#like I said. there is a reason dessert and bread recipes are what my family still has from before America and I’m not really mad about that

[always-a-slut-4-ghouls]

I would say that the United States, as of right now, has three main food groups (aside from junk food) and those are, Italian, Mexican, and Chinese. All of which have been Americanized here to some extent but differently in different parts of the country. I find this very funny because I have heard people from Italy be indignant about what we’ve done with the stuff (and about good restaurants too!) like, sorry if you guys weren’t creative, mixing things up a bit is great. “What about (regionally popular food)?!” I know we all have those, I haven’t heard of bitches in the south eating lefse, but that’s not my point! What was my point actually? I think I was going to say that, even if we bastardize stuff a lot, I’m super glad we have, as a country, agreed that more seasoning is good. Because if this place had been like “fuck immigrant food forever, we are eating British style” I think I would die.

This country has historically treated immigrants like shit, but we do tend to cave eventually and go like “actually,

your food is really good” a kind of shallow prize I guess, but I’m glad we actually start doing it eventually because I WILL mock British food and I WILL be sad that the only good family recipes my family has from before immigrating are all desserts. Don’t get me wrong, I love sweets, but I’m pretty sure there is a reason we stopped making other stuff

Wait, I re-read this today and realized I sound like my family is British. We are not. What even are British desserts? I bet they don’t have enough cardamom. Although lefse doesn’t have cardamom and i like a lot of things without it, my point is that their holiday and special event foods probably don’t have enough! Which wouldn’t surprise me tbh because apparently the only place that went crazy for the stuff outside of where it originated seems to have been Scandinavia for some reason. At least some maps I looked at seemed to suggest it. Which rocked me to my core

[veronicasanders]

Let's talk holiday season food. What’s the family/friends favorite that always gets trotted out for every occasion, what food is a “special” holiday favorite?

Yay!!! So excited for this. You already know I’m gonna go off so here’s a read more. 😜🤣

Okay I’m starting with Thanksgiving, which is my favorite food holiday. In my family, the meal is 100% vegetarian friendly except the turkey and gravy (which I despise anyway), and totally centers on local autumnal produce. Also, EVERYONE, and I mean every single person over the age of 10, contributes. Even if it’s like, my cousin who has no culinary skills - he mixes drinks. Or my uncle who is the DJ and who sets the table and does a phenomenal job—with like, local flowers and origami napkins. Or my other cousins who do an art project with the younger kids, so even though they aren’t cooking, they make centerpieces and shit. 

One year, I got a fantastic deal on purple potatoes at the farmer’s market, and my brother used those for the MOST delicious mashed potatoes that were loaded with cream and garlic. That dish was a staple for many years, although in recent ones, he’s been doing smashed potatoes—or, when he’s super ambitious, Hasselback potatoes—and the crispiness is absolutely delightful.  

I have made cornbread every year since I was about 12 or 13. It’s this incredible recipe that includes fresh corn and browned butter - usually cornbread is dry, but this is amazing and doesn’t need any butter or anything on it. Sometimes I add jalapeños or red pepper for color/flavor - which one depends on how many baby-mouths are coming.

We always make fresh cranberries, too, not that canned shit. The cranberry bags have the basic recipe, but it comes out way too sweet that way, so instead we use about 1/4 of the sugar and a little orange juice. I like putting walnuts in, but not everyone in my family likes nuts, so I’ve found that chopping an Asian pear and tossing that in right before serving serves the same purpose of a crunchy element. 

My great-aunt’s sweet potato pie recipe is SO fucking good. It’s one of the best things on the table and the one year my mom said maybe we don’t need it because too many carbs, I staged a protest. I actually like it better than any of the desserts (and for some reason it's on the dinner table even though it's 100% a dessert--it's got a graham cracker crust and toasted marshmallow top, for fuck's sake). But anyway...

My favorite, or at least tied for favorite with like 5 other things, is my mother’s stuffing. (Well, dressing, since it’s not stuffed into the bird's ass, but the word dressing is weird to me for a substantial side dish.) She uses a mix of cornbread and regular bread, a shit ton of celery and carrots and caramelized onions, and veggie stock that smells so good, it makes me homesick just thinking about it. 

Occasionally there’s also something like Mac and cheese or fresh bread/rolls, or green bean casserole or wild rice. Kind of depends on who’s coming and how many people are there, etc, because you always need everyone to contribute. 

Then of course, we have tons of roasted or grilled vegetables, whatever looks fresh and beautiful, or what the more talented people have grown in their gardens: Brussels sprouts, eggplant, corn (bonus if we can find red corn) green beans, broccoli, sautéed mushrooms, carrots (bonus for purple or multicolored ones), butternut squash, cauliflower (bonus for purple). And a big salad with dark greens like rainbow chard or kale (usually grown by one of my aunts), avocado, radishes, multicolored peppers, sunflower seeds or roasted pepitas. I’ve seen other people’s Thanksgiving tables and I’m generally shocked by how much brown and beige there is. Our table is a glorious fucking rainbow. 

The past 5 years or so, I haven’t been able to go home for Thanksgiving, so we now have a tradition of repeating the meal (or at least, the favorites) on Christmas Day. 

Speaking of Christmas…

So, there’s an Italian-American tradition called “Feast of the Seven Fishes” that takes place on Christmas Eve. (I’m not positive how it started, but I am guessing it had something to do with how expensive seafood was in the “New World” and so it was reserved for truly special occasions.) We don’t usually do all seven, but we always make my grandmother’s shrimp recipe, mafaldi with a spicy red lobster sauce, baked lobster, and usually some kind of salmon my dad can grill. (He also cooks the Thanksgiving turkey on the BBQ. We find that his energy in the kitchen can be neurotic and thus enjoy sending him outside.) And of course garlic bread or something fresh-baked to soak up all the sauces. (Grandma called it a sponge.) Also we always have Panettone (the kind with chocolate, not the fruitcake one) for dessert, heated up with ice cream and ganache.

Then, Christmas morning is usually French toast (made with Challah so that the Jews feel represented), or this cheese blintz dish we learned from my dad's cousin.

Which reminds me, oops, I skipped over Chanukkah. Traditions there are more flexible since we don’t celebrate every day and often miss the whole 8 days and remember later in the month. Mostly since my dad doesn’t give a shit and my mom’s not Jewish. But we always at least have latkes (my brother’s are outstanding, and a few years ago he made the regular ones and I made sweet potato and they came out divinely.) Also we do chocolate-covered macaroons (not to be confused with the French macarons) since they’re my mom’s favorite, and my grandmother’s vegetarian version of chopped liver which is SO GOOD, and noodle kugel. And if we’re up for it, we’ll also make rainbow cookies, which I’ve talked about before at length. (Marzipan-flavored “cookie” layers that are basically a very decadent sponge, raspberry jam, dark chocolate. 

New Year’s Day: lentil soup! Black-eyed peas! Which I think supposedly serve the same good-luck purpose. 

Not specific to a particular holiday but a couple of times a year, my family does polenta parties. A huge pot of polenta and a bunch of homemade toppings, like tomato sauce, pesto, veggies, sautéed mushrooms, caramelized onions, different cheeses, meat that I don't care about, etc.

I’m gonna stop now. I could go on for fucking ever. (Super Bowl Sunday? Easter? Fourth of July? I care about nothing except the food.) I love food and I love my family and I love eating with them. I'm so excited that this year, I'm gonna be on the East Coast for a whole month visiting people. 🥰

[hanibalistic]

FOR MY LOVE, SINCERELY, FOR YOU. | BANG CHAN, LEE MINHO, SEO CHANGBIN, HWANG HYUNJIN. 

genre | fluff, little angst, romance undertone, platonic relationship, royalty au

synopsis | you are a royal baker doubling as a love-letter mentor for the prince who is trying to court the neighbour princess, while his princely cousin slowly falls in love with you.

word count | 32k+

warning | violence (one scene), this is an unfinished piece so if you get attached then beware of unanswered plotline (this is a joke but just in case)

tag | @fluffyskzclub​

note | this was an unfinished piece abandoned in 2020, a rather big project i had. i am posting it here because i am unlikely to finish it anytime sooner (for one, i find it hard to replicate the writing style i utilized for this piece), but it felt like an injustice to let this piece dust away alone.

The smell of cream puffs wafted before your sensitive nose. You took a few sniffs, letting the luscious smell of sugar linger, then you smiled in satisfaction at the plate of dessert displayed before you on the kitchen table.

It was a big day for your dessert baking career. You were about to grant a full round table of royalty your newest recipe for the first time after so long of not being allowed to follow your own baking recipe in the palace kitchen.

After being appointed as a new palace baker amongst many other older cooks, with the promise that your father would receive top quality medical treatment back in your hometown, all you have baked were measly desserts made by following the head chef's recipe.

It all started with those little bake days you did at your mother’s flower shop, where you would prepare limited tray of one random dessert, a tasty little extra for the frequent customers and those who spend over a certain amount of money at the shop. Your mother didn’t like it the first time you did it, but considering how much your desserts have always helped boost the shop’s sales, she allowed you to hold these bake days occasionally.

You had baked your signature lemon tarts one morning, the crusty layer of bread circling around the gleaming, lemon filling, paired with a small tent of whip cream and a raspberry on top. It caught the king’s attention. 

You were unsure how that had happened but just about two days after the bake day, the court messenger dropped by and asked you to attend a meeting with the king, and the king had asked you to enter the palace kitchen so the royal family could enjoy your dessert every day.

However, unfortunately for the royal family, none of them have ever tasted your dessert before because of how strict the head chefs were about you utilizing your own cook book. No matter how many times you have attempted to sneak your own spin in those atrociously boring, mediocre steps of his, someone was always there to call you out on your ‘wrongdoings.’

It was beyond infuriating to know that the palace kitchen has more ingredients and more baking utensils than anywhere else in the kingdom, yet somehow, you were not allowed to bake according to your own cookbook because apparently, you were too young and too inexperienced to have your own desserts be presented to royalty.

Mind them old folks in the kitchen, but the sole reason why you were here, and the sole reason why the king was willing to bargain for your cooperation, was because he really, really, really loved the lemon tarts you baked for your mother’s flower shop. 

You wish you could tell the head chefs about it, but there was no way for you not to come off as conceited, and you doubted the adults would listen a mere teenager like you, so you stayed silent.  

But then the Lord shone through the clouds and gave you this opportunity to shine tonight! You have concocted a plan soon after you were told that you and another cook—Changbin, you remembered—would be in charge of making the dessert for this grand event. 

The neighbor royal families would be visiting for dinner so they could discuss the courtship of one of the princesses, meaning you would’t just be making dessert for one royal family but several others as well! And oh lord, the audacity of the pastry chef when he told you to follow the strawberry cake recipe weeks before the actual day, you really had to laugh.

There was nothing wrong with a plain strawberry cake. Simplicity can be best at times, but not with the recipe he gave you, never. Besides, you have already got another idea in mind about what dessert you could make: your newest recipe, crafted after you decided to take a bite of the dry rose petals in the royal garden—rosewater cream puffs!

Your rosewater cream puffs; made with soft and crispy bread baked with delight and care, pumped full of rich and fluffy cream fillings you crafted with sun-drowned water, ones you mixed together with the rose petals you picked from the forest nearby.

Now, of course, you would have never been able to bake your own dessert with the entire kitchen staff watching your back almost every step of the way. However, since they have appointed another chef with you this time so they could focus on their own dishes instead of worrying about you pulling weird stunts, you needn’t be as alert as you used to.

Besides, the angels were totally on your side when they have appointed Changbin out of every other chef in the kitchen. He may seem intimidating but, believe it or not, he was actually quite the gentleman. 

At least, from what you have experienced, was that he doesn’t bark at children like the others have done with you. Granted, you haven’t been the most obedient one, but even then, Changbin had been extremely patient with your rebellious retorts and dreamy rambles. And when you told him how you’ve got it all handled, he believed you and went ahead to help out the old gardening lady with the crops and livestock. 

"Now, lastly," you said as you grabbed the clean sifter next to you. You hung it on the edge of the table before you pulled at the corner of baking paper. You tugged it up and carefully poured the content into the sifter. “Some powered sugar and we are good to go!”

You would be serving eighteen cream puffs exactly for the eighteen royalties eating above you in the dining room, but aside from that, you have also made extras in anticipation of them asking for more. It was a habit—people have always asked for more of your desserts, they can never just have one piece.

However, if it turned out that your rosewater cream puffs were not of their liking, which could be possible due to this being an experimental recipe, then you would at least have extras left for when you need to make some changes later. Would you have hoped to ask for some constructive criticisms? Yes, but you doubted you’d be off the hook long enough to ask the royalties for it.

You were moving onto your fifth cream puff when the door to the baking room creaked open. Your arms froze for a second in alert, wondering who could possibly be behind you. Could it be the head chefs asking you for the progress? Could it be the maid already asking for the tray of dessert to be delivered? 

Either way, they end in your eventual demise, because not only were you not finished yet, you didn’t make the strawberry cake the pastry chef asked you to.

“Hey, [Name], how’s the cake going?” Changbin asked, taking off his gloves and hanging them on the handle bar nailed behind the wooden door. 

You breathed out a sigh of relief at his voice, your eyes closing and your heart slowing down to a resonable pace. Then you glanced down at the tray of cream puff before you, your brows furrowing with a curse after you did so. The sudden pause caused a tad of the powered sugar to go slightly off track; it would likely be unnoticeable to the royalties, but to you it was one hell of a problem.

Your lack of response worried Changbin. He raised a brow at you as he tied the apron around his waist, his fingers fumbling clumsily with tying the ribbon behind his back. Shifting his gaze to the wooden table, his brows gradually furrowed the more he took into account the ingredients gathered on top.

Milk, eggs, butter, sugar, flour. The normal things. Whisks, wooden bowls, spatulas, a… a sift? Dry rose petals, a bowl of pink-colored water, macaroon sheet template—oh no.  

“[Name], please tell me you made the strawberry cake like you were asked to–“ Changbin paused before the table, his eyes casting down at the little cream puffs with pastel pink fillings oozing out of the crusty bread tops, and he immediately gasped in horror. “Oh my god, you didn’t! You–kid, I swear! Chef Park is going to be furious about this!”

“I know,” you replied without much care, making your way to your sixth cream puffs carefully with the powered sugar in your hands. “Which is why I plan to hide it from him.”

“That isn’t the point, [Name],” Changbin exclaimed with curled fists. He stood awkwardly beside you, watching as you finished up with the tray with a content smile before turning to look at him. Gosh, he felt like he was talking to a brick wall; anyone who has tried to convince you to do as the head chefs say always feels like they are talking to a brick wall.

“What is the point?” You asked, dusting your hands off and wiping them on your apron without breaking eye contact with him. Then your attention left him so you could transfer the cream puffs to a steel plate.

“These are going into the king’s mouth, you know that right?” He said. “Not just our king, but other kingdoms’ as well. The only reason why you are instructed to use the house recipe is because–“

“Because none of you trust my ability to bake something good on my own,” you cut him off with a disappointed glare, one that made Changbin feel a sudden tumble of his heart. “Everyone here always think I’m going to mess up, that I am going to accidentally poison the king–“

“Hey, hey, hey!” Changbin raised his index finger in the air, his eyes were wide in alert as soon as you spilled those dangerous words. He looked around the baking room carefully before turning back to you with wide eyes. “I taught you before, none of those sayings inside the palace! You don’t want to get misunderstood and thrown in the dungeon, do you?”

“No,” you said, frowning as you turned to him then. “But my point still stands. None of you trust me to be a good baker and I really don’t like that.”

Changbin heaved a sigh. He hadn’t really been paying attention to the newbies that joined the kitchen staff, he had been too busy taking care of the royal farm that he barely went into the kitchen unless it was his shift to cook dinner. Heck, he didn’t even know you existed until he found you by the farm entrance with chef Park standing angrily next to you.

He could still remember that day. You had said something insulting to chef Park and he decided to take you out of the kitchen as punishment. You ended up having to take care of the farm with him for a full week, and oh, heavens, were you one grumpy kid. 

But you did change for the better after he took you to the orchard for some fruit picking, you were smelling and knocking the fruits like you knew what you were doing. And perhaps you did know what you were doing, he just never stopped to see if you did.

“I’m sure nobody thinks that. I know I don’t think that,” he said after a moment of silence. “We just don’t want you to mess up in here. You’re making food, [Name]. If any of them so much is get a stomachache then you’re done for.”

You arched your brows faintly in agreement. You hadn’t really considered that. Being a mere kitchen staff in the palace, and not an important one too, makes you very susceptible to the king’s irresponsible anger and his absolute power. You could die by the royalty’s hand with just a snap without ever getting a chance to fight for yourself. 

But it wasn’t like you were baking poison! The maids have told you all you needed to know about this damn family’s tastebuds and allergies as soon as you arrived, and you have got them all memorized already. You wouldn’t make such a trivial mistake!

“Excuse me! I’m here to collect the cake!”

Changbin met your eyes briefly. You could see the panic raising in those browns when you smiled mischievously at him. Then, before he could stop you, you turned to the table and grabbed a hold of the steel, dome plate cover. You cupped it over the cream puffs before holding it up carefully and approaching the maid standing by the door.

When she gave you a weird look, her judgemental gaze eyeing the plate, you gave her a playful wink and smiled. “The appearance is a surprise. Let’s spice up the dinner a little for the royals, huh?”

You took a side-step when you felt Changbin approaching. His chest bumped against your head as you perfectly blocked his path, and you could feel the heavy sigh he let out as he held up his arms in hopes to still stop the maid from leaving the baking room. You rolled your eyes then, annoyed at his stubbornness. 

“Look, Changbin,” you said as you turned around, “There is no strawberry cake here. And even though you don’t specialize in dessert, I’m sure you know you can’t make a good one under ten minutes, so why not just let the cream puffs go?”

He glanced down at you, his eyes ablaze with both exasperation and horror. Oh, whatever he should do now? If the pastry chef found out he didn’t monitor you after being told to, and you actually broke out of the house recipe and made something on your own for the dinner, both of you would surely be in big trouble! Not to mention he had no idea if the cream puffs were even edible at all!

Sure, they smelt nice when he entered the room. The aroma of the roses strong and eloquent, plus the light sprinkle of sugary scent mixing together with it just made it a whole lot better. But just because it smelt nice does not mean it would taste the same.

“We’re not gonna get into trouble,” you muttered after seeing his expression, the guilty finally hitting you as you watched Changbin pinch the bridge of his nose with a tired sigh. “Well… maybe not with the royal family, but I think chef Park might get a little mad.”

“You don’t say?” He rolled his eyes and let his arm drop to his side. Glancing away from you, he looked towards the table and widened his eyes at the extra cream puffs sitting on top of a wooden tray. A thought popped in his head and he held out his hand, his palm opened. “Let me try one.”

“Wh–what?” You looked at him, his words not processing through.

“I said let me try one,” he repeated, his hand moving in a beckoning motion urgently. “You already sent the cream puffs up, there is no point in me stopping the maid now, so might as well see if we’re only getting an earful or if we’re going to get a death sentence.” 

“They’re not going to die eating my desserts,” you retorted with a glare, not liking the way he phrased his thoughts.

Changbin heaved another sigh as he glanced away. You kept missing the point, it seemed; the problem didn’t lie in your dessert being good or bad, it was the fact that he didn’t know and he needed to try. But coming from somebody who kept having their skills undermined by others, it would make sense for that to be your initial response. 

“Can I please have one of your cream puffs, [Name]?” He asked again, more politely this time.

You stared at him for a while longer, your lips pursing as the guilt that previously surfaced in your chest magnified with the defeated look on his face.

Changbin had always looked so tired. His eyes are often sharp, but never without a tinge of unexplained wistfulness behind them that made them softer to look at. His arms are strong and scarred; some of the stories he told you about and some he kept hidden with a vague smile. His hands are rough and calloused from all the years of picking vegetables and rubbing metals, but they don’t lack tenderness when he pats your head at the end of the day.

He took care of you the most out of anybody else in the palace, albeit only meeting you a couple of weeks after you’ve suffered the wrath of the head chefs. And you have genuinely taken a liking to him because he has treated you well, therefore when times come when you’d realize you hadn’t exactly returned the favor to him, you would always feel bad. 

“Okay.” You gave him a curt nod before turning around to the table. You grabbed a small wooden plate from the corner and set it before you. Taking one of the extra creme puffs, you placed it on the plate before taking the sifter and lightly patting the powered sugar on top. 

You couldn’t stop it, though. You couldn’t stop being a brat in front of him, stubborn and rebellious, because you knew Changbin wouldn’t actually get mad at you for anything. And he just kept taking it, all your spontaneous antics and your informal retorts. 

He just takes them, with a lot of patience and understanding, as a parent would their child.

The burning in your chest was overwhelming. Ahh, you haven’t been able to act bratty in front of your dad in a long while now. Ever since he has fallen ill, you’ve only tried your best to take care of him. No more tantrums could be thrown and no more active jokes you could play on him anymore because of his weak heart.

There wasn’t anything terrible about that, for sure. You were more than happy to help nurse your father, but sometimes your childish mind just wanted to be spoiled by a father figure. Pretty sure everybody does once in a while. 

You slammed the sifter on the table, startling Changbin. Forcing a smile onto your face, you handed him the plate carefully. “Here, try it and tell me if you like it!” You said quickly, holding down the sudden wave of tears that was threatening the flow out. “Remember be honest!”

“When have I not been honest with you?” Changbin flipped your forehead with a frown just before he was about to take a giant bite of the cream puff. 

As you rubbed the spot with your hand and reached over to give his arm a harsh slap, he stumbled back with a faint laugh before grabbing ahold of the cream puff again. He held it before his mouth, the sweet smell of roses attacking his nose immediately, prompting him to take a bite of it. When he finally did, the powered sugar and the cream filling stained on his lips, his eyes widened in shock.

The cream filling was rich in its rosy taste, but it wasn’t so sweet that it would make your teeth sick. The sugar also managed to blend in very well with the naked taste of the crusty bread instead of overshadowing it, the two creating a well-crafted symphony on top of his tongue. 

“Oh, heavens–“ he paused to lick the cream off his lips, his brows furrowed as a moan of satisfaction left his lips while the cream melted instantly in his mouth. He glanced up at you then, his eyes simmering with surprise and, visibly, proudness. “Kid, did you make this by yourself?”

A glimmer of hope punched through your lungs at his response and you nodded, your hands curling into each other before your chest. “Yeah, I made those,” you said. “Do you like it?”

“Do I like it–please, I love it!” He exclaimed, sucking off the remaining cream on his fingers. “This is delicious, wow. Much, much better than a plain strawberry cake, I reckon.”

“I knew it!” You clapped your hands together in excitement, thrilled to see that Changbin has taken a liking to your baking. “Oh, I’m glad you liked it.”

“Honestly, I wouldn’t be surprised if the whole table upstairs likes it too,” he commented with a short laugh as he set the wooden plate down on the table. He rubbed his hands on his pants, not bothering to grab a towel hung all the way at the back of the baking room. Looking at you, he tiled his head and asked, “Where did you learn to make that?”

“By myself!” You replied triumphantly. “It is years and years of experimenting with different ingredients! I did try a few different approaches with these rosewater cream, though. It is so easy for the filling to get too sweet if I so much as ground the petals the wrong way.”

Changbin leaned against the edge of the table, watching as you started to ramble on and on about your experience with creating this recipe. A proudness was born within his chest, spreading through his body with a rush as he watched you discuss what you had been trying to tell others was your ultimate passion. 

It was a shame that nobody ever listened simply because you were too young, perhaps things would change after tonight. 

“Hey, [Name],” he cut you off with a soft call, his hand reaching out for your head and giving you a few light pats. “Good job on the cream puffs.”

Your eyes widened a little, your voice falling mute at the tip of your tongue as you tried to think of something to say. You haven’t gotten a compliment on your baking in a while, not to mention this came a little too sudden for you to comprehend it fully. You just knew you were happy to hear it, especially from Changbin as well.

Before you could regain your voice and show him some gratitude, the door to the baking room burst open. You turned to look as Changbin spun around to look behind him. You grimaced at the newcomer, stepping back slightly at the bulging vein present on his forehead. 

Oh, chef Park was definitely angry about the dessert not being what he asked for. Judging by the look on his vein, and also that angry vein on his forehead, you were going to be in big trouble.

“What the hell were you thinking, [Name]?” He shoved past Changbin without giving him another glance, strutting straight towards you with an accusing finger. “You little brat, you can’t do one thing right, can you? I gave you a recipe, I told you to follow it, and you go ahead and serve… cream puffs? You serve them cream puffs?”

You stepped back when he got too close, your brows furrowing in discomfort as your heart raced in fear. As much as you hated to admit, chef Park’s authority scared you a little because of how much of a threat he could be. He could make your time in the palace a living hell, and there is no guarantee that you’d ever get out of here. You could be stuck with him until the day he dies!

“What’s wrong with cream puffs?” You asked daringly despite being afraid. It seemed that your annoyance was overriding fright in your chest.

“There is nothing wrong with cream puffs, what is wrong is that I don’t know how you made them,” he pointed out. “God, who knows what kind of atrocity you made? You better be the one to take the blame because I am not having my career be destroyed by a fucking seventeen-year-old!”

You scoffed out a laugh, your eyes rolling to the side condescendingly before you turned back to look at him. “You’re one to talk, chef Park,” you retorted, curling your hands at your side. “Serving a strawberry cake is too plain for this occasion. Not to mention your recipe is boring–“

You gasped when you felt a hand swipe across your cheek. Your hand instinctively went up to cover the spot where you got slapped, your eyes wide with shocked tears as you turned back to look at the man in front of you. He didn’t seem fazed, he seemed rather neutral about it, like he had planned to do that all along, and it made you want to wipe that shit-eating smirk off his face.

“Hey! What the fuck is wrong with you?” Changbin stormed over to your side before you could properly react, a hand grabbing on the chef’s shoulder and shoving him backward. “[Name]’s just a kid, can’t you act a little civil with them?”

“Jesus, Changbin, don’t be so soft,” chef Park said, rolling his eyes. “They’re old enough to know they shouldn’t disrespect elders.”

“And you’re old enough to know that violence doesn’t solve anything,” Changbin pressed on, his voice almost coming out as a growl as he held himself back from punching the man right in the jaw. “With all due respect, chef, but you need to grow the hell up.”

The man relaxed a little then, his eyes squinting as he stared at Changbin in contemplation. Your heart jumped at his calculative gaze, now more scared for him than you were scared for yourself. Changbin didn’t have to do that, he should have just stayed quiet at the back and let you take all of it alone. Now you’ve got him mixed in the mess you made too.

“Changbin, need I remind you my position is a head above yours?” Chef Park said, his tone more obnoxious and patronizing than anything you have ever heard. Not even the king spoke to you like this when he was bargaining for you to stay as a baker in the palace, how was it his turn to speak like that?

Changbin glared at him, his tongue tied and his head unsure of what he could say. He knew if he says anything more, he would be done. His stay in the palace would most likely be over with just a single report from the chef, and all the years of him earning his trust would go to waste.

Perhaps he should have thought through this twice before he acted out, but seeing you get slapped across the face so unreasonably had stirred a fire within him. He was angry, genuinely angry, for the first time in a long time, and he didn’t care what would happen to him. He just knew if that fucker thinks he can lay his hands on you then he’s got anther thing coming at him.

This altercation was, thankfully, interrupted with a timid knock on the door. Chef Park looked behind his shoulders in annoyance before he spun and headed for the door. You watched his back, your lips finally loosening up and quirking down because of how upset you were. And, upon this distraction, Changbin immediately turned around to check up you.

“Are you okay?” He whispered, the back of his hand delicately running down your red cheek.

You nodded as you moved away slightly, your eyes squeezing together in faint irritation.

