#with rice I made in the microwave (always wash your rice until the water runs clean 🤬)

[kingofbr00klyn]

My toxic trait is cooking full meals in the middle of the night

[wocfics]

Broken Record 2

Part 2

Arranged Marriage Series

Masterlist 

MYG x Poc Reader

Warnings: Angst, Fluff- Bipolar disorder, depression followed by fluff at the end.

Word Count: 3k+

The past few months spent with Yoongi have been...avoidable. Not on purpose of course but because he had been so busy with the comeback and you were busy running your store. You’d get home before he does usually and would cook something small, since he’d either show up or end up sleeping in his studio without, which meant you would just wrap up the rest of the food for him. You had only been in his studio once when he showed you just in case you would be wondering where he was if he didn’t come home. You would both leave around the same time every morning, either making breakfast or getting something on the way to work. You’d close down for a short lunch break, making sure to send him something to eat via takeout unless he sent a text saying that he had eaten already. 

You’d close the store around 8pm before heading home and taking a shower before starting on dinner. Depending on if he was coming home or not would determine how much you would make and usually you’d stick to something simple unless you were feeling adventurous and decided to cook something else. Although you were now living in Korea, you did cook non Korean food every now and then and even explored other cultures in culinary since you didn’t like eating the same thing all the time. 

Lately you had been into more hispanic dishes and remembered that you had Jungkook’s wife in your phone. The company said it would be good to have their numbers in your phone, especially for when the boys would be the busiest or away for long periods of time. She had sent you some recipes for the things she would cook and they helped. Of course you added in your own little things to tweak it just a little bit to your liking but kept them traditional. Yoongi didn’t seem to mind the different food either, or at least you haven’t heard him complain. You hadn’t really heard anything from him lately unless it was him sending you a text. That form of communication would have to stop soon, especially with the award show around the corner.

Right now, you were wrapping up the leftover rice and beans, putting them in a container and then going to put away the pork chops you had made in separate tupperware. Yoongi was already walking through the door and you checked the time, seeing that it was 10:45 pm. You wore pajama pants and a shirt, your hair was placed into two low braids and you currently had on a mud mask since you were in the middle of your skincare routine before deciding to put everything away. 

“How was practice?” You asked. You decided that speaking in Koran was your best bet since Yoongi was stingy but had also told you that he was uncomfortable speaking in English because he didn’t want to mess up. He has also texted you those words since he didn’t want to say it directly to you. Hearing him slide off his shoes and put his keys on the table, he walked into the kitchen and blinked a few times while staring at you, probably because of the mask before he walked over to the counter and saw the food you had wrapped up. “Sore. I’m tired and hungry. Thank you for cooking.” He put everything into a bowl and popped it into the microwave before leaning against the counter and staring more at your face. “Is that my mud mask?” He asked.

You shrugged and put away the rest of the food that he wasn’t eating. “You were barely using it, it’s the first time I’m using it.” You answered, lightly touching it to see if it was dry. “Yah! You can buy your own, I do use it which was why it was on my side of the bathroom counter. You have ten other products and you stole my sheet masks last week and didn’t even replace them. Buy your own.” He whined and you rolled your eyes. Okay yes, you used his face products but it’s only because he had fancier ones than you did and you didn’t know where he was finding all of the good stuff. 

“I only used a little and I always offer you my stuff to use. You barely use moisturizer and your skin is going to turn on you sooner or later. You’ll look like a cheese grater in a few years if you don’t use something more than just water and face masks.” You pointed out. He waved you off with his hand as you made your way down the hall and into the bathroom, going to wash off the face mask. Once you were done, you patted your face dry and finished up your skincare routine. It didn’t feel like marriage but felt more like you two were roommates, who had the same last name and shared the same bed. There were no date nights, no kissing which meant there was no sex. 

That didn’t bother you too much but the least he could do was let you listen to what he was working on or bring you coffee when he had free time during the day but then again, he didn’t even wanna share his skin care with you. After finishing your bathroom routine, you walked into the room and soon after he followed behind you, stripping out of his shirt and tossing it into the hamper. You checked your phone, going through your social media to keep updates on your family, ignoring the constant bad tweets about you now that you were married to someone famous.

You had your days where they would get to you, them talking about the way you looked or how you didn’t suit Yoongi but that was to be expected and you knew it came with the marriage. 

‘Ugh, they couldn’t have found someone skinnier? This girl is a cow.’

‘I went into her store once, I hated it. Everything looked vintage’

‘It won’t last. He’s gonna cheat on her with someone prettier, skinnier and wealthier.’

‘She’s only with him for his money. What a broke bitch.’

Clearing your notifications, you plugged up your phone and noticed he was out of the shower and dressed for bed already while you were so engrossed in your phone. Sliding under the blankets, you kept your back towards him and turned off the light once he was settled in. You couldn’t see it but Yoongi always stared at your back while you slept, seeing how your waist dipped in and back up around your hip area. He wanted to cuddle you, hold you and sleep with you in his arms but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. He wanted to know more about you and he knew there was something you weren’t telling him, but he’d wait. Rubbing his face with both hands, he closed his eyes and soon you both fell asleep.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The following week came fast, you both had gotten up early, ate breakfast before showering and heading out to the BigHit building before going to the award show. Once there, your hair, done by yourself was pinned up while the older women there in charge of makeup started on you. You were already dressed. A dark blue two piece, beaded halter top and high waist flare skirt that stopped mid thigh with a pair of blue pumps to match. They gave you a light smokey eye with blue liner on the bottom and a nude lip. You brushed down the now blonde sew in you wore with dark roots and fixed it to your liking so that it wasn’t in your face too much. Once you were done and everyone else joined, you all piled into the car and off to the awards you went to.

Of course there’d be pictures. Instead of letting Yoongi hold your waist or your hand, you just stood close to him, placing a hand on his shoulder while you took pictures. You smiled in some but for some reason, your mood was slowly draining. You kept going back to the comments about you in your head and as much as you didn’t want to, they were dragging you down. 

Yoongi noticed your mood change but didn’t say anything. He just quickly answered any questions anyone had before ushering you both into the building for the show. When he went to touch your waist, you quickly moved his hands away and went to sit down. The entire show, you blankly stared at whoever was talking and whoever was performing. You clapped when everyone else clapped and kept forcing a smile on your face whenever the cameras would pan over to everyone you were sitting with. When the boys performed, you paid a little attention, wanting to be supportive, even though Yoongi annoyed the hell out of you sometimes, he was a great performer as well as the rest of the boys. 

Waiting for the rest of the awards to be over, you stood up once the lights began to turn on and everyone began to exit. Next stop, some after party but instead of going inside, you told Yoongi you didn’t feel good and decided to stay in the car. Nobody else noticed, or they did and didn’t stay back with you. While in the car, you tried taking deep breaths and rolled your eyes at yourself. “Please, not now.” You whispered to yourself. You didn’t know how long you were in the car for but you looked up once the door opened and you saw Namjoon and his wife enter and he didn’t look happy at all, followed by Jimin’s wife getting in, sitting right next to you with tears streaming down her face that she quickly wiped away before anyone saw. 

You couldn’t pay attention to them too much, they must have left because you were still in the car. Maybe if you went inside then everyone would have stayed longer and now you were angry with yourself for getting in the mood that you were in. Why did you have to be sad now? You didn’t say anything the entire ride, staying near the window until you all got back to the building and got into your separate cars. 

You said nothing the entire ride home, your thoughts consuming you. Maybe all of this would have been better if you said no to the marriage. Maybe Yoongi would be happier with someone else of his caliber. Maybe those comments were right and you were not good enough for him and he’d cheat on you with someone of a higher ranking, better looking, a traditional Korean woman that made a lot of money and knew how to keep him. 

Once you got in the house, you took off your heels and slowly walked into the room. “I’m going to take a shower. I’m exhausted.” Yoongi spoke up and you glanced over before nodding slowly. “I’ll just go in the other bathroom.” You whispered, barely audible and grabbed your towel before going out and into the bathroom down the hall. You were in and out of the shower within ten minutes and got dressed in the bathroom before heading back into the bedroom and simply crawling under the covers and pulling them up and over your head, wanting to just hide from everything and everyone. You didn’t feel like enough and now you were mentally exhausted from your feelings being all over the place today. You were happy when you woke up this morning and now you felt like everything was your fault and nobody wanted you around, you felt invaluable. 

Three days later

Stuck in the same position except to take a shower, you laid there, the covers now tucked under your chin. You had been in and out of sleep, the store closed and everything forgotten about. This has never happened for more than a day since finding everything out years ago but you never told anyone, just that you got into this “mood” sometimes and you didn’t know how to get out of it. 

Yoongi never said anything, he just let you be and even left a cup of water by the bed. He must have gotten fed up because when you heard the door being unlocked, you glanced at the clock on the wall and read that it was 4 in the afternoon and he usually didn’t come home until much later. He walked into the room, seeing you still in the bed and quickly pulled back the covers and pulled them off the bed. “Get up, we need to talk now.” He demanded, turning on the light and waiting for you by the door. “Come on. I don’t want you laying there anymore. You haven’t drank any water, your breath smells. I’m glad you showered but you need to eat and tell me what’s wrong so I can figure out how to fix it.” He spoke more soothingly now, not wanting to yell at you or anything.

Flinching back from the brightness of the bedroom light, you slowly sat up, tears welling up in your eyes when he told you your breath smelled and you pulled down the yellow shirt you wore with matching bottoms. “Can you please, brush your teeth first before we talk? It’ll save both of us, and come into the living room. I brought food.” He walked out of the room. Walking into the bathroom, you looked at yourself in the mirror and closed her eyes, you looked like shit. Even though all you did was sleep, you had bags under your eyes, your skin was beyond gross since skipping your skincare routine and your hair was still under the bonnet you decided to use, you didn’t even wanna know what was under it. Brushing your teeth, you were in the bathroom for five minutes, making sure to get every spot before scrubbing your tongue and even rinsing with mouthwash. 

You saw Yoongi sitting on the couch, takeout on the coffee table and a large cup of water. Your body felt weak after going three days without eating anything, let alone drinking anything. He quickly handed you the cup of water and told you to drink, which you did. Half the cup. Sitting down on the other end of the couch, he watched you carefully. “Tell me what’s happening with you? Manager Seijin Hyung said your store had been closed for three days and it’s unlike you. You haven’t eaten, your mood just...changed. What’s wrong, Y/N?” When he said your name, you lost it and finally cracked. You broke down and covered your face with the sleeves of the long sleeve shirt you wore. 

“Everyone was right in those comments, I’m not good enough for you. You’ll probably cheat on me with someone with more money, skinnier and better suitable for you and who doesn’t have depression. I’m doing a terrible job at being a wife, I fucking suck and I know you don’t like me either. I feel like nobody wants me here, none of the other wives like me, they don’t talk to me. People make fun of my store, everything would be better if I wasn’t here and maybe you’d have someone better than me.” You avoided eye contact with him, not wanting to see his face, afraid that he would be nodding his head in agreement or something. It was the opposite. His eyes slightly widened and he had more of a sad look on his face. 

He moved closer to you and turned her head towards him by moving your chin. You looked at him then looked down until he followed your eye movement and had you look at him again. “Y/N, why didn’t you tell me you were depressed?” He asked. You shook your head, balling your fists. “It’s just a part of it...I have bipolar disorder…” You never thought you would say it, although you had it, but now saying it, you didn’t know what he was going to think of you now. He gripped both sides of your face and forced you to look at him now. “Why didn’t you tell me about it? We may annoy the fuck out of each other, Y/N but you’re still my wife. We have to go through everything together and don’t think that I would leave you for someone else. I may pick at you about things but if I wanted to get rid of you I would have already done that by now. You’re hurting yourself by doing this alone, and you’re hurting your body by not eating or at least drinking some water. I knew something was wrong but I didn’t know it got this way until a few days ago. You have to tell me next time, but I’m glad I know now for future reference. Now, please eat.” 

He wiped the tears from your eyes with a tissue and let you go and motioned for you to eat. Now that you were looking at the food, you were starving and your mouth was salivating already. Picking up the lamb skewer, you began to eat. “Actually...that was mine, but you can have that one. I have more.” Yoongi chimed in and you looked at him. “I’m sorry.” You mumbled and he shook his head. “Just eat. Please.” He grabbed your cup and went to refill it with water. 

You ate rice, the tteokbokki he bought and the bulgogi beef. You put down your chopsticks and took the water from him when he handed you the cup and drank it all down. Holding it in your hand, you looked at him, seeing his honey blonde hair that he was now pushing away from his eyes and his bare face, you leaned over and hugged him, resting your head on his shoulder. “Come on, we’ll clean this up later. I’m tired and I want to lay down.” He grabbed your hand and pulled you towards the room. 

This was all you wanted, he was holding your hand and although it wasn’t a kiss, it was enough for you for now. He climbed into the bed and pulled you along, pulling you close to him but you pulled away a little. “Wait, I don’t want to crush you.” You said quickly and he grew a look of confusion on his face. “What? What are you talking about?” He asked. 

“Yoongi, please. I weigh more than you and I’m not thin, my ass weighs more than both of your legs put together.” He pointed out. He rolled his eyes at you and pulled you down until your head was on his chest. “I don’t care how much you weigh, Y/N. I just want you to be healthy and comfortable with yourself. You’re not heavy and there’s nothing wrong with you. People just talk shit on Twitter because they know you’ll see it and get upset. We’re married, I won’t cheat on you. You’re beautiful, even if you are annoying and steal my stuff. I can sympathize with you because I get depressed as well. I may not show it but that’s because you only see me at night when I’m tired. I’ll stay in the studio instead of letting everyone see how down I am. Only Hobi can tell, but now that you know, maybe we can help each other.” 

Glancing down at you, he noticed you were now asleep. “Thanks for listening.” He chuckled lightly and lightly rubbed your shoulder before closing his eyes. This was all he wanted, you in his arms during nap time after a deep conversation. He was opening up and he loved that you shared what you feared the most about yourself to him. You reached for the blanket and pulled it up to the both of you and wrapped one arm over his torso. It may not be to other people, but this was absolute heaven for both of you.

[polyhymniia]

listen ok it’s been a month since i’ve been here but i was reminded of this short story i wrote and how someone told me it sounded like it could be the prologue for a book and now i kinda wanna participate in nanowrimo????

Silence was never something I was accustomed to. With two younger brothers, silence was coveted, a luxury not often had. This was especially true when said younger brothers happened to be very close in age and also far too interested in things like playing the drums and not going outside, two things Mama would never have allowed me to do at their age. She said it had something to do with the fact that they were wild-- a joke more often than not-- but I knew it was because they looked too much like Papa, even if she wouldn’t admit it. She didn’t have to. When Andrew finally grew out of his baby face, Mama kept to her room for longer than she had when he was first born. Jacob was similar, but there was a sharpness in him, one that resembled me more than anyone else in our small family-- a small family that was not around to fill the silence in our usually busy home. 

Despite having grown used to carrying the small key with me to and from school, I was not familiar with the way it slid into the lock. When I came home from school, Mama was always there, Andrew often glued to her side and Jacob running around on the verge of breaking something or other. Ever since he started school, he’d become insufferably full of energy. There was no stopping him when he found something to set his mind to. This usually meant looking for some obscure toy or craft he hadn’t cared about in years and tearing up the house to find it. Our home had long since become a graveyard of forgotten things; it was impossible to walk through its rooms without tripping over something that looked like it would have fit in better at a garage sale. 

Now though, there was no comforting smell to welcome me home. The lights were off. The air felt stale like there had been nothing moving within it for hours. I discarded my backpack by the door, moving through the house in an attempt to figure out where they’d gone. There was no sign of my brothers having ever come home from school. Their jackets were not hanging on the hooks by the door, toys were still scattered around the living room, and the kitchen was bereft of people. After minimal searching, I found the answer to my question-- a simple sticky note resting on the microwave handle.

