#I got nothing else for the crossover

[lao-hulijing]

me: what is there even to keep going for in this endless cycle of going to sleep and waking up only for the next day to be worse than the one before. I wish I was dead.

the imp under my bed, handing me my handheld Nintendo consoles: you can replay the Ace Attorney and Professor Layton games as many times as you want.

[necrotic-nephilim]

-debby ryans at you- how are you feeling about that thunderbolts* trailer, snookums. your old blog is trying to crawl from its grave.

you are an unhinged rat for sending me this ask i hope you know <3 you already knew that but i'm telling you anyway bc you're a rat bc now i have to explain myself-

this is from @eebuckley my partner <3 i've alluded to it in the tags of this blog but i used to be a semi-popular MCU blogger from like 2018 to 2020. (semi-popular for the ship i wrote, anyway) and since like, probably Infinity War/Endgame i have been slowly more and more disillusioned by the MCU ranging from only passively being interested in projects to outright despising them if i saw them. which sort of sucks, given how much i loved the MCU at it's height. i was like. aggressively into it. like a "i had asthma attacks watching trailers bc i got so excited" level of into it. maybe cringey in hindsight, honestly but yk. whatever brings you joy, ig.

and anyway- my partner witnessed my very real and normal reaction to the Thunderbolts* trailer and now i'm *mad* bc i'm actually excited about it. it made me feel about the MCU a way i haven't felt in years, especially after a lot of announcements that rlly pissed me off.

cannot believe it looks like we might actually get a comics-accurate Yelena and a comics-accurate Bucky. i'm such a sucker for Bucky Barnes, he's one of the only Marvel characters i actually read Marve comics for and i'm forever bitter how badly he got screwed over. if that movie is good i'm going to end up writing fanfiction. probably crossover fanfiction bc over my dead body will i write just plain MCU fanfic. and i'm a Jason Todd/Bucky shipper anyway so i could make it work, i think-

anyway TLDR is i'm excited and i'm mad about it and how dare yo expose me for being an MCU fan on THIS blog. you coulda send this ask to my MCU blog that still exists and i have occasionally used. but instead you *exposed* my ass on my refined DC blog as a filthy Marvel fan. i will be divorcing you again. ty gn ily

[no1ryomafan]

Writing between time when it’s finals and I’m gonna have busy weekends is insane cause I finished the zxg chapter-it just needs to be beta-but going back to do another fic I’ve had on the back burner opposed to touching one of my many wips and I cannot believe it’s taking so long to get to Hayato smooching a Getter- no I will NOT provide context until it’s out unless it’s in private

[azures-grace]

I want to listen to The Amazing Devil, I really do

Unfortunately, my stupid brain is hyperfixating on Lord Huron RN and I cannot think of any album aside from Vide Noir and Strange Trails

I CAN'T EVEN GO TO LONG LOST??

It is absolutely ridiculous how much I want to listen to something else, but nothing is itching my brain right like those albums.

Someone like... Poke me to listen to something else.

[teafiend]

Having the most fun with my Kang Gil Young/Mo Tae Gu crack ship because of how canon-divergent-MTG is 😄☺️🤪

It was fabulous being able to turn him into one of the biggest lovesick simp around (in my headcanons 😆🥰). KGY could also be the most brash/rudest version of herself 😌 too💥

[talysalankil]

i wanted to write a fic of it but I can't seem to find the inspiration for a full story, so I'll just throw it out into the void and someone else in the fandom can use it

post-TSATS, will and nico start getting seriously hot and heavy (making out? more? you decide!), but the cocoa puffs have a seriously bad habit of barging in on them. sometimes they demand attention, sometimes they just stand there and stare. either way it seriously kills the mood, kinda like if your cat walks in on your.

will dubs it being cocoa-blocked

[thelastlightningbug]

i feel like jadzia dax and the 10th doctor would get on well

[cielospeaks]

aime tachi plot: everything has to make sense, there are rules for the story even tho its self indulgent, yadda yadda, character development, progression consistency

dreamdom hearts plot: anyways the dream works au versions of fe characters and my oc recruit enjoyable single dw villains to go have slightly creepypasta shenanigans with a presumably dead oc

[thewriteadviceforwriters]

🕳️ What to Write When You Have No Idea What Happens Next

aka: you’re staring into the creative abyss and the abyss is not only staring back, it’s asking for a rough draft

hi writer. welcome to that fun little liminal space in your project where ✨absolutely nothing✨ makes sense. you wrote the last scene. you know you’re not at the end. but suddenly your characters are just standing there like NPCs waiting for a quest marker and your brain is doing the spinning beachball of death.

so. what now?

let’s break down some actually useful strategies for when you hit That Point™️. not vibes. not ✨manifest your way out✨ energy. not the “just keep writing” slog. here’s what to do when your story is refusing to tell you what happens next:

———————————————

zoom out: do a “scene audit” ———————————————

you don’t need a full outline to do this. take five minutes and sketch a bullet list of every scene that’s happened so far. not just what happened, but why it mattered.

like this:

MC lied to their boss (sets up stakes re: trust/power)

antagonist shows up at cafe (establishes tension + location crossover)

best friend gets suspicious (emotional complication, adds pressure)

this gives you a birds-eye view of what you’ve set in motion. often you’re stuck because you’ve lost sight of the threads you were pulling, your own story has momentum, you just need to feel it again.

—————————————————————

try “ghost drafting” (aka fake writing) —————————————————————

open a doc. start typing what would happen, if you were writing. super casual. something like:

“okay i think the next scene is maybe them at the train station?? or wait--maybe we need to see the fallout of the argument. i don’t really know what x character wants rn but i think y might be planning something…”

this trick works bc it removes pressure. no fancy prose, no perfect structure. it’s literally you telling yourself what might happen. and weirdly? your brain will often finish the scene for you without asking. (the number of times I’ve ghost drafted myself into 800 usable words… witchcraft.)

——————————————————————————

pin your characters to a corkboard and interrogate them ——————————————————————————

not literally. (unless you're into that. i don’t judge.)

but seriously: when you’re stuck, it’s often because your character has no immediate goal or emotion. pause and ask:

what does this character want right now? like, in this moment?

what are they trying to avoid?

what’s keeping them from getting either?

character-driven scenes are rarely static. even if it’s just an awkward dinner or walking to the store, someone’s always trying to do or hide something. if everyone in the scene is just reacting or waiting, you’ve got fog. bring in the fire.

—————————————————

don’t skip the “boring” stuff--weaponize it —————————————————

sometimes we’re stuck because we think the next scene is dull. like “ugh i guess they just… travel to the manor” or “they regroup at the safe house.” but these slow beats are GOLD if you embed purpose.

try giving the “boring” scene:

a time limit or interruption (they’re hiding but someone knocks)

a secret (someone is lying about something small but important)

a reversal (what they expected is the opposite of what happens)

even if it’s a quiet scene, layer it. conflict isn’t just yelling or action. it’s discomfort. it’s misalignment. tension between what’s said and unsaid.

—————————————————————

when all else fails: write the next emotional beat —————————————————————

strip it back. forget plot. forget pacing. ask yourself:

then write that. a monologue. a journal entry. an outburst. a line of whispered dialogue.

sometimes it’s not that you don’t know what happens next. it’s that your character hasn’t processed what just happened, and until they do, the story can’t move forward.

✨✨✨

the void is normal. getting stuck doesn’t mean you failed or picked the wrong idea or that the muse packed up and left for a better writer’s house. it just means your brain needs space to regroup.

writing isn’t linear. stories aren’t built in perfect lines. they loop. they stall. they circle back. and that’s okay.

if you’re in the middle of nowhere, here’s your sign to sit on the side of the metaphorical road, open your weird little notebook, and write anyway. write wrong. write messy. write ghost drafts. the path shows up when you start walking.

🕳️ you got this, writer.

tag me if you end up crawling out of your stuck scene with a little victory paragraph. i’ll bring snacks for the next one 🧃✨

P.S. I made a free mini eBook about the 5 biggest mistakes writers make in the first 10 pages 👀 you can grab it here for FREE:

[theonewiththefanfics]

Sweet Heart (one-shot)

Synopsis:

The Pitt x The Bear (I've been thinking about this crossover for so long). I might make this a sort of interconnected standalone series :)

There is someone new living in the apartment across the hall from him. 14B. And 14B makes the best desserts ever, Jack Abbot being the lucky bastard that he is, gets to test them out first. However, he has never met 14B. Not until an accident brings her into his ED.

Pairing: Dr. Jack Abbot x fem!chef!Reader (age-gap - reader is stated to be 27 for the purposes of the story, Jack is mid to late 40ies);

Platonic! Carmy x fem!chef!Reader

Genre: pretty much pure fluff

Warnings: injuries (a cut ligament to be specific), talks of depression and suicide by our two favorite older men, mentions of a lost spouse, Pittfest, medical inaccuracies, though I did my best with the palm anatomy research (based on something that actually happend to my colleague) but I don't think anything else really

Word count: 11,206

The day had been absolute shit.

            Not that Jack really had any other kind, it was just shit and shittier, but that one had been one of the shittiest ones yet.

            For one, his shift ended with the death of a vet, and those always hit too close to home, poking holes into the walls he’d built around himself. But he didn’t even get a full day’s rest, a proper amount of time to process it, as the Pittfest shooting happened, and he had to rush back to the ED hours before his next one started, which was not how he’d planned on spending the time off he had.

            It was a routine – get home, maybe catch a couple of hours of shut-eye (at best, though he did attempt to give his body a proper rest), then heat up some of the leftover pasta he had in the fridge, and then, as a cherry on top before going back to the Pitt, delight himself into some dessert left on his doorstep by his neighbor from 14B.

            Instead, he’d had to leave the pasta bowl in the microwave, and he didn’t even have time to put on the prosthesis sock. He just had to raw-dog it out of the house, when the police scanner informed him of the mass shooting. He didn’t even get a chance to look towards the greeting mat in front of his door for a Tupperware; that was how quickly he rushed back to PTMC.

            112 people lived. 6 died. It could have been worse, he tried to compartmentalize. They were in the trade of balancing the scales of life and death, so anytime the life one tipped lower, Jack could breathe a sigh of relief.

            However, injuries and death, he knew how to deal with, despite the impact it always had. Having to talk your best friend off the ledge though, was a different beast. Because this time it was different. This time, as Jack watched Robby stand on the wrong side of the railing, he thought he might actually take that final step.

            So he talked, he was the voice of reason, like Robby had been to him on the mornings when the weight of the world just pressed down a bit too hard on his shoulders. The first proper breath Jack got to take was when Robby stepped back onto the safe side of the roof, walking with him back down to the chaos that was their workplace, where finally, a few hours later, they could emerge into the night, surrounded by their residents and students and interns, all sharing a drink of victory.

            And where most of their days would end, they’d go back home, get a full night’s rest, hopefully, one not filled with nightmares, Jack’s had only begun. He still had a night shift to manage.

            So, with a clap on Robby’s back, and a promise from Shen they'd hold down the fort, he drove back home for a couple of hours, if only to regroup and clean his scrubs before returning to the maw of the beast.