Reaching up to grab his hand, you held onto his pinky and ring finger before letting your arm fall to your side. Your eyes were squinted when you faced ahead, your lips pursed into a forced smile as you said, “I don’t want to talk about it.”

Changbin looked at you, his eyes shifting across your features and landing on your red cheek. Looking at it made him sad, and the story behind made his anger fume, but even then he listened to you. With a small nod of agreement, he looked away from you and at the opened door where chef Park stood talking to a maid.

He acted strangely, you found out. The second the door was opened, his face dropped and a smile immediately made its way to his face. A fake smile, you could tell, because that man has probably never genuinely smiled once in his life. He was talking lightly, his eyes shifting at the maid and behind her rapidly as if he was seeing a ghost. 

After a moment, he finally took a gentle step back and gestured towards you. You shivered—what was it now? Have the guards came to arrest you for poisoning a whole table of royalties? Have you made the worst dessert to ever be created in mankind that the king felt the need to come down to the kitchen himself, just so he could criticize you?

It was none of those, apparently. Waltzing into the room were three people, two boys and one girl. 

The girl wore an expensive ball gown dress, the light pink mesh material sewed of blossom petals on top as they flowed over the thick fabric underneath. Her top was off-shoulders, exposing her pretty bone structure adorned by a piece of bright jewel necklace. 

If those weren’t indication enough that she was the princess being courted for, then the tiara decorating her pretty little head would be.

Standing behind her was two boys. You knew one of them, he was the prince—your prince, as a matter of fact. Lee Minho; with big, glimmering eyes and a well-defined nose, and with lips that curl into the greatest cherry smile that never failed to woo another’s heart. He was an undeniably gorgeous man, you’d say. 

You have only seen him when you were lurking in the shadows with trays and buckets. You didn’t care for him much.

Standing next to him was someone you’ve met once before, as in an actual encounter where a conversation was held. That was Hwang Hyunjin, Minho’s close cousin who always came to visit as if he didn’t have his own extravagant garden to run around in. And whenever he came over to stay, he would usually stay for a whole month before his departure. 

You two met under an unforeseen situation. It was exceptionally bright that morning, the sun blazing a heated trail on the flowers in the royal garden. The flying insects all came around to rest among the bushes, hiding away in the flower buds and collecting pollens. It was a sunny morning that day, and Hyunjin decided he could go for a walk alone before the scheduled horse-riding session with Minho.

You were told to collect some fruits in the orchard so the baking team could make the desired dessert for the evening, a step you assumed would be the only one you’d be asked to take part in because you had pissed off chef Park once again. 

But, instead of heading straight to the orchard as you were told to, you took a sharp turn outside the back entrance of the kitchen and headed straight for the royal garden with your vine basket. You were trying out a new recipe during that time, the blackberry lavender cake. 

It wasn’t anything special, per se, so you were hoping you could add your own spin to it and see if you could make one that could be easily differentiated amongst all the other ones. That was one of the importance of making desserts: always make sure you incorporate your own style in the taste, let people know they’re eating your food.

You had planned to find some fully-bloomed lavender in the garden first, then you would head to the orchard and find yourself some blackberries. After you’ve collected what you needed, you would set out and get whatever the chef asked you to get.

You didn’t even know Hyunjin was in the garden before you heard him yell from faraway. When you approached close enough, you almost burst into laughter at how he was panicking over a butterfly flying around his perimeter. His arms had flailed about the air, not wanting to hurt the butterfly but still wanting to keep it as far away as possible.

It didn’t register to you that he was a prince at first, even with his velvet suit and jewel-filled fingers. All you knew was that he was a stranger yelling at the top of his lungs, in early morning, because he was afraid of a damn butterfly. 

Without thinking much, you had approached him from behind and touched him with your hands, steadying his movements as you carefully lured the butterfly over with your finger. It landed peacefully on top, its wings halting to a slow stop. Hyunjin had moved away from by then, and when he finally looked at you with a clearer sight, he immediacy swooned (inside his heart, obviously).

How could he not? A butterfly was sitting on top of your finger, the breeze was blowing gently against your hair, and the sun was shining down your eyes with its satisfying lights—you were completely engulfed by the beauty of nature, the delight of a new morning, and he thought he has never seen anybody more beautiful. 

“It is just a butterfly, Your Highness,” you had told him, with a gentle smile that showed a hint of playfulness in them as you set the creature free. You held your vine basket close to your waist and spoke, “There is no need to act with haste.”

With that, you left him both bewildered and bewitched at the heels of your feet. All he could really do was stare at your back as you left, his infatuation a foreign feeling he didn’t understand. He has seen so many princes and princess in royal balls before, all dolled up and styled with glitter, but none of them has ever struck his liking as much as you did.

And you had managed that with such a simple attire under a dirty apron, a head of messy hair, and an unbothered demeanour. 

Hyunjin could remember you vividly, even as he stood behind his friends in the small baking room where it was dimmer and confined. He hasn’t really stopped thinking about you after that morning, and he hoped that you remembered him as well, even if he was just the weird boy you met in the garden once.

“Good evening, chefs,” the princess spoke first, taking a small step towards you and Changbin with her silk gloved hands clapped together before her chest. 

Almost immediately, despite the bafflement Changbin was feeling, he dipped his head and bowed with a polite greeting. Glancing to the side where you stood, his brows furrowed when he saw that you haven’t moved an inch, and he quickly reached his hand up to press against the back of your head and made you bow with him.

“Get yourself together, Princess Rose is here,” he whispered to you quietly, hoping to god nobody could make out what he was saying.

You hummed faintly, pleasantly surprised that her name matched with the dessert you made. Then, with a reassuring glare, Changbin finally allowed you to stand back up straight by loosening his grip against your head. You dusted your hands off on your apron as you flashed Changbin a faint glare, then you smiled at the three royalties standing before you.

It was a rare sight you dreaded to see, simply because how much of a hassle it could be to meet royalties. 

You habitually waited for the princess to speak first.

“I was just upstairs eating a full and delicious meal prepared by the amazing cooks in this kitchen,” she said, giving Changbin a nod of acknowledgement as a slow smile crept up her face,“but, what I am very surprised by was the cream puffs served at the end of dinner! And I just had to come down here personally and ask for the baker behind those cream puffs!”

You stared at her. Well, she said all of those, but she still hasn’t asked you for your name yet. She only said she needed to ask, she hasn’t actually asked yet, therefore you wasn’t sure if you should reveal yourself or wait a little while for her to finally break the question out to you. 

Her eyes scanned past Changbin to you, and they brightened. Walking forward, her curls bouncing against her shoulders in the lightness of her steps, she smiled at you and asked, “Did you make those cream puffs?”

“Yes, I did, Your Highness,” you said, her sheer excitement spreading to you and causing you to relax. You gently let your guard down, your shoulders slumping as your hands met each other in front of your tummy. 

“Oh! How wonderful!” She beamed at you, “I absolutely loved the cream puffs, were they made with roses?”

“Rose petals, yes!” You replied, almost as enthusiastic as she was now that you were prompted to talk about your dessert. Many people have lent you compliments before, but none has ever stopped to ask you more about them. This was certainly a first. “I ground the petals up and mixed them in with water before adding them to the dry ingredients, it gives the cream filling that rosy taste to it!”

“Wow, that sounds like hard work!” She nodded in approval, her brows raising and her eyes widening to give you a look of affirmation.

You blinked your eyes rapidly. Oh? That was quite an unexpected reaction. Not so much what she said, though. People have told you the same things before; about how difficult it must be to come up with your own baking style, and to actually gather the ingredients so you could start making a dessert. 

It was the way she said it. It sounded something more like a validation than a judgement. It wasn’t “oh god, I will never be able to do this,” instead it was more of a “oh, it is so cool that you can do this!”

And it was hard work! You had to ground the petals for a certain amount of time and with a precisely calculated amount of strength. Your arms were already aching a minute into having to hold the wooden bowl at a forty five degree angle, all the while mashing out the rose juices with the rounded tip at the back of a spoon.

To hear another act so nicely toward your passion was, needless to say, refreshing. Besides, you would see the painful way chef Parker was scrunching his face at the back, wanting so badly to deflect Princess Rose’s words but unable to for many different reasons.

You have never met her before, but if Prince Minho does end up wedding her and she marries into this kingdom, you have not a single problem accepting her as your queen.

“You surely flatter me,” you said as you dipped your head at her politely, a proud smile adorning your lips. “But all the hellish process is all worth it if it meant earning your lovely approval, Your Highness.”

Changbin held back a snort, his head lowering in hopes to hide an eye-roll. What pretentious words you were spilling out of your mouth! You have never spoken to him that way before, he was sure you have never spoken to any other palace staff that way before despite most of them being well older than you. 

If you could just add a hint of respect in the way you normally act, you would be so popular among everybody.

Minho’s eyes had been focused on the curls of Princess Rose’s hair the entire time, something about the way they waved made his heart flutter. He was that much infatuated with the girl he was supposed to compete the affection for among five other capable candidates. But for a moment, he allowed himself to remove his attention from her and instead, onto you.

He has never seen you around before, unsurprisingly. But he didn’t know the palace recruited kitchen staff as young as you. He couldn’t pinpoint your exact age but he could tell you hadn’t lived a day past nineteen, with your acne skin but youthful features, your badly kept but a headful of hair, and your small but invigorating body frame.

You weren’t pretty, but you were youthful. Looking at you made him feel nostalgic, it made him long for the days of his younger years when he didn’t have the pressure of the throne weighted on his shoulders. Now he’s got even more stress because of the courting selection process, his mind filled with concerns about his love not being reciprocated and having Princess Rose be engaged to another. 

How Minho wished he could go back when things were less complicated, when he was free to do anything he so pleased. He should have learned how to bake a cake, but that activity have always been looked down upon by royals. He doesn’t bake cakes, he only eats them.

“I was hoping you would have some extra cream puffs left to spare, chef!” Princess Rose asked, her brows furrowing slightly as she tilted her head. “The plates were all licked clean because of how good they are, and I wasn’t able to get an extra. I was hoping someone would spare one for me.”

You raised a brow at the way Minho tensed up behind her. There were three things you noticed from that single movement. 

One, Minho messed up his first test in the courting process by not giving up his own cream puff. But, judging by what she told you, nobody else did either, so that should not cause too much damage to his romantic health bar yet. 

Two, Hyunjin wasn’t paying attention this whole time. His eyes were dazed but focused somehow, and you were unsure what he was focused on because as soon as you tried to catch his eyes, he looked away with a clearing of his throat. His plump lips pursed together as he eyed Minho, who looked at him with mild concern, before he dared to return his gaze on you.

He did it discreetly that time, not so much straightforwardly staring at you, and he could only slowly ease back into the longing stare when he found that your attention had reverted to Princess Rose again.

Three, Minho cared more about Princess Rose than Hyunjin did. That could just be a false assumption, though, from the way Hyunjin did’t react at all to her words while Minho did such a dramatic flinch.

Whatever it was, you hoped all the best for Minho. Both because you were quite fond of the princess and because you’d love for her to find true love.

Smiling, you gave her a nod and stepped aside to gesture toward the table. The ingredients were still presented on the table, but you knew she had overlooked all the utensils and sped her eyes straight to the tray of rosy pink cream puffs. 

“How many of them would you like, Your Highness?” You asked, moving closer to the edge of the table and grabbing the sifter in your hand, prepared to add the powered sugar to the remaining cream puffs.

“Let’s see…” she hummed, her body moving swiftly in anticipation but you could tell from the way she was curling her firsts that she was still trying to maintain her image, “I would like three more, please!”

“Not a problem, Your Highness.” You flashed her a smile before your eyes looked behind her shoulders at the two princes. You raised your brows, your head tilting to the side as you threw caution to the wind for a brief moment to speak casually. “And the two princes standing behind Her Highness? Would you two like some extra cream puffs too?”

Startled at your sudden question, Minho nodded with his eyes darting around your vicinity. He did remember liking it, perhaps not as expressively as most of the others did, but he did adore the rosy taste of the filling. It was sweet, a very darling contrast to the actual meal he had.

“Yes, I would like one, please,” he requested, his voice smaller than it needed to be with you. 

Hyunjin, unlike his cousin, was quick to jump on the enthusiastic train after Minho’s voice dropped. He clenched his hands together behind his back, his eyes lighting up at the chance to speak to you again, and when he spoke, his voice was unsettlingly formal and an octave lower than usual.

“I would like to have the rest of the cream puffs, please,” Hyunjin said, giving you a charming smile. 

You looked at him for a moment, your eyes widening awkwardly at the way he seemed like he was anticipating something from you. But since you had no idea what he was thinking of, you only gave him a quick nod and returned to work on the cream puffs.

During the meantime, Minho took the chance to nudge his cousin in the ribs so to catch his attention. When Hyunjin glanced to the side at him, he flashed him a playful glare and a gradually blossoming smile. It was a wordless way for him to ask Hyunjin what in the fresh hell was that sudden attitude change he did to you?

Hyunjin shrugged, his lips quirking up into a smirk. “What?”

“You’re acting weird,” Minho replied lowly. “Why are you suddenly talking like an adult?”

“I am? Heavens, I did not notice, truly,” Hyunjin said, placing a hand over his heart. “I have always talked like this.”

“Stop lying, I have known you for years,” Minho hissed out. “You have never used that voice before unless you are trying to appeal to somebody!”

Changbin moved his body so his back faced the three royalties. Pretending to look over you pouring powered sugar on the dessert, he finally allowed himself a moment of rest and rolled his eyes freely. Did the two princes just assume everyone in the room was deaf or did they overestimate their ability to whisper? 

He, and you, and possibly Princess Rose and chef Park, could hear their conversation clearly anyway. There was no need to whisper like that. It made them look stupid.

“Sorry to interrupt your lively discussion, Your Highnesses, but here are the cream puffs you asked for,” you said as you turned to them, your hands full with the cream puffs.

You gave the single one, supported by a baking parchment paper, to Minho first. Then you handed Princess Rose a smaller wooden tray of cream puffs, smiling faintly when she gleamed at the dessert in her hands. Lastly, you turned to Hyunjin and handed him the remaining of the cream puffs on a rectangular tray. He smiled at you, you politely returned it.

“Thank you so much!” Princess Rose beamed, holding the tray in her little hands like it was one of her many tiaras. She looked up at you, her eyes sparkling in a way that made you sweat; it was too cheerful and too jumpy for you. “Ah, I am so glad that you chose to make this. And of course, credits to chef Park for appointing you this position, I wouldn’t have had the chance to taste this if he hadn’t.”

You caught your lower lip between your teeth, your cheeks jutting out uncontrollably when chef Park was forced to give the joyful princess a smile, seemingly all in agreement to what she said. He must be furious, having his opinion denied by a royalty in such an energetic way after he just slapped you for defying him. 

It wasn’t the best revenge, but it was good enough and amusing to watch from the side. 

When you caught Changbin’s eyes, you found that he was trying his best to hold in a bright smile. His eyes widened at you and his head tilted to gesture towards the awkward man by the door, fumbling to keep up with the chatty princess. You could only giggle under your breath, pulling a face before allowing a smile to fully appear on your face.

Hyunjin clenched the edge of the tray unconsciously, his eyes once again lingered on your grin. He couldn’t hear your laugh, it must have been feathery light, and for once he despised the outdated rule of servants not being able to act freely around royalties. He wanted to hear it, he wanted to hear you laugh. 

How were you doing this to him? His heart a pitter-pattering mess as he looked at your mundane features, not at all like himself or the princess in this room, yet his cheeks flush at the mere sight of you ever sine that morning in the garden. It seemed to have gotten worse now that he learned how good of a baker you are. 

Delicious food and a naturally endearing face? Oh god, how could Hyunjin ever handle this.

“Hyunjin? Let’s go, mother might be wondering where we are.”

The boy snapped out of his thoughts and turned to Minho, his eyes blinking rapidly to adjust to a new face. When he did, all he could find was Minho smirking at him with a somewhat understanding look before turning to look at your direction.

He followed his eyes, your frame coming into sight then. You weren’t paying much attention to them anymore since they didn’t ask you for anything else. Instead, you had turned to clean up with table with Changbin’s help, lecturing him to gather certain utensils and dumping them at the sink. Removing his eyes from you, he looked at Minho again and he frowned.

“What?” He asked, shrugging.

Minho stared at him for a moment, wondering if he had caught onto the wrong idea. He swore that Hyunjin was staring at you, in the way Princess Rose was looking at those cream puffs and in the way he used to look at her—filled with infatuation and longing curiosity. It was a terrible crush. 

Hyunjin could be denying it, but he could also be assuming things wrong. He couldn’t tell for now, so instead of pushing into the matter, he only patted Hyunjin on the shoulder and turned away to find Princess Rose. He left Hyunjin standing there, confused and frustrated at his own confusion, wondering what Minho meant with that knowing smirk of his.

With his mind filled, Hyunjin tilted his head to the side with mumbles escaping his lips. He spun around after sparking you one last glance, opting to reach for the rosewater cream puffs and popping one into his mouth. The sugary taste engulfed him in a loose but warm hug, and he felt giddy all over knowing that you were behind these sweet little puffs.

The baking room was reduced to silence again after the three royalties left, the only sounds that resonated in the room was from the water faucet and the cashing of baking utensils. You and Changbin have both shut your mouths as well, realizing that chef Park was the only authority still standing around.

His posture was rigid, and it wasn’t solely because his bones were getting older and older by day. He was proven wrong straight to your face, immediately after he belittled you so harshly that the staffs outside could have surely heard him. He knew he wouldn’t tell a soul about what Princess Rose said tonight to save face, but in a way he’s already been humiliated enough.

The last person he didn’t want knowing that the princes and princess liked those cream puffs was you, and you had been present through the entire event.

You wiped your wet hands on the towel, drying your skin roughly before looking back up at chef Park. Your eyes were dull, bored even, but the way you smiled showed triumph, and he hated it. That shit-eating expression of yours could go straight to Hell if he could control it. 

Damn brat, just because the princess liked your dessert now you suddenly think you’re all that, huh?

“You better not be expecting a compliment,” chef Park spoke first, glaring at you. “Like it or not, the main problem doesn’t lie in whether the dessert is good. It is the fact that you can’t follow instructions.”

What a liar. He barely mentioned one thing about you not following his recipe. It was all about your baking being terrible and him losing his career. Seeing that your cream puffs were fine and that you actually do have skills lined up your sleeves, he suddenly turned a blind eye to it and switched the topic he was mad about.

Chef Park couldn’t hide that obvious grunge he held against you for the life of it. He would find something to get mad at you for no matter what, and frankly, it has made your days in the palace a living hell. If it wasn’t for the good companions you’ve met around this place, and your daily mischief where you would bake instead of finishing tasks, you’d be miserable.

“You won’t be cooking for the next week, take that as a light punishment for breaking my rules,” he huffed with an eye-roll, holding a hand up when you glared at him and tried to talk back. “You won’t get out of it, [Name]. I’ll only extend the days the more you try to talk yourself out of it.”

You pursed your lips together and stayed silent, your nails digging into the heel of your palm as you forced your words to fall dead at your tongue. 

He was right; since he has the authority over you, no matter how much you try to appeal to the situation, you wouldn’t succeed. He hates you, plain and simple, and if he wanted you out of the kitchen, he’ll do it. The only thing he couldn’t actually do was get you kicked out of the palace entirely. 

That would be up to the palace butler, and lord, did chef Park hated that thorough bastard. Chan probably wouldn’t kick you out for the world considering his keen senses on detecting a false or angry report. He could see straight past chef Park’s bullshit with just a snap of his fingers,

Besides, Chan have always had soft spots for the younger palace staffs, even more for you since you were the youngest one. Acting like he was your blood brother, that nosy fucker. Let him find out what chef Park did to your pretty little face and he would be done for, which was the sole reason why he got you out of the kitchen and into maid duty. 

If you stay outside the palace, you stay away from the butler. You didn’t know Chan has that kind of authority amongst the staffs yet, but he wasn’t planning on running that risk of you blabbering about what happened.

“Have fun doing laundry, [Name],” chef Park said with malice laced all over his voice, then he pushed open the door and left.

Your shoulders slumped when he was gone, your eyes as sharp as kitchen knifes watching him leave. You wanted to explode, you wanted to scream at him for giving you another week out of the kitchen again. Another week of cleaning bedsheets and folding expensive clothes, another week of doing chores alone because you still haven’t made any maid friends, another week of sneaking into the kitchen at night just to bake something easy because you missed it so much.

You hated life here, you should have never agreed to coming here. You should have pulled the age card, telling the king that you wanted a few more years at home before entering the palace, that would have probably been a good enough reason to shoot him down. But coming here means medical treatment for your father. And even if you could say no to the king, you could not deny his wealth. 

“He kicked me out again!” You whined as you turned around to look at Changbin, your feet stomping against the floor childishly. There were almost tears in your eyes, but you didn’t feel like crying so you simply started to throw a tantrum. “What is his problem with me? I swear, he never liked me! He’s only been against me since day one!”

“You did tell him his recipe is boring, multiple times too,” Changbin pointed out as he placed the last clean bowl on the kitchen counter before moving away from the sink. He dried his hands on the apron, his brows furrowing slightly as you frowned at him in disapproval. 

“That’s because it is!” You exclaimed a retort.

“You do realize he became the pastry chef for a reason, right?” He reasoned, “How can he get to where he is with boring recipes.”

You opened your mouth, trying to find the right words to retort but slowly coming to the conclusion that Changbin was absolutely correct, and you have been extremely biased in your opinions. While you didn’t really think his recipes are boring, just very general steps for good ingredients, you only kept saying so because you hated him and he was being unfair to you.

You didn’t mean it half the time, but those words probably still hurt his dignity.

“Are you on my side or his, Changbin?” You asked lowly, squinting your eyes at him with a grimace.

Changbin laughed. He approached you and placed a hand on top of your head. His smile was graceful but lacking a lot in sincerity this time. It was meant to be more  playful than heartfelt, you knew, a smile that told you not to take him seriously from this point on because he was joking around. 

“I’m obviously on your side,” he muttered with not an ounce of strength in his voice, causing you to kick his ankles lightly. He laughed, loudly this time with his voice full. “No, seriously, kid. I am.”

You looked up at him, your chest habitually warm as he patted your head. It was a silent form of praise, you learned that from your mother constantly doing it to you when you were much younger. Now that she couldn’t be with you as much anymore, Changbin took it upon himself to give you the parental encouragements you needed as a youngster. And on rare occasion when you do see Chan, he’d ruffle your hair up as well. 

Now that you think more clearly about it, without the previous anger blinding your emotions, perhaps you didn’t hate the palace life all that much. If everyone could be just like Changbin and Chan then this place would be paradise on Earth. But, as you learned, your average person could not be as capable as Chan nor as friendly as Changbin, and that was really unfortunate.

“I know,” you said, nodding at him.

“You just can’t say thank you to people for once, can you?” Changbin asked, removing his hand from your head after shoving the side of  it slightly.

“I will when you’ve done something good.” You shrugged with a smile.

“What-“ he huffed, his lips quirking up into an incredulous smile as his eyes widened in a faint glare. “When have I ever done wrong by you, huh?”

“If I tell you then there is no point,” you hummed as you turned around, leaving his side for the hanger nailed to the wall by the door. You untied the knot behind you, releasing it with a swift pull, then you looped the apron out of your neck and hung it back on the knob. “When you did something wrong, sometimes it’s better to realize it yourself.”

“That’s not good communication,” Changbin mumbled under his breath, following your action. He looked at you then, his eyes rolling back for a moment as he shook his head at you, completely defeated by you. “But sure, I will apologize when I find out what I did wrong.”

You only grinned, the childish gleam in your eyes haunting him as he bid you goodnight and urged you to head to bed early. Then he left the baking room, his voice booming from outside as he called for someone in the main kitchen. Your grin dropped quickly, eyes blinking as you shifted your weight and pressed a hand to your cheek in the midst of your mindless thoughts.

Sometimes you just stare into space because you could, because your feelings need a permanent image to gather itself together for the better. One need not to always be thinking about something, sometimes your eyes settle and your mind simply register the colors, the object, never the meaning, and that would be enough thinking already. 

But your mind bounced out of the headless state today when your eyes caught sight of a peculiar piece of paper stuck on the edge of the table corner, hidden underneath the counter shelf with only its tip peaking out. Your brows furrowed at the wavering object and you moved towards it slowly.

Leaning down, you pulled the piece of paper out from underneath. It was a thick parchment paper, with faint red linings printed on it that matched the redness of the wax seal stamped in the middle of the envelope. The symbol of the king’s crown was intricate and detailed, you stared at it carefully in hopes to have it memorized, wondering if you could ever redraw it using frostings.

You looked up after you finished admiring the wax seal. This could not have been a letter written by any kitchen staff. The royal seal is only available to royalties, therefore one of the three that just came by the room must have dropped it without knowing. 

Curiously, you flipped the envelope around in hopes to find who the letter was addressed to. Dusting off the dirty stuck to the paper, your eyes finally registered the name written prettily on top of the paper, with a spot of spilled black ink next to the cursive name.

To Princess Rose, with love.

A love letter, but from who?

You hummed at it as you flipped it around again, your eyes fixed on the wax seal in the middle. You could always just stick it back if you peel it off, or you could just lie about the wax seal falling off after you tried to get rid of the dirt underneath the counter table. That way you could not only find out who wrote the letter, but you could also read the content.

Your fingers hovered over the red seal for a short moment, then you carefully peeled it off.

Hyunjin had finally returned into the palace from the garden. Right after wrapping up dinner time with the rest of the royal families and seeing them off in their gold carriages, he took the tray of rosewater cream puffs from a maid and headed straight for the garden. 

He wanted to enjoy the dessert at the stone pavilion that stood tall behind the water fountain, surrounded by wall shrubs with white flowers growing along it. The peace and quiet covering that corner of the garden had always calmed his mind, and the moonlight cascading on the rolling water flowed as freely as his mind could as it filled itself with the thought of you. 

Those cream puffs were as amazing as he remembered first trying it, and he seemed to like it even more now that he knew you were the one who made them. How unfathomable, he had no idea your hands could wove ingredients into such magnificence. As if you weren’t appealing enough already, catching his eyes and stealing his attention. Now you have caught your way to his tummy as well.

Hyunjin was able to finish the cream puffs quickly, much fortunately because not a second later he had heard the sound of Princess Rose giggling down the path to the pavilion. He almost groaned at her voice, his brows furrowing in exhaustion just from hearing it. If it wasn’t for the sugar in his mouth, he possibly would have cursed out loud.

It wasn’t that he hated Princess Rose, absolutely not. She was a very nice lady; she was pretty, very positive, has an elegant upbringing, and needless to mention, an actual royalty. He could see all her good sides and he understood why most princes would be attracted to her, including Minho, but sadly, he just wasn’t one of them. 

No matter how many times he had to pretend he was okay with joining the court selection, no matter how much his parents were anticipating his victory in this romantic race, he just could not bring himself to feel anything special for her. And it has been so difficult for him to pretend to be in love with her when he already has his crush on you occupying his mind on a daily, so difficult that he’d be happy to never see the princess again.

Turning his head, he wiped the powered sugar off his lips and proceeded to dust his hand off on his pants. He got ready to face the princess, prepared to strike up a conversation and offer to walk her back into the palace (hopefully, or else he’d have to walk her around the garden and he really did not want to do that) when Minho came out of the shadowy corner with her.

They were chatting happily. Minho’s posture was relaxed but Hyunjin knew his fingers were twitching rigidly behind his back, while Princess Rose was being simply herself, a beaming girl excited to drown under the moonlight with a beautiful man. 

Hyunjin breathed out a sigh of relief at the sight, knowing that those two were probably out to have some alone time with each other and Minho would definitely not welcome him to join. He discreetly tried to waltz his way out of their path, sneaking into shadows and hiding behind stone columns wrapped around in vines, and he only relaxed after he reentered the palace. 

