

Well, how was he supposed to know you wouldn’t be able to catch a puck you knew he was throwing…?

By the time the game was over you were still on your familiar hospital bed, ice pack pressed to your nose, eyes shiny from leftover tears, and cheeks blotchy. Really, the pain could have been worse, it was just such a shock because this time Sebastian had actually acknowledged you— before he, you know, launched a puck at your face.

You groaned, turning towards your friend who was rapidly texting someone you didn’t really care to know. “Why did he think it was a good idea to throw a puck at me? Weren’t these last few times any indication that I can’t catch anything?”

“First of all, he was trying to throw it to you, not at you.” When you only scowled in response, your friend merely huffed before turning to give you their full attention.

“You’re so hopeless when it comes to love, honestly,” Your friend sighed with a playful roll of their eyes, putting their phone down and regarding you with squinted eyes. “He likes you, and he wanted to throw you a puck to flirt with you. Obviously.”

Your mouth opened and closed, gaping comically like a fish as you struggled to find the words to combat their blatant honesty.

“That’s ridiculous-”

“He bought you a jersey. His jersey.” Your friend deadpanned, refusing to let you disregard the signs.

“And I think you like him a little bit, too.” Now that had you protesting immediately, removing the ice pack from your nose to send a withering glare your friend’s way.

You did not like Sebastian Aho. Sure, he just happened to be attractive, with his warm brown eyes and soft hair, pouty lips—

Fuck.

“Like who?” Came a voice off to your left, and both you and your friend’s eyes widened as you recognized who the voice belonged to; yours with fear at your conversation being heard by the man himself, and your friend’s in eagerness and amusement.

“Nothing.” You immediately cut your friend off, shooting another glare their way to just please be quiet, for the sake of your sanity.

Sebastian mumbled something under his breath you didn’t quite catch, and as his eyes swept over the large bruise forming on your nose with concern and guilt you couldn’t help but swallow at the emotion on his face, because if your friend was right, then well— you were screwed, too.

The three of you stood in awkward silence for several minutes, you watching Sebastian watch you and your friend’s eyes darting between the two of you until they finally stood up with a loud cough, gaining both you and Sebastian’s attention.

“I’m going home,” Your friend announced, and before you could argue because you didn’t think you could drive right now, “Hurt my best friend and you’re dead, Aho.” Sending you a cheeky wink that broke the severity of your glare, you scowled as Sebastian merely nodded, a small smile on his face as he shared a few quiet words with your friend.

Well then, you played with your thumbs as now it was just the two of you, for not even a doctor was present in the normally-bustling room.

And suddenly Sebastian was stepping closer, and you probably would have felt uncomfortable if his presence wasn’t so welcome, if you didn’t release an almost happy sigh as his fingers gently brushed against your cheek, warm brown eyes sweeping over every inch of your face as he examined you so carefully.

“Does it hurt?” He asked quietly, fingers still rubbing small, comforting circles on your cheek, and you were so enraptured in this little bubble you found yourself in that it took a few moments to take in what he said.

(You blamed the huskiness of his voice for distracting you, and really it wasn’t fair how naturally pretty he was)

“Not really,” You answered back just as softly, ever-so-slightly leaning into his hand that remained on your cheek. At your response, he moved it to the side to examine your nose better - you wouldn’t admit how you almost whined in protest - eyebrows pinching together as he saw the swelling.

“It could be worse,” And really, you weren’t sure why you were trying to console him because he did hit you in the face with a puck yet again, but your friend’s words were echoing in your head and for the first time since being confronted about it, you figured that maybe Sebastian actually was being sincere and that maybe he did like you like everyone claimed he did...

“I didn’t, I would never mean to-” Sebastian was struggling to find the words, you could tell by the way his eyes shifted downwards and his brows pinched together, but the English language was tough even for yourself, a native speaker, and you couldn’t imagine how hard it was for the Finnish player trying to share how he felt in a language he would probably never be used to.

You placed your hand over his larger one that was currently resting on your shoulder, a burning warmth that left your body humming with pleasure at his touch, even through your clothes.

“I know,” You attempted to reassure him, offering him a small smile and taking joy in the way he reacted to your touch, because at least it wasn’t just you being affected by the other so strongly.

Without taking his eyes away from yours, Sebastian took his free hand and began rummaging in the pocket of his hoodie (that did absolutely nothing at hiding the man’s very fit body), and he couldn’t help but let a lazy smirk cross his lips as he saw your eyes widen and your mouth drop open ever so slightly in reaction to the item in his hand.