            This time though, he did glance down beside his door, only to be met with disappointment, when nothing awaited him. On the one day he so desperately wished for a sweet thing, there was nothing.

            Jack’s brows furrowed as he glanced across the hall towards the door of 14B.

            He’d never met the inhabitant of the flat. He’d never once seen anyone enter or exit, and would only sometimes hear quiet shuffling or soft humming.

            For a while, after Mr Redford who’d lived there for the past twenty years, only to move away to Sicily as some sort of a midlife crisis thing, the apartment had stood empty. And then one morning, about four months ago, as Jack had dragged his tired and sore body home, he noticed a new greeting mat by the door.

            His head slowly moved in a nod of approval. His only hope was that whoever now lived there, was a quiet and respectful person, but his brows rose in surprise when he went to unlock his own door, only for his foot to meet a Tupperware container, a neatly folded piece of paper on top.

            With a grunt he leaned down and took the glass square, opening the note.

Hi! This is from 14B across the hall. I knocked on the door, but no one answered. Miss June from 2nd floor said you’re a doctor, so I dunno when or if we’ll have a chance to see one another, but I just wanted to do the neighborly thing and say hello. :) Inside are some Millionaire-shortbread-brownies. I swear they are not poisoned, but I am trying to perfect the recipe, so any and all feedback is appreciated, as long as it’s constructive. (If you actually throw them out, it’s fine, but please don’t tell me that). Besides, I need a new taste-tester, living in a new place and all that. P.S. ingredient list is attached to the bottom, just in case you have any allergies or food restrictions. Hope you enjoy! :)

            Jack stared at the container, finger slipping over the other paper attached to the back with tape, and turned to look at 14B as if he had some sort of laser vision, and could see through into the apartment.

            He waited for a minute, two, three, but still the door remained closed. He could just go there and knock, do the neighborly thing like 14B had tried and introduce himself to the new occupant, but then he heard the entrance door on the first floor click open, and took it as his cue to enter his own flat, Tupperware in hand though. He didn’t wanna get caught looking at the apartment like some sort of a creep.

            Slipping his bag down his shoulder, he left it by the couch, before plopping onto it. For a second, the dessert and 14B were forgotten, as Jack rolled up his scrub pants and removed his prosthetic.

            The leg had been killing him the entire shift, as the heel of his prosthetic had been worn down really bad on one side, and the new one was still in transit, so his weight distribution was completely off. The thought of having to walk up those five flights of stairs had made him want to go back to PTMC and finally fling himself off the edge.

            Jack allowed himself a couple of moments of pleasure, of simply existing in silence, before he stood up, grabbed the crutch he’d left resting against the couch, and ventured to the bathroom.

            He stripped off, throwing the scrubs in the washing machine, and allowed the hot water of the shower to wash away the thoughts of the day. After he’d run the water cold, with just a towel around his hips, he went back to the living room, but not before putting his scrubs into the drier, and finally took a real look at the Tupperware and its contents.

            Even without fully lifting the lid off, Jack was immediately enveloped by the sweet scent of chocolate, caramel and butter.

            He’d never been a desserts kind of a man, but he swore after taking the smallest bite of the brownie, quite literally popping a piece of crumb into his mouth, he would marry whoever had made it.

            It was decadent in all the ways that mattered, but not so dense you would be filled up by just one bite. The shortbread bottom had a nice, salty flavor to it, and how 14B had managed to keep the caramel the stretchy kind, was beyond Jack’s understanding. But he didn’t really bake either, so there was also that.

            There was no police scanner on, there was no TV or radio, just the sounds of Pittsburg in the morning, as Jack, for the first time in ages, enjoyed something sweet.

            The beeping of the drier was his cue to get up and get to bed, needing to grab at least a couple of hours of sleep before going back to PTMC, but before he did that, he took out the rest of the brownie and put it in his own container, washing 14B’s. As he exited and ventured over to the apartment, clad in some plaid pyjamas, he placed a note inside with a small comment,

“hope you’re settling in well, 14B. maybe some flaky salt on top, and it’d be a 10/10. current rating – 9.85/10. have a good day. 13A”

Once more, Jack debated whether or not he should try and knock, but it was already close to ten in the morning, and most normal people would be at their jobs, so he just placed the container down by the door, but not directly in front of it. Their doors swung out.

He lingered for a second, as if maybe whoever was on the other side would feel his presence. Why in the world was he so intrigued by 14B’s new inhabitant? Better yet – why did he suddenly feel so drawn towards someone he’d never met?

With one final glance, it was time for Jack to go, and dive into his bed. This time, he actually slept quite well and felt fairly rested for the night ahead. When he got to the Pitt, Robby passed the baton onto him without the need to venture up to the roof.

By the time he got home, leaving Robby in charge again, and was walking up to the fifth floor of his home, he was greeted by another Tupperware.

            Jack lifted it and took off the Post-It on top.

“Thank you!” it read in neat handwriting. “Will add it to the next batch! In the meantime, try this instead!  From 14B”

            And that is how this weird exchange began as an anonymous stranger managed to make Jack find a silver lining even on his bad days.

            Jack would return home to find some sort of a dessert in a glass container waiting for him, a piece of paper explaining the ingredients and allergens attached to it. He had given back a note once saying he didn’t have any restrictions, but still, it showed up, though it seemed like his words had unlocked some closed creativity and flavor vault, as 14B started to experiment with taste profiles.

            Sometimes it was as basic as a butter croissant, the flakiest one he'd ever eaten, pastry dough no doubt hand-laminated, and then sometimes it was as extravagant as a panna cotta with passion fruit jam and candied orange zest on top.

            More often than not, as Jack would dig into the sweet treat of the day, his eyes would roll to the back of his head in pleasure. After thoroughly enjoying it, he’d take a piece of paper and write down his thoughts, though he didn’t actually think he had much insight to give. Then he’d clean out the container and leave it by 14B’s doorstep.

            It was shift after shift, and they continued on with this dance. Sometimes he got a repeat dessert, but with whatever improvements Jack had told it needed, however, the one thing he looked forward to most was the notes, as he tried to figure out who 14B might actually be.

            Jack had a few theories and he wrote down the small deductions in a little notebook he’d started to keep.

            He was fairly certain it was a woman. Call him stereotypical, as much as he wouldn’t like to hear it, but he just couldn’t imagine a man doing such a thing, especially for so long.

            The handwriting was also too neat. Too clean and precise. But then again, maybe normal men who didn’t work in the medical field and didn’t have illegible cursive also had normal-looking handwriting.

            Jack had debated whether or not this person could be in the same profession as him, or maybe the same field due to the way 14B always gave him a full-on ingredient and allergen list, but he’d struck that out. The timing and consistency of the desserts appearing by his doorstep, were way too precise because even techs and sanitary workers couldn’t predict their hours so well. A hospital was one big hamster wheel that was spinning non-stop, and people just had to try and find when to jump if they wanted to get home.

            Finally, after dessert number 44 (thought he’d come to that conclusion by dessert 5 really), Jack had settled on the fact that 14B had to be a chef or a chef in training because when he’d gotten home, a still-hot dark chocolate lava cake had waited for him, a yuzu and raspberry sauce in a smaller container to the side. It was still something he dreamt about on the darker days.

            So now, returning home on one of the worst days he’d had at the Pitt, after one of the worst mass-casualty events they’d had to deal with, without a container and note waiting for him, was anxiety-inducing.

            A horrendous thought entered his mind – could 14B have been there at Pittfest? Could she have been one of the people he treated? Or had she been one of the unlucky ones who got a ride directly to the morgue?

            His feet carried him to the door in an instant, heart pounding in his chest. He was just about ready to knock when something crashed behind there.

            “Fucking hell,” Jack heard muffled swearing. “That’s batch number fucking three for the trash.”

            She was there.

            14B was right there, and seemingly warring with her food.

            Jack’s heart rate returned to normal and as it did so, he took a step back. Then another. And another until he was back at his own door.

            14B was alive, which meant Jack could get some rest.

            By the time he was back on his feet ready to finish off the shift, this time a proper prosthetic sock on, if only to help out a bit with the pain, it was dark outside, but Pittsburg seemed quieter. Like it was still reeling from what happened during the day.

            He could make his way to the Pitt blindfolded, as he’d taken the route so many times in his life by then, however, what was unusual was finding Robby there by the lockers. Jack was sure he had left to go home.

            “Brother, and I mean this with love, what the fuck are you still doing here?” he pulled him in for a hug. They both needed it.

            Robby ran a hand over his face, leaning to rest against the metal doors. “I know we took an oath to help and save people, but God, do I think we all should be afforded one murder per year. And I know how that sounds after today.”

            Jack snorted, putting in his combination and unlocking it. “Tell me about it.”

            “I get dibs on Gloria.”

            “What’d she harass you about now? I mean seriously, tonight after everything?”

            “Got on my ass about Santos.”

            The vet raised a brow. The intern was reckless, that was for sure, but her instincts were in the right place, as Jack had found out about her having done a REBOA unsupervised. She just had to hone them and start to listen to authority, otherwise, it could end badly for someone, and most likely, she wouldn’t be the victim.

            “Some reporter wants to sue. Says she chucked his phone into a mop bucket. Damage of personal property or some sort of bullshit.” Robby slammed his head back against the doors. “He literally took an actual victim’s hoodie just to get inside the hospital, and now he wants to sue?”

            “Jesus, and Gloria’s on his side? It hasn’t even been 24 hours!”

            “Gloria’s on the side that costs the least amount of money for PTMC.” Robby let out a scoff. “And a lawsuit is definitely on the expensive list.”

            “Yeah, well sucks to be her. She should start properly staffing us with nurses and security, and this kind of shit wouldn’t happen then.”

            Robby gave his friend a tired smile. It was a soul-tired kind of smile, something Jack understood intimately. “And yet despite all that, we always come back.”

            “Someone has to.”

            For a moment they basked in the silence between them, but it was never fully quiet. Not at the Pitt. Sirens could still be heard somewhere in the distance, probably coming towards them. For others, they had white noise in the background, or maybe a thunderstorm app on. They? They had ambulance wails and heart rate monitors.

            Robby clapped him on the shoulder. “Ready to take on the night, brother?”

            “As I’ll ever be,” Jack responded with the same gesture. “Someone has to keep Shen from saying certain stupid words.”

            “Heard this full moon’s gonna be one of those super moons or something too.” Robby slung his backpack on his shoulders, chuckling at Jack’s groan.

            “Then god help us all, and someone better find some tape for John’s mouth.”

            “You know what does help?” Robby took a glance from the side. “Those cookies from 14B. I don’t think I’ve ever had anything that tasted that good. Maybe you could ask for the recipe?”

            It had been day 84 when 14B had given him a larger container filled with browned butter, and dark chocolate chip cookies, dusted with freeze-dried raspberry powder. Robby had come over for a drink, as he had a day off, and when he’d found them on a plate, after taking just one bite, had pretty much melted into the cushions.

            “There is no fucking way you made these,” he practically moaned at the taste. Not that Jack could say he was any better when he’d tasted them. “And these are way too good to be store-bought.”

            “What? You don’t think I can bake?”

            “Not like this. Your speciality is Kraft. This is fucking artisanal.”