His mind lingered at the sight back in the garden for a moment, his lips quirking up funnily when it hit him that Minho was making a move in trying to appeal to her more. Oh, he surely hoped his cousin wins her hand in marriage. Minho has been in love with Princess Rose since their childhood days, an affection she was far too oblivious to sense even within close quarters. 

Surely, this courting period would jolt her right out of it. Those love letters Minho would be writing to her would be one of a kind.

“Oh–good evening, Your Highness.”

Gasps! Hyunjin could recognize that voice anywhere, it was practically engraved in his brain.

Turning slowly to you, who he saw out of his peripheral vision, the muscles under that velvet blazer tensed up and his lips widened into a suspiciously big smile. His eyes darted around for a moment, finding out that he hadn’t stumbled into the kitchen but instead you had come out of the palace library. 

Thank god, he hasn’t lost his mind completely yet. Mindlessly bringing himself to the kitchen would totally prove that. But judging by his increasing heart beat, he was probably close to reaching that point now. 

“Good evening… uhh, chef!” He greeted back, waving absentmindedly.

“Did you just return from the garden, Your Highness?” You asked then, clutching your hands behind your back where the lost letter was held. When he gave you a questioning look, you reached on hand up to your head and tapped at it. You whispered, almost a hiss, “There is a leaf stuck in you hair.” 

“Oh! Oh, right, of course!” He quickly reached his hands up to pick at his locks, hoping to find the leaf you were talking about. When his fingers couldn’t grasp anything dry, because the leaf has already fallen out with his exaggerated movements, he opted to ruffle his brown locks altogether. 

Your smile dropped slightly at his choice of action. It was sudden, but it was just like the way he had swatted at that butterfly that day. A little clumsy and overall, hilarious to watch. But since you weren’t supposed to laugh at royalties, you had to keep your lips sealed up and put on a bland face in order to not break down in giggles in front of him.

Hyunjin, sadly, had taken your neutral expression too seriously and started to panic a little. What did that mean? Why did you stop smiling at him? Was he acting weird? Yes, he was acting weird! He must be acting weird! That’s not good! Oh no, Hyunjin, pull yourself together! 

He quickly cleared his throat as he pulled at the hem of his blazer and stood up straight, his shoes meeting each others’ heel. His smile didn’t fade, it only became more charming than skeptical, and his dimple showed from the way his lips quirked. It was like he did a personality turn in a mere one second, and suddenly he felt like an actual prince again.

“Sorry about that. I just finished your cream puffs and I think I might be having a sugar rush,” he said, a casual huff in his voice. 

“Oh,” you laughed out then, clapping your hands together soundlessly, “I see. Well, it’s never too bad to get that kind of rush once in a while, they aren’t too harmful.”

“Your sweets are too delicious to be harmful, chef,” he replied, almost flirtatiously if you weren’t so dense to believe that he would never try to flirt with you. But even then, you giggled at his words simply because he kept calling you by a title you haven’t received yet but hoped to in the future, and that made his heart all excited and happy.

“Thank you for your kind words, Your Highness,” you said with a polite dip of your head. 

“Yeah, of course, you deserve it! They’re really good!” He gave you several enthusiastic nods of approval, his eyes widening in emphasis that he meant his words more than he has ever meant anything else in his life. 

And you could only thank him again, much more meekly this time due to the sudden step he made towards you. He smelt of sweat, possibly from the heat outside the garden and how he had to wear such thick fabrics under that weather, but you could hardly concentrate on that when he body stood so close and he was all up in your face about it. 

Hyunjin was such a pretty man. You couldn’t believe you have never stopped to appreciate his features in your own time, even if you two have only met each other thrice by now. The whispers and coos shared between the palace maids, starting from the swoons from the younger ones to the motherly praises of the older ones, weren’t just here for show, you realized.

His eyes were surely a brilliant shad of brown, reminding you of the perfect brownies you have once baked for the neighbours’ kids. Looking into them reminded you of their innocent giggles, it made your heart swell in nostalgia. 

And his prettily plump lips made his smile magnificently bright, shaping his face perfectly like colouful frosting fitting perfectly into the surface of a cotton cake. It feels satisfying to watch and such a serotonin boost, much like that vanilla cotton cake you baked for your father’s birthday. 

You smiled even more fondly at him then, remembering the warmth of your hometown and letting your heart lean into the longing. It only made you smile; sometimes sadness displays itself in the form of a smile, you thought that meant you are slowly embracing the fact that you’re getting over it. 

After allowing himself a moment to watch you in silence, because it seemed you were also doing the same, Hyunjin finally broke the moment by faking a cough. When he caught your attention, he pointed behind you at the big double doors and asked, “You came from the library?”

“Oh, yes, I was just inside to borrow something from the butler,” you said, smiling.

“Ah… is it Chan?” Hyunjin asked.

“Yeah. I assume you two have already met each other, Your Highness?” 

“Yes, he has worked in this palace for a long time,” he said, rolling his eyes slightly. “He just used to watch over me and Minho when we would go outside to play. If you ask him about me, he’ll probably tell you how insufferable I am.”

“Well, I am sure you used to be as charming as you are right now, Your Highness,” you said humbly, causing his eyes to soften. He sure hopes he’s charming enough to linger in your head.

“Oh, actually, I do have a small question to ask you, Your Highness!” You abruptly said after a moment of silence, almost preparing to take your leave when you remembered the letter in your hands. 

Hyunjin blinked in confusion, waiting patiently as you clenched your fingers softly around the envelope before finally moving your hand back to the front so he could see the letter. He furrowed his brows at the red seal, recognizing it as the royal seal and only getting more confused as to why you have it in your hands.

“I found this on the kitchen floor, I was wondering if you dropped it when you came by?” You asked, handing the re-sealed letter to him before timidly shrinking back on your spot.

Hyunjin looked at the envelope, his brows furrowing more as he wracked his brain to think. Seeing the words ‘To Princess Rose, with love.’ was able to snap him out of his thoughts quickly as he snapped his fingers with a yell of realization. You jumped, your eyes widening as he turned his head to look to the side.

He looked anxious now, his fingers fluttering against each other in mild panic and stomping his feet gently against the ground. This was what Minho talked to him about, the love letter! He was supposed to hand out his first letter to the Princess Rose so when she leaves, he could keep sending her love letters until the courting period ends and she has to pick her husband. 

“Oh, no,” he muttered under his breath before turning to you. “Thank you for picking this up, I’ll return this to Minho so don’t worry about it!”

“Oh, I wasn’t really–“

“Goodbye, I hope we can see each other again soon!” He gave you not another second to finish your sentence and immediately sped off to the direction where he came from. But before he could go too far, he stopped with a few stumbles and turned back around to ask loudly, “Chef! I forgot to ask for your name!”

Your face heated. What did he need to be so loud for, it was such a trivial problem! Oh, even though nobody was around to witness this, it somehow felt embarrassing! Hopefully, Chan couldn’t hear him from inside the library, it’d be weird to have to explain to him that the prince suddenly just asked for you name when they never do.

“It’s [Na]–“

“What? I can’t hear you!” He leaned forward, turning his head to the side to show his ear.

You pursed your lips together in faint annoyance before you took a step closer to him and said firmly, “It’s [Name]!”

Hyunjin flashed you a smile, his head nodding. “Okay,” he said, “I hope to see you later, [Name]!”

You clutched your hands together, feeling your red face still permanent even after Hyunjin turned around the corner and left like the wind. Gosh, why were you feeling like this all of a sudden? He was never in your mind before, and you weren’t about to be so shallow to develop a crush on him simply because of his gorgeous face, were you?

You shook your head with a light curse, reminding yourself that Hyunjin was a prince and you were just a palace baker, and you spun on your heels to leave before Chan could open the library door to ask about the commotion. 

Minho was panicking. The second he reached his hand in his pocket and realized the emptiness of it, he started to panic. 

He had the whole night planned out in front of him weeks before Princess Rose even arrived to the kingdom for a night’s stay. He had spent days and nights roaming about in the palace library, flipping open one too many romance books and hoping to find the right words to ink down on the love letter he would give to her tonight. 

First the dinner, the garden, then he would give her the first love letter within the next ten love letters he would write over the course of a full month. 

But he couldn’t find the letter in his pocket. The letter he so desperately stuffed inside his tiny pants pocket before leaving his room to welcome the carriage, the letter he had been worrying so hard about for the whole night, the letter he kept wishing had not gone wrinkled in the confine space was gone, vanished, evaporated in air particles he could no longer see nor touch. 

And god, was he humiliated to have to keep Princess Rose waiting while he awkwardly laugh to fill the delay.

Seeing the way he kept fumbling with himself, the princess tilted her head to the side and furrowed her pretty brows. She gave Minho a few more seconds to search himself before she opened her mouth to ask, “Are you okay, Minho? You look ghastly.” 

“I’m fine, Rosie. Don’t worry,” he laughed, scratching the back of his head as his movements halted to a stop. His cheeks were red, but it was hard to see with his back turned on the moon. “I am just… I’m just finding something.”

“Oh? What is it? Maybe I can help you look for it,” she got off the stone bench and approached him, her eyes gazing around at the floor carefully. 

“It’s not–it’s probably not on the ground?” Minho grimaced as he looked around the ground, hoping that he hadn’t dropped his precious letter on the floor and let the wind swipe it up in the air. 

“What is it, though?” Rosie pressed on, leaning forward to stare up at Minho. “I can help you find it. It seems important to you.”

“It is,” he sighed, a faintly annoyed look gracing over his angry brows before he softened a little upon her face. 

Pursing his lips together, he realized there wouldn’t be any harm in asking for her help. This could be a treasure hunting game of some kind; tell her about the love letter he wrote, ask her to find it with him, and the reward would be her receiving the love letter. It could be quite fun searching through the garden, the moon and the night sky already helped with setting the mood enough to not make this feel like a mundane chore.

The only regret Minho has was not playing it cool and pretending he had this plan all along. He knew Rosie didn’t much mind it, she never really did mind his occasional clumsiness much, but swerving out of his original plan really irked him.

“Actually, yeah, I would love your help,” he said, looking at her. “I think I dropped a–“

“Love letter delivery!”

Like a lightbulb going on, alarm bells rung in Minho’s ear briefly upon Hyunjin’s panting but cheerful voice. He whipped his head to the side, his eyes widened in bewilderment as he watched Hyunjin halt to a tiring stop. Sitting right between his fingers was the envelope he had been hoping to see.

“Love letter?” Princess Rose turned to the side so she could face Hyunjin fully. She walked near the boy and reached her hand out, demanding the letter to be delivered as he so loudly announced a moment ago. 

Hyunjin looked at her, his jaw dropped slightly in reluctance. His eyes gazed past the princess and at Minho, asking for permission. When Minho rolled his eyes and gave him a casual shrug, he learned two thing: (1) it does not matter what Hyunjin does, because either way Minho thought he ruined the mood for him anyway and (2) yes, please give Princess Rose the letter so this humiliation event could stop.

“Here you go, princess,” Hyunjin said lowly as he placed the letter in her hand before bowing, with a hand over his heart and the other behind his back, the one he saw Chan doing to the king’s friends before. “I shall take my leave now. May you have a pleasant night, princess.”

Minho scoffed as Hyunjin swiftly turned around and walked away. He bet that boy immediately started running with his arms flailing about the second he turned the corner and just headed straight back into the palace, and he was over here acting all coy and gentle in front of Rosie. 

His attention reverted to Rosie when she turned around with her brows raised in question, the love letter clutched tightly in her hand. There was a very faint blush on her cheeks, but Minho could’t tell if it was just the makeup or the shyness that was causing it. Even when she approached closer to him, the dark night seemed to have draped a veil over her face and he could not tell clearly.

“You wrote me a love letter,” Rosie mused, waving it about in the air as an amused smile spread across her face.

“Yes, I did,” Minho replied in a grunt, putting his hands on his hips, “I am supposed to be courting you this month, right?”

“True,” she said, carefully tearing the wax seal open and removing the letter from the envelope, “but you are the only contestant to hand me a love letter so bonus points for you.”

“I thought the bonus point should already be added from me being your childhood best friend,” he joked, his tone holding a hint of mischief in it. 

“Correction, childhood friend,” she said as she walked over to the bench and sat down. She placed the envelope to her side and held the thin letter in her hands. “You’ve lost your title as best friend, that belongs to a princess now.”

“Ouch, my feelings are hurt, Rosie,” he said playfully, putting a hand on his heart and feigning to be in pain. 

Rosie lifted her gown and kicked Minho’s feet, not hard enough to make him stumble but hard enough to sting with her heel. She only smiled when Minho threw her a glare, and she returned to the letter in her hands. As she unfolded the paper, she spoke casually, “If I like the letter then I’ll add you more bonus point then.”

Minho kicked the rocks at his feet as he waited. His eyes nervously looked around the garden, embracing the scenery around him as he took in everything he has never paid much attention to. The carefully trimmed bushes, the wavering flowers, the reliable trees, and the clear path along the garden—the staffs sure take a good care of this place, he never took notice, and he would surely forget soon when another conversation strikes up with Rosie.

How beautiful the royal garden was has never been the kind of trivial things he has to let his mind linger on. Pretty things as such are like candy; he takes it in, and he forgets it until he gets another glimpse again, and never once does he take into account how the beauty comes to be because all he has to do is drown himself in it.

The silence was engulfing him whole, not in a comforting way as his own room would, but anxiously. The sound of silk curtains waving by his room’s window turning into the thunderstorm raining down in his chest, lighting strikes zapping down and just barely burning his lungs to create this exhilarating feeling inside of him. 

He was trying so hard to read her face, to see what she thought about the letter, to know if she liked it. But Rosie kept a straight race the entirety of her reading the letter, and the initial reaction she gave Minho was a bland expression. There was no smile, her eyes were empty, and her brows seemed neither happy nor angry.

Minho’s heart jumped as his mind raced to recall the days of him writing the letter. Has sleep-deprivation caught onto his brain and started spilling words for him? Or was his writing so purely bad that even Rosie couldn’t bring herself to pretend to appreciate it? 

He couldn’t speak when she suddenly stood up and walked near him. With wide eyes, Minho watched as Rosie raised her fist in the air before she landed a knock on his shoulder. Her hand stayed there, her fist slowly spreading out so her hand covered his chest, and she glanced down on the floor.

“You… you…” she muttered under her breath before looking up, with her rosy cheeks and shy smile, “you get extra bonus points.”

Minho took a second to huff out a relieved sigh, and it was both from how adorable he thought Rosie looked acting like that and from the fact that she liked the love letter he wrote. He ran a hand through his hair, feeling the sweat lining up his forehead and wiping it away, then he finally smiled down at the princess.

“You liked it?”

“Liked it? Heavens, Minho, I loved it!” She exclaimed, her hands leaving his chest and going to clutch the letter. She looked down at it once again, a smile blossoming on her face as she re-read the words before sighing dreamily, her hand pressing the letter to her chest. “I mean, I had no idea you could write like this!”

He laughed, scratching the back of his neck. “Well, I did look for a lot of references.”

“Oh, but even then!” She said, looking down at the letter, “how my eyes rivals that of the depths of the ocean, how they contain all the secrets you wish patiently for me to reveal about myself–Minho, that is very romantic!”

Oh that was, indeed, a very pretty sentence and it absolutely did reveal his deepest affection for Rosie, but just hold on a minute.

Minho’s hand dropped to his side as his brows slowly furrowed, his mind paused to think again, recalling his time spent sitting at a desk with the quill pen in his hand. And he thought about it long and hard only to come to a terrible conclusion: he did not write a single thing about ocean in the letter.

“I’m sorry, what ocean?” He asked, leaning forward slightly in hopes to look at the letter.

Rosie smiled cluelessly at him and she repeated, “My eyes? The part where you said my eyes rivals that of the depths of the ocean?”

“Oh, that…” Minho giggled nervously.

He wrote no such thing. 

Minho watched with a grimace as the white carriage moved away from the palace front yard where he stood, along with a few palace staff and Chan standing just to his side. 

It was finally time for Princess Rose to leave for her kingdom in order to create a fair ground for all the other contestants in the courting period. Minho would definitely be visiting her sometime during the month, knowing fairly well the other princes will do so too, but he’s also got the love letters he would be sending her way over the course of the month. Therefore, he shouldn’t do too bad on it. 

The only problem he has right now was to find out who switched his letter out with something else, and his first suspect was none other than Hwang Hyunjin.

“Chan!” Minho called immediately after the carriage was out of sight. He turned abruptly to the side where Chan stood, annoyance surfacing to his face and causing the rest of the palace staffs to quickly scurry away from the front yard. 

Chan breathed in deeply at the prince’s voice, already sensing that there would be some sort of trouble happening under the palace roof today. For a second he looked at the fading carriage with longing, wanting nothing more than to jump on the wagon and ride back home where he could sleep until sunset. Taking care of palace duties could really take a toll on him sometimes, as capable as he is. 

But well, too bad that he got picked because he had an honest face and the previous butler trusted him the most. He would be stuck here until he could find himself a suitable replacement for this position. 

Chan put on a soft smile as he turned to look at Minho, and he asked, “How may I be of service today, Your Highness?”

Minho furrowed his brows, his grimace deepening at his friend’s formal tone. “Cut the crap, jeez,” he waved his hands dismissively, “you sound disgusting.”

“That, I believe, a lot of guests beg to differ,” Chan said jokingly, adding a somewhat seductive wink at the end of his sentence and causing Minho to roll his eyes. 

Even though he wasn’t wrong, and that lots of gentlemen and ladies who have walked through the palace doors for balls and parties have openly discussed Chan’s more than gorgeous features and top-tier politeness, he didn’t need to say that. Not to mention that stinking wink he did, ugh, it just makes Minho shiver. 

“I’m going to pretend I never heard that but do invite me to your wedding if there will be one,” he said before jumping right back into the original topic. “Do you know where Hyunjin might be?”

“Prince Hyunjin…” Chan hummed as he turned to look at the palace, his eyes squinted as if he could see right through the walls and pinpoint Hyunjin’s exact location. 

And perhaps he could. After all, he had taken care of him for years before due to his frequent visits, he might still be able to recall Hyunjin’s never changing morning routine if he tried hard enough. Giving it another thought, mentally listing all the things Hyunjin does in the morning and about how long it takes for him to finish each tasks, Chan finally turned to look at Minho again.

“I could be wrong, but it is likely that he would be on his way to the garden right now,” Chan said. “And since he usually likes to grab a snack for that, he might be near where the kitchen is at the moment.”

“Got it, thanks!” Minho mumbled under his breath as he sped past Chan and ran inside the palace, leaving the butler completely bewildered.

And, just as Chan predicted, Hyunjin was walking along the hallway with his hand holding up a plate of cake. His brows were furrowed and there was a pout on his face that he couldn’t wipe off. 

He spent his entire morning in the library. He had laid on the velvet couches, all four of them plastered across the corners of the reading area, with a different book in his hands every other minute. 

He never actually paid attention to reading them, he only flipped the books open to read a few lines before he would close it and drop it on the tea tables. His short attention span never quite allowed him the time and space to finish one book entirely.

But he loved the library even then. It is quiet as the garden is, and while it couldn’t refresh his mind like the garden could with the flowery scent and the bright blue sky, the library has always given him a mysterious, candle-lit atmosphere. 

He loved the carpet floors and how his footsteps could never be destructive walking around it, and he loved the concept of books lining up the shelf, each one of them a different emotion stained with ink. 

The library is so alive to him, filled with people’s quiet minds, waiting for him to discover. 

After his hazy morning delight, all spent drowning in pages and admiring certain phrases he found beautiful, he started thinking about you. A gentle thought, one that could waver off easily if he tried, but he never tried because he Hyunjin loved thinking about you. 

You and your mellow words, spoken in such a gentle voice, your formality that he genuinely disliked, your passionate hands that could make brilliant desserts. He smiled with the poetry book pressed close to his chest. Suddenly, all he wanted to do was see you, which would be convenient for him since you two were located under the same palace roof now. 

He finally got off the soft surfaces and decided to head to the garden so he could admire the flowers and, well, daydream about you again, and he had stopped by the kitchen in hopes to find you there. 

He wanted to talk to you again, and perhaps he could humbly ask for a tray of snack from you to enjoy during his long visit to the garden too. But you were nowhere to be found when he arrived, not when he glimpsed into the kitchen and not by the other kitchen staffs who worked inside.

He did get himself a plate of strawberry cake, though, which he was quite in the mood for. But nothing beats being able to eat the dessert you make, and he knew that you didn’t make this cake as chef Park was the one who handed it to him while telling him about how he spent the whole morning making it.

As he made his way across the hall, putting pieces of the cake into his pouty mouth, rapid footsteps were making their way towards him from the other side. When Hyunjin finally registered the noises, he looked up from his plate and stopped when he found Minho racing towards him from the other end of the hall.

His pulled a face at the way Minho was panting by the time he approached him, watching his pathetic face contorting while stabbing the fork into the cake and popping in another piece. Hyunjin’s mouth was full when he spoke, his voice slightly muffled by the small pieces of strawberries and the soft cake in his cheek.

“What are you running for, you idiot?” He asked, a hint of irritation present in his voice as he waved his fork around the air. “See? Now you can’t breathe! You look stupid, and for what reason, Minho? For what?”

Minho looked up at Hyunjin, huffs of breath leaving his lips as his gaze hardened in confusion. “Who put roaches in your cake, Hyunjin?” He asked as he stood up, looking at Hyunjin with a permanent frown as he pushed aside his own problems to ask about his attitude. “You’re so grumpy and for what reason, hmm?”

Hyunjin scoffed, stuffing his cheek with yet another piece of cake before he complained, “Shut up! I’m just disappointed, that’s all.”

“Why? Is the cake bad?”

“No, it’s a normal cake, and I’m not going to explain it to you so just leave it,” Hyunjin sighed, his voice much gentler now that he has calmed down from the heat of not being able to see you just then. He poked at the frosting with the fork and eyed Minho carefully, his brows raising in question, urging him to speak. 

Minho gathered himself then. He has been thinking about the love letter all night, feeling both furious and defeated because he was torn between being happy that Princess Rose liked the love letter, thus liking him better, and being upset that his feelings weren’t the ones delivered to her but somebody else’s words. 

He wasn’t sure if the process mattered more than the result this time. 

“Did you write my love letter?” Minho asked, going straight to the point.

Hyunjin stared at him for a long moment, just munching on his cake and looking directly into his eyes with his own hollow and dead ones. And it took Minho a light-hearted shake of his head before he finally spoke in that bored, nonchalant tone of his.

“That’s a stupid question, Minho,” he said with a snicker, “if you said it is your love letter then who else could have written it but you?”

“Hyunjin,” Minho called once, firmly, his fists curled to his side and a sarcastic smile on his face.

Hyunjin laughed, holding his hand out in mock defence as he took a few steps back. Alright, he didn’t register how Minho was being serious but hearing his teeth gritting against each other was a good enough indication. He was still smiling in amusement when he forked up the crumbs of the cake and shoved them in his mouth.

As soon as he dragged the fork away from his lips, he spoke with an incredulous grimace, “Okay, okay! No, no I didn’t write your letter.”

Minho pressed on for a little more, not believing in Hyunjin just yet due to how playful he was being. “Are you sure? Nothing like… how Rosie’s eyes are like the ocean?”

“Eww, god no, that’s cheesy!” Hyunjin gagged, his nose scrunching up in pure disgust. 

He couldn’t even begin to think of Princess Rose in a romanic way, let alone write something about her pretty eyes being akin to the ocean when they’re not even blue. That kind of creativity wasn’t reserved for her, it was reserved for you, someone who he was actually fond of.

“Well, she liked it so cheesy or not, it worked,” Minho scoffed as he crossed his arms. “Except I wasn’t the one who wrote it, and if it wasn’t you either then it has got to be the person before you… say, who gave you the letter, Hyunjin?”

“Huh? Uh… [Name] gave me the letter…” Hyunjin’s voice trailed off slowly to a halt as he watched Minho’s expression morph into confusion. He waved his fork in the air and explained, “The one who made those cream puffs yesterday. They said they found it on the kitchen floor, I think they tried to ask Chan about it too since they came out from the library when I saw them.”

Minho tilted his head to the side, his mind racing to piece of puzzles together. It could not have been Chan who helped him write the letter. If he wanted to help then he would have done so weeks ago when he saw Minho turning and flipping pages of multiple romance books in the library. Why would he suddenly rewrite the whole letter for him? 

Besides, Chan wouldn’t head inside the kitchen for no reason. His duty laid outside the kitchen, where the main rooms of the palace were located. You definitely picked it up after he dropped it and looked inside because curiosity got the best of you. 

What Minho couldn’t understand was why you rewrote his letter? Have you planned to sabotage his undisclosed plan to court Princess Rose? 

“[Name]…” Minho muttered under his breath, his chest heaving in frustration as his brows knitted to the middle. Whatever reason it was, you already did what you should not do; your crimes didn’t simply lie in rewriting Minho’s love letter, you obviously tore it open and read it as well. And he has to settle that with you. 

Sensing Minho’s displeasure, it took Hyunjin a short moment to realize he might have just snitched you out accidentally, albeit he wasn’t aware of what you did and neither could Minho be sure, it seemed. Placing the fork on the plate and casually dropping the plate on the side table, carefully pushing it into the corner and against the flower vase landed on top.

Hyunjin placed a hand on Minho’s shoulder and laughed awkwardly, trying to deescalate his rising emotions. “I’m sure they didn’t do anything, though. Maybe you wrote something and you just forgot!”

“I’ve been facing that letter for weeks, I’ll never forget it,” Minho mumbled under his breath as he brushed Hyunjin’s hand off and started walking towards the direction of the kitchen. 

Hyunjin panicked. Minho seemed genuinely annoyed and he might have just put fuel to the fire by trying to defend you. He had no idea what Minho planned to do if he found out you did tweaked his letter, and he wasn’t sure if he has the power to stop whatever Hell could be descended upon you, so he made another mistake by stopping Minho in his tracks again. 

His hands tugged at the older’s collar, stopping him from moving forward. When Minho turned around to throw him a glare, he felt a shiver run down his spine and he immediately let go of his red silk shirt. 

“They’re not in the kitchen, I dropped by and they weren’t there so no point heading to the kitchen!” Hyunjin said nervously, clapping his hands together and rubbing his smooth skin.

Minho furrowed his brows. Fake smile, anxious eyes, and fidgety hands—he wasn’t lying, Minho knew. Hyunjin have always been the better liar of the two, he wouldn’t break a sweat if he had to lie to an entire crowd about some bullshit idea. Bluffing was his thing. If he was acting like this then he was just nervous and nothing else.

Unless Minho was wrong, of course. Since this situation matters you, and Minho suspected that Hyunjin has developed an enigmatic affection towards you (one that he needs to talk to him about because oh, no, a prince with a kitchen staff? The atrocity of that was immaculate), it could be possible that Hyunjin has thrown all caution to the wind and started to lose his head a little.

How disappointing. It wasn’t like Minho was going to do anything cruel to you. Did Hyunjin actually think he’d send you to the chamber over some stupid love letter? Hurtful, atrocious, obscene. Hyunjin has no faith in his tolerance at all even after all these years of him enduring his bullshit. 

“Well, I still have to find them somehow,” Minho muttered under his breath as he dusted his hands and continued to walk forward. “I need an explanation to why they rewrote my love letter!”

“No need to do that because I wrote it! I was the one who wrote it for you!” Hyunjin quickly said, catching up with Minho. But judging by the way Minho only kept walking, he knew his hasty lies were left both unheard and revealed. 

There was a moment of silent as the two walked towards the kitchen, Minho leading at the front while Hyunjin followed closely behind. Glancing behind his shoulder, Minho found the younger prince to still be fidgeting with the hem of his clothes, his eyes nervously looking around the walls and down at the pattered carpet, and a defeated sigh escaped his lips.