It was a puck, signed by him, of course, and it was the one he smacked you in the face with tonight.

(Accidentally, he’d tell the press over and over again in post-game interviews. Because no, what player just goes around launching pucks at his fans’ faces for fun?)

Sebastian offered it for you to take, and you of course accepted, tiny sparks erupting across your skin where your fingers brushed together. As you examined the puck in your hand that was still slightly frozen from its time on the ice, you couldn’t hold back the smile on your face if you tried, heart practically thumping outside of your chest because damn it, Sebastian wasn’t allowed to make you feel like this!

Gently swiping a thumb across his signature scrawled over the top of the puck, you looked up to find Sebastian already looking, staring at you with an expression you couldn’t quite decipher.

Suddenly the room was thick with tension and you were unable to look away, trapped in his eyes that looked to be so much darker compared to the soft lighting of the room. Your heart was pounding, your lips dry, and when you went to subconsciously lick them Sebastian’s eyes zeroed in on the movement and woah, the breath whooshed away from your lungs in a feeling not unfamiliar to when you got smacked in the face by hockey pucks.

Sebastian was leaning closer, his free hand hovering over your hip and when you automatically moved closer to accommodate him that was when you became fully trapped in his hold— but the thing was that you welcomed it, you welcomed his touch because you wanted to be swallowed in it and for some reason that fact wasn’t scaring you anymore.

You released a shaky exhale as his forehead was now resting against yours, eyes closing to try and gather your thoughts and any ounce of sanity you had left, because when in his presence all logic and reasoning left your mind to give way to desire and passion.

Your noses were now brushing together, a hand was tugging you closer to his body, and you could feel a whisper of his breath on your lips, that’s how close you were—

And then suddenly the doors to the medical ward were swinging open with a loud bang, Sebastian leaping back from you with a startled jump and you stuck frozen in your spot like a deer caught in headlights was what greeted the head doctor when she looked up from her clipboard.

Raising her eyebrows, she looked like she wanted to comment, observing your wide eyes and Sebastian’s flushed cheeks. Either from saving you the embarrassment or from her genuinely not wanting to be involved in your… endeavors, you were thankful as she merely waved you off with another few papers to sign, deliberately ignoring the way Sebastian was still hovering behind you and waiting to leave with you.

Once you finished, you sent a quick smile the doctor’s way before hurrying after Sebastian who now looked like he wanted to be anywhere else other than here.

Did I do something wrong? No, damn it, he was reciprocating—

Your thoughts were quickly cut off by the hockey player himself taking a hold of your hand in the midst of his brisk walk, only looking down at you with a soft furrow of his brows before he determined you were fine with it, and then he intertwined your fingers together.

You struggled to breathe, your breath catching in your throat as electrifying warmth shot up your arm, traveling through your body and you were almost burning, but it was such a good burn that you did nothing but welcome it. It was a feeling you hadn’t felt in probably years, though you didn’t find yourself scared of it like you thought you’d be.

Because no, out of all your strange, bizarre meetings with Sebastian Aho, you never found yourself scared of what you felt for him. Not nearly as much as you claimed to your friends when ranting over the phone.

Maybe it was because your attraction for so long had been buried beneath extreme distaste for causing you so much pain (literally) that falling for the hockey player had probably been the easiest thing you had ever done in your life because you didn’t even realize you were doing it.

You had a hard time fighting back the smile that wanted to spread across your cheeks, such a hard time in fact that you bit your lip hard enough to the point it bled. Though the brief twinges of pain didn't really bother you when you felt Sebastian squeeze your hand every few minutes, leading you through the empty hallways of the arena to where you assume was the parking lot.

When you walked out into the hot summer air that was typical for June in North Carolina, you almost wanted to frown because your time with Sebastian was almost over, even as limited as it was to begin with.

You turned to him then, not letting go of his hand but twisting around to face him instead, watching as his footsteps faltered, eventually stopping to face you where you stood in the middle of the almost-empty parking lot.

What a sight we must be, you almost wanted to laugh, wondering how odd the two of you looked: an NHL superstar holding hands with some random stranger in the middle of a parking lot. You could almost see the headlines now.

Sebastian didn't know quite what to say, regarding you with such intense yet vulnerable eyes full of the millions of words he wanted to say but just couldn't figure out how. If only you spoke Finnish…

"Are you sure you're okay? It doesn't hurt at all?" Is what he instead settled with, subconsciously bringing up his free hand to brush against the bruising on your nose with such gentle care it made you melt on the spot.