            That was when Jack had come clean about the situation with the apartment across the hall.

             Ever since that day, his brother-in-arms had been on his ass about getting the actual recipes with step-by-step instructions on how to make these wonderful desserts, because when Jack had given Robby the ingredient list for one of them, it hadn’t come out nearly as well, as when 14B had done it.

            One time, during day 99, Jack had brought in a piece of rum-soaked chocolate sponge cake, filled with blackberry jam in between the layers and coated in a chicory Mascarpone and Philadelphia cream cheese frosting, only to have Robby basically attack him like a vulture about how he still hadn’t made any contact with 14B apart from the notes they exchanged.

            “Don’t you wanna know who it is?”

            “Sure,” Jack shrugged. “But this way works too. Besides, I don’t think our schedules really align.”

            Robby just raised a brow at the dry rebuttal, stealing a bite from the cake, which Jack could only accept with a sigh. “Well, if you don’t I just might, and I just might and go on marry them. This is fucking nuts!”

            Jack couldn’t fault him for the sentiment, because it wasn’t the food he had slowly started to fall for either, it was the person on the other end making it.

            He still didn’t know how old she was (if 14B even was a she, but he was 99% sure he was right about that), or how she looked, but he knew her favorite book. Her favorite song and color. He knew she loved thunderstorms and lightning, that it was how she slept the best. He knew she loved indie rock, but pop-punk was her favorite music genre. He knew that and so many other little things that’d allowed him to form a version of the person behind 14B. Someone with a heart as sweet, as the desserts she made.

            But in the present, Jack just shook his head, giving Robby one last goodbye for the night. He hoped he would take the next day off, maybe a week or so. However, who was he to talk about a work-life balance when his whole life practically was his work. And, well, being a dessert taste-tester, but that was more a side gig.

            The night was surprisingly calm, a word he didn’t dare say out loud, and anytime anyone thought Shen just might, someone physically clapped a hand over the man’s mouth. A patient even shushed him as she was being prepped for an appendectomy, eyes wide as she looked at Jack and Mateo.

            “Isn’t that like totally illegal to say here?”

            “It is if he wants to remain an attending.” Jack gave Shen a look, a good-natured one, but that still said – do not say the ‘q’ word or the ‘c’ word or the ‘p’ word. Not after the day they’d had.

            John just rolled his eyes but did lift his hands in surrender, as he left the room to deal with other patients.

            And so, the night rolled on without too many intense traumas, as if even the supermoon hanging over the world, had decided to give them a break because they needed it. Jack needed it. Methodical, almost tear-jerkingly borking kind of work, where he didn’t need to call a time of death or watch someone code or try and get a life-saving surgery scheduled with all ORs already full.

            By the time it was 3:26 in the morning, Jack was on his third cup of coffee, when a soft voice invaded the ED.

            “Carmy, seriously, I’m fine,” a young woman, mid-to-late twenties by the looks of it, was trying to calm down the clearly anxious man next to her, as they walked to Lupe sitting behind the clerk’s desk. “They’re just gonna stitch me up, and I’ll be back on track.”

            “I mean that seemed way deeper than the usual cuts.” The blond man was chewing on the bottom of his lip.

            “Yeah, well, it’s why we’re here,” she rolled her Y/E/C eyes, thanking Lupe for the forms and venturing to sit down in one of the open chairs. “Per your insistence, might I add?”

            He ran a hand through his curly hair. “Oh, sorry for caring about how you were bleeding all over the counter.”

            “It’s just a cut! Honestly, I would’ve been fine with the first aid kit at home.”

            The man, Carmy as she’d called him, gave her a look. “We’ll see what the doctor has to say.”

            With that, Jack glanced up at the monitor as a new name appeared, one of the only three there at the moment. He nodded to Princess who was sitting behind the HUB. “I’ll take care of this.”

            This he could do. This was not a critical, high-stakes thing. This was hooking someone up to fluids, cleaning and assessing a wound, and giving some nice stitches, telling them to take it easy, and schedule a follow-up with their PM to get the threads out.

            As Perlah instructed the woman to follow her, Carmy going with like a puppy, Jack trailed on behind, eyes scanning the print-out Princess had given him.

            Name: Y/N Y/L/N

            Gender: Female

            Age: 27

            Type of injury: cut on the hand; the bleeding hasn’t stopped after thirty minutes of continuously applied pressure.

            “My name is Jack Abbot,” he introduced himself, entering the room Perlah had settled Y/N in. “And I will be your doctor today. What seems to be the issue?”

            She lifted her towel-covered hand, the material soaked through with blood. “Hi! I’m uh, Y/N and, I just gave myself a bit of a cut.”

            “A bit?” Jack snorted, eyeing the cloth that was still getting visibly soaked through.

            “Look, I was just a bit distracted while cutting some lemons, and the knife slipped. Sliced through the skin by my thumb. Honestly, the juice in the wound hurt more than the cut itself,” she let out a weak chuckle while Jack put on some gloves and sat down on the rolling chair, sliding in between her legs.

            “It’s not just a ‘flesh wound’,” Carmy pinched the bridge of his nose, and Jack threw him an appraising look, mouth pursed while he untied the injured hand.

            “Are you her partner?”

            But before he could reply, Y/N butted in with a warm smile. “If this is some way to try and figure out if he was the one that cut me, then no. He didn’t. But I’m grateful you’re looking out for me like that.”

            “Just doing my job.” Jack shook his head. “Seen such things one too many times, and it’s hospital policy only family or legal guardians are allowed into the room, unless otherwise stated.”

            Y/N snorted. “Carmen’s more than okay to stay, but I mean on the other hand…” she wiggled her brows at her friend, who just stared back as deadpan as Jack was. “Geez, tough crowd.”

            “We’re co-workers,” Carmen offered as he sat down on another chair that was in the corner, crossing his arms over his chest. “And we’re both chefs, so I know it’s more than just a surface cut. I think she might’ve severed a tendon.”

            “Now why would you say that!?” Y/N snapped her head to him. “I say this is just a couple of stitches, and I’m on my way. Right, doc?”

            Carmen sighed. “All I’m saying is, we kept steady pressure on the wound, wrapped it for fifteen minutes straight, and fifteen more minutes later, she is still bleeding. Went through two towels already. Look, Y/N has a really high pain tolerance, but I’m worried about this.”

            “Oh, please!” she scoffed, rolling her eyes. “You men just like to exaggerate everything.”

            “You literally told Syd one of those what was it, ovarian cysts? Yeah, it burst, and you thought it was cramps when you should’ve been at the hospital.”

            “PCOS is a bitch, what can I say,” she shrugged like it was a self-explanatory thing, and Perlah who was helping Jack place a sanitary pad underneath her hand, disposing of the dishtowel in the trash, muttered a small ‘word’ underneath her breath, eliciting a smile from Y/N.

            Jack, the good doctor he was, had been listening the whole time, making mental notes and asking Perlah to jot down some physical ones as well, but where he’d had to take in a breath and clear his throat had been when Carmen had told him their profession.

            Chefs.

            No, he reasoned. It couldn’t be, could it? Probably not. Pittsburg was a huge city and populated by many people with many different professions, and there had to be thousands if not tens of thousands of chefs even in the area they were in.

            Just in case he leaned over her chart and checked the address, but a Chicago zip code stared back at him, sending a pang of disappointment through his chest, because ever since Y/N’s eyes had met his, Jack swore she was his mysterious pastry fairy.

            There was this unexplainable warmth that’d seeped through his veins as if they already knew one another. As if he could ask what was the latest book she was reading, and Y/N would give him the answer from the post it from two days ago. But she wasn’t 14B. However, she was still a woman in need of medical attention.

            “Alright,” Jack finally positioned her hand in a way where he could see the issue better. “I will have Nurse Perlah hook you up to some fluids to counter the blood loss, in a bit too. Are you allergic to any medicine?”

            “Nope,” Y/N shook her head. “At least none I’ve been given before.”

             As gently as possible, Jack took hold of her wrist and helped her expand her fingers as far as they would go without causing much pain.

            It wasn’t a horrible bleed, but still a steady one, no doubt the worst of it having happened right after the cut. Even through the gloves he had on, Jack could feel the calluses marring her palm, signs of a skilled laborer. He trailed over where blisters and nicks had left small scars, and fuck… did her hand feel perfect in his.

            Well, apart from the massive cut sitting right at the base of her thumb. Clearly, the knife had gone through the commissural ligament. As he pressed against the wounded area, testing the nerves and reflexes, Perlah was already prepping gauze and oral painkillers, as both without a word understood there would be no simple stitching for them that night.

            “Okay, Y/N,” he murmured, taking hold of her wrist and twisting it as carefully as he could, and still, something in his heart tugged at the sharp intake of air, and the swearing she did under her breath. He shook his head, trying to rid himself of the thoughts of 14B swearing just the same way a few hours prior. “Do you want the good news or the bad news first?”

            “Uh, good?” She raised a brow, as Perlah handed her a small cup of pills and water, explaining it was for the pain. Y/N took them down in one gulp.

            “We’ll need some x-rays to confirm, but once they’re back, we can get you scheduled for surgery in a few hours.”

            “You said you had good news!” she scoffed.

            “Well, the bad news, at least for you, is that your friend’s right. This is more than a surface cut. It looks like you’ve managed to potentially sever one of the ligaments that's attached to your thumb.”

            She threw both men a scathing look, before settling on Carmen. “Not. A. Word.”

            “I didn’t even say anything!”

            “Then keep doing that.” She looked back at Jack. “But like how serious are you about that surgery? Because honestly, it doesn’t hurt that bad. Can’t you just pop in a couple of threads and send me on my way?”

            A smile he had no control over, bloomed on Jack’s lips at Y/N’s words, while Perlah helped her lay down onto the bed, going to the other side of the woman and asking for her hand to prep an IV line. “I promise you, you want this surgery, and you want this done by a professional. You have a cut, potentially severed, ligament, and it needs proper stitching. The hand is incredibly complex, and this unfortunately isn’t the kinda thing you want me to have a go at.”

            Y/N eyed him up and down. “Aren’t you supposed to be a professional?”

            “Well, unless you never want to use your thumb again, I can always give it a go.” He pulled off his gloves, trashing them.

            “Well, not with that attitude,” she grumbled.

            “It’s quick,” Jack could feel the way he wanted to give a full smile, but if he started grinning like a madman, Perlah would make sure he got put in a padded cell at the sight. “You won’t even be fully under, and I will make sure you have the best on it.”

            She huffed, head lulling to the side and giving Carmen a dirty look. “You know this is all your fault, right?”

            “Wh – what? How?” He looked affronted, face completely red.

            “Well, you made me come here, didn’t you?”

            If Carmen pinched the bridge of his nose any harder, Jack might need to get him in for a rhinoplasty. “And if I hadn’t, you maybe would’ve lost all hope at ever moving your thumb! Did you not listen to a thing the doctor said?”

            She tried to cross her arms, but when she realized she couldn’t – one bandaged by her side the other being examined by Perlah as she tried to find a good vein on the top of her hand, Y/N glared at Carmen and then Jack. “I hope neither of you expect me to say you’re right.”