He wondered if Hyunjin noticed it himself; the way he stares at you, and the way his mind get all hazy whenever your name is mentioned, and how his movements always turn so abrupt and sudden when you are within presence. Minho wondered if Hyunjin realizes how his crush on you was only progressing when he should be suppressing it.

A relationship like that wouldn’t work, a prince and a kitchen staff. 

Even if Hyunjin was willingly to give up his royal status to be with you, which was a problem of itself, you most likely wouldn’t let him do such thing. 

It’s a tie bound to break.

You dropped the vine basket on the ground, the squelching of the freshly washed laundry a sound that reminded you of the chore you were supposed to be doing. You looked down at the wet clothes you were supposed to hang on the strings tied to the wooden poles in the backyard, groaned, and sat down on the curb by the bushes.

It has been a tiring day, much more tiring than when you still had kitchen duties, where you'd be asked to anything but bake even though you were appointed as a baker. But cleaning the dishes and gathering fruits in the orchard could still, to some level, be an enjoyable task for you.

Cleaning the dishes lets you at least smell the food in the kitchen, and picking fruits gives you time to think up new recipes. You could still somehow string baking into those kitchen duties you were often asked to do. But scrubbing the royalties’ clothes using a giant tub of soapy water and having to hang them all at the backyard? Not fun at all.

It was just tiring, and it was lonely because you have zero to none maid friends who’d talk to you.

You were the first one to finish washing all the clothes. It could possibly be your carelessness in not making sure if you’ve cleaned the clothes thoroughly, but you believed it was mostly your profound desire to get the hell away from the giant tub of gossiping maids, all with their sleeves rolled up and their mouths blabbering about the latest palace gossip. 

Lord, you would actually explode if you have to hear one more person giggle about how Changbin’s arms have been looking extra muscular recently, or how Chan is apparently the hottest man they’ve encountered aside from the two princes, who they try not to speak of too much because they are totally out of their league.

It was a nightmare back there. You wanted to say so many things; if only they knew Changbin talks like a baby and throws mini tantrums when he takes care of the farm animals. If only they knew Chan… uhh, you didn’t know him well enough to find any flaws in that man so you would let that one slip, but one thing you knew for sure was that Chan was definitely not as serious as everyone portrayed him to be.

Taking a giant bite of the bread Changbin snuck out for you when you walked past the kitchen with the dirty laundries, your shoulders slumped again as you relaxed against your knees and looked ahead at the yard. It was much plainer-looking than the royal garden, understandably since the backyard was mainly used to dry food and clothes. Only the palace staffs walks around this area, the royalties usually spend their time somewhere else.

Today seemed to be an exception though. As you munched on your bread, your feet tapping against the grassy ground rhythmically, your train of thoughts was interrupted when you saw two figures approaching. Not two figures in dark, plain clothing, but two figures in clothes made out of velvet and silk.

You squinted your eyes, knowing fairly well that those two weren’t any palace staff. And judging by the way they were speeding towards your direction, and how there were two of them instead of one, the king wasn’t part of the mix. Therefore, those two would be Prince Minho and Prince Hyunjin.

Quickly taking your last bite of the bread, you wrapped the napkins around it again and dropped the remaining piece on top of the wet laundry. You stood up and dusted your clothes before looking up, all just in time to find Minho stopping before you with his brows furrowed in dismay. Standing behind him was Hyunjin, who gave you an apologetic grimace when you two caught eyes.

You pursed your lips in slight confusion, but still you politely placed your hands together and bowed. “Good morning, Your Highness–“

“You switched my letter.”

You couldn’t even begin to get mad at him for cutting you off, not that you could have ever expressed your annoyance to him anyway. The fact that Minho has found you out baffled you, and you didn’t even try to deny it because he probably already knew the truth, which would be the only reason why he searched for you out of every potential candidates.

Perhaps you should have made an even more intricate lie, but you didn’t really think of that last night, especially not with how urgent you had wanted to get rid of the envelope in your hands. Now your carelessness came back to bite you in the ass, how wonderful. 

“I did switch your letter, Your Highness,” you admitted, keeping a neutral face to hide your palpitating heart. You have never met Minho in close quarters like this before and you have no idea how unreasonable he could be with the kind of power he has, therefore you needed to make every move with the utmost caution. 

Be polite, be fragile, be agreeable. That’s the way to go. If only you took your own advice every time, though. 

Minho heaved a sigh, his hands curling into fists as a sudden rage overtook him. Why did you do that? He has never done anything to you before! “How dare you open my letter when it isn’t addressed to you!” He scolded, “Have you no manners?”

“I apologize for doing that, truly, I harbour no ill intention for doing such thing aside from my immense curiosity.” You bowed before standing back up, but you kept your head low as you waited for him to respond.

“There is no point in apologizing, you have already switched out my letter and I already gave yours to Princess Rose. Even though she loved the letter you wrote, I hated that she didn’t get to read mine,” Minho said, relaxing slightly at your timid posture. “If you weren’t trying to sabotage my plan to court Princess Rose then why did you switch out my letter?”

You licked your lower lip. Oh, you were hoping he would just give you a punishment and let the issue go. The fact that Princess Rose liked what you wrote—ha! obviously—in the love letter has probably made Minho significantly less angry than he probably would have if the letter didn’t work out in his favor. But even with his semi-reasonable state, you were unsure how you could break the truth to him.

It might be rather hurtful, especially when you heard from the maids just then how Minho has been stuck in the library flipping books and looking for references for the love letter. 

"Why did you rewrite my letter? Tell me this instant.” Minho wasn’t yelling, which made it so much more intimidating.

You huffed out a gentle sigh as you looked up. A bitter taste lingered in your mouth as you shrugged, your eyes kindly refusing to look into Minho’s while your head turned to the side slightly. 

“It’s…” you started, your voice trailing off to a hush before you continued, “Your love letter was really bad… Your Highness…”

Hyunjin, who had been listening from behind, took a step forward upon your reply. There was a smile on his face, and his eyes were sparking with amusement when he learned closer to you. He clamped a hand on Minho’s shoulder and gripped it tightly to prevent from being shoved off, then he asked, “What did you say?”

You cleared your throat and repeated, your eyes darting between Minho and Hyunjin, “I said Prince Minho’s love letter was… really… uhh… bad.”

“No way! How so?” Minho quickly asked, his voice showing a hint of childish complaint in it. His lips jutted out in a pout, showing that he was genuinely upset that you thought his letter was bad. And that was coming from someone who wrote a love letter Princess Rose really loved. “I spent so long on it, though! How is it bad? I even searched through books and looked for references!” 

Oh god, now that you thought back to it, you didn’t know where you should begin. From what you could remember, there was simultaneously not that many flaws and so many flaws in this love letter. 

Reading it was a roller-coaster ride that went straight down, a journey of you spiralling more and more into despair when you realized all the elite education Minho has received was for nothing, because the love letter he wrote was almost abominable. Unless Princess Rose’s standards were extremely low, that letter would probably not bring him to the final round of this courting race.

Looking at Minho, your brows furrowed slightly at the grim anticipation on his face. Did he really expect you to talk him through the mistakes he has made in his letter? Could he not see that you’ve got a task at hand? Just because he could hold you off from doing it doesn’t mean he has to, the consequences of wasting your time wouldn’t be for him to take.

“I would explain everything to you but I have actual chores to do, Your Highness” you said as you leaned down to pick up the vine basket, “so I apologize, but I am going to have to ask for permission to leave.”

“Woah, no way,” Minho scoffed as he held up his hand. His brows were still furrowed in disbelief, but you could sense that a part of him was also curious to why you thought the way you did about his love letter. And maybe, just maybe, deep down there was a part of him that feared his lack of writing skills. 

“I have full ability to exempt you from a day’s work, and I will do that if you agree to explain to me which part of my letter sucked.” 

You clutched the edge of your basket. Somehow your eyes flipped from looking at Minho to Hyunjin, and your chest relaxed a little when his warm gaze stared right back at you, a gentle smile spread across his face. 

He had his hand on Minho’s shoulder, gripping it tightly as if to prevent his cousin from doing anything rash. And he didn’t have to be here during this confrontation but he was, not just because he was looking for some fun on a boring afternoon but because he wanted to make sure Minho wouldn’t act out. 

Everything Hyunjin did were discreet, but he was looking out for you nonetheless.

You only gave him the faintest nod before you turned back to Minho, and you raised a brow. “Do I even have a choice, Your Highness?” 

“No,” Minho said. “But I am still going to ask you politely.”

You heaved a sigh and nodded. “Fine. But, instead of exempting me from today’s work, I would like to ask for another favor if I could, Your Highness.”

Minho frowned, finding it annoying that you were trying to bargain in a situation where you have done something wrong. “What is it?”

“Chef Park has kicked me out of the kitchen to do maid chores for a whole week under unreasonable circumstances and personal grudge,” you muttered the last part under your breath, keeping an eye-roll to yourself. “I would like you to ask him to put me back in the kitchen, without revealing that I asked you to.”

“Huh…” Minho blinked unexpectedly. He turned to share an equally confused look with Hyunjin, just now realizing that you were, indeed, not fulfilling your role as a baker but instead, was doing a maid’s job. Looking back at you, he hummed. 

Whether there was a serious reason why you were kicked out, one he couldn’t fathom with the delicious cream puffs you made yesterday, he didn’t care. His love letter problem was infinitely more important right now.

“I will do that.”

“Thank you, Your Highness,” you said, bowing with a bright smile hidden in your action. When you looked back up, your expression bounced back to a neutral politeness, and you sighed. “It won’t take all day, there isn’t too much explaining to do, really.”

Minho frowned. He did not believe you. You wouldn’t have changed the entire letter for him if there really wasn’t much problems to explain, there were obviously a lot of things wrong for you to go to such drastic length to re-write it for him.

And boy, he was determined to find out what went wrong.

You brought the two princes into the palace, entering through the main gate instead of the mini door at the side where the palace servants usually go in and out through. 

The palace was separated into two parts, one much larger than the other, with the larger part being the grounds that the royalties mostly stayed on. The smaller part of the palace was located at the back corner of the structure, housing the bedrooms and bathrooms for the lower palace servants who were unable to leave home for the night. 

There were several doors leading into the that particular part of the palace, and they were all built in remote corners that only the servants could navigate to. You were unsure if any royalties have ever accidentally stumbled upon one of those little doors that cut down the red carpets laid out on the floor, but you were certain that none of them has ever tried to look for nor enter those doors. 

Minho has lived under this roof ever since he was born. He thought his younger self had roamed through all the secret passageways there were in his home, but he has never once arrived at this corner of the palace where you just led him to. 

It was all paintings and flower vases one second, then as you turned a sharp corner, suddenly the walls became dull and the floor boards turned up with wooden scratch marks. It felt like a foreign place to him. The way the palace was structured really made it feel as if the dorm wing didn’t exist, and it didn’t exist to him until just now.

You pushed open the wooden door and revealed a long hallway of closed doors. There were tiny torch holders lining up between each door, empty and waiting for the night’s arrival. Minho and Hyunjin shared a curious look with each other, both have never been around his part of the palace before, and together they followed you down the path. 

They have never noticed how loud their footsteps were before. For so long, the noises they make were drowned out by thick carpets and vibrant grass fields; the sudden loud clicking of their heels were making them feel rather self-conscious, especially when you were walking with such silent grace. Even with a full basket of heavy laundry in your hands, you made no sound as you walked.

 “Where are we, exactly?” Minho raised the question as he caught up to walk next to you.

Your steps didn’t halt when you replied, his question not at all surprising to you, “The dorms, these are all our rooms. The staffs who can’t leave for home because it’s too far away stays in the palace.”

“Oh…I should have figured…” Minho muttered under his breath, looking around at the small doors you three walked past. Then he looked back at you, his brows raised. “Why are we here?”

You came to a stop then, spinning on your heels so you faced the door. Pressing the vine basket against the side of your waist, you removed a hand from the edge of the basket and reached for the rusty doorknob. A loud squeak sounded through the hall when you pushed the door open, the weight of it heavy against the wooden floor.

Hyunjin poked his head over Minho’s shoulder so he could take a better look inside the room. He couldn’t get a full view of it yet, but he could see the dust lining up the window pane where the sunlight shone in, illuminating most of the plain room.

“I just need to fetch the letter you wrote, I have kept it with me since yesterday,” you explained as you dropped the basket by the door. “We can talk in my room, but I doubt you would want to be in here so we can find a place of your liking, Your Highness.”

Hyunjin got even more curious then. This was your room, this was where you sleep every night and wake up every morning. Somehow he wanted to know what it looked like, to go more in-depth instead of only looking at the windows staring back at him from across the wall. Would he be able to certain tell-tales about you? Perhaps your clothes, or the blanket you use to keep yourself warm at night? 

Even though he knew he couldn’t expect to see anything extravagant in a servant’s room, he wanted to walk inside anyway. 

“No, we can talk here. This is fine,” Hyunjin said as he waltzed right inside without further warning. And when he turned around to look behind his shoulders, he threw a small glare at Minho and said, “Right? We can talk here.”

Not quite understanding what he was trying to do, but also not having any preference over where he could get his writing skills criticized, Minho gave a shrug and walked inside the room as well. And just as Hyunjin was doing, his eyes started to scan the insides once he got more access to it. 

There was a single bed sitting on the far corner, sticking to the wall. A small table with two big drawers was placed near the bed with a candle holder being the only thing sitting on top. And that seemed to be all there was to that side of the room. Turning to the other side, there was only a closet and a chair right next to it. 

The room was small, but it was spacious because of the lack of furniture placed. It was much better than what the two of them have expected for a servants’ room. 

“Woah, this room is bigger than I thought it would be,” Hyunjin commented as he turned to you, watching you fish something out of your closet drawer.

“Yes, that should be the case since I share this room with someone else, Your Highness,” you mused as you closed the drawer before standing back up straight and looking at him, the piece of letter clipped between your fingers. Seeing Hyunjin’s raised brows, you gave him a faint laugh. “It would probably be quite a disaster if I have to share an even smaller room with Felix.”

Minho hummed, both in acknowledgement and amusement as he watched Hyunjin tense up next to him. Hyunjin gulped down a knot of dismay, repeating the boyish name under his breath as his eyes shone lightly with a burning heat. 

Oh, there must be a lot of question popping into his head at the moment, the word sharing a room and the name Felix not colliding very well for the sake of Hyunjin’s poor, young heart. They have both met the young fellow before due to him being a close acquaintance of Chan, and Felix was undeniably a very charming boy whose only downside seemed to be that he’s a poor servant of the palace.

“Oh–oh, so you share a room with Felix, huh?” Hyunjin laughed out awkwardly, his eyes squinting as they darted towards the single bed. His brows twitched, wondering if you had been laying in bed with Felix this entire time. Platonically or romantically, either way he couldn’t bring himself to show enthusiasm over it. 

“But… uhh, but there is only one bed?”

“Yeah, there is.” You nodded innocently, your eyes gazing at the messy bed with a grimace. Felix didn’t make the bed again, for the third time this week. You reckoned he must have a lot of work to do. 

Hyunjin laughed again, his voice forced and fake. You were far too casual about it than he wanted. Perhaps he was overreacting? You could possibly be taking turns on the bed instead of snuggling up to each other as he dreaded. 

When he asked the next question, his voice was squeaky in a way that made Minho snort from behind. “Do–umm, do you guys share the bed or something…?” 

You blinked at him, bewildered. You have never thought of that before. Ever since you moved into the bedroom with Felix, he had insisted on letting you sleep on it while he would wrap himself up with the extra blanket and pillow on the floor. But sooner, when you realized the heavy workload Felix had to endure during the day, you proposed the system of taking turns.

It took you a lot of convincing, and a night of you stubbornly staying on the floor, for him to finally agree with the system. He was so persistent on letting you use the bed, his kindness so overwhelming that even if his back was aching from the work, he’d still choose to sleep on the cold, hard floor.

“No, we don’t share the same bed,” you said, shaking your head before you raised a finger at the ceiling, “but that is an interesting approach, Your Highness. Not only can we both sleep on a mattress, we can also huddle for more warmth.”

No, no, no. Hyunjin did not mean to suggest that! He did not mean to suggest using cuddling with Felix as a solution to your problem.

“Surely, Felix wouldn’t mind if I ask.” You smiled, snapping your fingers. “I shall heed your advice, Prince Hyunjin!”

No, don’t listen to him! Oh my lord, what has he done? If you weren’t sleeping with another before then you certainly would now, and within Hyunjin’s striking imagination, the only thing that could happen with you cuddling Felix would be you falling in love with him. 

And since you often spend more time with Felix than you do with him, there would be virtually no way for him to ever try to gain your affection back!

“Well, I mean–wouldn’t that… wouldn’t that be a little awkward?” Hyunjin huffed out, “Surely, laying with another in bed, even through friendly means, is pretty intimate, don’t you agree?”

“That is true.” You hummed in thought, nodding your head in agreement before you suddenly bursted into a fit of giggles. “Oh, but Felix is quite a dreamy boy–not as much as you, of course. But I reckon I would not mind it that much if I have to lay in the same bed as him, Your Highness.” 

Oh heavens, how could he have done this to himself. Why couldn’t he simply shut up and let the envy dwell in his heart. This was a new level of self-sabotaging, even the devils would need a crash course from him. 

“Well, I–“

“Hyunjin!” Minho cut the boy off with a loud slap to his shoulder. He came up from behind, prompting Hyunjin to face him before he threw the younger prince a strong glare. 

It has been fun watching Hyunjin mess his non-existent romantic life up, it was probably the most entertaining thing he has seen all week aside from his encounter with Princess Rose, but for the sake of not letting Hyunjin embarrass himself even more, Minho had chosen to lend a helping hand. 

Besides, he wasn’t here to talk about you and your sleeping habit.

Looking back at you, Minho exhaled through his nose and his eyes froze at the letter in your hand for a moment. Then his gaze went dark, the previous anger he felt resurfacing at the reminder that you switched out his letter. 

Crossing his arms, he shifted his weight to stand taller, and he spoke, “Well, about the letter?” 

“Right, I have it here,” you said, waving it in the air. 

Minho quirked his lip for a brief moment. He wanted to snatch it away from your hands, he wanted to read it for himself and see exactly which part of the letter was bad. He swore the way he remembered it was that he had felt very proud of himself when he wrote the letter, and he was truly beyond the moon when he finished it. How could it have been bad if he loved it so much?

You gave a a scan once more, refreshing your memories of all the thoughts you had when you first read it, so you could better explain it to him where he went wrong. A few seconds passed and you finally looked back up at the princes, one looking sulky while the other annoyed, and you couldn’t help but heave a sigh at how your day has come to this weird moment.

All you wanted to do was eat some bread before lunch time. You should have headed to your spot and started clipping up the laundry instead, at least you’d look busy then. 

“Here, you should have it back, Your Highness,” you said as he handed Minho the piece of paper.  After he took it gently out of your hands, you looked back up at him and said. “And I shall tell you what went wrong.”

The hard part, right.

You didn’t know where you should begin explaining it to him. On a level, he didn’t make too many mistakes. His mistake was collective, it was one mistake he repeatedly made instead of several mistakes he made once each. But that collective mistake was able to render the love letter a shallow piece of art that held almost no significance to a lover.

“Your Highness… a love letter…” you began, your thoughts cogged up in your head and you were trying very hard to find the root of everything you wanted to say to him. You licked your lower lip, your hands flying up to your chest so you could do gestures along the way. “Your love letter isn’t bad in a sense that your writing was terrible, it is bad because it read as a shallow comparison.”

The letter had consisted of Minho comparing Princess Rose to an array of things. Starting with her hair, to her eyes, to her lips, then her overall demeanour. But that was all there was to the letter, just him making drastic comparison that amounted to nothing much but a compilation of pretty objects being put together in a single passage.

“There isn’t anything wrong with the way you chose to write the letter, but there is something wrong with the way you decided that all you needed to do was create comparison,” you said. “A love letter is not a school assignment to test how many vocabularies you know, or to test how good you are at creating similes, Your Highness.”

Minho took in your words intently, his mind processing each words and the connotation behind them with utmost concentration. You made sense to him, everything that you said made sense and did not seem like you were simply trying to make up something to scold him for. He did make a lot of comparison in the letter, but he didn’t realize how that could be bad until you told him just now.

Clutching the paper in his hand, he clicked his tongue and glared down at it. But why was it bad to create a metaphor? To write down some type of simile? What was so bad about comparing your lover’s hair to the softness of silk, or comparing your lover’s laugh to the heaven’s choir?

“So are you saying similes are inherently bad and I should never use it in a love letter?” He asked, genuinely confused.

You sucked in a breath, shaking your head as your eyes squinted in thoughts. “No, I am not saying that.” 

“Do you care to elaborate?”

“I was going to–Your Highness…” your voice trailed off quickly when you realized your sudden outburst, but as you eyed up at Minho, it didn’t look like he noticed the disrespectful tone in your voice. He was far too focused on the question at hand, and a part of you admired him for his willingness to take criticism. 

“When you write a love letter using comparisons like that, you have to…” you hummed, licking your lower lip as your hand bounced in the air, your thumb and index finger pinched together. 

“Similes are… they are completely fine to use. In fact, I used a few in the letter I wrote as well. But that is where the problem lies, Your Highness. You see, anybody can write a good comparison if they just slap a bunch of pretty words together.”

Words like soft, tender, gentle, galaxy, ethereal—language does not lack pretty words like those, and they can be as deceiving as they are romantic. Anybody can use it, anybody can say it. And sometimes when things are repeatedly being used, they lose their significance unless one puts their own spin into it. 

“What you really need in a love letter is sentiment! You need something to tie your comparison back to what you feel for the person you are writing to,” you explained, holding your hands out before your chest as if you were holding a heart. “Recall how I described Princess Rose’s eyes. I did not simply compare it to the blues of the ocean, I also mentioned how its depth is the way I wanted to unravel her heart.”

Hyunjin’s mouth hung open slightly as his head cranked upward in a slow realization. He wasn’t able to follow with your conversation, but when you started to explain the elements of a love letter, he reckoned he didn’t need to read Minho’s letter to understand what you were trying to convey. 

He understood it, seemingly better than Minho could since Minho still had a rather uncertain expression on his face. Marching forward, he placed his hand behind his back and spoke to break the thoughtful silence, “I get it! When you compared Princess Rose to the ocean, you are also comparing your desire to understand her as deep as the ocean goes!”

“Absolutely correct, Your Highness!” You clapped your hands together and grinned at him, your eyes glimmering with approval that Hyunjin felt a startling tug at his chest. He was smiling secretly to himself then but you couldn’t notice as you turned to Minho, raising a brow as if to ask him if he needed more clarification.

Minho looked at you, his brows still knitted together but it wasn’t due to hatred but more so confusion this time. He tilted his head, his fingers automatically clutching the letter he almost forgot his has in his hands. Then he started to mutter words under his breath, inaudible words you assumed were just him repeating the points you’ve made.

“Okay… what are you saying is…” he gulped, his eyes rolling away to avoid the faint intimidation of your gaze. “I should link everything back to how I feel about Rosie?”

“Yes, Your Highness, that is all,” you said, giving him a firm nod. “When you make a comparison, you want it to stand out among others. It has to mean something to you before it can be considered valuable, or else it is just a jumble of pretty words you can find in a book.”

“And that would be very shallow, Minho,” Hyunjin added, giving Minho’s back an encouraging slap. 

Instead of answering, Minho had his letter brought up to his face and his eyes were reading every single line of it. Your explanation, plus Hyunjin’s added example, finally solved the puzzle for him. He was able to grasp the key of sentimentality as of now, an important element he didn’t know a love letter should own. 

The only problem lies in whether or not he could successfully utilize the advice. 

“Oh… I should rewrite this letter and send it to Princess Rose,” Minho said to himself after he finished re-reading it. He folded it carefully and slipped it inside his pants pocket, making sure he shoved it deep enough that it wouldn’t fall outside this time. 

His eyes searched the ground before they looked up at you. He wouldn’t admit that to your face, but you truly helped him big time. Although he was still upset that you had switched his letter out and read through the monstrosity he wrote, he was glad you made the decision not to let him embarrass himself in front of Princess Rose.

With an awkward hand gesture, something akin to a wave but not nearly visible enough to be one, he said, “Thank you for your help.”

“No problem. I wish you all the best in your writing process, Your Highness,” you bowed at him, “If I am not of need anymore, I shall take my leave.”

You stepped away from the princes and headed to the door. You picked up the laundry basket again, the fabrics inside stopped dripping water through the twisted vines. You looped the handle over your forearm and twisted the knob, opening the door in preparation the leave. But before you could take a step, a voice halted you.

You pursed your lips together in annoyance. Whatever was he going to ask? You thought he understood everything already! There was joy in seeing how passionately Minho loved Princess Rose and how much he really wanted to write a good love letter to her, but this was taking up your work time and you haven’t gotten through even one of your laundry basket yet.

Putting on a faint smile, you turned around and asked, “Yes, Your Highness?”

“Would you share with me what you wrote in your letter? I want to use it as reference, to set an example!” Minho asked, his eyes widened in screams of silent pleads. 

You heaved a sigh, your chest rising and falling visibly as you turned around slightly to face him. “I’m sorry, Your Highness, but that I cannot do,” you said. “If I tell you, you will be compelled to copy it. The love letter needs to come from you, Your Highness. Your love should be without outside influence.”

You took your leave much quicker this time around, not hoping to give any of the princes a chance to stop you once more. If they do, you were seriously going to have to ask them for one more favor and exempt you from today’s tasks as a maid. You left the two princes in your room, one bewildered while the other in deep thoughts. 

Hyunjin was surprised to find you to have such a romantic mind. The mere fact that you seemed to have such profound opinions in regards to love and intimacy made him fall for you even more than he was already falling. And your perception of love was something he desperately wanted to find out, to go in-depth about and to understand. 

Maybe you two would have something in common, or maybe your ideas could rival that of his own. All Hyunjin wanted to do was venture inside your head and understand you from inside out. He always knew he was going to be in love with your mind and today just proved him to be absolutely right. 

He wondered if he would have been able to write a good love letter on your standard. It should not be hard to create comparisons of you, he could think of countless things right off the top of his head. But the feelings… it might be hard to express himself through words simply because of how strongly he felt for you. 

Snapping himself out of his thoughts, Hyunjin took a look around the room and his eyes landed back on the single bed in the corner. He frowned then, his affection immediately being replaced with envy and defeat as he recalled your plan to ask Felix about sleeping together. 

God, that couldn’t happen, not on his watch at least.

“Minho–“

“Yeah I know,” Minho cut him off with a dismissive wave. 

He saw the way Hyunjin was glaring at the bed. Linking the previous panic Hyunjin had with you wanting to ask Felix about his suggestion, and the fact that Hyunjin got all fussy over Minho being angry at you, it was a no brainer that Hyunjin wanted to ask if there was anything that could be done about the lack of proper beds in this room. 

But he wasn’t in the mood to discuss that. The only thing occupying his mind was your lecture, and he kept repeating it in his head so he couldn’t forget what you told him. Sentiment, feelings, love—include those things and don’t be bland, don’t be shallow. 

“You know…?” Hyunjin muttered under his breath as he caught up with Minho, who had already left the room and started to walk back from where he came from. Judging by his quick steps, there were a lot of concerns popping into his head and Minho was racing to solve them all at once. “Are you okay?”

“You wanted to ask about the bed, right?” Minho pointed out suddenly, not stopping in his tracks as he continued to walk forward. “I can do something about that, but under one condition.”

“What?” Hyunjin asked quickly then, leaning in close an anticipation. It was anything to put a pause to your potential romantic life that involved him as the side character. 

“Write the love letter with me.” 

After finishing up with the wet laundries, you went ahead to take off the already dried off ones from a few days ago and headed back into the palace. You spent most of your day changing out mattresses and blankets, going from one empty room to another so you could make sure the palace stayed clean and golden. 