Natalie,  Taken boys to dentist,  wash the dishes when you get home,  Love Mama.

I paused with a wrinkle of my nose. Washing the dishes was not my chore. I got stuck with things like vacuuming the front hall or sweeping the kitchen, but not washing the dishes. The dishes were too beautiful-- fragile things that might slip out of careless fingers. I didn’t know whether to feel excited or disappointed that she had finally given me such a task she would only ever take on herself. Dwelling on it was useless. I dug out the stool that rested in the cabinet just below the sink. If I didn’t get on it, Mama would be home before I knew it, and I’d get no sympathy if the task wasn’t finished. 

As the sink filled with water, I quickly figured out why Mama preferred to do the dishes herself. There was something intensely calming about running my hands over the smooth surface of glass bowls and ceramic mugs. Soap eased the path of my fingers as I picked away at the smallest leftover imperfections. For a moment, I could almost imagine I was doing something far more important than I was. It reminded me of playing archaeologists with Andrew when Papa would hide coins out in the garden for us to find. It mattered very little that Andrew was so young back then, his primary goal was putting everything in his mouth. I smiled at the memory of picking bits of dirt off of the surface of a new penny and bringing it into the kitchen with pride until Mama would yell at us to wash up and stop bringing dirt into her new kitchen. Nudging bits of dried rice off of the surface of a pot was far different, and the thought slipped away, down the drain with everything else. 

Within the hour, the task had come and gone. Dripping plates and spoons took up residence on the counter. Water was everywhere, but I was filled with pride at seeing the now empty sink. That good feeling lasted only moments before I glanced at the microwave clock. In its age, it had lost some illumination on one side, but there was enough there for me to see that it read almost half past four. Long past was the time Mama should have returned with the boys. A dentist appointment only took so long. The phone on the wall looked tempting, but as much as I wanted to use it, I couldn’t remember the number Mama had told us to call if we needed her. She was rarely gone long enough for any of us to need it. 

Rummaging around in the refrigerator, I searched my memory for the last time I’d been without Mama for longer than school was in session. As far as I could remember, she was always home when I was, claiming that she had to be home to look after her babies, that that was the most important. We weren’t babies, I thought. This was something I always contested. I would be a teenager soon enough. 

“You’ll always be my babies,” she insisted, though the lingering sadness in her eyes worried me. The boys were too young to notice, but not me. I knew Mama better than anyone.

I knew her well enough to know when it was time to stop asking her questions about math homework, how much noise was enough noise and how much would get me a scolding and a swat with whatever spoon she was cooking with. I knew when to gather the boys and send them to their rooms so they wouldn’t meet her friends. When to keep them quiet, not seen, not heard. When they were older, maybe they would know Mama as well, but for now they had me to guide them. 

Not now, I supposed, seeing as they were still with Mama and I was home. But they would be home soon. And no doubt, as soon as they got back I would be in charge of making sure the boys were ready for bed. Cooking dinner was Mama’s time to be by herself. She’d said it enough times that even Jacob picked up on it. So, with nothing more than the rhythmic dripping of water hitting the floor to fill the silence, I thought about what to do next. While usually this wouldn’t be an issue, there wasn’t really a next task to get started on. The only thing her note had said was to do the dishes-- done. 

As was common in our household, having no direction from someone else led to little else than my own sitting around. Unlike the boys, I was not apt to make messes and break rules, especially not as I held onto the belief that Mama would be home soon enough. Getting caught in the act of doing something wrong would surely be worse than any joy it might bring me in the moment. Nevertheless, I could not deny the temptation of the television remote sitting so prettily on the coffee table. Perhaps later, when Mama was home, I could ask to watch television as a reward for a job well done on the dishes. My hands itched to take a hold of it now, but instead, I led them in the direction of my discarded backpack. Homework, while boring, was something, and I knew just as well as anyone that a bored child was one more likely to cause trouble. I had seen such a thing in Andrew so many times that even thinking about it now made me shake my head slowly.

Despite the fact that I started with good intentions, rarely do they lead anywhere other than where they’re often said to. With my notebooks strewn on the dining room table and homework problems half finished, I somehow made my way to the couch, curled up under the old throw blanket there as I waited for Mama to return. Without my permission, the warmth and hunger that spread over me as I sat there were the perfect recipe to carry me off to sleep, even though it was only 7 pm and I would no doubt get in some form of trouble for spreading my things out and not picking them up. 

And as I did on most nights, I dreamed of Papa. It was less of a dream and more of a half-formed memory, fogged up and blurry like someone had tried to take a photo but hadn’t cared enough about the image to actually stand still before they did it. Mama always said I was too young to remember him, but I knew that wasn’t true. Well, not really anyways. I don’t remember exactly what he looked like-- and there were no pictures around for me to reference--, but I remember his laugh. I remember how hard he laughed when Mama told him about Jacob, and I remember the first time Andrew laughed for real, not the giggle of a baby who hasn’t learned words yet. I couldn’t remember why it made her so upset. After all, Papa had been laughing the last time we saw him. In my dream, it was a happy laugh. Mama was laughing too. There was no sobbing or screaming. No slammed door. The knowledge that they should be there was enough to shatter the illusion. That, and the shrill sound of the phone ringing in the kitchen. 

I sat up quickly, my fingers itching to grab the phone receiver off of the dock. I might’ve, if Mama hadn’t been so strict about it. We weren’t ever allowed to pick up the phone unless she told us we could beforehand. With no such permission, I just wandered into the kitchen, staring at the blinking red light until the ringing stopped. The familiarity of our answering machine filled the kitchen, far too loud for the previous silence it had just broken. I was fully expecting it to be one of those “stupid telemarketing scammers” Mama always complained about, but as soon as the beep sounded, I was surprised to hear a feminine voice. I recognized it. It existed somewhere in my memory, but not close enough that I could recall it as easily as I might’ve liked to. 

“Hey, Jenn. It’s me again. You didn’t answer the first time, so I thought I’d try the house. Um, I’m just a little worried. Is everything okay? I know we haven’t talked in a while, but your call was kind of out of the blue. I just wanna make sure everything’s okay. Can you call me back once you get this? I know it’s late, but… yeah. Anyways, just uh call me back, okay?”

I hadn’t heard my aunt’s voice since my tenth birthday, nearly three years ago now. As far as I knew, she and Mama simply didn’t talk. Mama didn’t bring her up and the looks we received whenever we mentioned her quickly led to her name becoming almost a taboo in our household. A small part of me wanted to take it and hit the redial button to call my aunt back, to ask her if Mama had called her to let her know when she’d be home. Why hadn’t Mama called to leave me a message yet? Would she be home soon?

I might’ve done so if not for the knowledge that Mama could find out and any apology I might receive for being left home alone would be quickly swept away. So instead, I went back to the couch I’d made my nest in, clearing away the blankets and refolding them neatly over the back of the cushions. Keeping everything tidy was the quickest way to show Mama I could be responsible home alone. Maybe this was a test. Maybe she was leaving me alone to see if I could handle it. Maybe she wanted to see if I was as wild as the boys, or if I was as calm as I tried to make her see I was. Maybe….

Maybes led me back into the kitchen where the microwave clock flashed an eerie ten pm warning. They held tightly to my fingers as they placed nice dishes back into their respective cupboards. All those maybes kept swirling around until they carried me upstairs, into my bedroom and under the covers. They seeped into my dreams. Maybe if I could show Mama I was responsible, she’d let me do things other than school and chores. She’d let me go to my friends’ houses. She’d let me bring friends over. She’d tell me I did a good job today. Let me watch cartoons on Sunday instead of getting the boys up and dressed. Let me see pictures of Papa. 

Before I knew it, my dreams were pulled away once again. At first, I thought it was the phone again. I was already peeling off my covers, fully intending to pick it up this time before I realized the sound lacked the familiarity of the phone. There was no constant, instead, this went up and down, and in my half-asleep state, I nearly thought I was still dreaming. If not for the subsequent pounding on the door and the red and blue lights that flickered against my curtains, I might’ve believed it. 

Similar to the phone, Mama told us never to answer the door when she wasn’t home. Even if she was, it was her job to see who was there, especially if it was someone whose presence meant I needed to shepherd the boys back to their room before disappearing to mine. It was hard to listen though, when I knew who was here. As I pulled my shades to one side, I could see the black and white police cars, accompanied by a small blue car I didn’t recognize. It was dark out, the lights from the top of the cars the only thing lighting up our front yard aside from the moon. Before I could even make the decision to listen to Mama or not, I heard a noise like a small crash and then the voices from outside were suddenly louder. 

There was almost no time to think about what was happening as heavy footsteps echoed through the house. I was peering around the door when the hall light flicked on, revealing a face I’d never seen before. The eyes of the woman who met me were surprised, the way Mama got when Andrew cleaned up something on his own. But who was she? And where was Mama? This woman was wearing a uniform. I recognized it only from seeing other police officers on the streets and the few that came into school to talk to us about one thing or another. She spoke low into a radio by her shoulder before taking a few steps toward me. 

“Do you live here?” Her voice was much softer than the harsh ones that had been coming from downstairs and the few that had disappeared down the other end of the hall, towards Mama’s room. It was almost as if, when she spoke, everything in the house stopped moving again. I nodded, not removing my hands from the door frame as we stood there. It felt like I was being scrutinized, despite the fact that every few moments, the officer’s eyes would dart over to the side or to where a different officer stood. “I think there’s someone you know outside.” My eyes jumped from where they’d been lingering on her badge back to her face. I beamed. Mama had come back! I didn’t know why she was back with police or why it took her so long, but I knew she was going to be back eventually. I practically skipped after the officer as she led the way to the front door. I frowned, seeing how the wood was splintered by the hinges, but the thought of seeing Mama replaced it with a grin.

Only it wasn’t Mama at all.

As I stood on the porch, looking towards that unfamiliar blue car, I saw a woman who looked like Mama, but it clearly wasn’t her. I realized after a moment that I hadn’t actually seen my aunt in a long time. Just like Papa, there were no photos of her in the house, and the most I ever interacted with her was on birthday phone calls. I don’t know if she saw my face fall or not, but it didn’t seem to matter to her as she practically ran forward and wrapped her arms around my shoulders. I tried not to think about the fact that she hugged me tighter than Mama ever had. Likely tighter than Mama would’ve if she was back. 

“Oh God, Natalie, I’m so glad to see you--”

“Where’s Mama?” My voice was muffled against her shirt, but I knew she heard me. The stiffening of her body was something she and Mama shared. She pulled back and I found myself a little disappointed by it. As she bent at the waist to brush a piece of hair off of my forehead, I almost swore her eyes were filled with tears. In the dark it was hard to tell. 

“We aren’t sure right now. We thought you were with her.” We. Who was we? “How long have you been home alone?” I recounted to her the way I arrived home from school only to find the house empty. I told her about the note, about how Mama had said she was taking the boys to the dentist. The way her eyebrows furrowed made me wonder if I’d said something wrong. “Why didn’t you call? What did you do when you got home?” I looked at her incredulously, unsure why she thought I would ever break Mama’s rules about the phone.

“I washed the dishes.”

[morfinwen]

5 - 10 for two ocs of your choice :)

Not that it won’t be immediately obvious, but i picked Elise and Julie Wilson.

5. Cleanliness habits (personal, workspace, etc.)

Elise has always been a fairly tidy person, but becoming an ER nurse has put that up to eleven. When she finishes eating something, any paper or plastic goes in the trash or recycling, and any plates or silverware get rinsed off and put in the dishwasher or at least next to the sink. Once she’s done with a book or movie, it goes back in its case (if it has one) and back on the shelf in whatever order she’s set it up in (occasionally alphabetical, but not always). Dirty clothes go in the hamper, clean clothes get folded and put in the dresser or hung up as soon as they’re out of the dryer. The bed is always made, with hospital corners. At least once a week, floors get swept and mopped, carpets get vacuumed, rugs get beaten outside, dust is wiped off, surfaces are wiped down with disinfectant, and windows get washed, more often if it gets used more often. 

She treats her workstation exactly the same, just with more disinfectant and plastic gloves.

Her personal hygiene is quick but thorough: on days she works, a quick shower, brushes her teeth twice a day and flosses once, and combs her hair. On her days off she puts a bit more time into it: a longer shower or perhaps a relaxing bath, and brushes her teeth after every meal and uses mouthwash.

---

Julie’s pretty tidy, even compared to her aunt. Trash gets thrown out quickly, dirty clothes go in the hamper, and if a thing has a place it’s supposed to be, she’s not going to be comfortable leaving it on a table or chair for very long. If she didn’t live with Elise, she wouldn’t clean until things got visibly dirty, but she wouldn’t leave them dirty for long, either. Her bed doesn’t get made as such, but she’ll pull the blanket up to the pillow, so that the sheet is all covered. 

She showers every other day, brushes her teeth regularly, washes her face every night, and takes good care of her hair and skin. She sometimes teases Elise about it, that of the two of them it’s not the nurse who has the “better” personal hygiene.

6. Eating habits and sample daily menu

Good eating habits are an important part of overall health, and provide energy to get through the day. Elise has alarms set on her phone to remind her about eating, and if she doesn’t have time to stop for a meal, she’ll eat an energy bar or some other substitute.

Breakfast is usually coffee, eggs (scrambled or sunny-side up) and toast, and fruit -- apple, banana, or orange. Occasionally vanilla yogurt with granola in place of the eggs and toast, if she’s in a rush. 

Lunch is almost always a sandwich -- ham or turkey and cheddar, mayo, pickles, and a leaf or two of lettuce -- and a cup of soup or a salad, depending on how cold it is. She goes for more variety in her soups and salads, even with types she doesn’t like but have nutrient-rich ingredients. Tea to drink if she can get it, or water if she can’t.

If she doesn’t work, dinner is something hot from her well-worn cookbook at home, with a glass of wine and a light salad. If she’s at work, she’ll bring something from home -- usually a serving of a casserole or other storable dish that she cooked in bulk. Juice, or maybe a sports drink if she thinks she needs the electrolytes.

---

Jack was a big believer in eating at the same times every day, and he kept to that schedule even after he got sick. Julie doesn’t value that schedule as much as her dad did, but she’s used to it.

Breakfast is cereal, or oatmeal (instant or microwaveable) with fruit and/or cinnamon in colder weather, with coffee. Sometimes she’ll have a banana.

She ate lunch at the university cafeteria when she was at school. Otherwise, it’s either reheated leftovers or a sandwich.

Since she has a light lunch, she’ll often have a snack in the mid-afternoon: carrot sticks, celery with peanut butter, chips, granola bar, it all depends on what’s available and what she feels like having.

Dinner is whatever Elise has made, whether she’s cooked it that evening or left some in the fridge. If for some reason there isn’t anything, or Julie just really doesn’t like whatever there is, she’ll make some mac’n cheese, chicken nuggets, instant rice, soup, or some combination. When she was a kid, her dad would let her have two cookies or a small bowl of ice cream after dinner if she’d been good that day, and so she’ll usually have something like that for dessert.

7. Favorite way to waste time and feelings surrounding wasting time

Elise is not a fan of wasting time. Time is not meant to be wasted.

If she’s too tired to concentrate but not tired enough to go to bed, she might watch some light TV program she wouldn’t normally (a cooking or home renovation show, for example) to kill time. That’s not something she’s happy to have done, though.

---

Julie would never say wasting time is a good thing, but there are worse things in the world.

She can sink hours into watching Youtube videos on weird facts or events, or one of those channels that shares real-world spooky occurrences or unexplained scenarios. 

8. Favorite indulgence and feelings surrounding indulging

Elise finds nothing wrong with indulging yourself, so long as it is either small or infrequent. In fact it’s healthy, to some extent: life is meant to be enjoyed. Obviously some indulgences are better than others, and some things should never be indulged, but broadly speaking it’s not something you should feel guilty about doing.