You hummed at the comfort his warm hands provided you, eyes fluttering as you leaned into his touch and— oh, wait, he was probably waiting for you to answer.

Based on the lazy, half-smirk on his face and the way he kept stroking the skin of your cheek though, you didn't think he minded how his touch could turn you into putty.

"No. I mean, it's sore and will probably hurt for awhile, but I'll survive," You tried to placate him, but if anything the words just made him more frustrated, the man releasing a huff while staring down your nose, almost wishing he could will the bruise away.

Sebastian sighed, looking at you with so much adoration and affection and dare you say it… love…? "I'm sorry," he said again, but you were tired of hearing his apologies and merely shook your head, shooting him your best unimpressed look.

You were about to open up your mouth to speak, to attempt to reassure him again but Sebastian was already looking down, hair still damp from the shower he took previously dangling in front of his forehead, and you struggled to figure out what you could do to make him feel better.

Biting the inside of your cheek, you fiddled with a loose string on your shirt before getting an idea— albeit a risky one that would definitely be putting yourself out there, but you had already practically admitted you were 'in love' with him, right?

Taking in a nervous breath, you shuffled closer to the taller man in front of you, hiding a smile as Sebastian immediately looked up in surprise and placed his hands on your hips to steady you. You wrapped an arm around his neck to settle your hand against his cheek, attempting to bring him down to your height but still having to stand up on your toes (curse his 6'0 height).

And then your lips brushed against the skin of his cheek, soft and warm with just the barest hint of stubble. You left a kiss at the corner of his lips next, shuddering deeply at the way his arms went to circle you - likely to bring you in closer so he could finally have you the way he'd been dreaming of - before pulling yourself away quickly, a satisfied smile taking replacing your mischievous grin at the starstruck look on his face.

"I'm okay, I promise," You reassured quietly, squeezing both his hands and the centerman only nodded, his eyes dark and heavy-lidded from the way you were pressed against him just moments ago.

"And thank you for the puck," Were your last words to him before you were quickly hurrying your way to your car, hands clammy and face on fire as the reality of what you just did settled in.

Holy shit, you thought as you unlocked your car. I don't regret it though. No, how could you when Sebastian looked at you afterwards like that?

And Sebastian was wishing he had done more than just stand there like the complete and utter idiot he was, letting you walk away without doing at least something in return…

Is this what love feels like?, was the only thought in his head as he eventually made his way back through the parking lot, thinking of the look you might have on your face when you'd find his number written on the other side of the puck he gave you.

• ~;~ •

+1

Instead of hitting you in the face with pucks, Sebastian Aho finally settled with throwing them gently to you from the ice, and if he smiled the widest he ever had when the arena showed you finally catching a puck on the jumbotron with the crowd cheering, clapping, and throwing praises and laughs left and right, well— only he had to know that.

Sebastian was pretty positive you were his person though, he just knew, and he was going to make sure you knew that too as soon as possible. Preferably after this game. He was even going to try to bypass any interviews afterwards (he could dream, honestly, but everyone knew Brind'Amour would just make him sit through them anyway).

You were very surprised that you managed to catch the puck Sebastian threw to you, if you were being honest. Maybe you managed to do so because you were actually expecting it this time— or because he didn’t chuck it over the glass as hard as he possibly could, like the previous four times…

Either way, you didn’t bother trying to hide the smile on your face as the cameras zoomed in on you giddily holding the puck still frozen and covered in bits of ice.

The smile didn’t leave your face after the Storm Surge and fans began to leave the arena, nor did it leave when you checked in with the security guards along with your friend and were led down to the locker rooms with your stomach swimming with butterflies.

When you finally got past the crowd and managed to avoid any onlookers who might have spotted the passes along your neck, you stayed behind your friend as they automatically began to chat up the other WAG’s and friends waiting outside to check your phone.

Sure enough, just as you had suspected, a notification from the very boy himself was lighting up your screen, his contact name flashing obnoxiously and almost making you laugh.

Puck Boy: You’re coming down to the locker rooms after, right? Everyone wants to see you again.

How did it get to the point where the two of you were texting regularly and meeting his teammates, you ask? Well, you didn’t exactly have a very good answer for that either.

You had found his number written on the bottom of the puck during the late hours of night, and having a moment of weakness you immediately texted him despite the time. Though surprisingly, Sebastian had been up too (he wouldn’t admit that he had been staring at his phone, waiting for a message from an unknown number to come in) and had responded almost immediately.