Nobody ever uses those rooms, though? At last not within your knowledge! They were mere guest rooms but there has never been any guest who would come by and stay the night, all aside from Hyunjin, and he only occupies one of the many guest rooms in this palace. You genuinely believed there was no point in cleaning them, it wasn’t like the neighbouring duke would pay the kingdom a surprise visit.

When you were finally done with you last guest room, the night has already descended upon the sky and dinner time has long passed. Walking along the hallway where the curtains were already drawn to seal the night, your stomach grumbled as did your throat, and you scurried out to the backyard where you returned the vine basket before heading straight into the kitchen in hopes to find some leftover food to eat.

You turned on the kitchen lights after pushing open the door, your hand patting along the wall to find the small button switch. The light flickered for a moment before it settled and illuminated a small portion of the kitchen. You eyes scanned the empty space, finding the silence welcomed but lonely. 

Everyone has probably gone to their room by now. It has been quite a long day due to a lady’s surprise visit (oh, so you have jinxed it). While she didn’t choose to stay for the night, the kitchen staff did need to replan their dinner and cook up something special for the queen’s friend. It all happened within a close timeframe, you heard, which was why you assumed everyone must be burned out after today.

Turning to the main kitchen area, your eyes didn’t notice the body hunched over the kitchen counter until you specifically turned towards the direction. A short squeal escaped your lips when you jumped, your hands flying up to your chest at the sudden impact. You had not expected anybody to still be in the kitchen, let alone an empty and dark one.

It took you a while to recognize the person, but seeing the bulging arms sticking out of the short-sleeved shirt and reliable back that breathed softly in his slumber, you could safely conclude that the person was Changbin. You frowned upon the realization, confused as to why he hasn’t returned to his room yet. If you had to guess, it would be him getting cleaning duties and falling asleep half-way.

But that wouldn’t explain the turned-off lights, unless the rumor about the castle ghost was real, which you heavily doubted.

Moving closer to his side, you faced his back and gave his shoulder a light poke. “Changbin!” You hissed, in a voice so low it wouldn’t wake anybody up in a crisis. When you received no response from him, you continued to poke his shoulder and call out his name, until you got fed up at your stupid method not working and you finally hollered his name out loud.

Changbin snapped his eyes open at the call, his body sitting upright immediately and his back tensing up with alertness. Panic grumbles left his mouth as he looked around the kitchen for expected danger, and when he did a double take on you, he paused quickly and finally relaxed. His shoulders slumped and he pursed his lips together, giving you a soft glare.

You shrugged, sheepishly smiling at him as you waved. “Good evening…?”

“Yes, good evening. Glad to see you’re finally done with the laundry,” he said, sliding off the stool and heading over to the stock shelves at the wall. “Sit down, I’ll cook you something to eat. You gotta be hungry, you haven’t eaten anything since this afternoon.”

He grabbed a two eggs in one hand, holding onto them tightly, then he reached over to the sink counter for a clean bowl before dropping the eggs inside. Putting the bowl next to the stove before looking up to check on you, he found you standing rigidly on your spot, unmoving and just staring at him. 

Your eyes were unreadable, much to his surprise. They were always so expressive.

“Are you okay, kid?” He asked then, his voice trailing slowly in a questioning tone. “I’m cooking you egg friend rice, do you not like that or?”

Your eyes traveled past his hands to his face, and you pursed your lips. It was a rare sentiment that suddenly overwhelmed you; nobody has specifically cooked a meal for you in a long time, the last time somebody did that was your mother, but you haven’t been able to see her ever since you moved to the palace. After that, you have only been eating the leftover portion of meals that weren’t sent off to the royalties or were made extra for everybody.

A personal meal. Something about that made your skin prick. It could very likely be that you missed your mom, but a part of you knew it was because you hadn’t expect Changbin to do this. He wasn’t obligated to take care of you like this, to stay up late and make you food, possibly even deal with the dishes when you’re finished and send you off to your room before he’d go back to his own.

“Aren’t you tired?” You asked, frowning at him despite not intending to. 

Changbin huffed out a low chuckle as he poured some rice into a bowl before proceeding to wash it by the sink. “Yeah, today was pretty exhausting,” he said.” But what then? Am I supposed to just not cook you dinner?” 

You pulled at your fingers, unsure what else to say besides words of gratitude that you were never skilled at expressing, so you didn’t say anything. You shrugged and approached the stool he previous sat on. You got on top, your feet perched on the handle and your shoulders hunched as you waited for him to finish cooking you your dinner.

“So do you plan to tell me what happened today?” He asked as he brought the washed bowl of rice over to the stove. 

Without removing his eyes from you, his hand moved to turn the stove on and poured the ingredients he prepared in top. The loud sizzle interrupted your train of thoughts and you tilted your head at him with confusion evident in the widening of your eyes, leaning forward slightly so you could talk to him through the noise.

“What happened today?” You asked.

“Felix came by and told me there is a new bed in your room,” Changbin said, laughing slightly. “According to him, it is said that Prince Minho requested the bed for you too, so what did you do that peaked his interest?”

The pleasant surprise startled you. Your jaw dropped slightly and a breathy laugh escaped your mouth in response to his words. You had almost forgotten about the encounter you had with the two princes today, even the fact that you had asked Minho to get you out of maid duty and back into the kitchen flew from your mind because of how busy you had been trying to tug in the four corners of a bed sheet. 

Your brows furrowed in thoughts then, a soft hum sounding at the back of your throat as you recalled the afternoon in your dusty little room. It couldn’t have been Minho who requested an extra bed for you, could it? 

From what you remembered, Hyunjin was the one who reacted strongly to you and Felix only having one bed in your shared room. Besides, Minho already agreed to helping you with chef Park’s problem, he wouldn’t do more than what he was asked for. He didn’t have to. 

If anyone was going to show you such generosity, it should be Hyunjin. 

You tilted your head to the side, your eyes swirling with perplexity. 

But he did suggest the idea of you and Felix sleeping on one bed. Perhaps he suddenly decided it wouldn’t be a good idea? And since he doesn’t have as much authority over how this palace wants to treat its servants, he asked Minho to be his spokesperson? Or you could be overanalyzing this; could you not humor the idea that the prince has decided to do two good deeds today?

Changbin was done pouring the egg fried rice into a bowl by the time you were almost done contemplating the true motif behind the extra bed. You were deep in your little world, your chin perched up on the heel of your palm and your eyes glaring at the table like you just stubbed your toe with it. He laughed to himself, wondering why a simple question required such serious thinking as he put the bowl in front of you.

“Hey!” He hushed as he tapped your nose with the hand tip of the spoon. When your eyes finally focused at him, he flashed you an amused smile. “What did you do, kid? You didn’t offend the prince, did you?” 

You glared at him as he gestured towards the fried rice before you. Taking the spoon from his hand, you shook your head and stabbed the utensil in the food, mixing it around before shoving a spoonful in your mouth. It was then when you decided to respond to him, “Why would he send me an extra bed if I offended him, Changbin?”

“Hey, I’m just asking!” He flicked your forehead after washing his hands at the sink. “And please, heavens, [Name], eat with your mouth closed.”

The droplets flickered down your faced and you wiped them away with your hand, continuing to eat without muttering another word. Just as Changbin suspected, you were extremely hungry, and watching you stuff too much food in your cheeks was the only joy he experienced today. 

He pulled out a stool from underneath the counter and sat down. His heart was clenching at the sight of you, eating freely with rice stuck to the corner of your mouth and spoon shamelessly clanking against the bowl. And he couldn’t tell if he was more remorseful or glad that he was able to be given a second chance as such. 

Changbin has never told you his past before and he probably wouldn’t be able to tell you for sometime. He wondered how you would react to it. He wondered how you would react to him having a child outside the palace, one he wasn’t allowed to see because he chose the palace life instead of his past lover. 

He regretted his choice, but back then choosing to work in a palace is a much reliable and stable job than anything else in his little town. He was young back then and it didn’t occur to him that there were other options open. The castle was the way for him and he just left.

Now his lover has moved on, his child has never met him before, and he has lost his title as a dad. 

A father, yes, but certainly not a dad. 

He was afraid you would realize how much he was projecting his guilt and reminiscence on you. Ever since you first got introduced to him, your childish and bratty antics kept growing on him until he found out how he was getting a taste of how it would be like to take care of a kid he never got to raise. 

He hasn’t really stopped treating you like kin since then, even though he knew you’re not his child. 

It was a battle with himself. For once, he couldn’t accurately guess how you would react to something, and he was scared that you could possibly be repulsed by it, so he kept putting off explaining whenever your curiosity strikes and you ask about his past. But he hoped he’d be able to come forth one day, and properly thank the lord for bringing you to him because he couldn’t imagine how much he’d still dwell in his past.

“Changbin! Stop being weird!” You finally yelled, kicking him under the table as you glared at him in mild concern. He had been staring at you eat, so intently you almost thought he was looking at the castle ghost behind you. “What the hell are you looking at? The air?”

“I was just thinking about something,” he responded in disbelief, surprised at your sudden toe. “Am I not allowed to think anymore?”

“I didn’t say that, you did,” you said, pointing at him with the spoon before bringing it to your bowl and scooping up a spoonful of rice. You stuffed it in your mouth before speaking, his previous scolding completely leaving your brain. “What are you thinking about?”

“How disgusting it is to speak with a mouthful of food.” Changbin smiled pointedly at you, causing you to groan out in annoyance. 

And, like he suspected, your spiteful-self immediately started to shove your cheeks full of rice before you started rambling nonsense. He could barely understand your words, your voice completely muffled by the food in your cheeks and with your trying to speak without spilling anything. You looked goofy and ugly, and he could go on. 

Your rebellious act came to a quick halt when a piece of rice rolled down your throat unexpectedly. You choked, feeling an itch in your throat that prompted you to cough like you were on your death bed. 

Changbin burst into laughter as he watched your face go red. In the midst of you hitting your chest repeatedly, he asked, “Do you want some water?”

You threw the spoon at him, in which he blocked with one arm held up to his face. His laughter only increased while your coughs slowed down to a gentle trail, and he got off the stool so he could pour you a small cup of water. You quickly snatched the cup away from him, dunking down the liquid and sighing dramatically when you were finished.

You slammed the cup down on the table then, your head turning sharply to him as your eyes glazed over with an irritated burn. “I could have died.”

“But you didn’t.” Changbin shrugged. “I told you to eat with your mouth closed.”

“There is no correlation to me choking on food and me eating with my mouth closed,” you retorted as you jumped off the chair and went to grab yourself an extra spoon. “I can still choke on food even if I’m eating properly.”

“Really? Care to show me?”

You dropped the spoon in the bowl and smiled up at him. “I’m going to kill you.”

“You can do that after you finish the food,” he said, pointing at your bowl. “Come on, it shouldn’t be taking you this long to finish eating a small bowl of fried rice.”

“If you wanna go sleep, you can just leave,” you mentioned, giving him a light-hearted shrug to further prove the point that you didn’t really care much for company at the moment.

“And have you use it against me later? No thanks, you’re gonna say I left you alone in the kitchen or something,” he grumbled, leaning his head against his hand and scoffing.

You didn’t say anything this time as you’ve got food in your mouth, and you’d rather not repeat that embarrassing, hazardous incident once more. But you did roll your eyes at him, indirectly telling Changbin that he was being dramatic and that you would never do such a terrible thing.

(Except you would, and he knew that you would.)

The kitchen was rendered silent again. The only sound resonating across each corner was the faint noise of your teeth clicking against the wooden spoon and your occasional chewing noise. Changbin looked at you again, his gentle eyes grazing past your cheeks and your small hands. His mind flew back to his home, but he doesn’t really see the faces he used to see anymore. 

Like kin, even though he knew you’re not his child–

He felt fine staying in the palace. And he was fine with taking care of you here.

–well, you were damn well the closest thing he has to one. 

Chan could see you racing towards him from faraway. Trailing slowly behind you was Changbin, his hands holding onto two filled water buckets. 

He kept his eyes on the mailman despite your speedy approach, his polite smile never fading as he patiently waited for the old man to take out all the letters—the ones addressed to the palace from the citizens—from his big, dirty pouch bag. He was the third of the many town mailman that would come by today with complaints or family letters, and Chan could recognize him well to the the mailman from your town.

He sure hoped there was something of your interest in that god forsaken bag today. More specially a family letter, one which you have been waiting for since the past two months.

“That is all for today. There is quite a lot to go through, I’m afraid.” The mailman’s hoarse voice gave Chan a gentle stung, it reminded him of his old man back home who had passed away without a last goodbye. He didn’t even realize the weight on his hands until he looked down to find his once empty basket to now be filled with envelopes. 

“Thankfully, I only sort the letters,” Chan joked lightheartedly as he bowed to the mailman. “Court business is completely out of my field of specialty.”

“Well then, my regards to the crown prince,” the mailman said, dipping his hat with an old and trembling hand. “He is going to have to deal with an entire kingdom soon, and I sure do hope he will become a good king.”

Chan only flashed the mailman a purse-lipped smile. He wasn’t sure what he was trying to insinuate, and he had not the faintest idea whether the king and the palace council were doing a splendid job in running the kingdom. While they seemed to be satisfying the rich and the royal, he could not tell if they were also minding to the average and the poor.

He was only a butler. He has lived in the palace and enjoyed as much luxury his job status could give him for a long while. Whatever goes on outside the palace life, he wouldn’t know and neither would have the time to sit down and chat about it.

“I shall see you next week again, sir,” he replied with a polite bow. “Thank you for your delivery, once again.”

“Of course,” the mailman said, a hint of laughter evident in his voice. “There isn’t much clumsy old me can do but send some letters these days. Gives me something to do after my wife passed away, and I like seeing you kids run around working sometimes.”

Chan wasn’t sure how to answer that, so he smiled and he waited for the mailman to take his leave. He listened for the creaking of the folding step, the gentle whipping of a horse’s back, and finally the stuttering movement of those round wheels bringing the mailman back on its path to the palace gate. 

His eyes trailed after the envelopes in the basket; another batch he has to go through so he could separate the complaint letters from the family mails sent to the staffs (royal letters are sent by designated palace messengers, not mailmen). The silver seals all sat prettily, some unevenly, on top of the white papers, and Chan could not help but admire them for a while.

That was, until your loud voice rang through his ears.

“Chan! Chan! Bang Chan!”

You bratty kid, why were you calling him by his full name again?

Calculating his timing just right, the second he stood up from his bowing position, he stretched his arm out before his chest and turned to the side. Your springing legs were forced to a quick stop as his the heel of his palm met your forehead, and you stumbled back when he lightly shoved at your head for you to back off.

“[Name], what did I say about addressing me by my full name?” He asked, exhausted from all the nagging you never listened to. “And you have to yell it this time? What if the king hears it? Do you understand how awkward it would be for me to have to explain the commotion to him?”

You rolled your eyes, annoyed and completely uninterested in what he has to lecture you about palace manners. Changbin has done a great deal of that already, not that any of his warnings has helped in any way. “Oh, whatever, the king is old! He’s probably going deaf at this point!”

“[Name]!”

“No point talking to them, Chan. This kid never listens.” Changbin’s gruff voice appeared from behind you. He set down his water buckets, the ones the maid asked him to fill up using the water pump from outside the front yard, and he quickly whacked you across the head. 

Ignoring your whines of curses, he looked at Chan dead in the eye then, something of a veteran father whose dealt with his child’s antics for too long and has become immune to them. “You gotta smack them.” 

Chan widened his eyes. You seemed more agitated than before, your eyes glaring daggers and impossible profanity spilling out of your lips like a mantra. He met eyes with Changbin, who ignored you completely with a smile. The disbelief in Chan’s eyes almost made him laugh; Chan has only ever met you under the warm and comfortable atmosphere of the palace, of course he wouldn’t expect you to be such a vulgar child.

“For the record, I didn’t teach them this,” Changbin mentioned as he pointed at you, and you smacked his hand away with an annoyed groan. “Weeks of scraping cow shit at the barn taught them this, which, for the record–“ he turned to look at you before shifting his attention back to Chan,“–you should probably keep chef Park in check.”

Chan raised a brow, curious to the reason why Changbin felt the need to lower his voice, and to why he was asked to keep an eye out of chef Park. He knew almost every staff working in the palace; perhaps not in detail for every single one of them, but he remembered their names and their families. Chef Park has never come across as trouble to him before, he wondered why.

“I will,” he said dubiously, but he kept the thought in mind.

“Good.” Changbin flashed him a nod, and then he sighed. He reached down to lift up the water buckets again, a huff leaving his lips. “I’m gonna head back and hand these to the maids. I’ll meet you back in the kitchen, okay?”

You gave him a brief nod and an annoyed grumble, still quite mad that he decided to smack you across the head. Changbin scoffed out a faint smile before he turned away, leaving you to talk to Chan about what you needed to ask him for. Chan spared a short glance at Changbin’s back before he turned his attention back to you, his brows furrowing.

“Where did you two come from?” He asked, tilting his head to the side.

You shrugged. “Outside the palace gate where the water pumps are.”

“And that’s a two person job?” 

“Well, it… was…” you sheepishly twisted your feet against the ground, your fingers finding each other before your abdomen. A childish smile slowly graced your face and you looked to Chan hesitantly. “But then I got tired holding the bucket so–“

“You made Changbin hold them for you,” Chan muttered with a deadpan manner. 

“Technically speaking, I didn’t make him do it,” you defended confidently, speaking in a factual tone. “I kept whining about how much my arms were hurting and then he decided to take my bucket to shut me up.”

He sighed then, his eyes rolling to the side as his head shook. Not in disbelief, that was something Changbin would totally do for you. It was in defeat in the wake that there was probably no winning for him in any sorts of situation. 

“He should have smacked your head and told you to carry it yourself,” Chan commented. 

“This is why I don’t like you that much,” you confessed, both honestly and as a joke.

“Oh sure, you don’t,” he announced to himself, his voice holding a hint of magnificence in them as if he was mocking his opponent in an argument. Shaking the basket in his hands, Chan glanced down at it with a smile before he looked back up at you. “I guess none of these letters are of any importance to you as well?”

“Hey, I didn’t say that!” You exclaimed as you leaned down to push at the edge of the basket until it hit the floor. Standing back up straight, you gave Chan a faint smile before you said, “I just want to see if my mom sent me a letter, since she hasn’t sent one in a long time.”

Chan hummed in thought, his eyes rolling skyward as he recalled the past months. He did remember handing you letters from your parents for a time period. It started with thick envelopes that would be delivered weekly, then as time passed by the letters became thinner with more time spaced out in between each reply. He couldn’t remember when you stopped receiving them, but he knew at some point, the reply stopped.

“I mean, I guess it was kind of my fault for not writing to my mom for almost a whole month once,” you mumbled to yourself, rubbing your hands together. “But that was a busy month for us. You would remember, right, when the duchess came to visit and we had a royal ball!”

That was the first time you were given the opportunity to make a plate of dessert on your own. Chef Park probably hated the idea of letting you in charge of a full plate of dessert, but the kitchen had needed to prepare a long table full of snacks for the ball, and there had not been enough pastry chefs to go around.

You had been instructed to make some sugary cookies for the ball, but with you being you, instead of making a boring plate of common dessert, you have decided to make honey jasmine macaroons instead. Not that sugary cookies are bad, but you would much love to bake something that could match the bubbly, extravagant atmosphere of a royal ball. 

Long story short, your plate of macaroons was licked clean by the guests, but chef Park hadn’t factored that into consideration and simply scolded you for disobeying him. Sometimes you would like to think that he was simply being envious of your ability, hence the reason why he didn’t tell anybody about the people liking your macaroons.

After that day, you haven’t been able to bake for the royals on your own until the rosewater cream puffs.

“Oh, yeah, I do remember,” Chan said, nodding. “Did you stop writing to your mother after that?”

“Well, I stopped writing during the time the duchess was living here,” you replied, calculating the timeline in your head. “But after that month, it took me longer to bounce back to writing a letter, so I think it was a little more than a month. I did write her a letter eventually, but I haven’t heard anything from her after that letter.”

He hummed thoughtfully, understanding your situation but not being able to explain to you why you haven’t received a reply letter yet, because he had no idea either. The only thing he could do was to make suggestions, some kind of excuse like your letter getting lost or your mother being too busy with the flower shop. Or, even better, he could try and look through the new basket of letter and see if your mother had sent you one back.

Looking down at the basket, a frown slowly made its way to Chan’s face as his mind processed just how many letters were in the basket. It would take a long while for him to shift through all of them just to separate the letters for the court and those for the staffs. Then he would have to find the letter sent by your mother specifically before he could hand it to you.

He was still in the middle of going through the first basket, a process he would hope not to interrupt. He wouldn’t want to mess up the areas from which the letters came from, considering how the court solve the complaints from one town to another instead of doing so altogether. Therefore, just to eyeball how long it would take him to find out if there is a letter for you, it would take at least an hour.

“Well, I will make sure to keep an eye out for your letter,” he said, glancing back up at you.

“What–can’t I get it now?” You whined. 

“Are you going to look through the whole pile now?” He asked, holding the basket up to you. “Because there are a lot of letters. You might accidentally skip through yours if you rummage through it, so it’s better to wait for me to pick them out and divide them first.”

You grumbled under your breath impatiently, your lips pursing into a hard line as your brows furrowed childishly. “Ahh, but how long is that going to take? I wanna know if my mom wrote me something so I won’t have to think about it!”

“I know, but I still have other work to do around the palace and this isn’t my only basket,” Chan said, his voice low in a coaxing way. 

And he knew you understood how busy it could get for him around the palace. The unsatisfied expression that lingered on your face was just there for you to vent, it didn’t particularly mean anything and he didn’t have to take it to heart. Except he always does, not severely but having to see you get let down weekly for the past months has made him grow susceptible to your angsty features.

Softening, Chan let go on one side of the basket and he pinched your cheek gently. “I’m sorry, but I promise I will try and get through it all as fast as I can,” he told you, with all the sincerity in his voice. 

“Hmm… Fine.” You pursed your lips together with a nod, leaning your face away from his hand. “I have to go back to work now, I’ll see you later.”

“You can count on it,” he said, his hand reaching back down to pick up the basket handle.

Flashing him a small smile, your legs brought you a few steps backward before you finally turned around and headed to the backyard. Your steps picked up, and Chan watched your back fade until you disappeared into the discreet corner of the palace. He looked down at the basket of letters then, his forehead creasing in a moment of thought.

Please be in there. He hoped. Please let your mother’s letter be in there.

You had planned to head straight back into the kitchen, but the sight of Changbin chatting with the maids by the laundry poles made you stop. With amusement, you found a spot under the shade of the old tree and you watched on, finding immense fascination in seeing the way he discreetly—almost discreetly—flirted back with the young maids. 

Perhaps it was you who never paid enough attention. Granted, you didn’t get to see much of Changbin interacting with other people. Whenever you were present in the picture, he was always too busy trying to keep you in check, he’s got no time to really speak with others. It was a peculiar sight, one that you planned to tease him about when he decided to leave the backyard and head back to the kitchen soon.

As you turned, preparing to flee before he could see you looking with awful, stupid intentions, a hand tapped at your shoulder and you spun around. The smile that welcomed you was familiar, you just saw it this morning when you woke up, and you quickly returned it as Felix waved excitedly at you.

“Hey, Lix,” you greeted as you eyed him up and down, your brows slowly furrowing at the dirt stained on his cheeks. His shirt was wrinkled, which you didn’t notice this morning but you were sure it hadn’t been as bad as it looked now. “What have you been doing?”

“We went out to the forest to gather more woods for the next few weeks,” he replied after heaving a sigh, exhausted from all the labor work he’d done all morning. “The court prophet said something about a thunderstorm coming so we were asked to fetch more wood for fire, since we won’t be able to head out if the storm actually hits.”

“A thunderstorm,” you snorted, your eyes widening a fraction at such an absurd idea. Whatever would happen to the weather in the middle of a hot summer, a thunderstorm was the last thing you would have predicted. “I wonder why. The North star clashed against the moon, perhaps?”

“Oh, [Name], you know I’m not one for analysing the stars,” Felix laughed out, rubbing his rough hands together and reaching a hand up to swipe at his face. “But I don’t mind a thunderstorm, I won’t have to head outside for duty for once. You, though–“

“I’m not afraid of storms,” you cut him off quickly with a roll of your eyes. 

You knew he would bring that night up. The thunderstorm approached during the middle of the night, when the palace has become quiet and empty. It was loud, and since the dormitory part of the palace was built differently—with lesser care, one could say—it made everything sound like they entered an echo chamber.

You weren’t terrified, but being away from the comfort of your own home and stuck sleeping on a foreign bed was nightmarish enough for you to be afraid of it that roaring night. Felix had awakened with the sound of whimpers, and he happily stayed up with you that night. 

“The echos of the palace walls simply scared me too much last time, but I promise you I am not afraid of a little storm.” You said, slightly annoyed. 

Felix could only laugh, his hand still furiously wiping at his cheek because he had no idea of knowing if he had gotten rid of the dirt. “Well, we’ll see when another one strikes us within these weeks,” he said.

“You will find your accusation incorrect,” you said as you reached up to swat his hand away. A frown adorned your face as you gently scrubbed off the black dirt on his freckled cheeks, a click of your tongue displaying your annoyance. “And for the love of god, bring a wet towel with you at all times.”

“But they’re heavy.”

“They’re clean and cool,” you said. “Good for wiping your face and good for the hot weather.”

Felix hummed in doubt, unsure if he was fully convinced to take an extra object with him to finish his duty. He didn’t much like the idea of having wet trails down his back, especially when he would be draping the towel over his shoulders instead of holding onto it. So he retorted with something that made you both frown and laugh.

It was an endearing frown, perhaps due to the laughter Hyunjin could almost hear from the other side of the yard where the grass field was. It was a spot far from where the chores were, but not far enough for the workings to be invisible to the eye. He and Minho sat under the tree, the shade covering most of their body besides their feet that poked out from the shadow.  

Minho wanted to find a place to sit down and write his second love letter to Princess Rose, but when Hyunjin suggested for a trip to the garden, Minho only grimaced about the dullness of it. It was always the garden. He wanted somewhere else, a new place where he could get inspirations from. 

Hyunjin wasn’t very sure what Minho thought could be inspiring about watching the palace staffs run around washing clothes and transporting woods, but alas, Minho sat down under the large tree and began tapping his pen on the parchment paper. He followed suit without much complaints. It wasn’t like he’s got anything better to do around the palace anyway. It was either he leave for his home, or he stays here and follows Minho around. 

The letter Minho was writing has been blank for a while. He kept pressing the tip of his pen against it but never actually scribbled anything down. His mind short-circuits every time he is about to write something; just when he thinks his brain had thought of something worth-while, his heart tells him to hesitate.

Hyunjin was done persuading him that the letter would be nothing more than a mere draft, that he need not hold any fear. Pretend it like a diary and simply let his feelings flow, Hyunjin told Minho, but the advice was not taken with each huffs of heavy sigh leaving the prince’s mouth. And Hyunjin was quite tired of trying to rid Minho of his anxiety, so what he did was that he turned away from his frowning cousin.

The sight that welcomed him was you, almost immediately within the crowd of similarly dressed palace staffs. And he was happy to see you. You stood under the shade in your natural glory, as always, and you were grinning towards a direction Hyunjin couldn’t bother to tear his gaze away to check. 

He was debating if he wanted to pull you out of work once again, just so he could spend some time to talk to you. He has the power to do that, and if he doesn’t then Minho certainly does. But whatever excuse was he supposed to give to get you out of the kitchen? He didn’t want to come off annoying. He was also too shy to drop hints that might indicate his fondness toward you.

He could think about something work related! Perhaps another dessert that he wanted to eat? He was very fond of those cream puffs you made, he would love to try out the other desserts. 

The dreamy smile on his face was permanent for a long while until Felix showed up. His smile gradually faded as his eyes watched your friendly interaction, and his plump lips pursed into a thin line as a bitter taste dropped at the tip of his tongue.