Her favorite indulgences are bringing a piece of pecan pie to work to have with her dinner, or a dark chocolate bar from a vending machine. Only once or twice a month.

---

In theory, Julie considers it acceptable. In practice, she doesn’t do it much. Maybe an expensive coffee before school on occasion, in the winter.

9. Makeup?

Elise put in a lot of effort into it when she was younger, but she puts on very little now. Usually she only wears it if she’s had a long day, because no one wants to walk into the ER and see a nurse who looks like she’s about to fall over (maybe it’s sexist, but Elise isn’t in the emergency room to fight sexism, she’s there to keep people alive and as comfortable as possible), but unless she’s going somewhere fancy she doesn’t bother with anything more than foundation. She knows a lot about it, though, so if you need any tips, she’ll be happy to help you out.

---

Unless she’s running too late to bother, Julie will wear some very lightly -- foundation, a bit of blush, maybe a little lipstick or lip gloss if she’s feeling fancy. On formal occasions, she’ll break out the mascara, eyeliner, and eye shadow. 

10. Neuroses? Do they recognize them as such?

I don’t think Elise has any. She would have a hard time recognizing if she did, unless they got really serious.

---

Since her dad’s death, Julie’s been somewhat depressed (probably not clinical, but i’m no expert), and struggling to move forward. She’s got some lingering anxiety and stress from her time in high school, with her dad being sick and pushing to finish early. She recognizes the depression, but not so much the anxiety and stress, since those have been around since adolescence and she’s gotten used to them.

Thanks for asking!

[gourmade4u]

Start at the basics

Kitchen Essentials

If you’re just starting out, what are some essential tools and tips to keep in mind while you’re working away at your best Gordon Ramsey duplicate? 

Well, for starters, you need to make sure that your kitchen has the necessary base in which to build from. 

TL;DR- Chef’s knife, rubber spatula, whisk, pans (all types are neatly listed below the picture with the whisk and rubber spatulas), glass mixing bowls, kevlar or other cut-resistant gloves, metal spatula, cutting boards, electric thermometer, colander, box grater, and a timer (if you don’t have a microwave or oven that has one). 

First thing’s first: 

A Chef’s knife. I purchased mine from Ergo Chef (not an affiliate, I’m just a huge fan). From the moment my hand touched this knife, I cried literal happy tears from the depths of my soul. If you have arthritis issues, or issues that cause your hands to swell or lock up from consistent use, an ergonomically designed knife is incredibly important. For those of you just starting, my first knife set was a Farberware set with a wooden block from Walmart. It was a 20 piece knife set with steak knives and it was less than 90 dollars. But take the time to invest in your knives, you’ll be grateful that you did. 

I’ll post in a separate article how to sharpen your knife, but do keep in mind to NEVER, hold on, let me bold this, NEVER: run your knives or single knife through the dishwasher, and/or leave them in the sink. After you finish using your knife, it is best if you wash and dry it immediately to keep it from rusting. Your knives will thank you, and so will your wallet. 

A rubber spatula.

So, this little guy is the absolute best. He will help you toast rice for your risotto, spoon out that perfect pan sauce that took you way too many tries to get it exactly the way you wanted, AND he'll make sure that all your batter makes it into the pan, or your mouth, whichever you prefer.

A whisk. So yes, a whisk is incredibly versatile. You can use it to scramble eggs, make meringue, mayo, vinaigrette, and bake that cake you’re gonna regret in a week.

PANsexuality is important. But it has nothing to do with this next list of pans.

Non-stick pan

10 in. stainless steal or ceramic pan 

Cast iron pan (or 3)

Sauce pot (if you're like me, you have 6)

Griddle pan (not pictured... yet)

Sheet pan

Casserole

Each and every one of these serves a unique purpose.

A non-stick is great for eggs, bacon, frittatas (which are fancy eggs), and so many other items that I promise aren't just breakfast food. 

A ceramic pan is wonderful, but in my personal opinion, a stainless steel is better if you're a novice. A ceramic pan requires a lot of spoons (energy) and maintenance. They scratch easily if you look at them the wrong way. But they are great for more even cooking than a stainless, and make the best pork chops. Stainless steel isn’t as hard to work with, isn’t as high maintenance (though, like knives, NEVER put them in your dishwasher), is ideal for crusting your steak, and making a pan sauce with the remaining bits. 

A cast iron pan evenly distributes heat and you can put it in the oven at 500 degrees without worrying about warping or damage to your pan. Cast iron is also fantastic if you don’t want to use as much fat in your pan to keep your items from sticking. Also, you can’t get a crust on a steak in any other pan, the way you do in a cast iron. Also, don’t put this in the dishwasher.

A sauce pot sounds like an unnecessary necessity. I’ll explain, when most people hear “sauce” pot, they get very confused because there are like, 30 types. This is an exaggeration, but there are a lot of types. A large saucepot can hold from 1 qt. to 5 qts. I always recommend getting a 5 qt. pot because you can use it for small amounts and large amounts. But the best advice I can give would be to get one that can hold at least 2 c of liquid, and also one that can hold 5 qts so you’re not making oatmeal for yourself in a pot that’s too big. 

A Griddle pan is more of a luxury item, but I always recommend having one in your kitchen. You can make your best pancakes, arepas, bacon, grilled cheese, tuna melt, etc. It’s honestly a great tool to have on hand if you want to whip something up quickly. 

A sheet pan is important for so many reasons. You can make cookies, cake, bacon (I know I’ve said about 2 of the others already), roasted veggies, etc. I definitely recommend having at least one on hand. You’ll find that you’ve allowed yourself to enjoy brussel sprouts  smothered in parmesan cheese, and roasted cauliflower with garam masala and ginger for the first time ever. Just trust me, your oven is made for a varying amount of possibilities, and the right tools can get you started.

A baking dish/pan/casserole, whatever you want to call it, it’s a huge piece of either: cast iron, ceramic, glass, or clay that can be covered and it will, much like your sheet pan, allow for new ideas in the kitchen. Casserole is a very common word used by mostly older women from the south, but they aren’t just a dish your grandma cooked in the 50′s. French toast casserole is so impossibly custardy and delicious, you will thank the Gods that there has ever been something so wonderful in existence. You have stews, roasts, lasagna (uncovered, don’t be rude to your lasagna), and so many others. Just please, okay? Okay.  

Glass mixing bowls are a MUST. Okay, so some really important things about these bad boys: DON’T leave them on a hot stove because the heat will make them shatter and explode all over your kitchen. If you have pets or kids, I don’t have to tell you why this would be bad for potentially weeks on end. You can, however, makeshift a glass bowl and a boiling pot of water into a double boiler to melt your favorite chocolate chips to make fudge. Glass bowls are also non-absorbent, so they won’t retain bad odors or flavors when you use them in the kitchen. They’re also incredibly sanitary for the same reason.

A pair of Kevlar or other gloves meant for slicing and dicing in the kitchen. I recommend this no matter what level of experience you have. Professional chefs cut and burn themselves all the time, it is best you do what you can to protect your fingertips and nails. 

A metal spatula will help you scrape any bits and pieces that have stuck onto your stainless or ceramic pan. Please be sure to use carefully, the metal spatula itself is very temperamental and can ruin your pans forever. 

Cutting boards. There are, a whole litany of reasons you need a cutting board or 10 in your kitchen. I myself have 4 and I use all of them. Cutting boards are made of several different kinds of material. Ultimately, for me, I use a wooden one and an eco-friendly material cutting board set I got from Bed Bath and Beyond. Cutting board maintenance is, arguably, the most important thing when it comes to  purchasing one. Best way to clean a cutting board is to make sure you’re passing your sponge over the slits in the board left behind by your knife, in the same direction. In other words, don’t scrub your board in a circle, but trace over the cuts in the board to ensure proper sanitation of it. 

An electric thermometer. Okay, so show of hands, how many people have deep fried chicken, burned the outside and undercooked the inside? I don’t know of any single person who is just beginning, who hasn’t done it. An electric thermometer is your best friend. You can get a regular thermometer, that will require constant calibration, or you can get an electric thermometer and not have to worry about calibrating it as often. Perfectly juicy, succulent, and properly cooked chicken will measure at 165 degrees Farenheit. Anything beyond 180, expect it to be dry, but at least it was cooked properly! To calibrate a thermometer: bring water to a boil, and then place your thermometer in the water, allow it to come to 212 degrees Fahrenheit, then place your thermometer into an ice bath until it gets to 32 degrees Fahrenheit. Celsius would be 100 degrees boiling, and 0 degrees in ice. 

A colander is meant to strain out pasta water, and you’ve probably not seen it used for much else. But a fine mesh colander can be used to filter out your frying oil so you can reuse it instead of wasting it. This little thing is good for anything that requires draining: meat, starch from rice and potatoes before cooking them, washing all of your vegetables at once before getting started, and also, it can help with steaming your broccoli or shrimp when you don’t have a basket steamer.

A box grater in general, is a fantastic tool. They have different sides that allow you to do different things. From shredding cheese, potatoes, carrots, or zuccini. But the question a lot of people ask: what is that side with all the really tiny spaces in it? It’s a zester, and it goes so unnoticed for so long because most folx don’t know the best way to use it. The zester is great for adding a little elegance or pop of flavor into a dish. For example, if you use lemon pepper often, adding a zested lemon rind to your dish would bring out all that delicious acidity that you won’t get from just using the regular seasoning from a bottle. A little fresh lemon zest here, some grated nutmeg there, a little orange zest in your tea, these all pack a mean right hook. Try them out. 

Last, but not least: a timer, gentlefolx. I can not stress the utter importance of learning how long it actually takes you, the reader to complete a task from start to finish. Not everyone works at the same pace, so a recipe that says “prep time: 5 minutes”, might actually take you an hour, and that’s okay. Keeping a timer on hand so you can keep track of how long each task is taking to complete, or making sure you’re pacing yourself as things are bubbling away in the kitchen, is a great way to figure yourself out in the kitchen. I recommend listening to music, writing your ingredients on a white board that sits at eye level in your kitchen so you can refer to your recipe as you’re going without having to constantly look at your phone. 

I hope this helps every single one of you learn a bit more about what it means to begin your journey with food. 

[petshopboyss]

pet shop boys share their favourite things interview

‘Lowe says nothing, just carries on eating his chocolate bar. He has the benign look of a dog who's just had his dinner. I begin. “Okay, well, this Favourite Things piece is just a bit of fun,” I say. There is a short pause. 

“We don’t really do fun, we do ranting,” deadpans Tennant. Lowe chirps up: “Neil's only done two rants today.” And Tennant bats the ball straight back: “I’ve done being gay and politics...”

This, then, is the essence of their double act: one serves, the other returns. Let the games begin.’

WHAT WAS YOUR FAVOURITE CHILDHOOD TOY? Neil: Train set. Actually it was my cousin’s train set, it was passed down to us. It was on a green board. Potter’s Bar station. Even now when I get the train to my house in Durham and I go through Potter’s Bar I think of it. It didn’t even occur to me it was a real place until I moved to London.  Chris: I had, it was like a Scalextric but it wasn’t. I think it was called Minitrix, but it was made by Hornby and the two were linked together. My brother had a train set so you could have a level crossing and you’d have to stop the car to let the train go past. It was fantastic.  Neil: The train going round the villages and little plastic cows… I would have fantasies about where it was. I still would now. I have a very strong fantasy life, which is probably why I do what I do. I could look at this coffee table and imagine it was a country.

  SUBJECT AT SCHOOL Neil: History. Still my favourite subject. My history teacher, Frank Keegan, [goes into hysterics] used to be known as Underpants Frank because he wore big Y-fronts and he tucked his shirt into them. He was actually ahead of his time … underwear above his trousers in the 1960s.  Chris: [A little nonplussed] That is weird. I didn’t have a favourite subject. I was a bit of a swot but school was just a means to an end, so I could get to university to do architecture.

  WAY TO WASTE TIME Chris: Well, I spend a lot of time comatose in front of the telly…  Neil: Going through my iTunes finding artwork for tracks I haven’t got artwork for.  Chris: …I’ll spend hours flicking through the hundred-and-odd channels on Sky. Just going round and round and round. I really like doing nothing. Literally nothing.  Neil: What do you mean, literally nothing?  Chris: Watching the television. Flicking.  Neil: Chris has always liked watching television. I was reading this book about John Lennon and I’m thinking, “Who does this remind me of…?” Chris! John Lennon is just at home all the time watching the television and sleeping!

PLACE IN THE WORLD Chris: I’m very happy in a very nice hotel room. Anywhere. 

Neil: You’re probably in your bathrobe.  Chris: Luxuriating in the bathroom, with all the products. You switch your phone off. No one knows where you are. You’re lying on fantastic Frette bedding… Maybe you’re in Miami, or something like that.  Neil: And you’re filling out the card for breakfast. [Laughs] I only learnt to drive last year. I passed my test on the first attempt. There’s this big moor close to where I live near Durham, where I love driving. I have my dog in the back of the car. He’s a Lakeland terrier called Kevin. So, Kevin’s looking out of the back and he’s hoping he’s going to get a walk. And I might stop the car and just smell the air, which is really peaty and fresh…

TIME OF DAY

Neil: Breakfast. First thing in the morning the day is full of expectations.  Chris: Lunchtime.

TIME OF YEAR Chris: Spring, because you can sense the season’s change and you think, “Great, we’re back” and you feel “Weh-hey” and you can see all the buds and leaves growing.  Neil: Mine’s ruled by hay fever. I had a hay fever injection this morning. I’m allergic to trees. The beginning of summer; although it’s all a bit sad because you think it’s going to end. And at the end of autumn, I love walking home at half-past-four and everyone’s got their lights on and they haven’t shut their curtains yet. It’s cold but you’re going to have a nice cup of tea when you get in.

ANIMAL Chris: Dog. I love dogs. I just find their faces so funny, they crack me up. They always look so happy when you’re all in the room together, it’s like “Ah, we’re all here.”  Neil: Mine’s a dog as well. But I like guinea fowl.  Chris: Because you can eat them?  Neil: I had a load in my garden. The only thing is they make a bit of a mess, they shit everywhere, and they make a lot of noise. They’re not that favourite actually. But they look so funny because they have tiny little heads and these great big bodies. And they walk right round the garden, round the perimeter, and it takes them all day. They look like dowager duchesses.

  FLOWER Chris: Well, the other day I bought a load of tulips.  Neil: Tulips! That’s mine. That’s my answer.  Chris: They’re such gorgeous colours. They are like a pink.  Neil: I will buy, like, just white ones, and I like them crammed in one vase. I like arts and crafts furniture and the tulip is often a symbol in them because it’s a very beautiful shape.

COLOUR  Neil: I don’t have a favourite colour. But I always buy everything black.  Chris: I think the colour I would go for most would be blue.  Neil: Blue for a boy.  Chris: Although I do like wearing outrageous colours as well. Like cerise.

  SMELL Neil: I think I am one of those people that likes the smell of wet grass in the morning.  Chris: I used to love - I still like - the smell of the London Underground.  Neil: When I first came to London I used to get the Northern Line to Kentish Town and recently I got the Northern Line and I thought, “God, It smells exactly the same.” It smells different from the Circle Line. And the Victoria Line still has a slightly new smell; when I first came to London it had just opened.

HOUSE YOU’VE LIVED IN Neil: I had a house in Rye in Sussex for ten years and in some ways I regret selling it. I sometimes think about it, and mentally walk around it. My bedroom had a bay window and you could see the harbour.  Chris: I liked this bungalow that we all lived in when we were kids in Blackpool, and there was a big field opposite and a rose garden, and a bit round the back where we could play on this big tree.

POSITION TO SLEEP IN  Neil: I sleep on my right side.  Chris: I toss and turn a lot.