            “Please,” Carmen sighed running a hand through his hair. “I think Syd would have an aneurysm if she found out. Bet she could feel it all the way from Chicago; such a drastic shift in the cosmos.”

            Good, Jack thought as they talked, let him distract her from it all, as Y/N clearly had understood the severity of the situation while he went to call up ortho and ask for the hand surgeon, as he had a possible severed ligament on the way.

            “Thank you for putting up with me,” Y/N no doubt muttered to Carmen, as Jack tried to focus on the person at the other end of the line, confirming her slot for the OR.

            “Hey, I need my best pastry chef to be right as rain.”

            “Now I think Marcus might have a stroke,” she laughed, and Jack’s head almost snapped around at her words.

Chef was one thing, but a pastry chef? A chef specialising in desserts?

            Too many coincidences had happened that night.

            Way too many to be just coincidences.

            And he’d always been a man who followed his gut, despite it being no-man’s-land.

            Jack was positive he’d never seen her face before; he was sure of it. There would be no way in hell, he’d ever be able to forget it, but her whole being… her smile, the kindness in her eyes, the intensity of her words… it was like coming home and having the nightlight left on for you.

            Maybe the previous day’s mass-casualty event had impacted him a lot more than he thought. Maybe he was trying and hoping to find 14B safe and sound, all because a single dessert hadn’t been left out for him.

            But it was the way all the small details 14B had revealed about herself, that fit Y/N to a T, that made him truly wonder.

            14B who always managed to make him smile.

            14B who always took into account his suggestions, and gave him an improved recipe to try.

            14B who made sure to give him just enough of the sweet treat, that he had leftovers for the next day.

            “Oh,” it was Y/N speaking up that brought Jack out of his thoughts about the pastry ghost down the hall. “And also, can you tell Luca to give me a call when he can? I’d like his opinion on the blueberry and lemon pie. I think I might change up the ratio of the lemon, but I dunno if it’d be good overall unless I also increase the amount of basil in the peppermint drizzle.”

            The penny finally dropped.

            Blueberry-lemon pie with a basil and peppermint drizzle.

            No doubt with a saltine and Grahm cracker-mix crust.

            No. There was no such thing as coincidences, at least Jack didn’t believe in them anymore, not when it was way too specific of a recipe. One that he’d been a test subject to four days prior. One where he’d commented on how, maybe it was just what his taste buds liked, but he thought it’d be a bit more balanced if it was tarter.

            It took everything in him to wait until she’d given Carmen the rundown of the things she wanted from her apartment, Jack almost blurting out how he could get it, because they lived across from one another until he remembered he was her doctor, and he had to stay to make sure she was alright.

            He took one breath, another, and cleared his throat, drawing her attention away from where Carmen had left to go grab her some clean clothes, her wallet and a phone charger.

            Fuck it.

            “Alright, 14B, let’s get you prepped for the stay.”

            Y/N’s eyes were wide as saucers, head snapping up at him so fast, Jack almost thought he’d have to schedule a CT for whiplash. “What did you just call me?”

            “14B?” He raised his brows as if in nonchalance, even though his heart was beating out of his chest. He could actually be so far off with this hunch and just turned himself into a massive weirdo in his patient’s eyes, but he was curious to see if he was right, because hope was a bitch if nothing else.

            “Are…” She squinted at him, eyeing him up and down again as if seeing Jack in a new light. “Are you my taste-tester? Are you my salt-bae?”

            “Salt-bae?” Jack choked out through a laugh. God, he was glad Perlah had gone off to find a saline bag.

            “Yeah.” A warm smile blossomed across her lips. “That’s what you always write in your feedback if you think something is missing. ‘Needs a bit more salt’. It’s your most often-used suggestion.”

            And as Jack thought back to it, to all the little comments he left, he mainly did say he would prefer the dessert, if there was some flaky salt on top, or maybe in the crust or base, or mixed with the caramel. “Hey, you were asking for honest feedback. But in truth, I’ll uh, I’ll eat just about anything, so rest assured, nothing of yours has ever gone to waste. When you’ve lived off of army rations, you learn what cardboard tastes like. And then you try to make it edible, more often than not with salt, so you learn what... saltier cardboard tastes like. And that is at least digestible.”

            She chuckled. “Contrary to normal indigestible cardboard?”

            “Contrary to normal indigestible cardboard, yes,” he confirmed, soaking up the sound of Y/N’s laugh like a sunflower soaked up the rays of the sun.

            “Guess now I understand why you didn’t answer the door that first day.” She tilted her head to the side. “Or why our paths haven’t crossed. You work just as shit hours as I do. Worse, actually.”

            “What time do you get home?”

            “Midnight usually,” she said, as Perlah returned and finally put on a tourniquet around her bicep. Jack frowned at the words, not liking the idea of Y/N walking across town during the dark hours of the night. Too many times, he’d seen people in the ED because they were just trying to get home, and someone decided to interfere with that. Violently. “Then I knock out for a few hours before I have to get back up and be ready to go to the restaurant for morning prep at around six-ish. You?”

            “Nightshift. Twelve hours on a good day, usually 7 to 7,” he explained, very much so avoiding Perlah’s raised brows at how ‘intimate’ the conversation was.

            “Alright,” the nurse said. “It’ll be just a little poke, but try and relax.”

            Y/N hummed a nod but turned her head away. Jack’s eyes trailed to how her wounded hand twitched at her side as if she wanted to grab onto something, to hold herself through it. On almost instinct, he placed a palm on her knee, squeezing it. He could feel the tension melt away, and fuck, if that didn’t make his heart stutter in his chest.

            “Good job,” Perlah gave Y/N a smile, as she taped down the IV line. “I’ll get you a gown before we hook you up, so you can change out of those bloody clothes.”

            “Oh, right.” Y/N took a glance down as if only now remembering she looked like a walking-talking murder scene.

            Perlah gave a warm laugh, patting her bicep. “And a bag too.”

            “Yeah, that’d be nice, thank you.”

            Jack helped pull the curtain closed and put up the standing partition, so Y/N could have as much privacy as possible while changing. Just as he informed her, he was gonna step out for a moment, she asked if he could stay.

            Jack froze on the spot. “Wouldn’t you be more comfortable with Perlah here?”

            “ ‘S fine, I don’t mind,” she looked at him from around the partition. “I trust you not to peek. Also, I just think you’ve probably seen one too many butts in your day-to-day life for mine to be anything special. But uh,” she stammered as if suddenly realizing something and hiding behind the curtain again. “But if you are uncomfortable, you can go. I mean, fuck you probably have other patients to see, and I’m wasting your time with this.”

            “Nope, I’m uh, right where I need to be.”

            He wasn’t uncomfortable, he was, however, worried he might say something beyond stupid. How he’d pretty much fallen in love with a person he didn’t know a thing about, but being able to put a face to the ghost across the hall, had only intensified the crush growing in his chest.

            Jack hadn’t had any romantic feelings in ages. Not since his wife had died. He still wore the ring she’d slipped on his finger, a steady comfort during the darker moments, like he could feel her hand holding his, guiding him towards the light when he couldn't find it himself.

            He wondered what she’d think about this whole situation, about the mystery desserts and him catching feelings for a neighbor he’d never met. Of course, he wouldn’t make any sort of move on Y/N, not while at work. She was his patient, almost half his age, and despite his ‘cowboyish’ nature, he’d never try and hit on her while she was in such a vulnerable position. But he would like to think, his late love would nudge his shoulder in the right direction… tell him it was okay for him to want to be happy again.

            “So,” Jack cleared his throat and busied himself with Y/N’s chart. “What brought you to Pittsburg? You put down a Chicago address by the way.”

            “Shit, yeah. I sometimes still do that… But uh, Carmen, the guy who brought me in, he’s opening up a restaurant not too far from here actually, and he wants me to be the pastry chef for it. It’s why I didn’t have a dessert for you today. We were at the restaurant testing things out, trying to get a feel for how we worked as staff.” Y/N bit down on her lip as she emerged from behind the screen, giving him an apologetic smile. “Wanted to leave a note too, but time just slipped by, and when I did try to make one at home, the food started fighting me.”

            Jack laughed, shaking his head. “I mean, you don’t have to feed me you know. But I… I can’t say I wasn’t worried about you. With everything that happened today… I just… I was scared you might’ve already been here and I hadn’t known. Had missed my opportunity to find you�� but uh, then I heard you break something at the apartment, so we’re all good.”

            He tried to act as if the thought of her, of 14B, his one constant of the past four months, having possibly died, hadn’t gauged a hole in his chest.

She raised a brow, clearing her throat. “Why didn’t you knock? If you uh, if you were worried…”

            “Honestly?” Jack put his hands on his hips, as he looked at the floor, unable to keep his eyes on hers, but it was like Y/N understood him, so she turned her back. He stepped closer, tying the strings into knots, not once peeking below her waistline. “I was scared you might not answer. That there might be nobody there left to answer.”

            “I’m sorry,” Y/N whispered, turning around as Jack helped her settle in the bed and under the covers. “For what you had to go through today.”

            And when she didn’t try to pry, didn’t try to get anything else from him, simply offered her support, all Jack could do was say, “Thank you,” as emotions started to gather in his throat, forming a ball. “Where you uh, where you at the festival?”

            He just had to know Y/N had been hopefully as far away from it all as possible.

            “Uh, no,” she shook her head to his relief. “I was at The Bear with Carmy at that time, when we heard about it. We did have plans on going for the evening concert, but obviously... yeah...”

            “The Bear?” The name sounded vaguely familiar, like something he might’ve skimmed over in some article, but wouldn’t deem interesting enough to read the full thing. And Jack had to focus on that information, rather on how closely she and her friend had avoided a mass shooting.

            “It’s named after the OG one in Chicago. I told him, he should call it The Cub,” Y/N snorted. “You know, like the first one, the mother, if you will, is in Chicago, and the second, the child of The Bear, is here. Carmy and Syd thought Pittsburg people wouldn’t get it, though, and not come."

            “I think the Pittsburg people would come even if it was called The Trashcan, as long as you served your desserts there.”

            Jack couldn’t help the glee he felt, couldn’t stop the pride from rising as Y/N had to avert her gaze from him when her heart rate spiked, the monitor Perlah had hooked her up to, beeping in a quicker rhythm.

            He also made a mental note to find out where in Pittsburg exactly the new restaurant would be opened, so he could go and check it out sometime. And if he gathered enough courage, maybe give compliments to the chef there as well.

            They filled the time in between awaiting the x-ray results and getting sent up to the OR, by small talk. Jack asked about her background, how she got into cooking and how she’d met Carmy and their team back in Chicago. And miraculously, Jack shared too. Even some of the truly deep stuff - how he'd had a wife, how he’d been an army medic, how he liked to listen to the police scanner as he tried to catch some sleep, because the way Y/N looked at him, so disarmingly, did something to Jack. It made him want to share, it made him want to show his heart to her.

            Soon enough, he got a call the x-rays confirmed his suspicions and they were ready for her to be operated on.

            “So, how long until I can hold a knife?” Y/N asked as she was wheeled out of the room to the elevators. It was only at that moment, that Jack realized nobody had come in to ask him for a consult or even a second opinion. He was just about to thank the lucky stars of the night when a glance over at the HUB - Shen, Ellis and Princess all huddled together with sly grins on their faces - made him sigh.