Annoyed, and definitely jealous. Annoyed because he couldn’t blame Felix for being friends with you and he couldn’t blame you two for being close friends, jealous because, well, obviously because he has a majorly, royally problematic crush on you. 

“Hey! Lover boy!” 

Hyunjin slowly looked to his side. The nickname Minho just playfully gave him not settling on his good side whatsoever. He needn’t be reminded of how terrible his crush on you was going; not to mention he barely had any chance to begin with. His royal status was a screw-up from the moment he laid his eyes on you.

Minho stared at his cousin for a short while before he breathed out a defeated sigh. He had pretended to not notice Hyunjin’s infatuation for a long time. It all started with his unusually frequent visits to the palace; something Minho deemed solely because Hyunjin and his parents’ relationship was never the best. But things changed when he realized how observant he has become.

Hyunjin wouldn’t spare the palace halls another glance, so when he started to look around the corners as if searching for something, or someone, Minho’s suspicion started to raise as well. He didn’t know when he concluded that Hyunjin has fallen for somebody in the palace, he just knew he did. And it was only recently when he finally found out who the token staff was.

Those rosewater cream puffs really caught the boy by the throat. 

“You like [Name],” Minho pointed out boldly.

Hyunjin rolled his eyes and scoffed. He leaned his elbow on the knee of his crossed legs, putting his chin on top of his palm as he stared ahead at you. His mood went even more sour when he watched Changbin ruffle the both of your heads. 

Jeez, make it look more like a family, why wouldn’t you? The scene looking exactly like you three were having the “Oh, hey, I brought my boyfriend home!” kind of conversation—ugh! He could shiver in annoyance just from thinking about it. 

Hyunjin looked away from you, a huff brushing past his lips strongly as he spoke, “This pisses me off!”

“What pisses you off?” 

“This! This stupid, invisible crown on my head!” He gestured towards his hair, his finger going in a circular motion. Then he shifted down to complain about his silky clothes, and his gold belt, and his cotton socks matched with leather shoes. He hated all of it, anything that labeled him as a prince he despised. 

“Would you rather walk around in thin rags then?” Minho shrugged, smiling in amusement. His attention was focused on the letter in his hand. When he scribbled something down, he held it up to Hyunjin’s hand to stop him from replying. “What do you think about this?”

Hyunjin yelped, swatting Minho’s hand away before snatching the paper from his hand. He carefully glanced at the paper, rereading the sentence his cousin wrote at least three times before he grimaced with an honest answer. “Good, but change the structure, it doesn’t sound eloquent enough.” 

“I was thinking maybe I can express the insanity I feel through incoherent sentence structures,” Minho hummed, receiving the letter just as Hyunjin huffed out a disapproving grunt.

“You’re not the person to pull that off,” Hyunjin commented.

“I’m not,” Minho dragged out in acceptance, running the pencil across the sentence before he placed the paper back on his knee. He twirled the pencil between his fingers, his brows furrowed, then he jumped back on the original topic. “You know the materials they wear can’t keep you warm during winter, right?”

“They can’t–they can’t?” Hyunjin borderline yelled, the panic slightly bubbled up his head. He glared at Minho, his brows furrowed in concern. “Hello–what if they get sick? Do you guys at least distribute extra duvets?”

Minho didn’t answer his question. The sheer fact that Hyunjin has the capability to care and to question the treatment palace staffs receives was startling enough for him. It was not to say Hyunjin would be so heartless not to care about other people, he was a boy with a kind soul, but he also was not brought up to think too deeply about people unlike him. 

He would give sympathy to those less fortunate than him, but his mind wouldn’t register the option the help if he wasn’t there to witness the problem himself. 

“You know how much of a problem it is for you to like them, right?” Minho spoke, turning to look at the working maids. His eyes were careful as he scanned past them all, his head unable to name a single one of them but still could recognize a few faces he has seen multiple times before. “You and [Name]. It’s not an easy match. The royal court won’t allow this.”

Hyunjin pursed his lips together. His chest was burning at the truth, hating it with all the might his lean body could muster. “They don’t have to allow it. I doubt [Name] will develop any feelings for me anyway.”

“Oh? That’s an interesting view,” Minho said, widening his eyes at the letter. “Why so?”

Hyunjin sat in silence for a moment, his mind working to think up a reason. It was all tangled in his head; there wasn’t just one reason, there were plenty, as much as he hated to admit it. He didn’t know where he should start. Should he start from problems steaming from him, or problems steaming from everybody around you?

Just to name a few right off the bat: your statuses were different, he was born with royal blood while you were born as a commoner. Not only would royalties from all the neighbouring kingdoms give him the sting eye for falling in love with someone much lower than him, his parents and his relatives likely won’t allow it as well. 

His bloodline was a huge, painful problem; an unbreaking stick in all of his relationships, platonic or romantic.

Now, setting his royal status aside, who was to say that you’d fall in love with him? Hyunjin knew he was good-looking since everyone around him told him that ever since growing up, and he’d like to believe he’s got enough charisma to charm the other equally rich, if not richer, marriage candidates from other kingdoms. But nobody has ever talked of his personality before.

Long story short, Hyunjin hasn’t done anything outstanding as a mere prince. Every charitable accomplishments were credited back to the king, as it should be because the king (and his council) regulates everything. He has taken no part in political or social management of his kingdom even though he was born as the crown prince. 

What if he wasn’t good enough? How would he know if his personality was the type that would make people fall in love with him? He wouldn’t be able to tell. Even in royal marriage, almost everything was arranged or based on economic measures. Royalties don’t like each other for who they are, he learned that the hard way. And no one has ever told him he’s got a killer personality, at least not genuinely, he supposed.

You have told him he was charming, but you didn’t know him. He might not be somebody you would want to have around. 

“I barely spend time with them,” Hyunjin replied casually after the spacious, panicking round of overthinking in his head. He licked his lower lip, discarded the thoughts in his head, and he picked himself up. “You can’t fall in love with people you’ve never spend time with. I would want to get to know the person more and more, just have them reveal everything to me as time goes.”

Because wouldn’t that be so nice? To reveal yourself to someone who’s willing to stay. 

“Well, aren’t you a romantic,” Minho grinned out, finding amusement in the way Hyunjin seemed to be turning into some sappy, all knowing lover of the century just because he, too, has fallen in love with somebody. 

And Hyunjin was always rolling his eyes and scoffing at Minho for being overdramatic about everything regarding the princess—the audacity. 

Hyunjin could only scoff. The laugh he let out was sardonic at best because he didn’t know what other reaction he could have. How does one properly display defeat? Through what kind of expression could he use to show that he felt stupid for still letting himself fall even though he knew that the relationship would end in nothing, just nothing. 

But it wasn’t like he had a choice. Hyunjin’s heart has always done what it wanted to do; if it wanted to fall in love, it would do so disregarding all types of circumstances. He was a boy who’s got his heart thrusted out for everyone, full and beating. He couldn’t change it, he just fell for you. 

Hearing the lack of response from him, Minho turned away from the love letter in his hands and he glanced at Hyunjin briefly. There was this dazed look on his face, a blank but remorsefully thoughtful look. He could tell Hyunjin was beating himself up over liking a palace staff, one who didn’t even serve his own kingdom too!

Sympathy surfaced in Minho’s chest. He wondered how that felt. He wondered how it was like to fall in love with someone so blatantly out of your reach, someone who was accustomed to putting up a wall between yourselves due to the status quo, someone who your family and your subjects wouldn’t approve.

Minho wondered how it felt to fall in love with someone who could’t reciprocate the feeling for so many reasons, and despite all the power the crown holds, there is still nothing to be done.

It must be exhausting. 

“I’ll support you two.” 

Putting the paper and pen down to indicate that this would turn into a rather serious conversation. He sat up, crossed-legged with a confident smile as he watched you vanished into the palace with Changbin. Minho knew, subconsciously, that he still held certain ill-feeling towards what you’ve done to his love letter, albeit if was for his own sake. And he has to admit, he has known you for no more than a long, embarrassing conversation of you lecturing him about the topic of love.

But he was so sure, somehow, that you are definitely no so bad of a love interest for Hyunjin. 

“What?” Hyunjin asked, staring at Minho with wide eyes.

Minho turned to him, the grinning softening on his face. “I said I’ll support you two. When I become king one day and I’m in power, I’ll publicly display my encouragement for you, seeing that you do successfully woo the brat in the future." 

Hyunjin physically brightened at his words, finding solace in knowing that while knowing his romantic goals might be far-fetched, Minho stood with him instead of going against his wishes. It was nice to be able to get it all off his chest; having to hide that he was in love with a kitchen staff around the palace with watchful eyes and soundless walls was terrible. He’d hate to have the news spread all over the place.

Bringing his legs up to his chest, Hyunjin smiled ahead of him, watching the maids move around with laundries baskets in their hands. He scanned their faces, none of them able to reach your level of gracefulness when you walked and the brightness of your smile as you talked to others.

“I want to be able to fall in love with who I want to,” he said with a faint smile. “I want to be able to fall in love with [Name].”

Minho hummed, “You can. Didn’t you already?”

Hyunjin felt a sickening rush of affection consume his veins, the thought of you fulfilling his head. The butterfly, the cream puffs, the single leaf on his hair. His smile widened; Minho was right, he already did.

[painted-crow]

Okay this is wildly off topic but I saw that you cook japanese food. Can you recommend some dishes to try or ways to get myself to like it? I want to like Japanese food so bad but I haven't liked anything I've tried aside from super basic stuff like sushi, teriyaki, and gyoza. I've even tried making curry and omurice at home and everyone except me loved it.

Japanese cooking resources

Ah, I have been called upon! Lemme dig some stuff out of my Bird nest for you :D

Disclaimer: I'm not Japanese or an expert on this. I'm just a cooking nerd who thinks Japan has the best food and experimented a whole bunch with Internet recipes and stuff from the Asian market.

Recipes

I learned a lot of what I know from these two foodie blogs:

Just One Cookbook

No Recipes

(the latter site does, in fact, contain recipes, but the blogger would encourage you to build the confidence to cook without them)

Since you're having trouble finding dishes you like, I suggest starting with udon: thick, chewy noodles often served in dashi broth, perhaps with fried toppings. You can prepare udon a bunch of different ways, that's just a classic one--but no matter how you make it, udon is a pretty easy sell. Tonkatsu is another dish that's hard to dislike, and makes a good topping for your udon if you want to make both at once!

Fun travel memoir

There is a fantastic book called Pretty Good Number One: An American Family Eats Tokyo.

It's a foodie travel memoir and it's exactly what it sounds like: this guy went to Tokyo for a month with his wife and daughter and they ate a bunch of food, his daughter made friends with half of the entire population of Tokyo, and he wrote about it. He's a really entertaining writer, and it has great descriptions of all kinds of Japanese food, so from there it's easy to go look up recipes.

Shopping

You'll want to go to an actual Asian market if you can find one locally. Use Google, they're often tucked into odd buildings.

Different Asian markets cater to different cultures' cuisines, so there might be one market with a full assortment of Indian MTR spice blends but no kombu or katsuobushi in sight. They usually have a variety though. If you can find an H Mart, you're golden (H Mart is Korean, but will have the stuff you need for Japanese food). Be willing to explore a bit! Last resort, go ahead and use Amazon, but trust me--the Asian markets are cheaper, and I much prefer supporting them to feeding Amazon.

Just One Cookbook also has a list of Japanese pantry essentials, which is really good, but it's also really completionist (I don't even have all of those premade sauces) and stretches the definition of "pantry" a bit, so it seems more intimidating than it should.

Here's my version.

Pantry essentials:

Good soy sauce. Just get something that says "traditionally brewed" and you're fine. If you spot dark soy sauce: it's smokier and less salty, very different, it can't replace normal soy sauce but you might grab it too.

Short grain "sushi" rice. Try not to overpay for it. If you're in an Asian market you're fine. If you're in the fancy organic section of Hy-Vee, you're gonna get ripped off.

Mirin. A seasoned cooking wine. Unfortunately, bad mirin is easy to find and is loaded with corn syrup. Try to find some that isn't; remember, ingredients are listed on the bottle proportionally. It's very worth paying $10 for a good bottle of mirin. I don't *think* you have to be 21 to buy it? Drinking it would probably be unappealing. Mirin is very important, and it's a versatile cooking ingredient; once you know what it does you might find yourself putting it in everything.

Sake. You do have to be of legal drinking age to buy this. Which kind you get for cooking isn't a super big deal, and you can get by with just mirin most of the time.

Kombu and katsuobushi. The former is a kind of seaweed/kelp (it may look dusty with white powder; that's natural MSG and it's a good thing). The latter is shaved dried smoked skipjack tuna and looks a bit like pencil shavings; you might see them labeled "bonito flakes." They're common ingredients for dashi (basic Japanese cooking stock), but you'll see katsuobushi used as a topping on lots of savory dishes. If you can't find these, try looking for dashi powder or tea bag type dealies.

Toasted sesame oil. Not hard to find.

Rice vinegar. Same.

Panko bread crumbs. These are special, lofty, crispy breadcrumbs. They're different because of SCIENCE and are what happens when you electrocute bread dough. I'm not joking.

Cornstarch/potato starch. I slightly prefer potato starch (good texture), but they're not that different.

Nori. These are those pressed algae sheets you use to wrap sushi, but they're used for other stuff too, like onigiri, or shredded as a topping.

Noodles. Obviously, if you want to make udon, you need to buy some. You can easily find dried udon, but if you spot frozen or even fresh udon noodle packs, grab them.

If you can find an Asian market that stocks all this, you should be able to get the whole list for around $50. Asian markets tend not to be expensive, which is yet another good reason to learn to cook Japanese food. (Other reasons: healthy, tasty, easy to cook in a small kitchen...)

Of course, you also don't need to get the whole list at once! It's not cheating to just get what you need for a particular dish.

Fun stuff you can find at Asian markets

With the basics out of the way, here are additional tasty things you might want to look for:

Furikake. Not strictly necessary, but I like it. It's a topping/seasoning blend you can mix into your rice, and it comes in lots of flavors, some fishier than others. Start with a nori or vegetable flavor if you're uncertain. Tamago flavor = egg.

Ramune. If you've never had marble soda before, don't deny yourself the adventure of trying to figure out how to get the bottle open. Lots of flavors.

Good instant ramen. Nongshim's Shin Ramyun is what I usually get, and even Walmart sells it. You'll never buy Maruchan again.

Candy. So, I don't know who's in charge of Japanese fruit flavored candy, but it actually tastes like fruit, which is wild.

Yuzu and/or sudachi juice. If you can find these, grab 'em. They're citrus juices. Yuzu is a bit like lemon but less strongly sour and more... clean? Crisp? while sudachi is a bit like lime but more green and complex. I'm describing these poorly. You might also be able to find candy or drinks with these flavors.

Sugary drinks with nata de coco in them. Nata de coco is a firm jelly-like dessert type... thing. It's made from coconuts and it's got a unique jelly/crunchy texture and is odd but good. You might be able to find nata de coco on its own, but I'll warn you: the kind you get packed in jars will be Very Sugary.

Tapioca pearls. If you like bubble tea, here's the place to get your boba.

Umeboshi plums. These sour/salty pickled plums are a tasty ramen topping.

Ice cream. Those square melon popsicles are delicious, but get them home quickly, their texture is very temperature sensitive! And if you spot individually wrapped ice cream cones, grab one.

Euro cakes. These look kinda like round Twinkies, but Twinkies only dream of being this tasty. I like the pandan flavor best. Don't be put off by the green color.

Soft tofu. So good 🥰 and weirdly hard to find in supermarkets. It's got a texture like custard, and apart from its fairly neutral, fresh flavor, will easily pick up any flavors you put on it. An excellent addition to udon soup; add it last, the tofu is fragile (and doesn't actually require cooking). Silken tofu sometimes comes in shelf stable packages. My experience with those has been fine, but the general consensus is that the tofu you get from the fridge section is better.

Frozen pork buns. They might be labeled "siopao" or "bao" (Chinese names) or "nikuman" (Japanese name). Lil bread buns with bbq pork or other fillings. You steam them in the microwave and they're delicious.

I'd recommend having fun getting a few of the things off this list, rather than being a completionist about the first one, if you find yourself choosing between the two. That said, make sure you get the stuff you need for the thing you want to make!

Okay, now I want a pork bun. I wonder if my brother's eaten them all yet...

[clareguilty]

Food for the Heart

My first July commission fic! Thanku to Chip for helping look things over <3 Soldier 76 & Reaper & Jesse McCree & F!Reader Rating: General | Pre-Fall of Overwatch, fluff Word Count: ~3500

Sometimes -- if you thought about it -- the fact that you had some of the highest security clearance in the entirety of the UN, as well as several major militaries, could make your palms sweat and your heart pound. Imposter syndrome sure was a bitch.

You would look out on all of the heroes and saviors and geniuses of the world, unsure of how you managed to fit in and even sit at the same table as Director Petras and Strike Commander Morrison himself.

People wouldn’t stop in the halls to salute you or turn to you for input. Many of your colleagues didn’t even seem to know your name. You were nothing but background to them, just the hand that delivered documents or typed along to broadcasts. It was enough to trick you into believing you didn’t belong.

But there was a reason you were sat at the table with the most influential people in the world. There was a reason that your office was in the same wing as the other heroes of Overwatch. And you had earned your place there -- a fact you had to remind yourself of over and over again as Commander Reyes and Commander Morrison swept by your desk every morning or as Captain Amari chatted with Lieutenant Wilhelm within earshot of your workspace. Occasionally, you would even come back from lunch to find that a cowboy and a ninja had commandeered your desktop and your office chair, respectively.

You were invisible to them. Silent and unassuming. Blending in so seamlessly to the environment that they didn’t seem to notice you were there -- which is how you heard everything. Listening was your job, after all. You were a linguist, responsible for interpreting and translating any documents or meetings or broadcasts that passed through the upper command chain. You had access to the highest security channels, writing down field notes and debriefs for anyone on base who needed them.

Fluent in 14 human languages and 3 Omnic communication systems, you were one of the most valuable assets Overwatch had. Your work during the crisis had earned you a rank and pension that looked like a mistake on all your paperwork. Surely someone as plain as you couldn’t be that powerful?

And the work hadn’t finished after the crisis. You had been swept along into the ranks and shipped off to Zurich to spend your days listening to every piece of information that needed your ears.

And you heard everything.

You heard Captain Amari talking about her daughter and Lieutenant Wilhelm lamenting his losses on the battlefield, Jesse McCree joking and ribbing with Agent Shimada, who barely ever responded when you were within earshot. You overheard Strike Commander Morrison laughing with his friends and hurling orders and sighing over paperwork, Commander Reyes growling and grumbling and occasionally giving a full-bellied laugh when someone made a fool of themselves.

But no one ever seemed to speak directly to you unless they were requesting something or saying thank you. Your days were spent surrounded by people who would lay down their lives for one another but didn’t even seem to notice as you came and went.

It was certainly lonely, being in an unfamiliar country on a foreign base, working long hours in the fruitless business of world peace. You would return to your tiny apartment in the evenings -- luxurious, but small -- and try and make the most of your life of prestige and success and heroism. You had made the space cozy and perfect since you found yourself with more money than you knew what to do with. Your family had retired to one of the nicest homes you could buy them, and you still couldn’t get rid of the stuff.

So you spent your evenings cooking and baking exquisite dishes with expensive ingredients. You had gotten rather good at it. Any time someone on base mentioned a dish that they liked, you made sure to jot it down for later. Every night you indulged in food from all over the world that you had made with your own two hands.

But you found yourself with a lot of leftovers.

You were all alone in Zurich, with just a few friends in other parts of the organization that you only got to see when the stars were perfectly aligned. There was no way you could eat all this food.

So you started leaving gifts for the high command.

Strike Commander Morrison was the one who had given you the idea to make the pie in the first place. He had complained about how much he missed the sweet from his hometown, and you had found a recipe that sounded like what he described.

You wrapped a few slices up as nicely as you could and slipped them onto his desk just before he came in one morning.

The only thing you hadn’t counted on was just how invisible you truly were.

Commander Morrison made a sound of surprise when he saw the sparkling clear wrapping paper and curled ribbons. He poked his head out of his office and glanced around. No one else had come in yet, and you were already hard at work transcribing some Omnic signals that had been intercepted.

He asked Captain Amari about it when she arrived a few minutes later.

“You can’t trust random packages that appear on your desk, Jack. You should have reported a security breach immediately. Where is it? We’ll have to send it down for examination.”

Commander Morrison looked sheepish. “I ate them already.”

Captain Amari whacked him upside the head.

“I skipped breakfast!” he whined. “And it was absolutely delicious. It tasted just like home.”

Hearing those words was enough. You didn’t care that the Strike Commander was a fool who didn’t seem to notice your presence. He had enjoyed your treat, and that was all the reward you needed.

You continued to leave sweets for the high command whenever you could. You were sure at some point they would realize it was you, but they never said anything.

Cookies. Sweet breads. Cakes. Candied fruits. Pastries. You were improving as a baker at an alarming rate, considering you had nothing to do in your free time but replicate the recipes all the soldiers on base missed from back home.

The Strike Commander, Lieutenant Wilhelm, and Agent McCree were the most shameless about indulging in your gifts. The other captains and officers partook as well. You had never even seen Agent Shimada eat, though he would gently wrap a small portion to take back to his quarters, and Torbjorn would always wrinkle his nose and scoff at the sweets, but you didn’t miss him slipping a few into his pockets for later.

Despite how much you were making and sharing, there was one person whom you never got the chance to cook for. Everyone else had mentioned a dessert offhand at some point or another, only to find the exact treat waiting for them the next day. Even Agent Shimada had mentioned a fluffy cheesecake once, though he took his portion back to his quarters to eat it. Only one person eluded your gifts, and you were patiently waiting for the opportunity to strike.

You were up to your neck in transcriptions when you finally got your chance. Something you could cook for Commander Reyes.

It was just him, Agent McCree, and the Strike Commander. You were tucked away at your desk as always, invisible to everyone but listening attentively.

“Can’t believe I was in Mexico for a week and spent the whole time camped out in the jungle. I would have killed somebody for a good churro.” Commander Reyes grumbled.

“You did kill people, boss. A lot of people.” Agent McCree had his boots on the table and was grinning around an unlit cigarillo.

“You watch your mouth,” the commander snapped, but his shoulders shook with laughter.

Churros. Authentic Mexican churros. You could certainly do your best to make some and leave them for the Blackwatch commander.

It only took a few tries to get them how you wanted them, and you strolled into the high command offices the following day with a beautifully wrapped box.

Commander Reyes didn’t have a desk in the command wing, but you knew he would be by early. You left the box on the same table Agent McCree was sitting at yesterday and got to work while you waited for everyone else to arrive.

Commander Morrison lit up in excitement when he saw the enormous box waiting on the table, but, after a peek inside, he realized who the sweets were for and didn’t take any. It would have been fine. You had made plenty enough for everyone.

Captain Amari wasn’t as enthusiastic as the Strike Commander, but she let her curiosity get the best of her and gently pried open the box as well. She smirked, and you could have sworn you saw her glance your way, but you were trying to be as inconspicuous as possible as you listened to a diplomatic summit presentation.

At last, Commander Reyes made his appearance. He didn’t hesitate to go straight for the box on the table, lifting the lid and inspecting the contents with an impassive expression. He was completely unreadable as you watched him out of the corner of your eye.

Delicately, he lifted one of the churros out of the box and took a bite. He chewed for a moment, brows furrowed. You wished he would say something. Instead, you saw the tension in his shoulders ease just a little, and you knew you had done an good job.

And that was the end of it -- so you thought. Commander Reyes shared the churros, and everyone else remarked that they were delicious. The rest of the day carried on as usual.

Until you found yourself alone again. Even when they were on base, it wasn’t uncommon for Commander Morrison and Captain Amari to spend most of the day away from their offices. But now, even the other captains and assistants were gone, and it was totally silent.

Commander Reyes strolled into the command wing with his hands in his pockets. You didn’t think anything of it until he came right up to your desk, taking a seat on the edge.

“They were delicious,” he said, watching you intently.

So he knew it was you. He had probably had known for a while. The Blackwatch commander rarely let anything slip by him.

“Thank you, Sir,” you answered, not able to look him in the eye. “When did you figure it out?”

“You made salted caramel cookies for McCree. Cheesecake for Shimada. I need to know who is eavesdropping on my agent’s conversations.”

You flinched at that. “I only had the best intentions.” You chewed your lip. “The gifts were meant to be harmless.”

Commander Reyes chuckled. “You sure harmed Jack’s diet. The man has a sweet tooth and no spine. Put a dessert in front of him, and he can’t say no.”

“He doesn’t need to be on a diet, anyway. You’re all built like Greek gods,” you rolled your eyes. Then the reality of what you had said set in, and you were panicking in your seat. Leaving treats for your superior officers was only mildly questionable. Ogling their physiques and daydreaming about their strong arms was far less appropriate.

“I mean no disrespect, Sir,” you started to ramble. “I spoke out of line, and it wasn’t my place to say anything. Please just forget I ever opened my mouth.”

Commander Reyes laughed again, fuller this time as he leaned back on your desk. “It’s clear you’ve heard everything said in this office. You think that’s going to get you in trouble?” He was right. Conversations among the officers were far from professional. You had heard your share of inappropriate comments and spicy stories.

You looked at your hands in your lap. This was overwhelming. You were so used to being invisible. Now, the commander was confronting you, watching you closely and chatting as if it was nothing. You weren’t sure you had ever exchanged casual conversation with the Blackwatch commander.

“Why do you hide?” he asked. “Leave everything in secret and never speak up? We all know by now, anyway.”

You didn’t really have an answer for him. Maybe you didn’t feel worthy? Maybe you were shy? Neither of those explanations felt quite right.

“I never meant to hide. When I made the pie for Commander Morrison, he didn’t even seem to consider that I could have been the one to leave it. I know I’m practically invisible around here, anyway.” You shrugged. No one paid attention to a quiet linguist. Your voice was only used to relay the messages of other people.

“You’re not invisible. Not to us. We see you every day. Maybe it’s time that you let us give you a gift, what do you say? We definitely should have shown our appreciation sooner.” Commander Reyes held out his hand, eyes kinder than you had ever seen.

“I don’t- What do you mean?” you asked.

Impatient as always, the commander simply grabbed your wrist and pulled you to your feet. “I’m the boss, so you’re coming with me.” He dragged you out of the offices and towards what you recognized to be the high command quarters. You couldn’t disobey a direct order from your superior, so you stumbled along as quickly as you could.

While your apartment was in a cute little residential building on the other end of base, the high command quarters were housed in a higher security building connected to the command center via a series of secure walkways. Reyes simply keyed in a code and ushered you across the glass skyway.

“Sir, I don’t believe I have clearance to access the command living quarters,” you tried to warn him.

“You have access as Jack’s guest.” He answered as if that would explain anything. Why would you be the Strike Commander’s guest?

Commander Reyes pulled to a stop in front of a door with a mailbox outside labeled 3001. He rapped his knuckles on the metal door, tapping his foot as there was the sound of scrambling inside, and the door slid open. Agent McCree was grinning on the other side.

“You came!” He stepped forward and pulled you into a bone-crushing hug, lifting you off the ground and setting you down inside what you assumed to be the Strike Commander’s quarters. “Jack and I were worried Gabe would scare you away.”

“He scared me, that’s for sure. What am I doing here?” You couldn’t keep yourself from looking around the apartment. It was nice, comfortable, with state-of-the-art appliances and plenty of space for more than one person. Much larger than your own apartment.

McCree looked offended. “You didn’t tell her anything? Did you just abduct her from her desk like some kind of madman?”

“No,” Gabe said at the exact same time you said, “Yes.”