JOB BEFORE MUSIC Neil: Smash Hits. I was the Assistant Editor at Smash Hits in a great period of pop music, 82-85.  Chris: I went from being a student to this. But I always had summer jobs in Blackpool, and I think the most fun one was being a ride operator on the Pleasure Beach. It was a bit - what was that film?  Neil: That’ll Be The Day [1973 cult hit in which David Essex and Ringo Starr pick up girls on the dodgem cars].  Chris: It was all a bit like that [belly laugh].

FILM Chris: I can’t keep saying The Sound of Music. What else?  Neil: John Waters?  Chris: What are you going to say?  Neil: I always say The Servant. Although actually it tails off, the last half hour is not very good.  Chris: Actually, the last half hour of The Sound of Music’s not brilliant.  Neil: There’s a very strong argument for The Sound of Music finishing at the wedding.

MOVIESTAR Neil: I very much like Marlene Dietrich. I like that icy glamour. The thing about Marlene Dietrich is that she’s not really that good-looking. Truly glamorous people are not normally beautiful. Jackie Kennedy is not beautiful - she’s funny-looking.  Chris: I’d probably say James Dean.  Neil: [Aghast] Do you like his films?  Chris: That wasn’t the question. Didn’t say the films had to be any good.

DAYTIME SHOW Chris: I could run you through my viewing: I get up at nine o’clock to watch the papers being reviewed on The Wright Stuff, then I switch to This Morning. Then there is the joy of Loose Women. Then it’s Countdown, then maybe Neighbours and Home and Away.  Neil: It’s a whole day’s work.  Chris: I don’t like the cooking programmes, got no interest in them.  Neil: I’m afraid I simply don’t watch the television. I live in Chelsea in a late-Georgian house and my television is in the basement.  Chris: I’ve got a television in every room. [Laughs] I never want to be far from a telly.

THING YOU COOK YOURSELF  Neil: Well. It used to be the notorious Neil Tennant grim stir-fry, which is brown rice, broccoli and soy sauce. That’s it. Surprisingly tasty. It’s all about the soy sauce. However, I now cook roast chicken. But to be perfectly honest, in London, when you live near Jenny Lo’s Tea House, There’s no reason to cook for yourself. The only reason I don’t have it every day is that it’s the same guy who delivers it and I get embarrassed. I always give him a massive tip. It always costs £15 and I give him £20.  Chris: None of my dishes are favourite, or anything I like that much. They’re just functional, eating things. So maybe Penne Arrabbiata. I always cook the same things. I often get pre-prepared chicken pies from Marks & Spencer - they only take 30 minutes. I should really go the whole hog and get a microwave: dinner in six minutes.  Neil: You love your chicken pies.  Chris: Chicken pies. Chicken kievs. [Laughs] They do good breaded chicken. What I like is everything is ready to put in the pan, all washed and everything.

TIPPLE  Neil: Red wine. I only drink red wine and champagne. Very occasionally I drink beer in Germany because it’s very good. And if I was in Russia I might have a vodka.  Chris: I like all of them. Depending on the time of day. Sometimes there’s nothing better than an ice-cold beer, is there?

COMEDIAN  Chris: Steve Coogan. I was really honoured - I went to see him recently at the Hammersmith Apollo and he made a very cruel joke involving the Pet Shop Boys and I was thrilled.  Neil: Who’s Mr G, what’s his real name?  Chris: Oh. Chris Lilley.  Neil: Chris Lilley. Summer Heights High. My favourite character is - Chris: Ja’mie.  Neil: Ja’mie! [They both laugh]

COLLABORATION  Neil: Dusty, I think. I can’t believe it’s ten years since she died. And she’s now a genuine legend.  Chris: Yeah. Dusty. I’d agree with that.

ITEM OF CLOTHING  Chris: [Camping it up] Oh I never have anything to wear! I wear these Y3 trainers all the time because they are incredibly comfortable. If I like something I tend to wear it to death, until it has to be thrown out.  Neil: I have a pair of boots that I like. Which are not these. I actually don’t like these very much. [Sticks out his foot over the coffee table and inspects it] I’m wearing these Yamamoto Dr Martens and I think they’re too clumpy. I made a decision at lunch not to wear them again.  Chris: [Teasing] It’s good that they were really cheap then, isn’t it?  Neil: These were 230 quid.  Chris: [To me] Can you imagine? For a pair of Doc Martens!  Neil: I’m going to take them to Durham and use them for walking in… Um. I’ve got a pair of Patrick Cox - when Patrick Cox was still Patrick Cox - boots that I wear all the time. But I’ve stopped wearing them recently because they have become part of my official outfit. I wore them at the BRITs, with that Gareth Pugh coat. I was wearing the Patrick Cox boots with the trousers tucked in and the stylist said it looked great so suddenly they went, “Hello, I’m now part of the Pet Shop Boys’ wardrobe, hands off me!”

SONG BY ANOTHER ARTIST  Chris: Oh, That’s too big.  Neil: I can’t think of any songs at all now, of course.  Chris: Ain’t No Stopping Us Now by McFadden & Whitehead. That is my default position.  Neil: My default song is I Don’t Want To Hear It Anymore by Dusty Springfield.  Chris: [Jokes] Well, don’t listen to it then.

SONG Of YOURS  [Long silence]  Neil: It changes. I don’t think about it very much. We are writing this ballet. There’s a piece of music, the duet, but I can’t remember what we’ve called it. It’s Scene Six.  Chris: Last night I was going through iTunes and I listened to The Survivors by us, which I thought was really good.

SIN  Neil: They’ve all got something going for them… actually my least favourite is envy.  Chris: Envy, lust are bad ones, because going through life being lustful is just obscenity. Sloth’s pretty good. [Laughs]  Neil: You’re definitely more slothful, I’m more gluttony meets - what’s drunkenness called?

SAYING  Neil: You can’t make chicken soup out of chicken shit.  Chris: [Laughs] It’s Tom, our old producer [Tom Watkins was the Pet Shop Boys’ manager from 1985 to 89].  Neil: It’s completely stupid, it sums him up. We still say it though.  Chris: We just tend to repeat people that we know’s catchphrases. We had another manager and she used to say, “Well, you’ve had a good go.” [Laughs] Old Mitch [Mitch Clark, 1998-2003]. She was “Upwards and onwards as well”

[brooklynislandgirl]

All the BROTP questions for G and Beth,

Life Or Death || Accepting

1. Who slowly eases into the pool while complaining about the temperature of the water and who takes a full-force no regrets flying cannonball into the water

It’s been a rough day. What began as numbness turns into pins and needles and it threatens to overwhelm him because Garrett’s been pushing things, like he always does. The marine seems intent on wringing every last ounce of life while he still can. She admires him for that and aches because she can’t fix him, not the way she wants to. So as he eases himself into the water a thousand times colder than what she promised ~though it will still do wonders for his back~ she adds a little extra to it. And short, compact as she is, she takes a running jump, coiling her limbs together until she’s almost perfectly round. Splashing him with as much water and wave as she can create. And if there’s a little extra magick to the situation, well…no one can call her on it.

What she doesn’t expect is that Garrett doesn’t intend to let her have all the fun and she never saw his hand snake out toward her ankle as she was aiming for the surface.

2. Who can easily comfort the other when they’re sick and who sprays everything down with Lysol and wears an antimicrobial mask and pats the former with a broom to comfort them when they get sick?

The night Garrett was shot saving Santos still haunts her dreams. She can still feel his blood on her hands, she can still smell the combination of soap, sweat and cordite on his skin. She’s never felt so helpless in her entire life, unable to do anything more than try to stop the wounds with what to her is almost…primitive tools. Stitches and wound packing, forceps and eventually her own fingers because she couldn’t get a grip. And once he was home, the fear that infection would set in…it all just turned her stomach.

So she slips out of bed quietly, knowing Z isn’t sleeping but he doesn’t stop her either. It’s not often that she still tosses and turns when he’s there to hold back all the darkness. And though he wasn’t letting her come to New York by herself any more, he’s still careful about letting her go about what she wants.

And what she wants at this moment is to step out onto the fire escape. It’s two in the morning and she hesitates to call. Texts instead. “Hey, Pretty. U awake?”He almost immediately texts back. “You should be sleeping. Baby needs you to rest.”Back and forth they go. He tells her he’s fine. She points out if it was the truth, he’d be asleep and not texting her. He counters with a joke that he’ll sleep when he’s dead. She doesn’t answer for a long time. He’s the one that calls.“If it will make you feel better, we can have lunch or something later, during real people hours and you can check for yourself that I’m fine, Beth.” He doesn’t even bother with hello.“Okay.”“Now, are you going to go back to bed or am I going to have to risk life and limb coming over and putting you there? From the hall somehow. I know you brought your husband this time. Not how I really want to meet him but I will, if I have to.”

“Night, Pretty.”“Night, B.”

3. Who’s the amazing cook and who almost burns the house down trying to microwave a pop tart.

“Chinese?”“Italian.”“Ooh, we could do French?”“Have you eaten in France?”“No?”“Cuban?”

They’ve been at this for hours. Finally Santos, held hostage by their conversation, rolls his eyes and rummages around Garrett’s fridge. Ends up making black beans and rice and some kind of breakfast taco and resolves to talk to Garrett about who stocks his fridge. 

4. Who immediately goes for the can of Raid when they see a bug and who picks it up like “no wait don’t kill it I wanna keep it”

“It’s a spider, Beth. There’s a million of them and I don’t want it li-”“So help me, Pretty, you spray it an’ I’ma take dat can an’ spray you!”“You can try, but first you’d have to be able to reach it.” He holds the can above his head.“Don’ think I won’t kick you in the shin an’ bring you down.”

“We aren’t children Be-OW! WE DON’T BITE PEOPLE!”“Mebbe you don’t…”

5. Who likes to lean over railings to get a better view and who freaks out and tries to pull the former back away from the rail screaming about how they might fall?

His hot tub is on the balcony and there’s so many floors between the ground and the rail. He leans against it like he doesn’t have a care in the world and sometimes stares up at the sky. He misses flying as much as her brother does, in different ways. He lives for the piloting, Andy for the jumps. And Beth can’t understand them. The sky is a terrible thing. Wide open and without boundaries. Nothing to hold on to. And maybe some people were born with the memory of wings; she’s not one of them. Just the idea of it makes her queasy.

So she stands in the doorway, fingers gripped so tight they almost leave impressions in the metal.

“Dinner’s getting cold.”

6. Who acts like they’re brave and fearless but actually gets terrified 15 minutes into a horror movie and who is usually the huge scaredy cat but isn’t fazed at all by most horror movies

Garrett laughs at the plot and shakes his head. Beth creeps subconciously toward the screen as soon as the blood flows, and murmurs about how that would never work. He’s survived worse, and her life is nothing short of something that would be directed and written by Guillermo Del Toro. But they both have their breaking points. He isn’t a fan of the Langoliers, especially when the pilot loses control of the plane’s instrument panel, and she won’t even be in the apartment while the Exorcist is on.They don’t talk about their limits, and instead turn on some more lights and find something else to do.

7. Who constantly criticizes the latter’s wardrobe and who dresses even more outrageously to further annoy the former

“Don’t you think that your husband would want you to wear something with…a little more fabric?”“Who do you think bought it for me?”

Garrett’s hand trails up the bare skin of her back and looks into the mirror. They do look stunning next to each other. His eyes never stray to the more revealing parts of the dress.

“I suppose we should get going then. You know how they frown if you’re late to the silent auction.”“Well, I do have one more thing to try on…”

He’s seen string bikinis that were more modest than the peach coloured gown. “Yeah, no. I think the dark blue suits you.”“You’re no fun.”“On the contrary, I like breathing and if Zarek doesn’t raise an eyebrow, Andy certainly will.”

8. Who likes total darkness when they sleep and who needs a night light

Garrett knew she didn’t sleep much. He knew that she didn’t like the dark. It wasn’t until they’d gone to California; him for business, her to visit her friend, that he realised just how bad it was. Laying in the dark, letting it wash over him, he was almost asleep when he heard it. A shuddering gasp of sound that reminded him of oxygen deprivation, followed by the hard breath panted though an open mouth. Little sharp vocalisations that were like half-quiet yips from a small dog. He swung his legs over the side of the bed, grabbing a tee-shirt to pull on, and he padded toward the living room of the suit, where she’d made camp on the couch. The heel of his palm pressed into his eyes as he rubbed sleep from them. A fumbling for the lights.She was curled up on her side but something was wrong. Her entire body was rigid. The breaths shallow and too fast, her eyes glossy and fixed to some point in space, unseeing. She didn’t so much as blink. And God, that’s unnerving.“Hey, hey. Shhh.” He edged a hip onto the couch and gently rested a hand on her shoulder, to little avail. The minutes dragged on into what seemed like eternity. He rubs small circles on her back, murmurs small nothings to try and gentle the paralysis as best he can. But it’s terrifying to witness, he can only imagine what it is to experience it. Eventually she comes to herself and he gets up to grab her water. He wonders if it will be like that when and if his own back gives but doesn’t ask her, can’t. Not with how worn and terrified she looks afterwards.When he manages to go back to bed at her insistence, he leaves the light on.

9. Who loves kids and who scowls at the mere sight of them

It’s not exactly a scowl as it is contemplation on the deepest levels. He first really noticed it when she was treating Santos. The the way she smiled at random babies on the street. Or how she held them in the N-ICU. Her jog around Central Park often took her by story-land and the playgrounds. But she didn’t have any of her own. And she changed the subject abruptly when he’d asked about that.The story came later, during a quiet group session. He and Riley tended to linger after the other veterans returned to the bits of their lives they were holding together. Usually a drink was shared, maybe two, and they’d talk more personally, as friends are wont to do.

“Your sister’s really good with kids.”“She is.”“I’m surprised she doesn’t have any of her own. The nursing job must consume a lot of her-”“It’s not the job,” Riley says softly. Darkly. “Doctors have known since she was real small that there was only a one in a million chance, and she’s just this side of sterile. Really wrecked her, you know?”

It made sense. Not that Garrett himself had children, nor did he plan on it, not now or any time soon.

And the next time Beth saw him, it was her turn to watch. The way he was with Santos, some day, he was going to make an excellent dad.

10. Who plays games competitively and sucks at them and who plays games casually and is actually really heckin good

As quiet as she is, as timid as she acts ~afraid to upset the natural order of the universe~ Beth is weirdly competitive, even if she doesn’t know or understand all the rules as you tell them to her. She gets this little gleam in her eye and dives right into whatever the game is. The opposite of Garret, who himself is calm and calculating. She kills at Trivia and the obscure bits of knowledge she possesses is borderline supernatural. She’s great at cards, though he suspects she counts them. He just can’t prove it. Pool is another thing, with her eye for angles and the geometry on the table.

Strategy though… that she has problems with. She thinks too quickly, lets it all show on her face. He’s captured half the board in the time it takes for her to build one army.

So it comes as a surprise when she kneels across his lap, her knees digging into his hips and she fists a hand in the back of his hair pulling his chin up and back, snarling an alien expression. “You’ve threatened my alliance with Greece for the last time, G.”

”I think you’re the one threatening, Piccola.”Garrett has never been so glad to see the shape of her husband in the shadows of their bedroom loft.11. Who can handle spicy foods perfectly and who chugs an entire gallon of milk after accidentally eating one jalapeño

They’ve tried each other’s favourite cuisine and found a liking similar to one another’s. Even ghost-chile is eaten without qualms. But when her brother brings out the little bottle, Beth shakes her head and throws in the towel.“Sure, I’ll take some.”“Don’t do it, G.”“Why? How bad could it be?”She practically scrambles over her chair to get away from it. “It’s a recipe he picked up in Kabul.”It was Kandahar but he doesn’t correct her. According to his records, he was never there. “Don’t be a punk. It’s perfectly fine.”