            “Well, given how it isn’t your dominant hand, you can hold a knife with no problems.” He pressed the elevator button. “It’s the other one holding the ingredients, you’ll need to be careful with. And if you want the best outcome, you'll have to go to physical therapy at least two-three times a week, with at-home exercises.”

            “Physical therapy?” Her brows rose to almost her hairline. “And I get assigned homework? This sucks.”

            “I told you,” Jack shrugged but smiled down at her from where he stood at the side of her bed. “The hand is very complex. It’s why surgeons specialize in specific fields. Trust me, you wouldn’t want internal medicine operating on your money-makers.” He did a little jazz hands for emphasis. “And given how you almost perfectly severed the ligament in half, you’ll have to put in some work to get the full range of motion back, but I uh, I can refer you to some pretty good physios if you need some recommendations.”

            Y/N threw her head back against the pillow with a huff, earning a chuckle from Mateo who was wheeling her bed. “Yeah, I guess I’ll need some. Thank you.”

            “You’ll be fine, don’t worry.” Jack looked at her pouting face, and his stomach did a somersault. “Besides, I am very personally invested in the health of your hands. You’ve turned me into a dessert addict when I used to hate sweets.”

            “Well, we can’t have you munching on salted cardboard, can we?” she threw him one last laugh.

            And then the elevator arrived, taking her up and away from Jack. But he didn’t remain on his own for long. There was nowhere he could hide in the ED, not from the gossip vultures that were Shen and the rest of his posse.

            “So,” he dragged the word out. “Is this the mystery dessert ghost?”

            Jack schooled his face into one of his straight masks. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

            “Robby does. And Robby has been talking Dana’s ears off about these specific cookies made by your neighbor for months, at this point. And Dana talks to Princess and Perlah, who talk to me.” Shen shrugged, rolling back and forth from the balls of his feet to his heels, hands in his scrub pant pockets. “I’m just saying,” he shrugged, “From what I’ve heard down the grapevine, they’re divine. And also – The Bear?”

            Jack raised a brow as John said the name with such reverence like it was something monumental.

            “You get food made by one of the best chefs in the world. The least you could do is share.”

            Jack clapped a hand on John’s shoulder, trying to hide a smile that wanted to tug at his lips and this time he succeeded. “For one, she baked them for me. And two, don’t you have patients to check on?”

            With a gentle shove, he sent Shen on his way, needing to return to his own attending duties, but not before hearing, “I see who your favorite is. Just tell Robby I can fight, especially when cookies are on the line.”

            As much as he’d thought about finding some cosmic way of speeding up time, it still ticked by in its usual tempo. At one point, though, Carmen returned, with everything Y/N had asked neatly placed in a bag.

            “I need to get back to the restaurant, so I can't really stay,” he sighed, running a hand through his hair while Jack put the bag on the chair in her assigned room. “How is she doing?”

            “Still up in surgery, but she’s in great hands.”

            “Good,” Carmen nodded. “ ‘Cause I need her great hands too.”

            “We’ll do our best,” Jack affirmed and agreed to give a call if anything was needed. He was Y/N’s emergency contact after all, but Jack guaranteed him, she’d be fine. He himself would make sure of it.

            Soon enough, the sky started to lighten, and people from the day shift trickled in, the first one being Dana, much to Jack's surprise. The shiner was badly concealed by some make-up, but honestly, Jack thought she should leave it as is. Maybe if Gloria had to look into the consequences of her own incompetence in the face, she’d hire the staff they so desperately needed.

            “How did everything go?” Dana asked, settling in behind the HUB.

            “Better than we could’ve hoped for. Everyone’s stable, no codes. It was like… like someone was watching over us, if only for a few hours, and you know I don't much believe in such a thing.” But just as Jack was about to start explaining about the patients they had, who was priority and whatnot, the elevator dinged, and he watched Mateo wheel Y/N back out into the ED, and into her room. “Give me a sec.”

            If Dana said anything, he didn’t hear it, not as he made for Y/N, and a boulder rolled off his lungs allowing him to breathe once more, when she turned to look at him in the doorway, eyelids half-closed and body, no doubt exhausted. Just because she wasn’t fully under, didn’t mean it wasn’t a strain on her.

            “Hey, how’re you feeling?” he lowered his voice to just barely above a whisper.

            “Tired,” Y/N mumbled, drowsy from the medication if he could gather anything from the slight slurring of her words. “But honestly, I don’t give a shit if I need even a microscopic surgery in the future. I am now and forever more, requesting to be put to sleep. Period.”

            The right side of his lips quirked up. “That bad?”

            “It was more so the sounds, and god when they first strapped me down, I thought I was gonna have a panic attack.” Y/N winced as she adjusted on the bed, Jack by her side like a lightning strike, a steady hand on her hip to help out. “I just… yeah… it’s one thing to watch a horror movie and it’s something else to hear it and feel it happen to yourself.” She let out a heavy exhausted sigh, as she sank against the thin pillow.

            “Carmen stopped by earlier. Brought you the stuff you asked,” Jack informed her and got a soft hum in response. “He had to go back to the restaurant though. Anyone you can call to take you home?”

            She shook her head, eyes closed. “I’ll just Uber.”

            Jack frowned at that. He didn’t like the thought of Y/N needing to figure out how to get back to their apartment complex on her own, especially when in such a state, so the offer slipped past his mouth before he had time to think. “I can take you home.”

            “Isn’t your shift just about over?” her brows furrowed, and his fingers itched to smooth the grooves out with just his touch. He also wondered if a kiss would help him achieve the goal, but that was better left to his imagination.

            “I can wait.”

            Y/N hummed again, snuggling deeper into the duvet, that he gently tucked under her neck. “No need to waste your time on me like that. Go home. Get some rest.”

            But Jack’s words fell on deaf ears, as he watched her breathing even out, and soft snores permeate the air, and yet, he still murmured, “wouldn’t be a waste at all.”

            Again, his hand twitched at his side, wanting to brush his thumb along her cheekbone.

            Nope.

            Jack was not gonna do that. She was still his patient, and he was still at work. Besides, just because he’d gotten to know her cooking talents for the past four months, didn’t mean he truly knew Y/N. Not yet at least, he hoped.

            He didn’t manage to even go to the other side of her bed to check the drip of the IV, when Robby poked his head inside, an almost insidious smile on his face. Well, Jack thought it was insidious, especially with the way his brown eyes darted over to Y/N’s sleeping form.

            “What in the world are you doing here, brother?” Jack let out a grunt. “Thought I’d told you to take some time off.”

            Robby crossed his arms, leaning against the doorway. “I will when you do the same.”

            “Fat chance of that happening,” Jack snorted, shaking his head.

            “Exactly, so the pot better stop calling the kettle black, and rather start explaining who this lovely person in here is.”

            “My patient.” Jack turned his head to scan Y/N’s vitals if only to make it seem like that was the true reason. He should’ve known it wouldn’t work, not on Robby, seeing as he was probably one of the few people who could glimpse past the mask he wore.

            A knowing smile pulled on the day-shift attending’s face. “I mean, I have heard some rumors that this might be the famous 14B. Did the mystery-baker’s identity finally get revealed?”

            Fucking Shen and fucking Dana and fucking Princess and fucking Perlah and fucking gossip, travelling all over their ED at the speed of light. God, it couldn’t have been more than five minutes since Y/N had been wheeled down from the OR, and they were already on his ass.

            Jack just lifted his shoulders, acting like this revelation didn’t mean anything. “She’s a chef, just like I thought.”

            “A pretty chef, no less.”

            “Yeah, and she’s like half my age,” Jack scoffed, crossing his arms over his chest.

            Robby stepped inside the room, hands in his pockets as he took a glance at Y/N. “First of all, that's an exaggeration, and second of all, she’s an adult woman capable of making her own decisions.”

            “She’s my patient,” Jack emphasized the last word, turning on his heel and exiting the room, but not without a final glance over his shoulder. Just to make sure everything was good. That she was good.

            “Oh, give me a fucking break. It’s day-shift hours now, so technically, she’s, my patient. So come on, spill…” Robby wiggled his brows a bit, but Jack wouldn’t break as easily, not even with his best friend.

            “There is nothing to say. Yeah, she's 14B. Yeah, she's a chef. And she got a really bad cut, almost severing the commissural ligament completely. Sue me for caring about a neighbor.”

            “Right,” Robby nodded as they walked to the lockers together. “And it has nothing to do with the fact you’ve been keeping 14B like some sort of a secret lover, and now that you finally know it’s a gorgeous young woman, you might be crushing just a bit harder.”

            Jack ran a hand down his face. “Look, I – I had my hopes, okay? But she’s a kid! Besides, I’ve only known her for a couple of hours, all of them as my patient.”

            Robby gave him a deadpan look. “She’s been giving you dessert to eat almost every day without a fault for the past four months.”

            “She’s a chef trying out recipes. She needed a taste-tester.” Jack shrugged. “That’s like a huge part of her job, man. Getting people’s opinions on food and stuff.”

            “Just explain this to me – why on Earth would she go out of her way to feed a neighbor she’s never met, to get an opinion of someone she’s never met, when she literally has chefs around her? You know, her fellow professionals that have taste buds made by the fucking food gods or something?” Robby raised his brows. “But no. She asks you – salted cardboard man.”

            God, Perlah could run her mouth faster than Usain Bolt could run 100 meters.

            “Research?”

            Robby looked at him and sighed, shaking his head. “Look, just because you didn’t know who she was, doesn’t mean she didn’t know who you were.”

            “We’ve never seen one another before,” but even as Jack said those words aloud, he thought back to how intuitive 14B had always been about when to give him the newest dessert.

            He took a glance towards Y/N’s room. How had the lava cake still been hot? It would’ve been amazing cold too, and yet… Maybe, just maybe, he hadn’t been the only one paying attention to the apartment across the hall from theirs…

            But all Jack said was, “You’re a hopeless fucking romantic, brother,” while moving back out towards the HUB to hand Dana off his final charts.

            And yet, the thought of leaving Y/N on her own, or her having to Uber home, just didn’t sit right with him.

            “I’m uh,” he cleared his throat, watching Robby’s brows raise. “I’m just gonna wait until she wakes. Take her home.”

            “And you’re not gonna help out, man?” the words were teasing, but given Jack’s workaholic tendencies, probably shocking as he shook his head this time.

            “The daytime is your kingdom, brother. But, do call if you need me.”

            With that, Jack slung his backpack over his shoulder, venturing back over to Y/N’s room and he just sat there. Sometimes he just looked at her, tracing her profile with his eyes, memorizing the features, putting them onto the vague shape of 14B he'd developed in his mind's eye. Sometimes he scrolled through his phone, pulling up some articles about The Bear and their team.

            Jack almost choked reading about Carmen, how the timid man was a Michelin-starred chef, a James Beard award recipient and so much more. Not to say the whole team behind the original restaurant wasn’t just as talented.