The two of you talked for hours after that, staying up until the sun rose despite you having work in the morning and Sebastian having practice, talking about everything under the sun. And despite the fact that you were barely awake as you arrived to take your morning shift, practically falling asleep the moment you arrived at your post, you didn’t regret your not-so-adultish decision to stay up whatsoever.

The first time the two of you called was only two weeks ago, but once you started neither of you could stop. It was after a victory against the Predators, and all Sebastian could think to do once he arrived at his apartment was to dial your number and celebrate, to pretend that he was with you instead of hugging you tight to his chest like he really wanted.

And then he had invited you to a get-together hosted by Jordan Martinook himself, just a few days after your first call; one, because Sebastian needed a date to avoid another month of being teased for arriving dateless, two, because everyone - and when he said everyone, he meant everyone - wanted to meet you, and three, because he also really wanted to see you again.

After that first fateful get-together outside of the PNCArena, it was practically routine to continue to call and text each other at the end of the day, avoiding the one elephant in the room that neither of you wanted to address— What are we? What are we doing, really?

Yes, You eventually texted back, looking up once your friend started to poke you for your attention, then blushed in embarrassment when you realized several other people were staring at you with varying levels of amusement from your lack of attention.

“Sorry,” You grinned sheepishly, stuffing your phone in your pocket as your friend merely rolled their eyes before linking their arm with yours.

You soon fell into easy conversation with Courtney Martinook, Kylie Slavin, and Kylie’s daughter, Emersyn - all who you were fairly comfortable with from the last time you met them - only just managing to avoid the subtle smiles and winks - and in your friend’s case, harsh kicks to the shin - when your friendship with Sebastian would be brought up.

“He bought you two tickets?” Courtney asked with a hum, exchanging knowing smiles with Kylie when your friend nodded eagerly and you avoided eye contact with flushed cheeks.

“Only because he said I could repay him by buying him a lifetime-supply of coffee,” You attempted to defend yourself and the way your cheeks glowed red, though you didn’t think you did a very good job if the raised eyebrows of the two older women were any indication.

“Are you and Fishy gonna get married?” Emersyn soon interrupted mid-conversation, a goofy grin on her face that seemed much too mischievous for her age. While your mouth opened and closed like that of a fish and Kylie attempted to apologize for her daughter’s very out-of-the-blue question, you were soon saved from answering when the locker room doors burst open and Emersyn squirmed out of her mother’s arms with an excited squeal, bounding towards her father who came out first with several others.

Your friend tugged at your arm, wiggling their eyebrows playfully. “Yeah, are you going to get married?” You merely scowled, a furious blush decorating your face as you quickly looked around to make sure nobody else had heard. God forbid one of the players heard the chirp and decided to let Sebastian in on it…

“I don’t even think we’ll date, nonetheless get married,” You muttered dryly, crossing your arms defensively when your friend merely rolled their eyes.

“Yeah, that’s definitely why he got you his jersey and gave you a puck with his number on it. Because he doesn’t want to date you.”

Coming from another person your excuse did sound a lot more dumb out loud than in your head, but you wouldn’t admit that. Instead you only turned away, looking through the crowd of happy couples and single players walking along the hallway, searching for Sebastian.

“And here I thought you were wearing the number 88, not 20…” A voice sighed teasingly to your left, an arm coming to rest on your shoulder after as you turned around to find Martin Necas giving you the best heartbroken, puppy-eyed look he could.

“Sorry Martin,” You grinned, not really sorry at all as you batted away his arm from your shoulder. “I just happen to like Sepe better.” You shrugged nonchalantly, though Martin knew you were joking mostly by the way your grin wouldn’t leave your face.

Martin, unphased, shrugged. “I know, believe me. Everyone knows.” And then the right winger was flashing you the biggest shit-eating grin you had ever seen before he was suddenly sauntering away towards your friend who had been watching from the other side of the room.

Staring after the hockey player with comically wide eyes, you were about to march off after him to demand what the hell Martin was talking about—

“Looking for me?” A cheeky voice and a sudden poke on your shoulder soon had you pausing in your steps, and as you turned around to face the culprit you ended up coming face-to-face (or rather face-to-chest) with the all-star player himself.

Sebastian was back in his game-day suit, hair still damp from a shower probably taken before with his cheeks flushed red from either the heat or from seeing you. And despite how infuriatingly good the man managed to look, it wasn't his body that had you absolutely starstruck, but rather the wide, infectious smile on his face that you could do nothing but return before he was swallowing you in his arms, burying his face into the top your hair as he hugged you so close to him, the way he had been dreaming of since you first kissed his cheek.