[im-fairly-whitty]

The Way You Keep Me Guessing: Coco Teacher!AU

@slusheeduck and I are co-authoring this Coco teacher!AU story together, alternating every chapter or so. (AU started by @scribblrhob, also frequently referencing art by @upperstories ) 

[Part 1: Unexpected Responsibility] [Part 2: La Directora] [Part 3: Skipping Class]

Part 4: An Unannounced Visit

Imelda groaned as she stood in front of Hector’s apartment door. Her hand was hanging in the air, refusing to knock when she told it to. It had been months since she’d even let herself look at Hector’s apartment, let alone actually try to visit.

But she’d come all this way after weeks of putting it off and she wasn’t going to fold now. She summoned a vision of Miguel eating his second hot pocket of the day and the horrifying thought sent her knuckles rapping against the cheap wood.

She did not retreat in the time it took for the door to open, steeling herself against what was to come. She was here for Miguel, not Hector.

The knob rattled from inside and the door swung inward as Hector opened it.

“Imelda?” His mouth hung open in shock, and then his whole face lit up. “Does...does this mean we’re not taking a break anymore?”

“I’m here on business Hector.” Imelda said dryly. “My pupil seems to be in a concerning home situation, microwave meals for breakfast is disgusting. What are you feeding Miguel for dinner tonight?”

Hector hemmed and hawed, his gaze moving hopefully to the full bag of fresh groceries that she had balanced on her hip.

“Get out of my way.” Imelda said, sighing irritably and pushing past him and into the apartment. Hector practically flung himself against the wall in his eagerness to let her in.

The apartment was a wreck, not so much dirty as much as carelessly disorganized. Drifts of scattered food wrappers were building up in the corners, video game console cords wound their way up and around the askew coffee table, the sink was full of dirty dishes. Miguel looked up from where he was sitting on the floor by a record player and waved.

“So apparently Ernesto is the clean one?” Imelda said scathingly to Hector.

“You know it, always gotta have a good stage for his livestreams!” Hector said, lunging to gather up a pile of dirty clothes from the kitchen floor and tossing them into his bedroom down the hall. “He’ll be back next week. My apologies, if I’d know you were coming I’d have bought a new apartment, I wasn’t expecting company as divine as yours.”

“Evidently not.” Imelda said. At least that meant that he wasn’t seeing anyone else.

Not...that it mattered.

“Clear off a counter,” She commanded, pointing into the kitchen. “I’m not going in there until there’s space to cook.”

“Your wish is my command.” Hector bowed low, then rolled up his sleeves and dove into the kitchen. He began humming an energetic tune as the accompanying sound of crashing dishes, banging cabinets and running water filled the small apartment.

Imelda walked to the front room and sat on the arm of the couch near where Miguel was listening to a pair of large earphones. He smiled a little and pulled off his headphones, like a true gentleman, but she could tell something was wrong by the way he was clutching what looked like a small photo album.

Her heart ached as she guessed whose pictures were probably in the album.

“What are you listening to?” She asked.

Miguel shrugged, “Just stuff. My dad downloaded it for me a while ago.”

Oh dear.

“Very nice, who's your favorite artist?” Imelda said, trying to backpedal to safe ground again.

“Well, I can show you a couple that I like.” Miguel said, perking up a little at the question.

He stood and came over to show her his playlist as he scrolled through, extolling the virtues of this guitarist or that lead singer. He was surprisingly knowledgeable for an eight-year-old, but then, he was a Rivera. Anyone related even distantly related to Hector had to have musical knowledge running through their veins.

“The kitchen’s ready for you.” Hector said, walking right up behind where she sat on the arm of the couch. “What would you like me to do next?” He was close enough that she could feel the warmth of his body for the first time in months.

Imelda stood and stiffly walked around him to get to the kitchen. She was still mad at him. She just had to keep reminding herself of that and everything would be fine.

“You wash and chop the vegetables, I’ll get the meat and rice started.” She began unpacking her bag of groceries on the freshly cleared kitchen table. “And once you’re done with that, stay away from the rest of the food, I don’t want a repeat of the chorizo incident.”

Hector grimaced at the memory and nodded, obediently gathering the vegetables Imelda had unpacked to take to the sink. He was, in fact, capable of carrying out directions, just as long as he had adult supervision.

There was a long minute of busy quiet, Hector humming and Imelda measuring and Miguel drifting back to his headphones in the corner by the record player.

“How are you holding up with all this?” Imelda asked, keeping her voice too low for Miguel to hear.

“Ah, every day without you is like a day without the sun, mi amor.” Hector said, looking over as he swept freshly chopped carrots into a bowl.

“You know I meant with Miguel.” Imelda said, consciously trying to deflect his charm. “And you don’t get call me that right now.”

She studiously ignored whatever else his words might have made her feel. He was always charming, it was to be expected, that’s what made him so dangerous.

“Right now?” Hector said, eyebrow raising, “Well how about after dinner?”

Imelda didn’t exactly point her chopping knife directly at Hector, but the way she was holding it definitely became much more meaningful as she glared at him.

“Okay, okay.” he said, still grinning as he backed down, “Miguel and I are doing our best, but it’s definitely taking a lot of getting used to.” His smile faded as he began cutting bell peppers.

“Like, I knew I had a godson out there, but you never really think you’ll have to actually, you know, be a godparent, have to raise them.”

“How did his parents die?” She asked.

“Car accident. Miguel was at home when it happened.” Hector sighed heavily, “I hadn’t spoken to them in ages, I don’t think it’s really hit me yet that they’re gone. And looking after Miguel, that’s been surreal too. I didn’t think it would be as easy as teaching, but, well, I don’t know.”

Imelda bit her lip, watching his shoulders droop as he continued to chop vegetables, like the stress was actually weighing down on him. Hector had never been one to guard his emotions, especially around her. One of his better qualities actually, he was a man who wasn’t afraid to feel, even the hard things.

“Hey, I’ll take the food from here,” she said, touching his elbow as she walked past him to the stove. “Could you play something for us? I don’t want Miguel sitting alone in the corner like that.”

She couldn’t ignore the way he leaned into her touch, however briefly.

“Anything for you.” Hector said with his tired but grateful smile, doubtlessly seeing through her thin excuse for him to do something she knew he would enjoy. “Ay, chamaco!” he called as he went to rinse his hands in the sink. “Practice time, let’s show Imelda what you’ve been working on before we eat dinner.”

“But I’m not any good yet!” Miguel called back.

“¡Si hombre! You’re a natural, go get your guitar.” Hector said, drying his hands.

“He has his own guitar?” Imelda asked.

“Eh, technically it belongs to Chich, but Miguel’s been needing to practice.” Hector said, walking over to pick up his own guitar, the very expensive white one she’d bought him last year, as Miguel drug a second older guitar out of a back room. She could see even from the kitchen that Hector had taken very good care of her gift.

By the time the plucking and tuning of the two guitars was done, Imelda had gotten everything cooking. She leaned in the doorway of the kitchen, watching Hector expertly coach his godson through hand positions and chords. Miguel was laser focused like she’d never seen him before, attentive to everything Hector said and following every instruction. The boy grinned every time he got a chord right and glowed when Hector praised him, which was often.

Soon the very slow and careful, but still recognizable, tune of La Llorona strummed through the apartment. Imelda smiled despite herself, only able to shake her head at Hector when he looked up with a cocked eyebrow and a sly grin. He knew only too well that it was her favorite.

She turned to find dishes to set the table as Miguel continued to pick his way through the tune, stopping only occasionally for Hector to adjust his grip or coach him through a particularly hard bit on his own guitar.

As unreliable as Hector could be sometimes, this kind of patient care with his students was exactly what had caught her heart in the first place. Never annoyed, always loving, Hector could win over even the most closed off students, coaxing them out of their shells with a mix of humor and genuine interest.

If only he could have kept his mouth shut in front of his class, everything would be so much simpler.

There wasn’t technically any rules against them dating, she’d checked, but it was just so embarrassing for everyone to see that she was..well...dating someone that she supervised? Capable of love? Able to completely fall for someone? Unable to live without him?

Imelda frowned as she pulled dishes out of the cupboard and walked them to the table, La Llorona still playing in the background. She was justified in being angry, they had agreed on absolute discretion when they’d begun seeing each other. Imelda hadn’t been ready to let her personal and work lives mix yet, and Hector had fumbled his end of the deal. She couldn’t just let that slide without any repercussions at all, she had to protect her boundaries. That was completely normal and acceptable.

But the thought still followed her while she set the table and finished preparing the fajitas and called the boys to dinner. The meal was nice, if somewhat subdued. There was a lot of excited talk about music and of course Hector’s jokes, but Miguel got less talkative as the night went on, probably getting tired. By the end of the meal though everyone had eaten as much food as they wanted, even when Miguel excused himself early to go to his bedroom he was looking less down than he had when she’d first walked in.

“Alright Hector,” Imelda said, standing and gathering all the dishes on the table. “I brought you a box of cereal for Miguel’s breakfast tomorrow morning so he can have a real breakfast. Please do a real grocery shop tomorrow.”

She walked into the small kitchen and set the dishes in the freshly cleaned sink. When she turned she jumped a little to see that Hector had followed her. He reached out and took her hand gently, watching her expression. She didn’t shake him off, caught off-guard by the sudden feeling of easy familiarity, a feeling that had been so normal for them only a few months ago.

“Thank you Imelda,” Hector said, smiling. “for all of this. I haven’t seen Miguel this relaxed the whole time I’ve had him. You should really think about a career working with kids.”

Imelda tried to make her gaze as frosty as she could, but his nearness was starting to make it harder to remember why.

“I’m still angry with you Hector, I’m here for Miguel, not you.” But she still didn’t pull her hand away.

“Well, I think Miguel will need dinner tomorrow, will you be here for him then too?” Hector said, a bit of mischief sparkling in his eyes. “I’ll buy the groceries this time.”

No, no. He wasn’t getting her back all that easily.

Yes, it would be nice to agree, and yes, she even found herself wanting to, but that would mean letting go of all the anger she’d maintained for so long. She’d worked hard for that. No, she’d grab her phone and keys off the table and leave, she’d done everything that needed doing tonight.

“Don’t be late for class tomorrow.” Imelda said, pushing on Hector’s chest to get him to move.

But Hector caught her hand on his chest, holding it there in his own warm hands.

“Imelda, I’m sorry,” He said, his voice the kind of soft he used when he was being earnest, no jokes. “I’m sorry if I got you in trouble. I was an idiot, I know, I apologize.”

“Hector, it’s not just that.” Imelda said wearily, feeling her anger leave her anyway at the sound of that voice. “You’re just so..unreliable, all the time. I sometimes feel like I can’t count on you if I’m not looking over your shoulder, and I say that as your boss too, not just as a girlfriend. It’s exhausting, Hector.”

“Ah, so you’re still my girlfriend?” Hector said, his face lighting up and getting that maddeningly cocky smile of his as he circled his arms around her waist.

How dare he pull a move like that, but more importantly, how dare her defenses completely crumble as he did! Hector had completely dodged her point, she should leave, should break out of his arms right now, hit him with her shoe, storm out of the apartment.

And he knew it too, she could see in his brown eyes, he knew he was taking a risk, a big one, and was waiting to see what she would do.

It had been so long since she’d kissed him.

“Tio Hector?”

They broke apart with a jolt, looking down to see Miguel staring up at them with folded arms and a disappointed look.

“You said she wasn’t your girlfriend.” Miguel said accusingly.

“Hey now, I never said that,” Hector said, looking a little dazed with emotional whiplash as he looked from Miguel to Imelda. “I only said things were complicated.”

Well, now that the moment had been ruined, this was Imelda’s chance to escape with at least a scrap of her dignity intact.

“Like I said before,” she said, using her directora voice as she walked past both of them and scooped her phone and keys off the table. “do not be late to school tomorrow. Miguel, I’m counting on you to keep him in line.”

Miguel looked over at Hector and sighed. “Do I have to?”

“Call me if you need help.” Imelda said, slipping on her shoes. “I’m only a few doors down if he ever tries to feed you hot pockets for breakfast again.”

“I still can’t believe you told her about that,” Hector said, seemingly recovered from his shock and frowning down at Miguel. “I thought you liked hot pockets?”

“Well yeah, but not for breakfast!” Miguel said.

“Goodnight you two.” Imelda called as she walked out of the apartment, and firmly closed the door behind her.

She strode purposefully back to her apartment, not looking back in case Hector was watching her through his window. Which she knew he undoubtedly was.

Was she mad that she’d nearly kissed Hector, or mad that she hadn’t? Her brain felt like a shaken bottle of emotions that would need time to settle. One thing she did know for sure was that she certainly was not going back tomorrow night.

She glanced back over at Hector’s apartment as she fumbled for her keys. A small, inexplicable smile fought its way onto her unkissed lips despite her best efforts.

Maybe she would stop by to check on Miguel sometime next week, just to make sure he was doing alright.

That sounded like the responsible thing to do.

------------------

Next chapter coming soon! Make sure to follow @slusheeduck and I to get it as soon as it’s posted!

Cheers,

- Wit

[avaalons]

Chris Evans Fic: Hiking and Hypocrisy (Chapter 6)

Remember that ‘one bed’ trope? ;)

It took a little over forty minutes to reach the lodge, with Chris injured as he was. He grimaced with every step but barely made a sound, trying to remain stoic. You weren’t being much help, given the difference in height, weight and muscle mass, but you didn’t let go, as if you needed the reminder of his injury to convince you that you were doing the right thing. There were no lights on so that was promising.

Eventually, through the torrential rain and howling wind, you saw it, just the same as you remembered. You told yourself the bristling at the back of your neck was just the chill from the wind. As you approached, you prayed the spare key was still in the place it had always been.

‘Wait here,’ you told Chris, leaving him slumped against the wall next to the front door, holding Dodger’s lead, as you darted around to the back of the lodge, happy to find the little wooden door, looking like nothing more than am assuming outdoor cupboard - maybe the home of the meter - but once you opened it, there was the safe as it always had been. Your hands trembled as you keyed in the code, elated when the door popped open to reveal the key. All this time and he’d still kept the same code: the date you had first met. He’d always been sentimental, as if that made up for all his shortcomings.

Pulling the key off its hook, you closed the safe and cupboard, running back around to the front, unlocking the door and helping Chris and Dodger inside. You heaved the door closed behind you, finally shutting out the angry, violent weather. You breathed properly for what felt the first time in an hour, relieved to have shelter, regardless of its place in your memory. Your glance was quick to shift, not settling on anything for very long, not wanting to take it all in. Your furtive gaze did, however, note that almost everything in the open plan living and kitchen was much the same as it had always been. A time capsule almost.

Chris was a priority now, and you were glad of the distraction. You headed straight for the cabinet where the more heavy duty first aid kit was.

Bidding him sit on a chair that you pulled out from its place at the dining room table, he looked at you warily as you set to work opening up the kit and pulling out a range of tube and wrapping bandages.

‘I have got so many questions I need to ask you about…’ Chris waved his hand to indicate your surroundings, ‘…but before I ask any or you strap me, do you think there’s any chance I can have a shower? Warm up and clean off?’

Your busy hands paused, ‘Oh… yeah. Of course. I’ll need to make sure the heater is on and then it’ll just be ten minutes.’

Without making eye contact, you left the room, heading towards the boiler cupboard, switching it on and hearing it whir to life. You flipped the switch for the under floor heating too before taking a steadying breath and returning to Chris.

You ignored his gaze as it followed you through the living area and behind the island that separated the kitchen. You looked in the cabinets first, finding tins, as you expected, then the fridge, empty except for unopened, bottles water. Finally, you opened the deep freeze, knowing this would be where you’d find the decent stuff.

Just as you thought, it was full of bags upon bags of frozen food: various types of meat, veggies and the usual selection of carbs ranging from mashed potato to microwaveable bags of rice. So you wouldn’t starve, at least.