            And then there was a section on Y/N herself. A culinary prodigy, having staged in Paris, Amsterdam, Vienna, New York, Zurich and so many other cities Jack didn’t even know existed. There was even a huge New York Times article about her and the food scene in the bustling city, and how at just 23 years of age she was dealing with helping run one of the most famous patisseries in the state.

            “Holy fucking shit,” Jack murmured in awe, and when he looked up, he was met with Y/N’s open eyes, a pout on her face.

            “I thought I told you to go home and catch some Zs.”

            Jack locked his phone, standing up and leaning over her. “How are you feeling?”

            “Sore. Hand hurts like a bitch. But I just wanna get back to my own place, and rest there. Not to sound ungrateful, but I really don’t wanna stay at your workplace longer than I have to.”

            His lips quirked up at that, and when she responded with a smile of her own, Jack’s heart stuttered in his chest. “Then let’s get you checked out, and out of here.”

            Dipping out of the room, he asked for Robby, as he was the one person he truly trusted to handle this, no interns or students allowed, to start the discharge process.

            “Hey,” Y/N’s face lit up at the sight of Jack’s friend, which made him frown. “I know you.”

            “Good to see you again. I’m Dr Michael Robinavitch, but you can just call me Robby.”

            Jack cleared his throat. “How exactly do you two know one another?”

            “We met down at the lobby one time. My mailbox was being a little shit and wouldn’t open, and he helped out,” Y/N said while Robby took her hand and unwrapped the bindings, checking over the incision place and how the stitches were looking. Spraying on some antibacterial solvent, he had Princess help him rebind the wound and prescribed some oral antibiotics for the next week as a precautionary measure.

            Robby chuckled, signing the end of Y/N’s chart and giving it to Princess so she could finalize the discharge with Dana. “Had I known the woman by the mailbox was also the author of the best cookies I’ve ever eaten, I might’ve just had you struggle with it a bit more. Could've picked your brain a bit for the recipe.”

            She tilted her head to the side. “Which ones?”

            Robby raised a brow. “What do you mean which ones?”

            “I mean, I’ve made a lot of cookies for Jack to test out, I-,” she scoffed in the middle of her sentence, throwing the man in question a look. “Jack, you don’t share?”

            “No,” he said with a straight face. “And the only reason Robby got a piece was because he’s a damned thief. Now, can you please discharge her, so I can take her home?”

            Y/N tilted her head down a bit, a small shy smile blooming on her face. “You didn’t have to wait for me, you know.”

            Jack wanted to say he knew that, that he was just being a friendly neighbor and it was the least of how he could repay her for all the desserts, but he just shrugged, a sudden bashfulness taking over his own body. “Honestly, it was more for my peace of mind.”

            “Well, thank you anyway… You didn’t have to stay, especially after a twelve-hour shift, and everything before that... but I appreciate it.”

            And he just nodded, nudging his chin in the direction of her bag, as Perlah came in to assist, Robby moving away with a small 'Hope you feel better soon,' while Jack nodded in thanks, turning his attention back on Y/N. “There are some clean clothes for you there, and when you’re done, we can get going. Let me know if you need any help.”

            With that, he left Y/N behind the partition, and closed the curtain and then the door. He was met with Dana’s smirking and Robby’s obnoxiously smug faces as they converged by the nurse's station. “Not a word.”

            “Oh, Jack,” the charge nurse shook her head, laughing at him. “You have no idea about the storm that’s coming your way.”

            Maybe he could move, Jack thought. He’d gather up his stuff and go somewhere deep into the Appalachian Mountains, where nobody would ever find him. The problem with that plan though, was when he started to wonder if Y/N would be willing to at least make a trip out there, if not move with him completely.

            “Ready to go?” She opened the door he’d been guarding like a knight, her bag over her shoulder, while handing him his own.

            Immediately, Jack took the strap of hers too, sliding it down her shoulder, despite her protests, and ignored her insistence on carrying her own stuff. “Got everything?”

            “Uh, yeah, I think so. But I mean, if I have forgotten anything, I know who to ask.”

            Jack’s lips pulled up in a smirk as they walked side by side, one of his hands hovering over the small of Y/N’s back as he guided her out of the ED and to the parking lot. “And you think he’d just jump at your every whim and request?”

            “I dunno. I’d like to think I might’ve sweetened him up a bit with all the desserts. After all, he did stay and wait for me.”

             “Maybe just a bit,” he let out a low laugh, heat crawling up his neck. “Can’t tell that to anyone though. Might ruin my street cred.”

            And with just a single smile, Y/N sent him spiralling.

            He helped her up into the passenger seat, putting their bags in the back and, reversed out of the parking lot in record time. They rode in silence, as she unrolled the window a bit, allowing the morning breeze to wash over her face.

            The ride home was too short for his liking, as any minute spent in her company, was a minute Jack cherished, but soon enough he was helping her out of the car, and holding their complex doors open. Step by step they moved up to the fifth floor.

            Jack waited as Y/N rummaged through the bag until she found her keys and unlocked her door.

            “Thank you, again.” She turned to face him. “For taking care of me.”

             “Just… doing my job.”

            “I mean yeah, but…. Giving me a ride home? Staying after hours?”

            “We live in the same house. On the same floor. It was no big deal.”

            Y/N cocked a hip. “You’d already worked your night shift.”

            And Jack had nothing to rebut. He just awkwardly cleared his throat and hoped she didn’t see the blushing staining his cheeks.

            “Do you uh,” she started, “Do you maybe wanna come inside for a bite and some coffee? I’m not much of a barista, so you’d have to take my shitty pour-over as is, but I still have some leftover millionaire-shortbread brownies I made two days ago.”

            Jack gave a small smile. He’d smiled more throughout that one night than in the past few years combined. “Flaky salt on top?”

            “Haven’t made it any other way since.”

            And when he followed her, closing the door behind them with a soft click, his eyes ventured over to a coffee table beside the couch.

            She’d left a night light on.

Tags: are open :) A/N: I need that old man so hard, I'm gnawing at the bars of my enclosure

[cosmic-dust-poltergeist]

Clone Danny Fenton amuses me so here's another dumb crossover idea: Danny is one of the "failed" clones of Kon that Tim tried to make, but clockwork snatched his lifeless baby corpse before Tim could dispose of it (Tim just assumed he did when it disappeared, writing it off as he did it while too sleep deprived to remember clearly or something) and CW uses the pit to revive it before dropping him off with the Fentons in a completely different dimension.

Danny knows he's adopted and realizes he's not normal fairly early on, but doesn't manifest the more noticeable of his powers til after his accident, so he blames it all on his halfa status and not the alien heritage he has no way of knowing about. Once shit hits the fan and his dimension is no longer safe for him to live in, CW sits him down and explains both his alien (in more ways than one) and clone statuses. CW then offers Danny the chance to meet his maker and template, which Danny agrees to because why not? He's got nothing to lose. Danny's injured 16 y/o ass is then dropped a short distance from a timberkon (who are now in their early 30s because that'd how time works) date/hangout and Danny just plops himself at their table and steals some of Tim and Kon's food before literally any words are exchanged.

Kon, freaking out because this kid looks like him???: Uhhhh??? Kid??

Tim, bewildered: Who?? What?? Kid, wtf??? Do we know you??

Danny, swallowing his mouthful of stolen food: Yes and no.

Danny, points lazily at Tim: Creator.

Danny, equally lazy point to Kon: Template.

Danny, blinking slowly at Bernard: I don't think you had anything to do with HOW I'm here, but as you clearly are part of this now, surprise, it's a scientific freak of nature.

Danny, ignoring the devastated looks on his "parents'" faces and steals more food while continuing: He/him pronouns and I go by Danny. AND ONLY Danny, not Daniel, not Danno, and certainly not Dan.

Tim, slowly takes a deep breath and slides most of his meal towards the clearly starving child: Danny... You're NOT a freak, kiddo

Danny, seems to beam without changing his expression when he's got the food in his hands before processing how his comment must have sounded without context: Oh-ho! But I am! Finding out I was a half human alien clone was just the icing on the cake, really! I had an accident that I'm pretty sure destroyed all my flimsy human dna. I'm now half something else, that hilariously has a lot of crossover powers so I just assumed my accident gave me all of them before the dude that cradle robbed my dead baby corpse from the evil mastermind lab my creator.. has? Had? Meh. Who cares. But baby me was very dead and then he did something and I wasn't. This is where I inform you I grew up in a different dimension and know jack shit about this one.

Bernard: Okay, I have so many questions

Kon: Me too! What's your other half? What's your dimension like? Why did you seek us out now? What's your favourite colour? Any food restrictions? Do you have a place to stay? Why is your heart rate so slow? What's that buzzing sound coming from your chest? What-

Tim: KON! Let the kid actually tell you answers!

Bernard, sliding some of his food over to Danny while eyeing the subtily stiff way Danny is moving: Plus, the more pressing question is, how hurt are you, Danny?

Kon: You're HURT???

Danny, frowns at Bernard ratting him out before turning his attention back to the food in front of him: I got vivisected, it's fine, it's healing

The adults all suck in a sharp breath before sharing a look. They agree this is their kid now and people can take him from them over their cold dead bodies.

Danny feels 3 shiny new parental bonds snap into place, startling the shit out of him. He didn't think they'd want him tbh, AND he didn't think they'd have enough ectoplasum to even do a claiming like that. He nearly starts crying, BECAUSE THESE PEOPLE WANT HIM.

Tim, concerned: Danny? What's wrong?

Danny, blinking wetly: You're liminals?

Bernard: "Liminals"?

Danny: Human with ectoplasum in their system. I just.. you want me?

Kon, sacrificing what's left of his food to Danny: I don't know what that means. AND of course we want you. You're family now.

Tim, nodding: There's no escape.

The adults all giggles, thinking of different situations with supers or bats or both. It only lasts a second because Danny bursts into tears, just completely overwhelmed by the situation. The adults instinctively get closer, but don't touch, unsure if it would help or worsen Danny's state.

Tim: Danny?

Kon: Would you like a hug-oof!

Danny dives into Kon's side and desperately clings to him with enough force to break a human's ribs. Tim and Bernard crowd closer and rub his back in soothing motions.

Bernard: What's wrong, kiddo?

Danny: Dani should have been here too!

Tim: Danny? I thought your name was Dani?

Danny: She was Dani with one n and an I. I'm Danny with two n's and a y. She- She was my clone, but...

Bernard: You don't have to tell us

Danny: ...She wasn't super stable. I'd help her restabilize every time she started to destabilize, but... but I got caught! She came for help and got caught too! I watched her melt in that shitty lab! There was so much- I wanted- SHE'S GONE!

The adults are devastated. Kon squeezes Danny tightly.

Kon, softly: tell us about her?

And so Danny does. Explaining how she came to be, their first interactions, her strong and independent personality, the little souvenirs she brought him while she traveled to figure herself out, how her condition always worried him, but she wouldn't-couldn't stay with him, and how he wanted to talk about finding her a new name because she deserved to have her own name, not something that reminds her she's a defective clone, but he never got the chance. He has a messy breakdown while explaining her final moments and how his bindings, power suppression cuffs chained to the floor and a muzzle, prevented him from giving her comfort and how SHE apologized to HIM. He thought he was going to die with her in that moment, his core cracking at her loss.