“Missed me that much?” You laughed, throwing your arms around his neck and too hugging him close. Your next retort was quickly cut off when he pressed a quick kiss to the top of your head in response, being so fleeting that you wondered if you had just imagined it.

¹ “Sinulla ei ole aavistustakaan, kuinka paljon kaipasin sinua... En yhtään.”

Sebastian purposefully spoke in Finnish, mostly because he knew how much it irritated you because you could never figure out what he was saying but also because he could speak his mind without the worry of it backfiring. And when you scowled and tried to wriggle your way out of his arms, Sebastian did nothing but laugh as you muttered curses under your breath about him being too strong.

It was true, though. Sebastian had the weight, height, and muscle mass to top yours ten times over— yet you didn't mind it as much as you were acting to be, rather instead secretly enjoying being trapped in his warm embrace.

Like the first time you were alone with him, you let yourself get sucked into your own little world with the hockey player in front of you, obnoxiously amused stares and giggles from the others around you ignored as you remained curled into Sebastian's chest like a koala, not quite willing to let go just yet.

"Did you enjoy the game?" Sebastian asked, staring down at you so sweetly that it had your heart melting on the spot. It only took a minute of him scanning down your body before he spotted the number 20 printed across your sleeves, and if possible his smile got even wider (and smug, too, you thought with an internal scoff) as he gently traced the numbers with his fingers while waiting for your response.

"Mhm," You hummed your agreement, rolling your eyes as he kept his eyes trained on the 'Aho' jersey he had bought you so many weeks ago. "It was pretty fun, got to see some guy score a few times too, not really sure who he was though." And that got his attention, Sebastian staring with those warm brown eyes of his that even when displeased were still one of the most attractive features about him.

Sebastian watched you with narrowed eyes, brows furrowing with a teasing glare as he wondered if getting into a quip-battle with you was worth it. While equally clever with his words - it was always the quiet ones… - the both of you were stubborn, you especially so, and he'd rather save your typical jabs at each other when it was just the two of you and not surrounded by his teammates and their partners, eagerly waiting for him to do something.

You figured Sebastian gave up on arguing with you again when his arms merely tightened their hold around you, bottom lip suddenly captured in-between his teeth as he thought of what to say.

He had a plan coming out here after receiving your text… He knew he did! What was it again?

Watching you pull at a loose string on your sleeve, it suddenly occurred to him that the main reason he had gotten you and your friend tickets in the first place was so that he could ask you out. Officially. Like on an actual date.

Fuck.

Taking in a deep breath that you definitely noticed but decided not to comment on, Sebastian mumbled something in Finnish under his breath yet again that had you briefly scowling at before he popped the dreaded yet anticipated question:

"Do you want to go out after this?"

You stared, having enough dignity to at least not look like a gaping fish for what had to have been the millionth time that night.

"It doesn't have to be right now-right now, we can wait until later if that works better, I know you have work—"

Suddenly Sebastian was rambling, and you did nothing but watch at first, both in awe at the man in front of you and in amusement because he looked just as nervous as you felt.

Just do it. You know you want to. And then you were staring at Sebastian's face, his mouth specifically, thinking of all the ways you could shut him up but instead settling on one:

"...and we could always set something up in a few days, too—"

"Sepe?" You interrupted, resting your chin on his chest as you tilted your head up to look at him fully.

When he merely blinked in response, regarding you quietly with those warm brown eyes of his, you couldn't help but smile because little did he know that your heart was pounding so hard you felt like it was going to explode.

You pulled Sebastian down towards you by the lapels of his suit as best as you could, biting the inside of your lip when you met his warm brown eyes that were now dark and swimming with desire. He ended up being the one to close the distance, cupping your cheek with the entirety of his hand before his lips were brushing against yours, and that small touch was all he needed before Sebastian was pressing forward, leading you into the kiss and it almost felt like he was devouring you. He was so warm yet burning and his hand on your cheek and waist was sending tingles all throughout your body and it all was overwhelming but in the best way possible. You tugged Sebastian closer, burying your hand into his hair and kissing him with everything you had all while cursing him internally for making you feel for him so strongly. When his tongue ever so slightly ran across your lip, testing for an entrance, that was when your brain decided to rear forward with there are people near!

You were suddenly pulling back with a gasp, lips swollen and red, cheeks flushed and pupils blown wide with lust, biting your abused lip to hide your smile when Sebastian whined at your pulling back and attempted to lean forward to kiss you again.