Then you went for one of the cabinets under the island, settling on a glass bottle very quickly and setting it on the counter with two clinking tumblers.

Unscrewing the cap on the amber liquid, you raised an eyebrow at Chris, who nodded. You poured two generous shots and carried the glasses to the dining room table where Chris was still propped in a chair, sitting down opposite him. You slid a glass towards him and you clinked them together in cheers before taking a healthy glug. You didn’t offer up any information but Chris was clearly curious.

‘So, where the hell are we?’ was his first question, bemused.

You considered your answer before obliging, ‘It belongs to some guy I know. From the hiking community. He.. uh… let’s me stay here sometimes, if I need to.’

‘Uh huh,’ was Chris’ only reply, not very convinced, ‘You seem to know your way around very well.’

‘I haven’t been here for a long time, but it’s not changed much,’ you took another mouthful of Scotch.

‘I know you’re being deliberately evasive,’ he smirked at you as much as he was able through the pain he was in, ‘Is this somewhere we shouldn’t be?’

Definitely.

‘No, nothing like that. It just… has a lot of memories is all. The shower will be ready now.’

Chris slowly got to his feet and followed you into the only bedroom, off which was the bathroom.

You got the shower on and to a decent temperature, dug in the cabinet for some toiletries and went back out into the bedroom where Chris was waiting, looking embarrassed.

‘I’m going to need some help, getting my shirt over my head,’ he told you.

‘Right,’ you spat out, too quickly, ‘Of course. I’ll just…’

You stepped towards him and helped him get the arm out on his good side before manoeuvring it over his head and down the side with the bad rib. The bruising was already starting to show, blooming vividly against his skin.

‘Ouch,’ you said absentmindedly, drifting a feather-like touch over his now bare ribs.

‘It’s not so bad, considering,’ his voice was quiet and seemed to reflect your very close proximity.

‘Definitely could have been worse,’ you whispered back, looking at him in the eye for the first time since you’d helped him up from the ground after his fall.

The silence seemed to crackle between you. There was just something about this place that affected you so deeply, clouded your judgement, thrust you into a haze of instinct instead of logic. It was Chris that broke the spell first.

‘I should really take a shower.’

‘Yeah… yes. It should be a good temperature now.’

He nodded and stepped around you, heading though the door and pushing it closed, but not quite shut, a sliver of light falling through the inch gap. You exhaled like you’d been holding your breath for an untold length of time and then you left to return to the kitchen and the Scotch. Quickly.

***

You had checked your phone while Chris was in the shower: no signal, as to be expected. The service was patchy in this area as it was, add a storm to the mix and there was no chance. That confirmed it, there would be nothing to do but to wait until the storm had cleared.

You set about putting together an evening meal out of the provisions in the kitchen. It wouldn’t be the best meal ever made, but it would be filling.

When Chris emerged from the bedroom, you could have groaned. Clad in nothing but a white towel slung around his hips, you felt like a character in one of those Harlequin romance novels. His clothes were all bunched up in one hand.

‘I… uh… I’m sorry for my attire but my only clothes are soaked through.’

‘We can wash and dry them here!’ Your voice was a little too strained, a little too high pitched. You darted towards him to take his clothing and instantly turned on your heel to head towards the washing machine.

‘Thanks. Do you think I need strapping up or…? Broken ribs are usually just a time and rest injury, right?’ Chris asked you, even though you felt sure he had more knowledge than you given the training he did for stunts.

‘Yeah, maybe we’ll just leave it until a medical professional can examine you. Wouldn’t want to inadvertently make it worse. Your ankle will feel better with a tube pressure bandage though I think.’

‘Agreed. Any chance you could help me out? Leaning forward is a little inconvenient with the rib situation.’

You sprung into action again, feeling an elastic band that might snap at any moment, and you didn’t know if it was him or the lodge that was doing it, ‘Of course!’

*** You had also taken a shower eventually, and you found some comfortable clothing in one of the closets. Men’s and women’s. You didn’t think too much about where the women’s clothing had come from, or at least tried not to. You found enough items that you and Chris could both at least dress in dry clothing until your own clothes are washed and dry.

Once you were dressed and after eating a fairly substantial but unexciting meal, you felt a little calmer. The methodical routine of preparing a meal helped to focus you and, given Chris’ current state meant he was in no position to help you, you had some time and space to yourself. He sat over in the living area, foot propped up on a throw pillow on top of the coffee table, reading a book he’d found from the small bookcase in one corner of the room. You’d always thought it had been for show more than anything, but you had worked your way through most of the titles on there over the years, and now here Chris was, quietly content in this cosy lodge as the night howled on, the storm still raging outside. The sofa was side-on to the kitchen, and you caught yourself glancing over at him every so often, just watching him be calm and stoic in circumstances that were - you had to face it - weren’t great. But despite the pain he must be in, and the fact that no one must know where the two of them were (Mackie and Sheletta might have worked out that you’d both continued on the trail when they didn’t show, but that was as much as anyone knew), and that you were basically stranded here, together, he didn’t seem agitated or even phased by it at all.

You’d asked him about it over dinner.

‘Are you feeling okay? I mean, other than your injuries?’

He’d looked at you, fork paused mid air, clearly confused, ‘Yeah, why?’

‘It’s just… we’re stuck here, you’re injured with no medical help, no one knows where we are. You don’t seem even the slightest bit worried.’

He had simply grinned, ‘It’s an adventure, isn’t it? The likelihood is no one will notice I’m missing until tomorrow. I wasn’t expected anywhere tonight and if anyone tries to contact me, they’ll just assume I’m busy. My injuries aren’t the worst - painful sure, but I’ll live - and yes, we are stuck here but I’d hardly call being here with you an inconvenience. Everything happens for a reason, right?’

You’d raised a quizzical eyebrow at him, ‘What do you mean? We were meant to be trapped together with no means of communication with the outside world?’

‘The universe is helping me out on my quest to get you to drop your guard.’

You had smiled and shook your head, ‘Why are you even bothering? I’ve been, admittedly, awful to you, and it seems like you just keep coming back for more.’

He’d gazed at you steadily for a moment, eyes seeming to flit over different points on your face, lingering over your mouth and your cheeks heated.

‘Because I think you’ve been doing it on purpose to try and make me believe you’re not worth bothering with, or too much effort to try and win over. In reality, I think you’ve had some bad experiences that have made you build your walls up so high, even you can barely see over them now,’ he was serious, reverent.

‘Huh. So I’m a good will mission? A girl to fix before sending back out in to world, ready to be snapped up by a willing man.’

He didn’t look up straight away at that, but you saw a small, knowing smile pass over his face. When he did look up, you thought his eyes seem a shade darker, and his voice ever so slightly more gravelly.

‘Don’t kid yourself, I’m not some selfless do-gooder. I want you to like me, not some other guy.’

His words sent a smattering of butterflies through your stomach, and the pace of your heartbeat seemed to pick up. You had to remind yourself he was dangerous. You’d been there, done that with guys like him and look where that had gotten you. The irony of your current location wasn’t lost on you at all.

‘Chris… I… I was done with the handsome, charming LA guys a long time ago. No offence, but you’re all the same. Look at me, I’m a plain, ordinary high school history teacher. I’d have to be an idiot to think I could hold the attention of someone like you for very long. Don’t… please don’t try and get me to pull my guard down because the moment the challenge is gone, and you inevitably get bored, what’s going to be left of me?’ You were almost pleading with him, this place making you remember, in vibrantly sharp relief, exactly what it felt like the first time.

Chris looked like he didn’t know what to say for a moment, but he found his words soon enough.

‘Is that… is that really what you think? Jesus, whoever he was really did a number on you, didn’t he?’

You jutted your chin out defensively, standing up to clear dishes and get away from the table, away from him, the legs of your chair grating sharply across the floor, ‘There doesn’t need to have been some dramatic back story for me to know how men are, generally. All that’s needed is a little common sense.’

‘Come on, don’t be like that. You don’t need to shut me down. All I’m trying to do is understand,’ his eyes followed you around the room as you dumped the plates in the sink, bracing your arms against the counter and breathing deeply before turning around to face him.

‘There’s nothing to understand. You want something you can’t have and that makes you want it even more. I get it. I feel the same about chocolate. But I’m a person, with feelings, and if I let you-‘

‘-I’m a person with feelings too. I’m not some emotionless robot just because I’m an actor. Have I done anything at all so far that suggests I’m out to hurt you?’

‘I…,’ and honestly, you had nothing. What had he done? Went out on Saturdays with his buddies, turned up to family dinners, clearly adored his dog, came from a big family and loved his nieces and nephews, carried fake business cards around for his superhero character so he could make little kids feel like Captain America was real, for God’s sake. Aside from the superhero thing, he was just a regular guy, just happened to be exceptionally handsome with a good body. But then, you’d thought Isaac was a regular guy too. He’d made all kinds of promises and had broken every single one over and over again.

The urge in you to run was overwhelming.

‘I can’t do this.’ You ran from the room, slamming the bedroom door shut behind you and slumping against it, trying to calm your breathing. Somewhere in your mind, you knew this was nothing more than an emotional reaction to being here, being in the same lodge you stayed in with Isaac time after time, when you’d been so deeply in love that you couldn’t see all the terrible things he was doing to you. You had been so wrapped up in him, your regular guy, that you were blind to anything else.

The truth had almost shattered you, but you had put yourself back together, eventually, and were determined to never have that happen to you again.

But here was Chris, crumbling your walls piece by piece, and you were helpless to stop it.

***

You don’t know how long you sat there, on the floor, back to the door, but after a while you noticed there had been a shift in the background noise. The howling gale had finished and there was no longer the persistent clatter of raindrops on the roof. You looked up from where you had been resting your head against your knees and listened more closely. Was it really over?

Rising to your feet, you padded over to the window to look out into the darkness. You could see nothing on the ground of course, but above you could see the stars delicately twinkling against the velvet sky. The skies had cleared.

Opening the door on to the living area, Chris looked up at you from the sofa. He was lay across it, clearly trying to get into some kind of comfortable position for sleeping but he was obviously far too tall and you knew it wouldn’t be doing his ribs any good. Dodger was curled up on the armchair and barely even raised his head. You’d made him his own meal at dinner and you knew he must be beat.

You were strangely calm, as though your tumultuous emotions had come and gone with the storm.

‘The storm’s over,’ you told him, and it felt like you meant more than just the weather.

‘I know. Feels weirdly silent now.’

‘You can’t sleep like that in your state. Come on,’ you gestured towards the bedroom with your head, ‘I’ve got something to show you. You’ll like it.’

He was silent for a moment and then spoke quietly, ‘I can’t tell you how much I’m dying to point out what an innuendo you just made, but I don’t know if you’re going to bite my head off or not.’

You smiled, ‘Don’t worry, I’m done. Make all the jokes you want.’

As you said the words, you realised just how done you were. You thought being here would just stir up old feelings, and you were right, but you didn’t factor in the cathartic release and closure it could also cause.

He got awkwardly to his feet and followed you.

‘Lie down,’ you instructed and he hesitated.

‘You sure? I mean, I can sleep out there,’ he offered, throwing his thumb back towards the living room.

‘Not in your condition, you can’t. Come on, it won’t be a big deal if you don’t make it in to one. You need to rest properly, and I’ll feel better if I can monitor your breathing with those ribs. Don’t want you dying of a punctured lung on my watch.’

‘I’m not sure a punctured lung would actually-‘ he began as he climbed under the sheets.

‘Just humour me, okay?’

‘Yes, nurse.’

You climbed in next to him, both on your backs and staring up at the ceiling, which was covered in creamy coloured canvas. You switched the lamp off and grabbed the little remote from the bedside table.

‘You ready?’ you asked.

‘I guess?’

You pushed the correct button on the remote and watched as the mechanism kicked in to roll the canvas covering back. Little by little, the glittering night sky was revealed.

‘Wow, the whole ceiling is glass?’

‘Yeah, pretty cool huh? Now you’re getting the full hiking experience, right down to sleeping under the stars.’

‘But I’m warm, dry and as comfortable as you can be with a broken rib and sprained ankle.’

‘Exactly. Do you know the constellations?’

‘Yeah, some of them,’ he told you, then whispered, ‘Space nerd.’

‘Well, go on then, impress me,’ you challenged him.

And he did.

[jeanjauthor]

This is a great thread to remind everyone how thousands of years of our farming & hunter-gatherer ancestors made their much more limited supplies of preserved foods last all winter long.  They didn’t have supermarkets with foods available from all around the world.

Most of us have refrigeration & freezers, so we don’t have to be quite so quick to use up everything all at once, but we still have to be cautious about not letting leftovers sit out on the counter.  Get it packed away as soon as possible after eating, even perhaps as soon right after serving but before eating! The US FDA recommends refrigerating leftovers within 2 hours of it being made, but I’d say the sooner you get it in there, the better.

Caveat: Hot Things!  If you’re pouring boiling hot soup into jars with screwtop lids,

1. Preheat the jars with hot running tapwater to prevent thermal shock cracks, then covering it with a clean lid and letting it sit long enough completely covered to cool to palm-warmth.

2. If you’ve just pulled a casserole out of the oven, COVER IT, preferrably with a solid lid, tinfoil / aluminum foil (be mindful: plastic wrap will melt if it’s still fresh-from-the-oven hot!) or even just enough paper towels or a tight-woven tea towel large enough to cover the container plus extra for at least a fingerlength all the way around the edges.  Wait until the container is comfortable to handle with your bare hands, then put it away.

3. Smaller containers of hot food will cool faster! If you have single-serving size tupperware containers, reynolds or ziplock tubs & containers, even those leftover deli-meat lidded bowl things or reusable cottage cheese containers with their lids that have been thoroughly washed...portion out that bigger meal into them.  You can also use ziplock style baggies, or wrap portions of solid foods in tinfoil / aluminum foil. (do NOT reheat anything in the microwave that is still wrapped in tinfoil, etc...and yes you probably know that, but if you’ve frozen a food and unwrap it frm tinfoil, make SURE there’s not a tiny torn-off scrap stuck in the food...which is something I will neither confirm nor deny might have possibly happened in my utterly coincidental presence near said microwave one time... >.>*)

As for how to reuse leftovers...presuming you have refrigeration, let’s take the ubiquitous example of the great American Thanksgiving Turkey Leftovers:

Day 1: (Big) Roasted Turkey

2 Turkey sandwiches w/gravy

3 Something Else (SE)

4 Turkey soup

5 (SE)

6 Turkey casserole

7 Turkey pâté on toast

8 (SE)

9 Turkey soup with different veg

10 Turkey gravy on mashed potatoes (if there's any left by this point).

...And just do the same thing for other foods.  Beef pot roast that’s been slow-cooked overnight can be redone as roast beef sandwiches, shredded (if you truly slow-cooked it) into picadillo beef for taco night, and of course minced and plonked into beef soup, etc.

I currently have a covered bowl in my fridge of beef & veggie soup.  I made it from the above listed pot roast (HUGE sucker, 4 pounder, BARELY bit in the crockpot, lol), which started out AS a slow-cooked-to-shredded-perfection pot roast.  My mother & father had pot roast beef sammiches for lunch the next day from some of the slices refrigeraged from the meal, and we had something else for supper.  We also shredded the rest and put it in the freezer, separated on a tray to freeze it as portionable pieces, then baggied it up.

About a month later, we used some of it for tacos, and a while after that (about a week and a half ago), I made an absolutely delicious beef soup out of the last of it, boiled up with frozen veggies, and even frozen spinach (we didn’t have lettuce in the house, but needed our leafy greens for folic acid & micronutrients, etc).  It made a delicious all-in-one-bowl meal with broth simmered overnight in the crockpot from various veggie scraps I’d tossed into a bag in the freezer.