This leads to a short explanation of his ghost biology and how dangerous a cracked core is. And by then, he's flagging, so the adults start persuading the kid to crash in their guest room, with the promise of dinner.

Thus begins the process of timberkon convincing Danny to stay with them. Teaching the kid about his original dimension and the many heroes. They get him so MANY books about space and alien civilizations once they find out his obsession (literally) with that kind of thing. Danny still misses his sisters and friends like an amputated arm, but he slowly rebuilds, letting himself gain a new family and new friends.

His introduction to both the Bats and Supers could have gone better.

He's suspicious and wary of Clark the whole time he was meeting the Kents because of how Clark has treated his own clones in the past. Danny doesn't understand him, and Clark doesn't truly understand, but is more sad than anything about it and accepts he made his bed, now he must lay in it. He warms up to the rest fairly quickly. He's also introduced to Bizarro and Clara eventually and that goes well.

With the Bats, Danny, Bruce, and Dick verbally pace around each other. Bruce deep throating his foot, and Dick not being much better while trying to keep the peace. The rest watch on with amusement before the show is a cut short by Damian of all people intervening. The problem is Damian snuck up behind (unintentionally), grabbed his shoulder while calling Danny "Daniel" (something he was informed to NOT do), and Danny's brain went "VLAD FOUND ME??" (despite there being no way, CW will not let him find Danny) and reacts with violence. Damian barely escaped having any broken bones, that being said, where Danny grabbed to literally throw Damian has DEEP bruising, that arm was dislocated, he has more bruising from hitting the floor, and gained a concussion. Danny apologizing profusely while scolding this 28 y/o man about sneaking up on him AND using a name he specifically told everyone NOT to use. Damian is man enough to apologize while Alfred patches him up. Meeting Duke and Cass is nice, he's unsure about Steph (because how rambunctious she is) and Alfred, Barbara makes him homesick for Jazz, and Jason is funny til he gets a heart attack in the form of Danny offering to eat the corrupt ectoplasum (Lazarus waters) out of him. There's chaos after that, but it eventually calms down, especially since timberkon are protective of their baby and Tim looks like he's about to go super villain on them the moment "tests" are brought up. Danny is embarrassed and pleased as his Creator (he never stops jokingly calling Tim that, Kon gets Template, and Bernard is Human, when they aren't just called their name. Eventually he calls them all dad, though Bernard is sometimes called mom) threatens to ruin their everything if they continue. Threats they take seriously because they know Tim will follow through. After that it goes well.

[butterfly-ribbon]

still in disbelief about how mizu5 genuinely captures the subtleties of transmisogyny so accurately like nothing else i've seen before especially with the nuances with which mizuki's story is told … all it takes is a single sentence, a few words … i love that the classmates saying that shit don't even … realize how cruel they are, bc that's how it /is/ and bc "oh no, we said something weird to a Normal Girl, that makes us look bad" - transmisogyny is just a punchline to a joke for them, that's how detached they are from their own cruelty and it's really not any different from the 'average' misogyny and how that tends to be a joke amongst boys. what ena ended up being exposed to is really just the classmates' 'boy's locker room talk' leaking out, so to speak? ena's probably heard jokes from people about how unfeminine her behavior is in the past and she quickly spits out "that's not funny" bc ena and mizuki are both "pretty girls" who like fashion and dolling themselves up, and hearing them talk about how mizuki's cute in this way … i'm sure it reminds her of her own experiences with being an 'influencer' - people like her when she shuts up and makes herself cute and appealing and ena must've absolutely received her fair share of comments and messages from weirdos for posting selfies of herself online, but i think what drives this home to me as such a fantastic narrative is the way that they call mizuki "attractive as long as she's not making any trouble and being a pain" bc it really speaks to how trans girls are objectified and only deemed 'acceptable' as long as they make themselves into limpless dolls who are acceptable targets for any form of abuse and misogyny instead of trying to claim their own subjectivity as women, so there's so much crossover in how mizuki's experiences work alongside ena's? but also mizuki faces so much more constant and direct criticism, all her actions and choices so closely under scrutiny.

mizuki loves and appreciates the attention of girls and when she first met ena she saw herself in the art that ena made - ena draws a girl in pain and mizuki goes "she's me". in the scene where mizuki gets outed, ena is speechless not bc she thinks mizuki is "gross" or bc she's mad mizuki "tricked" her? she's just horrified that she just got degendered /by association/ and then had to listen to these boys speak about the girl she's in love with in this /aggressively/ violent way, especially since mizuki has a meltdown, knowing, apologizing for hurting, even as ena would absolutely say "no, i'm sorry, im sorry, please don't hate vourself" bc mizuki feels like she's the one at fault for feeling like ena would assume the worst of her, but mizuki also feels like she doesn't have the right to be angry at people … this is the first time we get to see mizuki's rage and it's so palpable … i love so much that she hates the idea of niigo's kindness being born out of her 'abnormality' as a trans girl … she hates everything about this. she hates the idea of coming out, she hates the idea of having a question attached to her girlhood..

mizuki logically knows that niigo are going to accept her bc they've also gone through so much turmoil themselves and understand what it's like to be on the fringes of society, but she still can't shake off all those intrusive thoughts about how they might only accept her out of pity or consideration bc they feel too bad for her rather than a genuine understanding and the idea that things might change between them bc of that is too terrifying to embrace… such patronizing 'kindness' burns too much for mizuki to accept, so she'd rather run away and shut herself out completely… for mizuki it's like being stuck on a bridge where the only two ways out are ones where nothing changes and this hurts in its own way bc she can't tell how much of it would be genuine and how much would be an act and the other way is them /trying too hard/ to be considerate and this can easily become alienating bc mizuki truly just wants to be "one of the girls" in the most natural sense? she doesn't want to be made to feel like she's being accommodated, but there's also all the guilt that she's been internalizing for being "deceptive" and not saying the truth sooner that further complicates things and makes her feel like she's undeserving of any kindness that she may be offered… even though she genuinely was going to tell ena the truth herself, it doesn't matter anymore bc someone else told her before she even got the chance to do so herself and that's something she actually wished would happen in the past, so is there anyone to blame but herself? mizuki's entire thing is that until now she's been "writing" a fictionalized cis girl version of herself when she's with niigo and obscuring her own transness bc she doesn't want to be treated as an Other or have an asterisk attached to her girlhood bc she just wants to be treated as one of them instead of having to explain herself or prove anything but she has her facade violently stripped away from her in the most traumatic way imaginable and now she's entrapped within dysphoria induced suicidal ideation...

[kcrossvine-art]

Hi fellow adventurers!! A few weeks ago i caught wind of "Delicious in Dungeon". I'm not really an anime person, but I am a TTRPG, CRPG, and cooking person- . And holy shit. It is so good i  convinced my partner to binge read the whole thing. I'm caught up on dungeon meshi, the anime, and just yesterday i also finished dungeon meshi, the manga.

Its rare to come across a serialized story that is so thematically cohesive and knows its characters so well. All of the bonus content like the artbooks and monster tidbits are just the icing on top.

So, inspired by Ryōko Kui's writing and illustration I'm going to attempt to create a recipe for every single Delicious in Dungeon recipe!-

Today that means Huge Scorpion and Walking Mushroom hotpot is on the menu!

(As always you can find the cooking instructions and full ingredient list under the break-)

MY NAMES CROSS NOW LETS COOK LIKE ANIMALS

SO, “what goes in to a Huge Scorpion and Walking Mushroom hotpot?” YOU MIGHT ASKThis is one of the pricier dishes until we get to the kelpies and dragons of the menu-

Rock lobster tail

Porcini mushrooms

Shiitake mushrooms

Snow fungus

Small potatos

Fensi (glass noodles)

Water

OPTIONAL: your choice of dipping sauces

There was a crossover/promotional event in Shibuya which featured various realworld dishes from the series. They had one for Huge Scorpion and Walking Mushroom, but they used prawns.  while those cook better in a hotpot, they also didn't look enough like the scorpion for me, they also used udon noodles for the slime and a seaweed/kale(?) mixture for the algae. If you're looking for substitutes due to price or availability i would start with those ingredients.

AND, “what does a Huge Scorpion and Walking Mushroom hotpot taste like?” YOU MIGHT ASKI hope Senshi would forgive me for technically cooking the lobster outside the pot, once he tastes it.

Okay im always partial to veggies but wowowowowowowoowowowow the snow fungus and the mushrooms tasted soooooooooooo good in the lobster stock

A nice delicate layering of different flavors

Try to get a bite with the lobster meat and shiitake together, dip in butter then chili- trust me

Its up to you what texture you prefer if you want to put the noodles in at the end or put them in halfway through the meal. Either way dont go for eating those first as theyre very filling

I think this would pair well with a citrus drink, something light and clarifying

This would also pair well with being extremely high and hungry (if you feel safe cooking while inebriated lol) very calorically dense

For the trial run I did one lobster tail in the pot with everything else, and one lobster tail off to the side to be picked apart. The former is more in spirit with a hotpot, but it got rubbery as the meal went on and lost its nice taste. The latter may be a bit more work but all you have to do still is boil it and set it aside. I found it held up much better. It was also easier to get inside the shell.

. If you have hardshell maine lobster available, i think it would be superior to rock lobster (keep in mind crustaceans will get rubbery if cooked too long in the pot) . Green onions and/or lotus root would make excellent additions

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From getting the ingredients out to sitting down and eating, id say it took maybe 30 minutes max? It'd vary on how fast you can prep vegetables and get the various implements heated.

Hotpots are not something i do very often as i'm usually just feeding myself. I think thats why a hotpot makes perfect sense to start the series off. If you want to set the tone of "take care of yourself, eat food with others, and use what you have" (generally speaking) there is nothing more simplistic, flexible, and defeats-the-purpose-if-you-eat-it-alone than a hotpot. Gather around and let your friends bring ingredients to the pot if you want to fill your heart up extra full <3

I'm doing something different here because unlike previous recipes where i used a bunch of different sources and made my own recipe out of hodge-podging it, or just used another persons recipe entirely if they did it really well, i made this more whole-cloth based off of what i had available, what I could discover through research, and my existing knowledge. Instead of the recipe being 50/50 original, this one is more 20/80. So. I'll pass the final verdict off to you guys :D 

What would you rate this recipe out of 10? (with 1 being food that makes one physically sick and 10 being food that gives one a lust for life again.) Did you love it, did you hate it? What're your thoughts on what I could do different, and what would you have done instead?

🐁 ORIGINAL RESIPPY TEXT BELOW 🐁

Ingredients:

2 Rock lobster tails

3 Porcini mushrooms

2 Shiitake mushrooms

Snow fungus (a good handful, should rehydrate in the hotpot)

2 Small waxy potatos

Fensi (glass noodles)

Water/lobster stock

Method:

Lightly rinse all of your vegetables beforehand and let them dry.

Vertically slice the porcini mushrooms. Cut off and dice the stems of the shiitake mushrooms. You can slice the tops if youd like.

Peel and cube the potatoes, roughly an inch each.

For the lobster tails; Boil a pot of salted water. Keep the shell on. Weigh the largest tail and add 1 minute of cooking time for every ounce of weight.