The cowboy rolled his eyes. He took one of your hands in both of his and, with the most earnest expression, begged for your forgiveness. “The three of us wanted to say thank you for all the sweets you’ve been baking lately. Those churros were absolutely amazing, so we all pitched in to make dinner for you. Gabe was supposed to ask politely if you would join us. It would make my whole world if you did.”

You weren’t sure how you could say no to something so sweet. Agent McCree was certainly scruffy and rough around the edges at times, but you couldn’t deny he was a true gentleman, unlike his boss.

You nodded, and McCree pulled you in for another hug. “Atta girl! Jack should be back in just a moment. He had to borrow some stuff from Ana.”

Sure enough, the Strike Commander appeared just a moment late with an arm full of cookware and ingredients. He was dressed down to a faded t-shirt and his combat uniform pants with an apron. When he set everything down on the counter, you realized the apron was printed with the warning “hot stuff coming through,” and you couldn’t hide your snort of laughter.

“Ana got it for him as a gift. Jack has been our barbecue guy for the past five years now.” Reyes explained.

“I like it,” you grinned. “It’s accurate.”

You had never seen the Strike Commander blush. He fumbled with the container he was prying open. “Supper was supposed to be ready by the time you got here, but I don’t always keep cooking stuff here. We’ve got snacks and drinks, and Jesse will probably make you watch something terrible with him on the TV.”

You nodded. “Thank you for all of this, Sirs.”

“Woah, woah,” McCree held up his hands. “None of that shit around here. We do first names around here only, or embarrassing nicknames.”

You were extremely thankful for McCree- Jesse. He had a way of making you feel perfectly at ease even though you were so far out of your element. “Come on, I’m gonna show you some classic films while they cook.” He wrapped a hand around your waist and led you to the couch, flicking through the menu on the wall-sized screen. You had seen how much physical affection the high command shared, and you assumed it came from trust on the battlefield. But it seemed the comfort and intimacy extended to you as well.

“Do you need help in the kitchen?” You asked the Strike Commander.

“Absolutely not,” he winked at you. “You’ve cooked far too much for all of us, and it’s our turn to make it up to you. Your job is to keep Jesse out of the kitchen.”

The cowboy grinned at you. “They say I’m a hazard.”

You nodded. “I can see that.” Gathering all of your courage, you nestled into his side on the couch. He threw an arm around your shoulders easily and selected a movie. “What are we watching?”

“Seven Samurai. Genji showed it to me. Did you know that 1900’s cowboy movies and 1900’s samurai movies are like the same thing? He’s the only one who appreciates my Eastwood classics.”

Reyes chimed in from the kitchen. “For a bunch of assassins, it turns out my entire squadron is made up of nerds.”

“And you’re the Head Nerd. King of all Nerds.” Morrison knocked him with an elbow. “We’ve seen your Halloween costumes.”

Your eyebrows shot up. “Commander Reyes is a nerd?”

“Gabe,” Jesse corrected you, “is the biggest nerd of them all. He likes musicals.”

You were smiling widely now. You had been so lonely in Zurich, and now you were being included in teasing and movies and dinner with three of the most powerful men in Overwatch.

Comman- Gabe must have finished his part of the prep work because he sprawled out on the couch on your other side. It felt so nice to be sandwiched between them as the movie played. Jesse’s fingers absently played with your hair, and Gabe’s thigh pressed against your own.

Dinner didn’t take very long at all, and the four of you sat down at Jack’s dining table. There were casseroles, baked potatoes, roasted meat, and vegetables. You made sure to put a little bit of everything on your plate.

“I wasn’t sure what your favorites are, so we made a Morrison family dinner. A taste of the American Midwest.” Jack smiled sheepishly.

“It’s great!” you loved seeing this glimpse of the Strike Commander’s home.

“Next time, I’ll have to show you how we did it in LA,” Gabe was already digging in. “Jack’s Aunt Cindy is an excellent cook, but my sister knows how to make the best tamales.”

You were already putting together a menu based on what your family used to cook. It would be so much fun to treat them to the same meals you had grown up eating.

Jesse cocked his head. “I didn’t eat much as a kid that didn’t come out of a can or a box, but Ana has showed me how to make some things over the years. We’ll have to get her to cook one night.”

The implication that this was only the first of many more nights to come, your heart felt so warm and fuzzy. You tried to hide your blush as you ate.

After finishing dinner, you attempted to help wash up and found yourself forcibly removed from the kitchen by Gabe. “Stop trying to help and just let us treat you.”

And so you found yourself back snuggled up on the couch between them as the movie finished. They were so affectionate, pulling you against them and wrapping their arms around you. It felt natural. You had been working in the same office as them for years, hearing all of their conversations and watching them care for each other. Now, instead of an invisible bystander, you were a part of the family. But you had never truly been invisible. Clearly, everyone else had always considered you as one of them.

You must have dozed off at some point because Jack gently shook you awake. “Jesse can walk you back to your place,” he pushed a container of leftovers into your hand and wrapped you in a hug. “Don’t hide so much from now on, ok?”

You nodded. “Next time, you have to let me help cook.”

[sylvain-writes]

Thanksgiving (Raphael x Casey)

Rated: T M/M, friends to lovers, love confessions, thanksgiving, Casey can cook, light angst and fluff, mutual pining

The couch groaned in protest as Raphael flopped himself upon it. "Ugh," he sighed, laying a hand over his stomach, "I don't think I can move."

"Seriously?" Casey followed him in from the kitchen, still holding a tea towel and raising his eyebrows in disbelief. "I spent all day in there cooking my ass off, but you- You, you don't think you can move? Unbelievable."

"Come sit down, will ya?"

"There's a mess in there. I cook, you clean, remember.? We had a deal, man."

"Yes, dear."

"Don't ‘yes dear’, ‘schmess dear’ me." Casey tossed the towel over his shoulder and sat down hard on Rapahel's extended legs. "You look like you're about to pass out."

"Leave the dishes, man. I'll get to them later. Right now I need a nap, seriously."

"That's fucked up, Raph."

"It ain't." 

Casey squirmed on Raph's knees and Raphael scooted down to adjust their fit on the couch. It put Casey in his lap and Raph tried not to enjoy the pressure of him on his thighs. He and Casey were friends, nothing more. The way Casey stayed close these days. The way his eyes lingered on Raphael when they worked out. Those were just things Raph was imagining. 

Raph had been acting strange around Casey and he knew it. Casey knew it. Hell, his brothers knew it, and he hadn't even brought Casey around them in weeks. 

Maybe that was the problem. He’d stopped bringing Casey around the Lair. They'd been spending time at the apartment, they'd gone out to patrol together, they'd trained a bit together, but Raph stopped bringing Casey down to the sewers. 

Part of the reason was because of his brothers' watchful eyes. They'd be able to see Raphael was being different with Casey now. But part of it was because Raph worried Casey didn't like it down there. 

Casey was always one to speak his mind, and he poked fun of Raph's cluttered bedroom. He asked why, in a sewer full of empty spaces, Raph still shared a room with Mikey. He asked why they kept furniture made of old pizza boxes instead of upgrading to hand-me-down dumpster dives or stuff from second-hand shops.

And Raphael didn't want to answer. He didn't want to tell Casey that the room was cluttered because Raph had a problem letting things go. He was afraid to admit that out loud, because things weren't the only thing Raph was afraid to lose. He was afraid to lose people, too. Especially after losing his father. And Casey was high up on the list of people he didn't want to lose. But if Casey knew that, Raphael worried it would somehow scare him off. 

Casey didn't like to be held down. Raphael could see that. Casey didn't keep much around. His apartment was sparse. His contact list was short. He was going to spend Thanksgiving alone because he didn't speak with his family anymore. How he could give up relationships with family, Raphael didn't understand. Casey didn't explain. And Raphael didn't ask. 

Raph didn't want to say the reason he held Mikey close was because his little brother somehow kept him safe from nightmares. It was strange, the first night they slept apart. Well, sleep isn't the right word for it. 

The first night they tried separate rooms, after puberty dictated they definitely needed some privacy, neither of the brothers got much sleep. Raphael tossed and turned, waking in cold sweats. When he started screaming in his dreams, it was Mikey who rushed to his bedside, and eased him awake with soft pets to his arm. They didn't bother trying to sleep apart after that. Mikey said he had trouble sleeping away from Raph as well, but Raphael always wondered if that was because Raphael had kept him awake or if Mikey really had been restless on his own.

And the reason their family kept old furniture they made themselves was because none of them could risk a trip to a second-hand store. Sure, it seemed like they made good for themselves. There was a pizza parlor that was friendly. They didn't ask questions about the big guys in strange trench coats and hats that ordered take out a few days a week. And there was the Chinese place that slipped them extra orange chicken whenever Mikey went to pick up their order. And the herbalist who definitely knew they were mutants, but kept their suspicions quiet, passed them satchels of tea along with the things they ordered. 

If Casey knew these things, he wouldn't want to spend time with them. He wouldn't want to waste his time with some hoarder who still needed his baby brother to help him through nightmares like he was some little kid afraid of the dark. Monsters under the bed and all that. No matter that Casey and the guys knew first hand that monsters were real. 

"What are you thinking about? Looks like it hurts."

Raphael didn't want to admit that it really did. His chest ached as he looked down at Casey in his lap. Casey who just wouldn't understand. Casey, the one person Raphael desperately wanted to be understood by. Instead of answering, Raphael turned and dumped Casey onto the floor. 

The man landed on his feet but made a grunt of indignance at the affront. "You really gonna leave the mess for me?"

"Nah, I told ya. I'll get to it later."

Casey looked over his shoulder toward the kitchen and made a deep sigh. The sour look on his face did things to Raphael's stomach. Casey looked disappointed and hurt. Two things Raphael never wanted to be the cause of.

Raphael swung his legs over the couch and pushed himself to stand. "Alright alright, I'm up. I'm up." There wasn't that much to clean, Raph thought. But when he reached the small table in the kitchen, Raphael let out a long whistle. But he didn't complain. 

Casey looked like he was gearing up for a fight, like he was waiting for Raphael to protest. 

But Raphael didn't dare, and a part of him twisted sharp at the thought that Casey thought so little of him, that he'd really leave the mess after Casey put together such an impressive spread. 

When it looked like Casey was going to help, when he reached for the ramekins of bread pudding, caked and crusty with the remnants of dessert, Raphael quickly grabbed them from the table.

"Said I'd do it," Raphael reminded him. But Casey didn't look convinced and that hurt. "Dude, come on."

Raphael carefully placed the ramekins in the sink, still impressed and surprised Casey had that kind of dishware in the apartment he could afford alone on a detective's salary. Raphael wondered if he should say something about the place. It was nice, if sparse. A modern ‘less is more’ kind of feel. 

Raphael wasn’t sure he had ever mentioned he was happy for Casey getting the promotion. That he was proud of him. But that was stupid right? You couldn’t be proud of someone for something you had no part of, right? 

Sensei was proud when the turtles succeeded because he trained them. Leo expressed pride when his brothers did well because he was the oldest and led them. 

But Casey's older. He's independent. He's his own man and fully capable of surviving and thriving without some guy hanging on his every word and telling him how great he is all the time. So Raph kept the words to himself.

Instead, he took Casey by the shoulders, sat him on a stool at the short breakfast bar, and turned to grab the can of coffee from the counter. 

Casey looked up at Raphael with a quirked eyebrow and a curled lip, and Raphael tried not to think of his confusion as something sweet. As something cute. He tried not to think about how much he’d like to kiss those lips and make them smile. 

Raphael turned away from Casey wondering if he had any right to think he could make Casey smile with a kiss. 

Maybe a sad one. A smile of pity and apology. A smile that said, Sorry, man. I like you and all. You’re a real pal. Just not like that.

Raphael peeled the lid off of the coffee tin and set a filter into the machine.

“Little early for a coffee break when ya haven’t even gotten started.”

Raphael could have made a joke, he could have scoffed, but he said, “It’s for you,” and his voice was so much softer than he had intended. 

The energy in the room shifted just a bit and Raphael’s heart rate quickened. There were butterflies in his chest - and weren’t they supposed to be in his stomach? But, no, there was definitely discomfort in his chest and he wondered if he was going to have a fucking heart attack having let three words slip with that voice. 

“Oh.” Casey said, and Raphael thought, no, it was Casey’s tone that was set to kill him. “Thanks.”

It was that little word that reminded Raphael it was the holiday for being grateful and he hadn’t told Casey how good everything was, how tasty and cozy and how thankful he was that he got some time away from his brothers. Thankful he had a hot meal with his best friend instead of cold pizza while his brothers argued over which remote they could play with - despite them having assigned controllers since they were kids. 

Raphael struggled to find words that didn’t sound too… too… he wasn’t sure. Too desperate maybe. Too flowery or stupid. 

He didn’t want Casey to think he was poking fun. Because today was impressive and clearly took hours to prepare. Forethought and recipes and care. Planning and trips to the grocery store with intent. Raph wanted to acknowledge that work, but if he did that, he worried Casey was gonna think he’s getting soft. 

They didn't do ‘soft’. They argued and threw punches when things got too much. They joked and called each other out on bullshit. They poked fun at each other. But they never touched an insecurity once it was revealed. And they never pushed when the other wanted to be left alone. 

And apparently they cooked now. Casey cooked. And Raph cleaned. Well, Raph was supposed to be cleaning.

Raph filled the reservoir with water and set the coffee to drip. He put out two mugs on the counter even though he couldn’t stand the taste of the dark roast Casey bought. And he finally turned to the table to grab dishes for scrubbing.

When he added the leftover sweet potato casserole to the half-empty dish of green beans, Raph let slip a small phrase of praise. “This stuff was real sweet.”

“Yeah, it uh, got marshmallow on top.”

“Oh.” Raphael said and too late realized that he shouldn’t have messed up the dish by nesting it inside the dirty dish of green beans. “You got those plastic box things?”

“Tupperware?”

“I guess.”

Casey slid off his stool and grabbed a set from the cabinet. It was neatly organized by shape and size. And Raphael knew that he and Casey would never fit like that. Raph was too messy. He had his own method of organization, but it had never been orderly like that. Even if he wanted to straighten up his room, he wouldn’t know where to start. 

Raph took the container with a hum and spooned the slop into it. Popped on the top and set it aside. “Bet Leo would like it.”

“It wasn’t too sweet?”

“Nah. He, uh, likes that stuff. Always puts extra honey in tea and syrup on pancakes.” 

“What about you? Did you like it?”

“It was alright.” Raph figured that probably wasn’t the best answer, but he didn’t want to lie. The sweet potatoes with marshmallow were too sweet for his taste. But the corn muffins were nice and fluffy, and they tasted enough like butter that he ate them all on their own. And the butternut squash soup Casey made for the first course left him wanting to lick the bowl. 

But how could he tell him that without sounding like he didn’t appreciate everything else. “Everything was good, Case. You, uh, really outdone yourself, y’know?”

Raphael didn’t look at him. Didn’t see the flush upon Casey’s cheeks as he turned to rest his elbows on the counter. He didn’t notice the way Casey twiddled his thumbs and picked at his cuticles. 

“Yeah?”

The dishes clattered in the sink and Raphael drizzled soap over the lot of them. The casseroles had to be hand washed in batches. The sink was too shallow and small to hold everything. And no dishwasher in the apartment. “Sure. Never had anything like that before.”

“The turkey was dry.”

Raphael shrugged his shoulders. He liked the turkey well enough. “It was fine.”

“The beans burned.”

The tops were a little crispy, but Raphael had actually enjoyed the combination of textures. “You watch a lot of cooking shows or something?”

“Huh?” Casey looked up from his hands and over his shoulder to where Raphael washed the dishes. Raph glanced at him with a question in his eyes. 

“You cook real good. Do you watch that cooking channel?”

“Oh. No. The, um, the… there was classes.”

“Ya took cooking classes?” Raphael bit his tongue after he asked, knowing the question came out all wrong. He was impressed, surprised, but the way he said it sounded judgmental and he didn’t mean it that way at all.

“Wasn’t gonna live off take out,” Casey countered. 

And Raph shrugged. That was fair. Casey knew that even Raphael couldn’t stand night after night of fast food. 

Ever since he started getting invited to Casey’s for dinner, Raph looked forward to their meals. Raph just didn’t realize how much work went into things like this. Casey always had everything cleaned up and ready to reheat by the time Raph showed up. Granted, Raph usually showed up around 3 AM with a ravenous appetite and ate all of Casey’s leftovers, but Casey didn’t seem to mind. Today was the first time Raph saw Casey ‘in action’. Slaving away over the burners and checking on the oven. Timing everything just right so nothing went cold while the rest cooked. It was amazing, now that Raph was really thinking about it.

“You think you could teach me sometime?” 

It wasn’t even about cooking down at the Lair. While that would be nice, Raph would probably be roped into making the same thing his brothers always ate. And that didn’t appeal to him. Not really. Not now that Raphael knew there were so many other flavors out there to be enjoyed. 

Truthfully, Raph would have liked to repay Casey with a meal himself. Maybe trade off nights one day. If he ever got good enough to make something edible.

“Teach you to cook? I dunno if you could handle it man. Takes patience and attention to detail.”

“You don’t think I got patience?” Raphael had to laugh, but it was a sad thing. 

He’d been waiting for Casey to notice him for months now. And as far as Raphael could see, Casey was just as clueless to Raphael’s feelings for him as he had ever been. So, Raph waited.

Maybe one day Casey would see him as more than a friend. Maybe not. But friendship was good. Friendship kept them close. Allowed Raph to keep Casey safe when he went out on some harebrained scheme or got it in his head to take on criminals by himself. Raphael could keep an eye on him. As long as they remained friends, Casey would never truly be alone. 

Casey didn’t answer the question, so Raphael didn’t say anything more. 

Raph cleaned the kitchen in quiet until the coffee maker gave one long annoying beep to announce it was done. Raphael rinsed his hands under the water and dried them on the towel tucked into the waistband of his slacks, before going over to pour Casey a cup.

When Raphael brought over the mug, filled to the top, no need to leave room for milk since Casey drinks it black, Raphael sees Casey watching him curiously. 

“I could teach ya a few things, I guess.”

Raphael shrugged and the coffee sloshed dangerously toward the lip of the mug. He carefully set it down on the counter before looking up to meet Casey’s gaze. “The soup. That was my favorite.”

“There’s more in the pot,” Casey offered, standing up, “I could heat some up.”

“Dude, I meant what I said about being full. Everything was good. But, if I had to choose one thing. The soup. And maybe the muffins. So, a’right, two things, I guess.”

“...you’re a muffin man,” Casey teased, easing himself back onto the stool.

Raphael sneered. “Shut the fuck up, Jones.”

With that, the tension in the room broke and Casey went on to poke fun at Raphael as he washed the dishes. “Put your back into it, sweetheart. I wanna see my reflection in that glass.”

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll make it shine. Maybe then you’ll see you’ve had creamed spinach dryin’ on ya forehead for the past hour.”

“You asshole. Why didn’t you tell me?” Casey rubbed at his forehead, missing the smear, and Raphael bit back his chuckle.

“Green looks good on you.”

Casey’s eyes narrowed at that, and Raphael swallowed hard wondering if he said something wrong. 

The intensity of Casey’s gaze made Raphael want to take a step back and a step forward, and he didn’t know upon which impulse to act. So instead he stood stock still.

When Casey took a step toward him, Raphael was grateful he didn't have to be the one to choose. 

Raph lifted his hand to wipe the smear from Casey’s face, but Casey told him, “Leave it.” Told him, “I like a little green on me.”

Raphael couldn’t hold his gaze at that. “Shit, Jones. Ya can’t say shit like that when ya-” Raphael’s train of thought disappeared into fog when Casey grabbed him by the neck, pulled him forward for a kiss. 

It was hard and fast, and over too soon. Casey pulled back, and Raphael held his eyes shut a little longer, wondering what he’d see when he opened them. Raph held his breath and Casey’s hand tightened around the back of his neck as they each waited for the other to make the next move. 

Raphael’s green eyes opened slowly. “That all ya got?”  And he took Casey’s face with both hands, dragging him into a searing kiss that knocked Casey off-balance in more ways than one. 

[inheritorofmemories-archive]

TOG immortals and vices

Been thinking about the way half the guards smoke like chimneys in the comics, the consumption of alcohol shown in the movie, and what bad habits they would have picked up and never let go of throughout their lives.

So here, my little headcanons about which vices each of the immortals have:

(vices used loosely, more like bad habits or things they like that they cannot help or do without)

Andy and food. And sweet stuff.

She has known hunger and plain, out of necessity, food for so long she’ll indulge gods help her she will ingest as much sugar as she can get her hands on. Absolutely demolished Yusuf’s stash of sweets when they met her. She doesn’t like cooking, or baking, because it takes too much time and investment and feeding herself was a chore for most of her life but she loves to go out to eat. She absolutely hates the snobby michelin type restaurants with no food on the plate and stupidly long name and she’ll take a good meal from the corner food truck or that family held recipe over that pretentious crap any time of the day. Can only feel alive when eating food with enough spice in it to burn off anyone’s tongue but she also likes the greasy and filling stuff that sticks to your throat for hours. Food as a bonding experience for friends and family, she believes in the power of bread, good wine, sweet dessert and a full stomach. But mostly the desert to satisfy her huge sweet tooth.

Quynh and fashion.

That woman wouldn’t be caught dead in clothes that don’t fit or look ridiculous, you and I both know that. She’s reasonable most time and keeps their money in check but more than once she gave too many coins for a dress/tunic/shirt or a fabric that caught her eyes. In general she loves to take care of appearance, clean and combed hair styled nicely, clean and good clothes, makeup and jewelry that doesn’t look too bling but bring just enough class and bring attention. She likes beautiful things in general (aka her wife Andy but also that collection of knives she has that is centuries old, there’s some Damascus steel in there Joe found for her). Was definitely the one to dress the team and the one who took to new trends the fastest, even when she had Opinions on said trends. Would also be the type that would rather be overdressed than underdressed at an event, as opposed to Andy which makes for the funniest couple ever.

Nile and physical activity (not just sport, anything physical).

I see her as the kind of person who cannot relax and needs to be doing something at all times. She’s the eldest daughter in her family and in comics canon she had like 5 jobs before going into the army, tell me this isn’t the behavior of someone who hates to be idle because it makes her feel useless. She’s working out to process her emotions in the military base, and when Andy leaves to fight in the church she’s walking in circles trying to find something to do, go help Andy or pack or anything really. She’s absolutely the type to go for a run because she has nothing else planned and it clears her head, or the one to stress bake in the middle of the night to keep her hand busy, or who would learn to knit because reading isn’t enough to keep her brain in track she has to do something concrete with her hands. People telling her to calm down, stop jerking her legs or just take a day off awake strong murder urges in her. It’s not like she can help it so let her tear this piece of paper into smaller pieces of paper because she hasn’t been on run in days and she’s going crazy with pent up energy. Patience is vertue that never bothered to visit her.

Joe and arguing.

He loves to pick arguments. He’s the cerebral guy in the team and he will get into heated debates even if it pisses off him, the other person talking, everyone else around the table and the neighbors on the other side of the room. He can’t help it, that’s just in his genes to argue and share his opinions and confront the way other people’s brain work. The best kind of arguments are about the most pointless and petty things like how to drink your coffee, the best time to nap, which citrus is the best or the correct way to store books. The haggling falls under that category too, Yusuf “son of a merchant” al-Kaysani was raised right by his baba and he knows a scam when he sees one, no he will not calm down that price is twice it’s value, you thief.

Nicky and gambling.

He just likes it. Knows he shouldn’t but he enjoys the excitation of a bet and the risk involved and the thrill of winning too much to stop. As soon as an opportunity to bet arise it’s like a switch in his brain cut off all common sense coursing through him. He can hold back if the situation is dire but with enough teasing and ribbing he will take part even into the most stupid and useless bets, yeah, 20 bucks that chicken gets to the barn before the goat does. I have to thank @polarcell for this one, wouldn’t have thought of it without her posting about it and the image of calm and collected Nicky going feral over bets and just running headfirst into them is an incredibly humanizing quality that I appreciate.

Booker and alcohol.

Goes into the unhealthy side in the movie but I truly believe he’s the kind of man who would sell his kidney to get that bottle of good liquor he’s been eyeing all week, if not dying in the process, simply because he likes the taste of this one. The kind of man to be a snobby asshole over wine and good whiskey from time to time but mostly he wants to share it with his friends (ie. the small family that gets all the best alcohol he can find to drink with them). A bit of a social drinker I think too, like Andy with food: it’s best when it’s shared.

+ Bonus:

Lykon and adrenaline.

Have you seen the way that man smiled at Andy when he was almost gutted by a spear in a fight? You can’t tell me Lykon wasn’t the og Jackass back in BCE time. He can be calm and collected but present him with the opportunity to ride a wild beast or jump off a cliff/waterfall/ravine and he will do it. A bit of a thrill-seeker, often getting himself, and then Andy and Quynh too, into trouble because he just couldn’t help it, it seemed too fun. He’s here for a good time not a long one and a long one too. If he was still alive he would 100% be the kind to discover motorcycle, promptly dies about 10 times riding it too fast, and then enroll in a circus just to jump through on fire hoops every night. He would have been so thrilled when humanity started to invent stuff to fly too, just imagine him grinning as he jumps off a plane with the first-ever parachute strapped on his back.

[shark-el]

Onion soup:

A firend of mine asked me for my Onion soup recipe. I was just gana send it to her plain simple and boring. But then I thought of a better way to waist my time that I should probably be spending doing work or researching for projects and thing. But I decided this was a lot more fun!

My idea was to be one of those annoying food blogs that tell their whole life story in an absolutely overly exaggerated fashion! One to make fun of blogs that do this, and tow because it's fun and why the hell not?!

So the idea for this started back when I was first starting out cooking and every single blog I found had a 1000 word essay about the origin of sed food. I found it extremely irritating because why do I did to know that this person's great uncle's best friends grandma's dog died in a fire in order to make this recipe?! So I would scroll down all the way to get to the actual recipe but the story just kept on going! Like about how her great great great grandfather's colleague from work had spills tea on his novel, a passion project that he had worked so hard for. I still had no idea how this was relevant at all to the spring rolls I was planning on making? And after an eternity of scrolling fingers tired and eyes full of tears I finally got to the recipe.

You'd think after all that back story and the amount I had learned about the person writing this like the fact that her great grandmother's favorite color was tangerine but specifically tangerine, and not orange because her childhood best friend had lent her a sweater that exact color and the next day she had never returned. That sweater has become a family heirloom that has been passed down ever since. Or the fact that she had avocado toast on Tuesday three years ago on may 18th at exactly 3:26 pm. Needless to say I knew a lot about this person and their family tree. It really helped me get the care and feeling I needed for my spring rolls. So that is why I'm going to be overly pretentious and do the same thing to you so have fun.

I was born at a very young age, in the evening on a hot August day. I don't remember much from this time in my life but my parents told me that I was miserable until I could do things for myself. After that I was a force to be reckoned with, nothing could stop me! There was one time when I was about 6 months old my parents had left me on the table thinking I couldn't get far, keeping an eye on me every once in a while but not paying much attention. The second I was put down I saw something gleaming in the corner of my eye, it was a delicious looking chocolate brownie. Nothing could stop me I was going to get that brownie no matter what! so I slowly started scooching my tiny baby body to the delicious looking dessert moving as fast as my little arms could take me. It had been 10 minutes of struggling from one end of the table to the other. I had finally made it! I was so close my hand was mere centimeters away from the prize. It was gonna be mine all mine! But then suddenly out of nowhere my dad's arms came and picked me up taking me away from my long awaited dessert. needless to say I was furious but I still never got that specific brownie (I've had other brownies don't get me wrong, it's just I never had that one. And at this point I don't think I'd want to since it's several years past it's expansion date).

That was my first experience with real food which might have been a core memory if I actually remembered it. Sadly this happened before i could remember it, but i'd like to think that it was the beginning of my love for food.