There was enough left over from that (mostly solids with very little liquid) that I put it in a lidded bowl in the fridge, and about 5 days ago, we had smaller bowls of soup along with grilled cheese sandwiches, with the soup thinned out with yet more broth...but also with leftover veggies tossed into the pot from other containers in the bridge, and everything got boiled a full 10 minutes before I served it...after doing the sniff-test to make sure it smelled okay.

And there was enough left of THAT that I can do it one last time. (More liquid is in the current iteration than round 2 started with, but still, about a small cup’s worth of soup per person, best served with sammiches or something else.)

Tonight’s meal was a casserole made from gluten-free spiral noodles (2 of the 4 of us are celiac), frozen veggies, a mix of sauce stuff, and the LAST of the shredded turkey leftover from Thanksgiving...from a baggie that got to the bottom of the freezer and forgotten, since we accidentally used up the last of the turkey leftovers from my birthday dinner in February, thinking the November turkey was gone. (I bought a turkey that was 49-cents a pound after Christmas, and saved it in the freezer specifically because I wanted a Turkey Dinner for my birthday, lol...and it was delicious!)

We also have one leftover from my birthday Turkey Dinner still in the freezer...a big jar of the stuffing.  It’ll have to be reheated to 240F (116C) if we use it as a side dish stuffing (even frozen right away, better to be safe than sorry!)...but I ALSO know how to make Stuffing Soup.  Because we ALWAYS slow-cook the carcass in the slow-cooker overnight, covered in water and set on Low for at least 24 hours, to soak out all the nutrients & vitamins & minerals we can from the bones, skin, ligaments, and those tiny scraps of meat you can just never completely get off a turkey (or chicken, etc) carcass.  And that means we often still have frozen jars of strained turkey broth waiting to be used.

Which, after we reuse the beef soup (probably tomorrow night!), might be a soup we’ll have next week.  And yes, stuffing dumped into turkey broth and brought to a boil, with maybe a little more poultry seasoning, is surprisingly good!  Since we don’t have turkey meat leftovers, I’ll probably bake up some (frozen) chicken tenders (unbreaded) to go with it.

...For those of you wondering “she’s got people with celiac disease and she’s going to make STUFFING soup??”  Relaaaax...!  It’s a basmati & wild rice stuffing with veggies (carrots, onions, etc) in the mix, no gluten I promise!  Mother always makes cornbread stuffing for Thanksgiving Turkey Dinner...but I get so tired of it, tbh...  I love wild rice and wanted THAT for my birthday dinner’s stuffing.

And stuffing soup is really no different than making any soup with a starchy component, like barley soup, or bean soup.  It’s going to come out tasting of whatever seasonings were used, whatever it may have been stuffed into...but hey, that’s not a bad thing! After all, you probably liked it the first time around, right?

[healthbolt-blog]

New Post has been published on Health bolt

New Post has been published on http://www.healthbolt.net/cooking/healthy-cooking-tools/

Healthy Cooking Tools

Contents

Excellent safety record

Helps maintain healthy

Light soup recipes healthy

Microwave-safe plastic wrap

Breakfast sandwiches. microwave cooking

In most cases, you’ll only have to wash the slow cooker and maybe a few prep utensils. —Slow cookers use less energy than a s…

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Boiled spinach may sound more utilitarian than the delicately steamed … Ways To Cook Cabbage Healthy A head of seasonal cabbage goes a long way. Learn how to prepare and cook red cabbage with one of our delicious recipes. red cabbage is healthy, thrifty and robust, so why it remains such an underrated ingredient is beyond us. Part of the problem may be that the tightly-packed sphere yields so many … What if I told you there was a way to cook two dinners at … Eventually she settled on a stir-fry. She adds a healthy amount … Cook It Up the Healthy Way Bake … Sweet potato fries by cutting up into slices and seasoning with olive oil, cayenne pepper and a dash of sal This chart graphically details the %DV that a serving of Cabbage provides for each of the nutrients of which it is a good, very good, or excellent source according to our Food Rating System. How To Cook Bacon Healthy Keto egg muffins solve the breakfast dilemma—especially when you need easy and on-the-run meals for stressful weekday mornings. Fluffy Chix Cook exceptionally low carb and diabetic friendly bacon swiss egg muffins taste great, can be made ahead and are portable. This post was made possible by the generosity of another writer. Bacon has held a bad reputation for health for several years and many people wonder if bacon is healthy. The claims that bacon is high in fat, causes high cholesterol and ultimately leads to serious health conditions are not entirely … A five. How could great bacon be anything else? Pro Tips: How to Cook Bacon in the Oven What oven temperature to use to bake bacon? 400 degrees convection or 425 conventional oven is a good starting point, but you may use as low as 375 conventional to 425 convection if doing other cooking. Most Healthy Way To Cook Vegetables Are microwaves bad for your health? Almost every American home has a microwave oven. The convenience they offer is undeniable. But despite the widespread use of microwave ovens and their excellent safety record, some people have lingering doubts that cooking food with microwaves somehow makes food less healthy by zapping the nutrients out of food. . Does cooking with microwaves do t Turns out, Popeye was right! Many dietitians tout spinach as one of the most nutrient-rich foods on the planet. “Spinach is loaded with vitamin C, Ways To Cook Spinach Healthy Healthy Ways to Cook Baby Spinach Steamed. Steaming is a gentle, efficient and fat-free method for cooking baby spinach. Sauteed. Baby spinach sauteed in olive oil is a more substantial – but equally healthy – dish. Boiled. Boiled spinach may sound more utilitarian than the delicately steamed … Ways To Cook Cabbage Healthy A head of seasonal cabbage goes a long way. Learn how to prepare and cook red cabbage with one of our delicious recipes. Red cabbage is healthy, thrifty and robust, so why it remains such an underrated ingredient is beyond us. Part of the problem may be that the tightly-packed sphere yields so many … What if I told you there was a way to cook two dinners at … Eventually she settled on a stir-fry. She adds a healthy amount … Cook It Up the Healthy Way Bake … Sweet potato fries by cutting up into slices and seasoning with olive oil, cayenne pepper and a dash of sal This chart graphically details the %DV that a serving of Cabbage provides for each of the nutrients of which it is a good, very good, or excellent source according to our Food Rating System. How To Cook Bacon Healthy Keto egg muffins solve the breakfast dilemma—especially when you need easy and on-the-run meals for stressful weekday mornings. Fluffy Chix Cook exceptionally low carb and diabetic friendly bacon swiss egg muffins taste great, can be made ahead and are portable. This post was made possible by the generosity of another writer. Bacon has held a bad reputation for health for several years and many people wonder if bacon is healthy. The claims that bacon is high in fat, causes high cholesterol and ultimately leads to serious health conditions are not entirely … A five. How could great bacon be anything else? Pro Tips: How to Cook Bacon in the Oven What oven temperature to use to bake bacon? 400 degrees convection or 425 conventional oven is a good starting point, but you may use as low as 375 conventional to 425 convection if doing other cooking. Most Healthy Way To Cook Vegetables Are microwaves bad for your health? Almost every American home has a microwave oven. The convenience they offer is undeniable. But despite the widespread use of microwave ovens and their excellent safety record, some people have lingering doubts that cooking food with microwaves somehow makes food less healthy by zapping the nutrients out of food. . Does cooking with microwaves do t Turns out, Popeye was right! Many dietitians tout spinach as one of the most nutrient-rich foods on the planet. “Spinach is loaded with vitamin C, a potent antioxidant, and it’s an excellent source of folate, a B vitamin that helps maintain healthy dna and may keep cancer-promoting genes ‘turned off,’” says Karen Collins, R.D., Nutrition Advisor to the American Institute for Cancer Research. most of the time, I try to incorporate recipes they get to try,” Cooper-Risser said. “As adults, we get to make

(Sorry Rachel, this is The Food Guy hijacking your healthy sermon for just a sentence … They’re a delicious, lower-carb opt…

“Knowing that it is just a phase and it’s something your child will outgrow if you give them the right tools helps so many pa…

[josephkitchen0]

Making Shampoo Bars

Making shampoo bars is a very different process from making body soap in a lot of ways. Unlike body soap, it is important to limit the number of unsaponifiable substances in a bar made for hair. Unsaponifiable substances are the parts of an oil besides the fatty acids. The fatty acids will react with the lye to form soap, but the unsaponifiables remain unchanged. Too much unsaponified matter when making shampoo bars means a sticky film left on the hair after washing. Some oils have a lot of unsaponifiables, such as unprocessed shea butter. Some are naturally low in unsaponifiables, like cocoa butter. The best shampoo bar recipe will have a very low amount of unsaponified substances.

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Another difference between making shampoo bars and body bars is that you want to use larger amounts of strong bubbling oils, such as castor and coconut oils, to effectively lift and separate the strands of hair and to attach to grime, allowing it to be washed away. The best shampoo bar recipe will have no more than 50% soft oils, such as canola, rice bran, soybean or olive oil, and a high percentage of coconut and castor oils for rich bubbles. If you do not know how to make coconut oil soap, it is important to keep in mind that high coconut oil formulas can overheat easily during gel phase, especially if you have a recipe with honey or sugar. Another difference with high coconut oil soap is that the soap may harden more quickly than usual, and can often be cut the same day it is poured into the mold. (If you find yourself asking, “how does soap work?” click here for more information on the soap making process.)

The cured shampoo loaf is an ivory color. Photo by Melanie Teegarden.

When making shampoo bars, they should not be superfatted to a high percentage like body soaps, because the residual oils can weigh the hair down. The best shampoo bar recipe will have between 4-7 percent superfat, enough to make the shampoo gentle and to use up all of the lye for soap, but not enough to coat the hair. The recipe contained within this article is for 6 percent superfat.

Below is the best shampoo bar recipe of all that we tried. It was tested on oily and dry hair types, as well as both fine and coarse hair types. The majority of those who tried the sample shampoo bars preferred this recipe over the others. This recipe makes a standard three pound soap loaf, which yields approximately ten bars of soap, depending upon how it is sliced.

The Best Shampoo Bar Recipe

Makes one loaf of shampoo soap, slightly less than three pounds, or approximately 10 bars

Olive oil – 16 oz

Coconut oil – 12 oz

Castor oil – 2 oz

Cocoa Butter – 2 oz

Sodium Hydroxide – 4.65 oz

Beer, left out overnight to go flat – 11 oz.

Fragrance or essential oils – .5 – 2 oz., according to preference

11 ounces of very flat beer make up the liquid component of the shampoo bar recipe. After spending a night in a shallow dish to release carbonation and alcohol, I strained and refrigerated the flat beer until ready to use. Photo by Melanie Teegarden.

To start making the shampoo bars, you must begin the day before by pouring 11 ounces of beer into a shallow container and leaving out overnight to go flat. This also reduces the alcohol content of the beer significantly. The shallow container is necessary because more carbonation will be released from the greater surface area exposed. Also, alcohol acts to suppress bubbles, so this is an important step. It is also important because if you add lye to fresh, bubbly beer it is likely to overflow — definitely not a situation you want to encounter. (To learn vital soapmaking safety protocols, click here.) I like to take the additional step of chilling the flat beer in the refrigerator for several hours before using. This prevents scorching of the sugars in the beer when the lye heating reaction occurs. In tests, there was always a small amount of undissolved lye sediment left over in the mixed solution, even after half an hour. I recommend straining the lye solution into the oils when you are ready to make soap.

Here I must offer my sincere apologies, and an unusual suggestion — my apologies for the fact that mixing lye with beer releases an odor, a combination of yeast and wet dog. For this reason, I suggest mixing your lye solution outdoors, or at the very least, adjacent to an open window and with a fan running. The smell dissipates quickly in the finished soap and becomes completely undetectable when cured, leaving behind nothing but the benefits of added vitamins and minerals as well as richer shampoo lather..

Shampoo soap batter at medium trace will be the consistency of thin pudding. A “trace” of soap will lie on top of the batter when drizzled from a spoon or whisk, as seen here. Photo by Melanie Teegarden

When you are ready to make soap, first weigh all of your ingredients. Melt the hard oils (coconut and cocoa butter) together in the microwave or on a burner set over low heat. Warm until just melted enough to be clear oil, not opaque. Blend the melted oils with the room temperature soft oils (olive and castor) and allow the oils to rest until about 75-80 degrees Fahrenheit. Weigh out the beer and the sodium hydroxide. Very slowly pour the sodium hydroxide into the beer in a large bowl, while stirring, to allow for foaming to occur and subside. This may not happen if the beer is flat enough, but it is better to be safe and leave room for the reaction to happen. In our tests, there was always some amount of foaming when the lye was added. Allow the beer and lye solution to cool to room temperature before straining into the base oils. Mix the oils and strained lye solution thoroughly by hand using a nonreactive (non-aluminum) spoon or spatula. Next, use your stick blender in short bursts of 20-30 seconds, alternating with hand stirring, to help the shampoo soap reach medium trace. Once medium trace is reached, add the fragrance, if using, and mix thoroughly. Pour into the prepared mold. If the soap begins to get too hot during gel phase, you can place the soap into the refrigerator or freezer until it cools. This soap hardens fairly quickly and can crumble if cut when cured, so make sure you cut the soap as soon as it is firm enough.

The finished shampoo loaf is already beginning to lighten up in color. The cured soap was ivory in color. Photo by Melanie Teegarden

To use a shampoo bar, simply rub into wet hair, massage into scalp, then spread out to the ends before rinsing well. An optional acid rinse, such as a splash of vinegar or lemon juice in water, will make hair feel soft and well conditioned without adding residue.Some people like to infuse apple cider vinegar with herbs or essential oils to make their hair rinse more fragrant.To make a simple infusion for hair vinegar, pack a clean jar with fresh, dry herb leaves, stems and flowers. Fill with apple cider vinegar and cap. You can also add a few drops of essential oils to boost the fragrance of your infusion. Allow at least 48 hours for the infusion to develop before straining and storing in the bath. To use, add a splash to a cup and fill with warm water. Pour through hair. No need to rinse.

I have light colored hair, so I used lemon juice for my acid rinse base. Lavender buds, chamomile flowers, mint and lemon thyme add a soft fragrance. Photo by Melanie Teegarden.

By using our recipe, which is low in unsaponifiables that can make hair sticky, and also low in superfat, which can weigh hair down, you can create a good all-purpose shampoo bar suitable for most hair types. An additional acidic rinse will leave hair soft and silky.

Will you try making solid shampoo bars with our recipe? What fragrance or essential oils will you choose? Which herbs will you use in your acid rinse solution? We would be very interested to hear your results.

Making Shampoo Bars was originally posted by All About Chickens

[nitinalabur]

Rotimatic: Good or Bad?

It's been a few months since we became a Rotimatic equipped household and I wanted to blog the Rotimatic experience 

Before Rotimatic: We cook mostly south Indian food at home. Before Rotimatic, we'd make chapathis by hand once or twice a week (at most) and rest of the week would usually be some rice or frozen rotis/parathas with sabji/palya for dinner. For the last few years, we were relying more and more on the frozen rotis or going in for a carb and preservatives loaded lunch and dinner.

After Rotimatic: With Rotimatic, our rice consumption has greatly reduced. The fact that rotis can be made at a touch of a button, means reduced rice eating (especially for dinner) and the last lot of frozen rotis/parathas we bought in before Rotimatic arrived, are still languishing in the freezer.

Learning Curve: It took about 50 rotis for us and the machine to get a hang of it. The quality of rotis from Rotimatic improves over time, and the first 50 rotis it makes may not be optimal.

Facts/Observations:

The Good: 1. Every single roti fluffs 100%. This was quite mind blowing after having tried to make rotis by hand over last few years and on a good day, only 1 in 10 rotis would fluff up so well :). 

2. It's truly a plug and play product. Set the number of rotis you want, ensure flour, oil, and water containers are full, and you can get 8-10 rotis in one go, easily. The containers can be refilled while roti making is in progress. So it can print the rotis continuously.