Ignoring the wolf-whistles that you hadn't registered until just now, you briefly glanced around to see your friend standing next to Martin and Turbo, both nodding eagerly with equally-wide smiles and that's when you took a deep breath and jumped head-first into whatever it was you were doing.

"I would love to go out after this." You answered after a few moments of internal-panic on what to follow up with, though if the satisfied grin on Sebastian's face was any indication, you figured you said the right thing.

"Good," Sebastian recovered from his starstruck haze quickly, ignoring the eager and expectant look his friends were sending him as he leaned down to mumble into your hair, "I wasn't really going to take no for an answer, anyway…"

You opened your mouth to retort, brows furrowing in offense at his statement because, um, nobody told you what to do, least of all him—

And as if sensing the argument from you, Sebastian quickly bent his head forward to lock eyes with you, just to make sure you knew what he was doing, and then he was capturing your lips with his own once more, shutting you up with a grin at your brief sounds of protest being quickly cut off.

Sliding a hand through your hair just because he could, this time it was Sebastian pulling back and you chasing after him with a whine while he merely grinned, smile lazy yet smug.

Geez, you thought, mind still fuzzy from Sebastian's kisses as he began to lead you through the crowd with a warm hand pressed against your lower-back. What is he doing to me?

"You're awful, you know," You spoke with a light huff that held little mirth, rolling your eyes when Sebastian only laughed and just resorted to dragging you away by the sleeve of your - his - jersey instead.

"You still like me though."

Unfortunately.

"Screw you."

"Maybe wait until after the first date?" Said Sebastian without missing a beat, keeping his eyes forward and waving goodbye to his teammates and your friend before exiting the locker room hallway.

This man is going to be the death of me, you thought, though strangely enough, you didn't mind the thought of it.

When you arrived to Sebastian's own car after picking up your stuff and to let him drive you to wherever the hell he wanted to go, you had a sudden revelation.

"Puck you." Is what you said, grinning victoriously when Sebastian looked at you from the corner of his eye with a baffled frown.

"What?" He laughed incredulously, looking so confused yet cute at the same time that you couldn't help but take pity on him.

"It's like 'fuck you' but instead of saying fuck, I said puck, because that's how you decided to screw up both my life and my face."

Okay, not much pity, but still.

When Sebastian only gave you a sheepish grin and a shrug, you knew he didn't take the jab seriously.

And based on the way he wouldn't meet your eyes when you asked if he even regretted how everything happened between the two of you, you knew your teasing him was well-deserved.

"Puck you, Sebastian. Puck you."

²"Minäkin rakastan sinua."

~~~

¹ "You have no idea how much I missed you… None at all."

² "Love you too."

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Wrap n’ Bake Samosas:

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What you need: 

4 cups of Yukon gold potatoes diced into 1/3 inch cubes (about 4 medium potatoes) , 1 cup frozen peas, 1 tbl oil, 2tsp mustard seeds, 2 tsp cumin seeds, 1/2 tsp turmeric, 1 tsp chili powder, 1 garlic clove minced, 1/2 inch grated ginger, 1tbl finely chopped cilantro, 1/2 tsp of Garam Masala ,  8 count 10 in flour tortillas. 3 tbl flour mixed with equal parts water for flour paste. 

1️⃣Cover potatoes with water in a saucepan, bring to a boil, reduce to simmer cook till fork tender about 8 min

2️⃣ Using large frying pan add oil on med heat then add mustard & cumin seeds. Cook until seeds begin to brown & pop, about 1 min

3️⃣Add garlic, ginger, turmeric & chili powder, stir 2 min

3️⃣Add potatoes, cook 5 minutes, stirring frequently, add peas half way through 

4️⃣Mash potatoes a bit, you don’t want the pieces too big, but not too small. Add salt, cilantro, and Garam Masala, mix, let cool

5️⃣ Cut Tortilla in 1/2. Take one of the halves place the straight edge closest to you. Take left corner bring it up to the top of the crescent so it forms a triangle. Take right corner so it crosses over the first fold and forms an equal sized triangle on top.Use the flour paste to seal the edge of the seam. Press firmly. Hold the folded shell upright so it is in the shape of a cone.Add 2 tbl potato filling to the inside of the cone. Then seal the top of cone with flour paste. Press firmly to ensure you have a good seal.Repeat. Check 👀 my stories soon for a visual demo, which I’ll soon put in my highlights.

6️⃣ Mist with oil. Bake on parchment lined baking sheet seam side down at 400 F for 8 min, flip samosas,bake for another 4 min. Enjoy!!

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