When done, strain the lobster from the water. Pour the water into your hotpot as the base. Serve the lobster on the side so people can pick the meat out to dip into the hotpot.

Bring the hotpot to a simmer. Add the potato cubes, snow fungus, mushrooms, and noodles.

OPTIONAL: this wasnt in the show, but its fun having sauces on the side :) i had oyster sauce, dry seasoned chili dip, melted butter, and soy sauce available

[transrevolutions]

okay hear me out. what if 'trevor herbert' is jonah magnus. what then.

all the tmagp-versions of tma characters we've seen can honestly, in my opinion, be feasible variations of their tma selves. yes, even gerry. he seems very different, but iirc in a qna it was stated that gerry's the sort of person who genuinely does believe in goodness and the like, it just got stamped out of him by growing up with mary and the fears. so in a universe where that wasn't the case, I can totally see him being cheerful and friendly.

trevor, on the other hand, feels fundamentally wrong. especially given his profession. all the tmagp-tma crossover characters (that we've met! I'm not counting the maybe-jon and maybe-martin because we don't even know if they're the same people!) have jobs that align with their tma selves. basira goes from being a cop to being a school administrator- both positions of authority/control. helen is still a swanky tory real estate agent. gerry is an artist, and it's mentioned he painted in tma as well. georgie does a podcast. gertrude has a mysterious past, and it's implied she was connected to the institute at some point.

but trevor goes from being a homeless monster hunter to.... a member of parliment who drives a bentley? there's no connection there. and he doesn't act like tma trevor in any way either! there's no dedication to hunting about him, even in the metaphorical sense. if anything, he "prefers a hands-off approach" as of episode 30. trevor herbert in tma was the polar opposite of that, one of the most 'hands on' characters in the series. but who else has a penchant for watching without interfering until something actually threatens his vision?

would it be too much of a stretch to posit that jonah, weakened from his institute's destruction, ends up posessing the first body he can get his hands on, steering this new alter ego towards a government position of authority, then to monitoring the OIAR, so similar yet so different from the institute he failed to preserve? what if, when he says gwendolyn bouchard has "quality", he's not just talking about her heritage? what if he's starting to look for his next mark?

anyways, I found an interesting little detail while rereading some transcripts. in the magnus protocol, the first mention of both (presumably) jonah magnus and trevor herbert, MP is in episode 27: driven. before that, they were not named, and trevor was referred to just as "the minister".

now that's a fun little coincidence as it is, but if we return to tma, we notice that trevor's first statement is in episode 10: vampire killer. and elias/jonah's first actual appearance (outside of jon referencing that he's his boss) is in episode 17: the boneturner's tale. 10 + 17 = 27.

WHICH COULD MEAN NOTHING!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[starset21]

From Paddock to "Prom"

Pairing: Oscar Piastri x NASCAR Driver!Reader

Genre: Slow Burn, Off-Season AU, Romance

Summery: Oscar Piastri never planned to attend the glitzy motorsport charity gala, and he definitely didn’t expect to enjoy it—until he finds himself seated next to a NASCAR driver wearing cowboy boots under her dress. With nothing in common on paper but everything in vibe, they share an awkward two-step, a sweet escape into the rain, and quiet conversations beneath an oak tree. What starts as a miserable evening slowly transforms into a night of surprising connection. Somewhere between missteps and shared smiles, the off-season suddenly feels less lonely—and full of new possibilities.

Standard disclaimer: I do not consent to the posting, translating, or publishing of my work to any 3rd party site, the only place it may found is on tumblr or A03 under the same name. This is all fake. It does not reflect real people, real events or their actual actions or relationships. May contain google translated languages.

A/N: I'm just gonna drop this and run-

Oscar Piastri tugged at his collar for the sixth time in as many minutes. The tuxedo fit but that didn’t mean it was comfortable. The ballroom glittered with lights and polished smiles, the kind of place that made his skin crawl with formality. He hadn’t wanted to come. He was definitely not the gala type. But the off-season was long, and someone from PR had given him a speech about “visibility” and “brand” and something-something-charity, and now here he was. Alone at a round table, nursing a glass of water and contemplating the nearest exit.

And then she walked in.

Not with the elegance of a movie star or the icy confidence of a sponsor darling—but with a casual swagger that reminded him of pit lane. Her dress was sleek, shimmering under the chandeliers—but beneath the hem, he caught a flash of—were those cowboy boots?

She sat down beside him with a grin, sliding into the seat like she owned the room. “You look like you’re about to bolt.”

Oscar blinked. “Is it that obvious?”

“Only to someone who’s also been looking for the fire escape since she got here.”

He laughed before he meant to. Her accent was warm, and the tone confident in a way that didn’t feel performative.

“Y/N. NASCAR. Short tracks, left turns, the occasional fistfight.”

He shook her hand. “Oscar. F1. Chicanes, tire strategy, and uncomfortable tuxedos.”

They clicked faster than either expected.

Over dinner, they traded paddock horror stories, swapped notes on their most dramatic crashes, and debated the merits of different fuel strategies. She teased him for his perfectly combed hair; he asked if she always wore boots under ball gowns.

The music started—a slow, twangy country crossover ballad that made him wince.

“I have no idea how to dance to this,” he muttered.

“Oh, you poor thing.” She stood and offered her hand. “Come on. I’ll teach you to two-step.”

He protested mildly, but she dragged him to the dance floor anyway.

It was a disaster.

His timing was off, his footwork clumsy, and at one point he nearly stepped on her toes. But she laughed every time he stumbled—not cruelly, just charmed.

“Okay,” she said, “you move like you’re still on a race line, but I’m giving you points for effort.”

Oscar became acutely aware of the warmth radiating from her, the steady beat of her heart against his chest. The softness of her breath mingled with his, the faint scent of her perfume—something floral, with hints of apple—lingering in the air between them. For a moment, neither spoke. The only sound was the distant twang of the music fading into a gentler melody, like a lullaby coaxing them away from everything else.

His mind, usually racing with strategy and splits and lap times, quieted. The noise of the gala—the forced smiles, the glittering expectations—fell away, replaced by this unexpected calm. He caught the way her eyes softened when they met his, the slight curve of her lips as if she was on the verge of saying something important but wasn’t sure if the moment was right.

Then the first drops of rain tapped against the ballroom windows, soft but steady.

Y/N’s gaze flicked upward, catching the change.

“That’s our cue,” she said with a playful grin, pulling gently at his sleeve.

Before Oscar could protest, she was already moving toward the side exit. The cool marble of the floor gave way to the fresh scent of wet grass as they stepped outside.

The rain had come fully now, a gentle shower that cooled the air and blurred the city lights into shimmering streaks.

Y/N laughed, a sound that was equal parts thrill and relief, as she spun once beneath the dark sky, arms wide open, rain soaking through her dress.

Oscar watched her, a smile tugging at his lips despite the damp chill.

“You’re impossible,” he said, reaching to take her hand.

“Maybe,” she admitted, squeezing his fingers. “But I promise I’m fun.”

He tugged her close again, under the wide canopy of an old oak tree that shielded them from the worst of the rain. Their breaths mingled in the quiet night, hearts beating faster—not from the dance, or the cold, but something else. He brushed a wet strand of hair from her face, his fingers lingering on her cheek.

“I’m glad you came tonight,” he said softly.

She smiled, eyes sparkling with the reflection of the raindrops. “Me too.”

The space between them shrank until their lips met—tentative at first, then with growing certainty—sealed beneath the rhythm of falling rain and the promise of something new. The kiss lingered, gentle and warm despite the cool rain soaking through their clothes. Oscar’s hand rested lightly on her waist, steadying her as if grounding himself just as much as her. She melted into the moment, her fingers curling into the lapel of his jacket.

When they finally pulled apart, breath mingling in the damp night air, her eyes shone—half amused, half something softer. “Well,” she teased, “I still say you’re a disaster on the dance floor.”

Oscar chuckled, brushing a wet strand of hair behind her ear. “I’m more of a rookie tonight, I admit.” 

She stepped closer, her voice dropping to a quiet, sincere tone. “You don’t have to be perfect, you know. None of this does.”

He studied her face—the slight crease at the corner of her eye from laughing, the honest warmth that seemed to come naturally with her presence.

“Maybe that’s the best part,” he said, smiling softly.

For a moment, they just stood beneath the oak tree, listening to the rain drum gently above them. Somewhere distant, the gala music drifted faintly through the night, a reminder of the world they’d stepped away from. The night stretched before them, open and full of possibilities. She leaned her head lightly against Oscar’s chest, her breath steadying as his arms wrapped gently around her. Neither of them said anything for a while, content to listen to the rain and the hush of the world narrowing down to just this — two racers under a tree, hiding from a life that never seemed to slow down.

She tilted her head up, her voice softer now, thoughtful. “We’re always performing, y’know? Even off the track. Always trying to fit into whatever mold they think we should be.”

Oscar nodded. “Smile for the camera. Thank the sponsors. Pretend you’re not tired or pissed off or over it.”

“But right now…” she paused, brushing a droplet from his cheek, “this is the first time in a long while where I haven’t felt like I needed to be anyone else.”

He searched her expression and found himself nodding before the words even formed. “Same.”

The tree swayed slightly in the breeze, scattering droplets across Oscar’s shoulders, but he didn’t move. He didn’t want to. The tension he’d brought into the gala—the tight smile, the stiff tuxedo, the mental countdown to freedom—had all dissolved the moment she’d sat down next to him.

Y/N stepped back, just enough to meet his eyes again. “Tell you what, Piastri. Next time they drag us to one of these things, we go together. That way at least we can be miserable with decent company.”

Oscar smiled, wide and real. “Deal. But only if you promise to teach me that line dancing you mentioned.”

She gave a low, teasing laugh. “Oh, you poor thing. You’re going to regret that.”

“I doubt it,” he said. And meant it.

They slowly made their way back inside, both soaked, both smiling, not even trying to play it cool. A few heads turned when they reentered the ballroom, water dripping from the hem of her dress and the shoulders of his tux, their fingers still loosely intertwined.

Later that night, long after the gala ended, a blurry photo would make its way to social media—Oscar and Y/N on the dance floor, laughing, too close to be “just friends,” her boots visible beneath her dress, his hand lingering on her waist. The caption simply read:

#UnexpectedPair or motorsport’s newest duo? 👀🔥

Oscar saw it the next morning. His phone buzzed nonstop with group chats and PR warnings and cheeky messages from Lando.

But he ignored all of them for a moment and sent the photo to Y/N with a message:

“Apparently I’m not just bad at two-stepping — I’m publicly bad at it now.”

Her reply came seconds later:

“You’re lucky you’re cute when you’re clumsy.”

“Teach me next off-season?” he added.

“Boots and all,” she sent back. “Always.”

He smiled, flipping the phone onto the hotel nightstand, the sound of rain still lingering in his mind. Maybe the off-season didn’t have to be about waiting. Maybe, this time, it was about starting.

[greenjellybeanfish]

[ What Wakes Alone in Ice ] ---

Art for the coolest Re-Animator X The Thing crossover fic by @teamingmate. I've got nothing else to say except read it here. Seriously, go read it. The art is spoil enough I don't want to say anything more except ummm read it.