3. Rotimatic rotis are 100X tastier than the frozen rotis, or even the "home made" ones bought from stores, or ones sold by Indian families in the neighborhood. And it's always fresh.

4. The rotis stay soft and non-chewy (nor do they become like khakhra) for ~6hrs. Haven't tried beyond that, but according to Rotimatic, it remains soft up to 12 hrs.

5. Fresh Handmade rotis are still 10X better than Rotimatic rotis. But it's not a scalable option if you want to make a lot of those on a short notice.

6. Uses way less oil compared to when we make rotis by hand.

7. Rotimatic rotis are great for making rotis at scale. Guests at home but no time to make hand made rotis? Rotimatic works great. In fact, any Indian take out/delivery, we don't order the naans/rotis (which often are already too chewy by the time it arrives home). Rotimatic rotis are ideal and are certainly healthier.

The not so good:

1. Noise: It makes way more noise than I expected. I'd say the noise levels are as much as the kitchen exhaust vent (probably lesser)

2. Failures: If done at thickness level 1 (thinnest possible), the roti seems to get stuck to the upper plate after the dough ball is pressed. (Aashirwad atta, regular water and canola oil)

3. If that flattened roti doesn't fall down before the sliding pusher pushes it on to the hotplate, you'll have a messed up roti that is not baked. If you don't clear this messed up roti (if it is sticking to the sliding pusher) in time, the following ones may be messed up. This has been resolved to some extent by setting the thickness level to 2 (I actually don't see much difference in thickness, since the least thick setting itself results in a roti that quite thick).

4. Fan noise: After the rotis are made, Rotimatic has a cooling fan that runs very noisy for 15 to 30 mins and can be quite irritating if you are in a very quiet home. I don't see how this helps, but I think it's to coold down the hot plates quickly. I have started to unplug the device as soon as I turn it off.

5. Delicate software: If the Rotimatic is running already and you do anything to the system (like pause, open side door change setting), the firmware/software tends to freeze and will behave erratically until you pull the plug and plug it in and restart the process. I’m hopeful that this will continue to improve.

6. Expect the Rotimatic machine to be heavier than a large microwave. You'll need at least two people to lift it safely.

Time taken:

- Time to first Roti from power ON: 10 mins

- Time to subsequent rotis after first one: 2 mins

Cleaning/Maintenance: Only two parts are required to be taken out for cleaning 1. The dough kneader (can be further disassembled into two) 2. The vertical tray (has a removable gasket)

These 4 can be washed in a dishwasher or by hand. If we use it again in < 24 hrs, sometimes we just wipe these parts clean with a clean paper towel. Works really well.

I have tried many Kickstarter/indiegogo type hardware products, and I must say Rotimatic is one that has probably been the best in terms of how helpful and reliable it is. Glad that it's not disappointing.

There's a lot of scope for improvement, many that can be as simple as an over the air software update (I'm excited about the upcoming poori software update).

The hardware seems to be good enough, but with so many mechanical moving parts, only a long term use can tell how long these parts will last.

Is it worth it $$$$? At $1000 plus shipping, the Rotimatic doesn't come cheap.

We (a household of two) are expecting to break even in about 2 - 3 years compared to purchasing frozen rotis (Kawan, Deep, Swad etc), parathas ($6 for 30) or rotis from the neighborhood families ($35-$40 for 100), which really helped in justifying this purchase.

If the household has more chapati eaters, means quicker they'll reach the break even point. If you factor in the effect of healthy eating w.r.t consumption of carbs, you may break even much earlier

Customer support and community: The in app chat support has been quite amazing. Had the issue with messed up rotis resolved by next day.

The Rotimatic Facebook community is amazing. It's thriving, with many cool videos/hacks shared, including many who are trying different variations of rotis with millet (ragi, jowar, bajra), potato and other flours. There's also a post for getting a 3D printed extension to increase the capacity of the flour container! So if you are looking to reduce your consumption of whole wheat rotis for some reason, this community is helpful.

Hope this review helps in deciding whether to buy Rotimatic or wait for a newer version in a few years (not buying is not a good option ;)

If you plan to buy one, you can use referral link that is valid until Aug 21, 2017, and get $50 off. Book now (and think later ;) to receive your Roti printer before Diwali. Rotimatic has a 30-day return policy. So you can give it back if you don't like it.

[always-another-story-blog]

Short Story: Escapism

I originally wrote this story in Japanese. When I track down the original, I might post that too.

ESCAPISM The Hilton reception hall was sparkling. Pearl white balloons and gold and silver streamers hung down from the ceiling, tables were covered with perfect white table cloths and from the large speakers floated an 80s love long. The dance floor was full, the dancers like a single squirming organism. Sitting at a table near the entrance, Aster pushed pieces of silvery confetti scattered about the table, from her wine glass to a dessert spoon, and from the dessert spoon back to her wine glass with her index finger. Every so often her left hand stretched down to the hem of her champagne coloured dress to pull the material further down her thighs. But no matter what she did the hem wouldn’t even go as far as her knees. Today was her cousin Lily’s wedding. That morning Aster’s mother had put her hair up in a bun, tight and high like a samurai’s topknot, but now it hung loose to her shoulders, a few stray wisps licking her throat. She had also washed off the make-up she had put on that morning. Not to mention she had switched from her high heels to flats. At the neighbouring table Aster’s mother sat talking to her aunt. The two of them were speaking as though they thought Aster couldn’t hear them, but while pretending to be oblivious Aster heard every word. It was the same story as always, even if she hadn’t be able to hear she could probably recite it back word for word. So, Aster still has no plans to get married? The girl doesn’t even have a boyfriend. I wonder why? She and Lily are even the same age. I’d be happy if she were more like Lily, but she just has no…appeal, I suppose. Shutting her eyes Aster tried to tune out the sound inside the reception hall… “Aster?” The sudden voice beside her came as a surprise. Raising her head Aster turned in the direction the voice had come from. “Who are you?” she asked flatly. The guy sat beside her. “Little harsh don’t you think? We were neighbours, remember?” “We were?” The guy looked almost wounded. “You really don’t remember?” Aster was silent. “Hale,” For a moment Aster stared at his face, then… “Ah, that’s right, Hale. You’re the kid who made me drop my ice-cream,” Hale was slightly taken aback. “I did?” “Yeah, you did, back in primary school. Obviously wasn’t deliberate though,” “I don’t remember that. I remember you liked to sit in the window and stare at the rain,” Now it was Aster’s turn to be surprised. “You have a pretty good memory,” she muttered. For a few moments the two of them sat in silence. The 80s love song switched over to a fast paced 90s dance track. The dance floor was overflowing now. “Why are you here?” Aster asked, not looking at him but staring blankly at the undulating population of the dance floor. “Blunt aren’t you? I work with Lily,” “Oh, I see,” At that moment Hale finally noticed Aster’s dress. “Oh, you were a bridesmaid?” he said. Aster raised an eyebrow. “You didn’t notice in the church?” “I wasn’t at the church; I only just got here,” “How come?” “Work. Everyone else was at the ceremony so I got to hold down the fort,” “Well, you didn’t miss much,” Aster said quietly. Hale gave her a long look. “Don’t women normally enjoy weddings?” “I don’t think I’m exactly normal,” Hale laughed. Aster watched him. She wanted to ask why he was talking to her, but she didn’t particularly want to hear his answer, so she said nothing, and for a while they resumed their silence, staring at the table, or watching the happily dancing guests. Suddenly Hale stood up. “Let’s go,” Aster stared questioningly at him for a moment. “Where?” “Ice-cream, let’s go get ice-cream.” Aster paused. “Can’t. My mum’ll go postal,” “She’s with Lily, on the dance floor, look,” Aster looked over at the dance floor. Sure enough, her mother was standing and talking with Lily, whose arm was linked with the groom’s. At that moment Lily glanced over at Aster, and as their gazes locked she tipped her head against her new husband’s shoulder, and smirked. Slowly, Aster rose to her feet. “Okay,” “Okay…?” “Let’s go,” Aster turned back to Hale, “let’s go get ice-cream,” Grinning, Hale suddenly grabbed Aster’s hand. Before she could say anything Hale began to run, leading them out of the doors, hand in hand. Aster followed wordlessly out to the car park. Approaching a blue Honda, Hale finally let go of Aster’s hand and reached into his pocket for the car key. The two of them got into the car, and as Aster fastened her seatbelt she stared across at the occupant of the adjacent seat. “What’s up?” he asked, “Changed your mind?” “No, just…” “What?” “Why the sudden compulsion to buy ice-cream?” “Have to pay you back for that time in school, right?” “That was twenty years ago,” Grinning, Hale said nothing more, only staring straight ahead as he drove. Aster gave up on the topic and leant her elbow on the window sill. Leaving the Hilton they drove along the coastline, the buildings gradually becoming smaller and more residential. After around half an hour Aster realised all at once how long they’d been driving. Her elbow still propped on the window sill, staring out at the sea Aster spoke up. “Hey, where are we going?” “A shop, obviously,” “Which shop?” “One near the sea,” “Which? OneStop? Costcutter?” “You have a preference?” Hale asked with a smile. “We’re lost aren’t we?” Aster deadpanned. “Tell me, how does one get lost on a straight road alongside the sea?” Aster didn’t answer. “When we find a shop, we’ll stop,” Hale said. “Yeah, yeah. I get it,” About twenty more minutes passed before they came across a OneStop. Hale pulled the car into a parking space in front. Shutting off the engine he turned to Aster. “You wanna come in or wait here?” he asked. Aster thought about it for a moment. She wasn’t particularly keen on the idea of going into the shop in her champagne coloured bridesmaid’s dress. Although the sleeves reached her elbows, the hem stopped a good six inches above her knees, and the neckline was a bit too low cut. Somehow though, she didn’t feel like being left behind in the car all on her own. “I’ll come in,” she said finally. Hale nodded. They got out of the car and walked into the shop, their eyes narrowing automatically against the change in light and air temperature. Even though it was just past 3 o’clock on a Saturday afternoon, apart from the guy behind the counter the place was empty. The freezer with the ice-cream was all the way at the back. Walking up an aisle stocked with instant noodles and microwaveable rice Hale headed straight for it. Choosing the stationary aisle to her left, Aster followed his lead, and the two of them came to a stop in front of the freezer doors. “Which do you like?” Hale asked. Aster simply stared, wordlessly, at the ice-cream. It had been quite a while since she’d had ice-cream. Somehow she just hadn’t had occasion to eat it. Right now she couldn’t even recall her own favourite flavour. What was it? Chocolate? Banana? Or was it strawberry? “Aster? What’s up, can’t choose?” “No, I just…” “What?” Aster hesitated. “I can’t remember what kind of ice-cream I like,” Hale looked from Aster to the freezer, and back to Aster, his expression pensive. “Okay then…I’ll pick for you,” he said finally. “And if I don’t like it?” “Oh, quit worrying,” Having said that Hale reached in and selected two vanilla cones and without another word turned and headed back to the counter, leaving Aster no time to react. Somewhat taken aback she followed Hale from the shop. “Are you sure this is okay?” she asked. “I told you, I’m paying back a debt,” Aster sighed. Arguing with him was clearly pointless. Instead of going back to the car Hale crossed the road, vaulted the sea wall and, standing atop a large rock, turned and waved back at Aster, still holding both cones in one hand. With another sigh, Aster crossed the road and climbed up to stand beside him. “Good thing those aren’t heels,” Hale said, indicating Aster’s shoes. “Actually, up until a little while ago, I was wearing heels that matched the dress,” For the first time Hale gave Aster’s dress a proper look. The skirt rippled in the gentle breeze blowing in from the sea. Though the dress itself was quite plain, it was made from what looked like satin. But standing beside the bride, it was clear that this dress would only make the bright white wedding dress even more brilliant. Hale tried to imagine the dress with matching heels. Right now Aster was wearing a soft pair of grey pumps. They didn’t suit the dress at all, but somehow they suited Aster perfectly. Hale finally pulled his gaze from Aster’s clothes. “Let’s go sit over there,” he said, pointing across at the large rocks dampened by salt water, close to the sea. Aster nodded, and the two of them slowly traversed the rocks, finally stopping to sit side by side atop the rock at the water’s edge. Hale passed Aster her ice-cream. Silently, she unwrapped it before beginning to eat. “It suits you,” Hale said suddenly. “What?” “The dress.” Aster shot him a glance. “Liar,” she said. “No lie. The style and the colour are pretty,” Aster only rolled her eyes at that. “Lily picked this dress because it makes her wedding dress look even better,” “I thought she might have, but right now, it looks good, I think simple styles are best,” “I don’t think you’d say that if you saw me standing next to Lily,” Aster said. “I actually don’t think Lily’s all that pretty you know,” Hale countered. Aster shot him a raised eyebrow. “Now that was a lie.” Hale shook his head. “Seriously. When you first look at her she seems pretty, but as time goes by she’s doesn’t seem so pretty anymore, kind of unattractive actually,” Aster thought about that for a moment. Truthfully, she had always thought the same thing, but she had always put it down to the fact that she just didn’t like her cousin. “She’s not really much of a flower,” Hale went on, “more of a nettle really.” Aster laughed quietly. The two of them lapsed into silence, eating their ice-cream. Aster wrapped her arms around her knees as her hair danced around her head in the breeze. White froth decorated the edge of each wave seconds before it shattered against the shore, sending up a fine spray that caught the dying end of the sunlight and glittered overhead before tumbling back down. As the wind began to pick up Hale slipped off his suit jacket and draped it around Aster’s shoulders. Slightly surprised, Aster turned to look at him. “I’m not cold,” she said. “It’s getting windier, and it’s about to get dark, shut up and be appreciative,” Hale said with a grin. True enough, the sky that had been blue until a few moments ago had turned orange, and was already beginning to turn purple. And the wind really was getting stronger. “You know, someday I’d love to live in a little house by the sea,” Aster said suddenly. Hale shot her a surprised glance. Though he was slightly startled to hear Aster volunteer an observation like that, he wanted her to keep talking. “How come?” “I like the sound of the waves. Sometimes hearing the sound of people all the time gets on my nerves, but I don’t like complete silence all that much either, so I’d like to be able to listen to the waves.” Hale thought about it for a moment. “Yeah, that would be nice,” Just then, at the same moment, the two of them shivered. After a pause they glanced at each other and laughed. “I guess we should get going,” Hale said. Aster nodded. The two of them began to make their way back along the path atop the rocks. Hale was a little way ahead when, from somewhere behind him came a sudden cry, and he spun back to see Aster kneeling a few paces back, clutching her ankle. Hurrying back Hale crouched at her side. “What happened? Did you slip?” Aster nodded. “Yeah, I wasn’t paying attention,” “You think you can walk?” “I can try,” Aster stood slowly and took a few tentative paces, but her grimace of pain did not go unnoticed by Hale, who swiftly caught her arm, bringing her to a stop. “No way,” he said, “You can’t walk like that,” “Do I have a choice?” she asked sharply. Hale thought about it for a second, and suddenly stepped forward and knelt down. “C’mon,” Aster was stunned. “Are you joking right now?” “Do I look like I’m joking?” Aster hesitated, but eventually leant forward, winding her arms around Hale’s neck. Hale grasped the backs of Aster’s knees and stood back up. Caught off guard Aster reflexively tightened her hold on Hale’s neck. “If you wanted a hug all you had to do was ask,” he joked. “Shut up,” Treading carefully, Hale carried Aster back toward the sea wall. Once again the two of them were silent for a while, but then Aster spoke up again. “You know, I think this may be the first time a guy has done this for me,” she said quietly. “What?” Hale asked, “Carry you?” “No…try to make me feel better,” Hale just smiled. Aster closed her eyes and leant her cheek against his hair, listening to the sound of the waves.