Over the years I started cooking it started off as learning how to make eggs and mac and cheese but then over the years I started to make more complex dishes, some worked and some didn't. Now I know that most people would rather be informed about the times that somebody failed rather than the time someone succeeded, they stand out more I guess and if you're actually sitting down to read this then I will reward you with some of my biggest cooking fails.

First off anything that involves baking, for instance there was one time I was going to bake a chocolate cake for a bake sale and well... so what happened was, I learned that I can't follow a recipe for the life of me! You may ask why I'm writing this recipe if I probably won't follow it anyway, but it's more a list of ingredients than a actual recipe. Anyway back to the story so my first mistake was I ended up putting in a tablespoon of salt instead of a teaspoon so normally this would be fine it would have just been a little bit salty, but problem was I had another mistake, I ended up putting in a tablespoon of mint extract instead of a teaspoon of vanilla extract as well, so the resulting cake was less cake tasting and more of the toothpaste variety. ( For some reason my brother loved it. He took about a handfuls. I would not recommend it with a glass of orange juice).

Another baking story, I was trying to make chicken pot pie, and filling itself is cooking. I can do that, throwing things in a pot, easy! It works! But do not, I repeat do not! leave me alone with a pie crust. my dad and I frantically tried to roll out said pie crust and not rip it, we were flailing around confused as to how dough worked. It took us about half an hour to roll out the pie crust so it would rip adds little as possible. After that day we came to a conclusion never to leave us with the job of baking ever again!

The next cooking fail I have is finally about the soup recipe. You see the first time I tried making onion soup it didn't go very well... Let me explain what happened. I was really in the mood for a nice warm onion soup and I figured you just throw some onions in a pot with some white wine and water and let it sit. Problem was we didn't have any wine, and I was too young to go to the grocery store to buy some, so instead I decided to use grape juice. Never but I mean never cook an absurd amount of grape juice, the heated aroma smelt excruciatingly unappetizing and I would not recommend it on anyone. So the resulting soup was watered down hot grape juice and stir-fried onions. needless to say it did not taste good and smelled even worse. I told myself that would be the last time I'd ever make onion soup! Years have past and and I was really in the mood for onion soup again even after that disaster, so I decided to try once again. this time with no grape juice! I looked through multiple recipes some had more ingredients than others and ended up combining a lot of them together to make my own onion soup recipe the one you see before you. And though I was scared that I'd mess it up I decided that I just really wanted some onion soup so I made it and it turned out delicious. Look at that a happy ending isn't that just great?!

I'd be surprised if you actually read through all of this if you did a good job,if you didn't then you're probably not going to read this sentence but I don't blame you it's all good who actually reads these backstories to recipes anyway?

Anyway I think I've mumbled on long enough here is the actual recipe for this soup:

5-6 onions

7-8 cups of chicken/ onion stock ( cold be parve from show mixes)

3 cloves of garlic (probably more)

1/4 cups of soy sauce

1/3 cups of white wine (optional)

4 tablespoons of oil (2-3 at the beginning and then 1-2 in middle of caramelization)

4 tablespoons of flower

1 teaspoon sugar (helps with caramelization)

Salt (to taste)

Pepper ( to taste but approx 1/8-1/4 of a teaspoon)

Instructions:

1) caramelize onions:

On medium heat Cook the onions, stirring often, until they have softened, about 15 to 20 minutes.

Increase the heat to medium high. Add the remaining tablespoon of oil (or butter depending on) and cook, stirring often, until the onions start to brown, about 15 more minutes.

Then sprinkle with sugar (to help with the caramelization) and 1 teaspoon of salt and continue to cook until the onions are well browned, about 10 to 15 more minutes.

Add garlic

2) Add Flour until mixed and quickly ( so it doesn't burn) add Add wine and soy sauce and once mixed well and incorporated

3)Add stock slowly, then add bay leaves and black pepper and salt (if needed, you can always add it later).

Bring to a summer and leve on low heat for 30 mins.

And now you officially scrolled too far, this is the point in a recipe blog where they add a bunch of links to all the recipes made by their friends families and anything else that comes to mind. Most people looking for the recipe would scroll all the way to the end trying to find it in this mess of words and unnecessary backstory told in an excruciatingly painful amount of detail. Then realize they've scrolled too far, sigh and start scrolling up again, this time a little slower.

It normally also has recommendations of foods that would go well with it, in the case of this onion soup I would recommend eating it with some garlic bread or grilled cheese sandwiches, basically all comfort foods that would spark Joy anytime you eat them.

If you're looking for aesthetic you can try making a bread bowl, cover it with cheese and broil it, which would have a whole other recipe linked in somewhere, with more details about how their great uncle's best firends associate made this same recipe for the pince of some country. But as I mentioned beforehand, I for one am not a baker and bread is most definitely a baking job. Not only is bread one of the more complex foods to bake, even if you put every ingredient precisely as the recipe mentions them, it still won't turn out right! Because ether the atmospheric pressure has changed very slightly, or the wind isn't blowing in the correct direction. Bread making is hard and I have a lot of respect for people who can do it correctly.

If you've read through all of this, damn that's dedication thank you and I applaud thee. I hope you enjoyed, and were amused.

[great-jenna-bake-off]

Season 3 Episode 6: Queen of Puddings

I started watching GBBO at least four years ago, and yet I still do not know what a pudding technically is. Sometimes it seems to just be a catchall term for “dessert”. This VOX article claims that “A British pudding is a dish, savory or sweet, that's cooked by being boiled or steamed in something: a dish, a piece of cloth, or even animal intestine,” which is confusing, because I don’t think I did any of that for this week’s bake. (There were certainly no animal intestines involved.) But whatever a pudding is, this week I made the Queen of Puddings, at least as defined by Mary Berry.

https://www.bbc.co.uk/food/recipes/queen_of_puddings_79904 

Step one was to grease a ¼ liter shallow ovenproof dish, which I do not have. Off to a great start! In my defense, there is only so much room for baking equipment in my apartment’s kitchen. I dug this dish up from my parents’ house and went with it because it was oval-shaped, like Mary’s example photo, but it definitely doesn’t qualify as “shallow”. 

Good enough.

Next up was to make a custard. First, I heated up milk, butter, lemon zest, and sugar in a sauce pan.

Does this count as “boiling or steaming” something?

Then, I carefully poured my warm egg mixture into a bowl with my egg yolks, which I had already separated from the whites. I whisked it together, and a custard was born.

Custard!

To make this custard more substantial, it is poured over a base of bread crumbs. Mary’s recipe specifies “fresh” bread crumbs, but I did not have a bunch of semi-stale bread lying around, so pre-packaged bread crumbs it is.

I told myself after my last bake that I’d stick to the recipe moving forward. Clearly that lesson did not sink in.

Crumbs + custard

I put my dish into a roasting tin, filled the tin with water, and stuck the whole thing in the oven.

At least my dish fits in the tin.

While my custard baked, I turned my attention to the next element of my bake: jam. Mary’s recipe suggests that you can use store-bought jam if you don’t want to make your own, but I have never made jam before and figured it was one of those things that was bound to come up sooner or later. Plus, I knew the bakers would have to do it, and I wanted to stay in the spirit of the competition. So I gave it a shot.

I used a mixture of raspberries, strawberries, and blackberries, since that’s what I had on hand in my freezer, but it seems any “summer fruit” will do.

I had some trouble getting my frozen berries to fully reduce into a cohesive sauce, and after what felt like ages of cooking time, my jam still seemed a bit watery with big chunks of fruit.

I guess this also counts as “boiling something”…

I decided to run my jam through a strainer, which didn’t help my watery-ness issue one bit, but I managed to mash the bigger pieces of fruit against the strainer to make them more sauce-like, and reincorporated it into the strained juice to produce something that could pass for jam, albeit a very runny one.

It’s a pretty color, at least.

Meanwhile, it was time to pull my custard out of the oven. I think I overcooked it slightly, but I had trouble getting the custard to set as much as I felt it should.

I baked the custard for about 35 minutes, instead of the 20-30 specified by the recipe.

While my custard cooled, it was time to make meringue. Luckily, I had some egg whites just sitting around that I had to separate from their yolks for the custard earlier. It’s always nice when a recipe doesn’t waste ingredients. Those egg whites and a bit of sugar quickly became meringue.

Thanks, KitchenAid stand mixer!

Finally, it was time to assemble. First, I put my jam on top of my custard. I vastly overestimated how solid the custard was and dumped a whole bunch of jam right on top, which caused it to mix in a bit with the custard. I quickly realized that it was better to gently spoon the jam on top of the custard.

Hopefully didn’t mess up the layers TOO much.

Next, it was time for meringue. I piped little poofs all over the top of the dish.

I’m actually very proud of my piping on this one.

And with that, the whole thing was ready to go back in the oven to brown the meringue. Not too difficult, all said and done. But would the bakers agree?

Sarah-Jane isn’t feeling too confident heading into the technical, as per usual. “You just have to kind of draw on everything you know about… everything… ever… in the space of five minutes,” she says.

I think Sarah-Jane might be my spirit animal.

Ryan has somehow never made custard or jam before, which leads me to question his GBBO preparation techniques.

Even I’ve made custard before!

Mary explains that the Queen of Puddings is many families’ favorite pudding, which I guess presumes that said families eat a variety of puddings on a regular enough basis to choose a favorite.

I’m really hung up on this whole “pudding” thing, I know.

As the bakers prepare their custards, Mel explains that they shouldn’t bake their custards too long or the surface will crack. I’m now thinking back to my own custard, which definitely had some cracks in the top. Whoops!

I mean it will be covered in jam and meringue… no one will know. 

Next, it’s time to move on to the jam, and Brendan seems to be some kind of jam savant, explaining that he’s looking for a soft-set jam. After all, he says, “There are some advantages to being older… you learn the setting point of jam.”

Showoff. 

Like me, John has some problems with the jam running into his custard, although his are much worse.

“Mary’s going to slap me in the face,” he moans.

The bakers seem intimidated by the meringue layer, which I find confusing. Meringue just… isn’t that hard?

Here, Danny whips up a second meringue, worried that her first one was too runny.

Finally, all the puddings are in the oven. 

Classic GBBO on-the-floor oven-watching pose.

Brendan seems to have gotten a nice golden brown color on the top of his meringue. Will this be the key to a technical challenge win?

Like a perfectly roasted marshmallow.

During the judging, Mary announces that the glass dishes they gave the bakers were part of her evil plan, so she and Paul can see how even the layers are on the puddings.

Feeling grateful for my ceramic dish right about now…

Unfortunately, James has overcooked his custard, which means it came out watery. 

Would I fall victim to the same pitfall?

In the end, Brendan’s lifetime of jam knowledge proves useful, and he takes home the win.

It does look like a rather royal pudding. 

My pudding was ready to come out of the oven, but would it be fit for a queen? First, here’s Mary’s example pudding… 

That’s a very elegant shallow dish.

And here’s mine.

Look at that piping!

The slice admittedly didn’t look too delicious, but there’s a reason Mary’s photo only includes the dish – I just don’t think this one is meant to look pretty on the plate. The show also didn’t really showcase what the bakers’ slices/scoops of pudding looked like. So I’m pretty sure mine is about right. Also, Mary’s recipe said to serve with “pouring cream”, so that’s what the puddle is around the pudding, not melted custard. (The bakers did not seem to do that in the show).

I thought my Queen of Puddings was pretty regal, actually. The meringue had good volume and was nicely crispy, and the jam and custard layers actually held up on the plate. But now it was time to see if my esteemed panel of judges would agree.

***

Matt’s Review: I was actually full from dinner when I dug into this pudding, and I was worried it was going to be too heavy. But as soon as I took my first bite and felt how soft and airy it was, I quickly ate the whole thing. Turned out, that’s a purely mouth-feel thing and I got a horrible stomach ache. But it was worth it. It’s a bread mush with surprisingly complicated flavors—sweetness was potentially the least pronounced one there. The fluffy texture (which I have to assume Jenna nailed) really let you focus on those flavors. It’s a balancing act, and the pudding landed it gracefully. I have no way to fairly judge presentation, but I will add that there’s nothing better than having a Tupperware full of pudding arrive at your door.

Wilson’s Review: Beautiful presentation, clearly defined merengue structure. Some nice peaks, clearly have a steady hand with the piping. But, the color’s a bit light isn’t it? In the future maybe keep it in the oven for a touch longer, or up the heat. Cutting it open you’ve got some nice defined layers, well done. Flavor is good, you can really taste the summer in the jam. The lemon isn’t really coming through, and that’s a key element to balance the sweetness of the jam and the crisp of the meringue – need that acidity. Overall a very good bake, worthy of being served on anyone’s summer table. 

***

Final Thoughts: As Matt mentioned, the pudding was delivered to him in the least royal of ways, dumped unceremoniously in a Tupperware and left on his doorstep. So sadly he didn’t get to witness the beauty of my pudding in its original form, and personally, I thought it looked great. I also enjoyed eating it – the meringue was crispy on the outside, soft on the inside, and the custard was smooth and creamy. The jam was definitely a little runnier than a store-bought variety, but I did like it enough to use the leftovers on toast for several breakfasts, so it worked out well enough. And to Wilson’s point, it needed a little more browning on the top of the meringue – perhaps I should have used the broiler at the very end to get that nice golden color. Overall, this was not a particularly tough bake, which was a nice change of pace after trying to get pie dough to defy gravity for the last bake. I still don’t know what a pudding is, but I did enjoy eating it.

[lillianfromaccounting]

This ended up being a very long post and I'm on mobile, so I'll fix the read more in the morning when I get on the computer.

TW: covid, depression, Thanksgiving, a lot of food talk

-----------

Today, we officially called off Thanksgiving with family (it had pretty much been decided but today we called the few people to confirm it).

Some background: my family only started celebrating Thanksgiving because I wanted to. We're Chinese, so growing up, it wasn't a thing for us, plus my mom wasn't fond of turkey.

At the age of 13, I picked up a bread baking recipe book at a Scholastic book drive. Up until that point, I had been baking stuff from box mixes, so making bread from scratch was a huge deal for me. Age 14, I told my parents I wanted to do Thanksgiving the American way. We qualified for a free turkey at our local supermarket anyway, so why not? To make it more palatable, I incorporated Chinese elements into the menu--various Chinese vegetables (choy) instead of green bean casserole, sticky rice (loh mai fan) stuffing--and i would bake fresh bread. There would always be white rice.

I have a huge extended family and on the weekends, my parents would have family and friends over to play mahjong, so Thanksgiving went over great because they loved trying all these new foods, and I loved trying new recipes. We always had a rotation of at least thirty people, so the food went. I think one year, I counted just over fifty people--it was like a revolving door at my parents' house, some people would pop in around lunch time and hang out until they had to go to their own family's Thanksgiving dinners, some came for dinner, and some came for dessert and coffee with a side of mahjong.

As the years went on, my menus got more and more elaborate, and I would enlist my younger siblings (I have three) to be my sous chefs. It was a THING. Thanksgiving was my thing.

The college I went to is very involved with the Macy's Thanksgiving parade balloons, and while it would have been an awesome experience, it required giving up your Wednesday night and most of Thanksgiving Thursday. That was a deal breaker for me. That's how much my Thanksgiving ritual meant to me.

Some of my favorite memories are waiting in line at DiPalo's (before they expanded, back when it was just the corner storefront) with my sister the weekend before Thanksgiving to get fresh mozzarella and ricotta and parmigiano (lasagna was a huge hit with my family). The longest we waited was three hours one year.

Another year, this was after I had graduated and moved out and was working. My work let us out early (around 2pm), but this asshat in another department ensured me that he needed these numbers so he can work over the weekend. I ended up running out to DiPalo's to pick up my order and going back to work, working to 9pm to get those numbers out, before going back to my parents' house to start cooking. The asshat didn't look at them that weekend (we get the Friday off too).

Mind you, it's not that I couldn't get the ingredients in Jersey, I just honestly had no idea where to go. My parents did the bulk of their grocery shopping in Chinatown and DiPalo's was right at the border of Chinatown and Little Italy.

As I said earlier, my menus got more elaborate over the years. Everyone kept eating the loaves of fresh bread for breakfast, so I made Thanksgiving an all day affair, with a breakfast, lunch, and dinner menu.

One year, the theme was fried foods (fried turkey legs, homemade mozzarella sticks, etc.). I always tried new recipes on Thanksgiving, because honestly, what I enjoyed most about it was the process, the production of creating something delicious.

My siblings started sending me recipes throughout the year. One year, I made a vegan raspberry cheesecake (the base was cashews and almonds).

My siblings also said that they knew my now husband was a keeper because he had not only survived Thanksgiving at my parents' house, but he rolled with it (I'm pretty sure I put him to work too).

After we got married and bought our house, I claimed Thanksgiving for both sides of the family (there were no objections, because I didn't care about Christmas, so they had Christmas). My husband's family had been getting their Thanksgiving meals catered for a few years at this point, so they didn't mind not cooking.

But including his family meant I had to start making sacrifices to my process. One person only liked Stove Top stuffing (don't get me wrong, Stove Top chicken flavor is amazing, but so is a sausage stuffing from scratch). The year my second child was born, I think I was a bit burned out by everything, so we ended up ordering a whole pig (think spit roast, but Chinese style) and some roast ducks that year. We were told the next year that some people would prefer to have turkey. One year, we decided to smoke our turkey, and the feedback we had gotten was that some people really preferred oven roasted. So the following year, we did turkey three ways (roasted, smoked, and deep fried) and we started getting feedback that we were doing too much variety. This happened with the sides too. Heirloom vegetable recipes (guys, I used to watch the Food Network religiously) were reduced to sauteed green beans or asparagus. We were told to reduce the variety of things, so the only pasta dish that kept making it onto the menu was mac and cheese, because that was someone else's preference. And I couldn't even play around with the mac and cheese, because the family's recipe used Velveeta (yes, I know I sound like a food snob, and it's because I was back then).

But year after year, the creativity of the menu decreased and decreased, to the point where my husband and I felt it wasn't enjoyable anymore.

This morning, after we had called the family (it was really just my and his parents, whom we have been seeing during this whole time because we live close and do shopping for them, etc.), part of me was excited to finally make a menu and my husband and I agreed on a very small menu, because it's just us and our two kids.

And by the time I went to bed, I was excited again for Thanksgiving because we will be cooking things that we want. There are three, possibly four varieties of scones on the breakfast menu right now. I haven't mentioned this yet, but my menus are always too ambitious. I almost never get every single dish on the table, but the important ones get there. The experimental ones get ranked in order of what I want to taste.

After all these years, we have established staples. We always have bacon cheddar scones with breakfast. My sons requested chocolate chip and vanilla, respectively, and I want pumpkin. We'll see how many varieties actually get made. I always make fresh cranberry sauce for the sole reason of baking it into a crumb cake for Friday morning. We also eat the Ocean Spray jellied (with whole berries), and I serve it in slices. My husband is the mashed potato king, so he handles that. The King Arthur masala chai pumpkin pie recipe has been a hit year after year, so that is a staple now. I was excited to be able to cook what we wanted again.

It even inspired a Thanksgiving chapter in the fic I am writing. (I am so, so, so happy and excited for this chapter now.)

But as I was going to bed tonight, I was thinking about those memories at DiPalo's and cooking with my siblings, and pandemic sadness hit me like a ton of bricks. I cried hard. I miss my siblings. I miss the hospitality of it all. Just like my parents' house was a revolving door, when my husband and I took over Thanksgiving, it was an unspoken rule that extended friends and family were welcomed. My siblings' friends from high school and college would stop by. My one sister's friend would even ask to be on the menu distribution list (I usually drafted a menu and my family members would vote on which dishes they wanted, and that was partially how the menu was created) and invite himself over lol.

I miss that company--the people who understood my Thanksgiving--my family. I haven't seen (in person) one sister since January and the other since March. And while we're constantly talking to each other and do the occasional video chat, it's just not the same.

If you read this far, thank you for your time and energy.

I don't have a point to this post, except maybe wear a fucking mask and stay home, so we can eventually beat this pandemic and resume some semblance of pre-covid life.

And I know this post is very much a first world problem. We have enough to eat and a warm roof over our heads. I am very grateful for that. But I am allowed to be sad too. This year would have been my 25th anniversary with Thanksgiving.

Writing all this out really helped though.

[atths--twice]

Wedding Countdown 

Chapter Three 

Thursday, Five Days To Go 

Skinner comes over for dinner, a catch up, and a question Scully needs to ask him.

11c/15

“She’s getting so big,” Skinner said, as he sat on the couch holding Faith in his arms. She stared at him and reached for his glasses faster than anyone could stop her. Before Faith could pull them completely off of his face, Scully grabbed her hands and opened them, releasing the glasses from her grasp.

“Sorry about that,” she murmured, holding her hands as Skinner adjusted them properly. He chuckled and then reached for Faith again, lifting her up over his head and making her laugh.

“She’s just a little thing, she doesn’t know what she’s doing,” he said, bringing her down and then back up. She screamed and laughed again, causing Skinner to smile. Bringing her back down, he nuzzled her neck and she giggled loudly.

Mulder looked at Scully and they both grinned. Here was their tough ex-boss losing all his cool exterior over their little girl. Scully covered her mouth and Mulder crossed his arms, both of them still grinning.

“And you two can shut the hell up with that silent communication you do,” Skinner said gruffly, looking into Faith’s eyes. “It was annoying years ago and it’s even more so now. Little girl, you’re in for a rude awakening when you discover they can speak without moving their mouths. Whole conversations that you will have no part in, and it will drive you mad.” Mulder laughed and Scully joined in, while Skinner shook his head and made silly faces at Faith.

He stood up and carefully spun her around the room, making funny sounds which caused her to laugh again and grab at his shirt. “You’re such a sweet little girl, you definitely take after your mama.” He looked up and smirked at them, causing Scully to laugh.

“I’ll take her, it’s past her bedtime. I’ll be down in a little bit,” Scully said, reaching for Faith and smiling once she had her in her arms. “Tell Uncle Walter good night.” Skinner laughed and shook her hand, letting go as Faith shoved it in her mouth. Scully walked over to Mulder so he could kiss Faith before she walked upstairs.

“Seriously, Mulder, you’re going to be in big trouble with that one,” Skinner said with a shake of his head, and Mulder laughed.

“Yeah, I agree,” Mulder grinned. “You want a beer or a glass or wine?”

“I’ll take a glass of wine, sure,” Skinner answered, as they stepped into the kitchen.

“White or red? Scully usually drinks red, but she bought white too, in case you preferred it.”

“Nah, red’s fine.”

Nodding, Mulder opened the bottle of red wine they purchased earlier in the day. Pouring them each a glass, he handed Skinner his as they sat at the table.

“So, you’re working at the Veteran’s Affairs office, yeah? How’s that going?” Mulder asked, as he took a drink.

“You know, it has its good and bad days. Some of those men and women … they go through hell and then get shit for it when they come home. Subpar housing, lack of medical help, long waits to see doctors … these people fought for us, so we could sleep soundly and they just …” Skinner shook his head and took a big drink of wine.

“Sounds to me like you’re perfect for the job,” Mulder said, with a smile. “Who better to help than someone who has been through it and come out better for it?” Skinner nodded and they were quiet for a few minutes.

“There was one guy,” Skinner said, closing his eyes for a second. “No family, no one to worry if he was doing well. He came in, determined there was nothing that could be done for him. He hadn’t really partaken of any benefits and once I looked into what he was eligible to receive … it was like watching him come to life. He sat up straighter, started talking about the future and just a completely changed person. It was … enough to break you down a little. It humbles you, this job.”

“Well, here’s to humbling experiences,” Mulder said, smiling and clinking his glass to Skinner’s. He could hear Scully on the stairs, and he wanted to end this little catch up on a happy note.

“You started without me?” she asked with a smile, walking over with the baby monitor in her hand.

“Just the one,” Mulder smiled, and she huffed at him, setting the monitor down on the table, stopping for a kiss, as she grabbed her own glass. She joined them at the table and smiled at Skinner.

“She was quite taken with you,” she said to Skinner, nodding toward the monitor to indicate Faith.

“She’s a kid, they’re easy. It's the adults who are assholes,” he replied, and they all laughed.

Mulder stood up and began to place the food and plates on the table. Caesar salad, French bread, and fettuccini alfredo. It was one of Mrs. Scully’s recipes and Mulder had his hand slapped more than once as he kept eating spoonfuls of the sauce right out of the pan. His mouth watered now as he knew he was going to be enjoying it.

They all served themselves, Mulder repeatedly describing how delicious it was going to be, until Scully shoved a piece of bread in his mouth to shut him up.

Over dinner, they laughed over past cases, and Skinner asked for a rundown of what exactly happened with the vampire case.

“Which one?” Mulder asked, with a chuckle.

“Yeah, you’ll need to specify,” Scully added, rolling her eyes.

“The one … the one in Texas, when the coroner was attacked,” Skinner said, attempting to jog their memories, to which Scully groaned and Mulder rubbed his hands together excitedly.

“Oh, this is a good one. It was the closest we had gotten to actual vampires,” Mulder began as Scully rolled her eyes once more. “Stop, woman, you know it’s true. Anyway, we head down to this town where six cows had been mysteriously exsanguinated -”

“Cows?” Skinner asked, looking at Scully. “I don’t remember sending you down there for dead cows.” She shook her head, putting her hand in front of Mulder, who caught it and put it back on the table.

“Let me tell the story or my version at least. This is one that we constantly debate about,” he said, as an aside to Skinner. “Her version is wildly off base, but let me tell you what really happened and then Scully can tell hers and then you can decide who is being honest. Does that suit you, my love?” he asked with sarcasm, kissing at the air in Scully’s direction. She shrugged and sat back in her seat, crossing her arms, a nonchalant air about her.

“Oh, if it’s down to who I believe, my money’s on Dana,” Skinner said, with a wink as he picked up his wine glass and took a drink. Scully nodded and shrugged again as Mulder scoffed.

“At least hear me out before you jump to conclusions. I’ll go first, since mine is the right one,” he said, leaning forward and taking a breath.

“By all means,” Scully said quietly. “Age before beauty.”

Mulder narrowed his eyes at her and began to tell the story: her less than enthusiastic attitude, her eye rolls, her inability to hear anything once Sheriff Handsome Face was in the room. He tried to tell her to wait her turn to speak, but that immediately went south. They spoke over one another, interrupting, raising their voices to make a point and then laughing hysterically.

Skinner’s head bounced between them as though he were watching a tennis match. Scully put her hand to her chest as Mulder said Sheriff Hartwell again, snorting with laughter, and Mulder stared at her with a perplexed expression.

“It sounded … like … you said Sheriff Fartwell,” she said, barely able to get it out, before snorting again and collapsing into a fit of giggles. They both stared at her, until they saw the humor in it as well and joined in on her laughter.

The first bottle of wine was empty and another half gone, by the time they finished with dinner. They remained at the table, talking and letting their food settle before partaking of dessert.

“So, you two have an almost one year old, who is an absolute beauty. I’m seeing that engagement ring still on your finger, Dana,” Skinner said, nodding to Scully’s hand currently wrapped around her wine glass. “Considering all the shit that has happened in the past … God, just the past covers it, as it encompasses a vast amount of time. No offense meant, but what the hell’s the hold up?” Scully glanced at Mulder and he smiled with a shrug, to which she nodded. “Now come on, I told you two to knock that shit off earlier.” He grumbled and sighed as he shook his head.

Scully smiled and sighed. “It’s interesting you would ask that, as that’s the reason we asked you to dinner tonight,” she said quietly. “We are getting married.” Skinner slowly grinned and then smacked the table in happiness. “This coming Tuesday, actually. The church was available in the afternoon that day, and well …” Skinner nodded as she trailed off, looking at Mulder.

“We’d like you to be there,” Mulder said, reaching for Scully’s hand. “No one else. Well, besides the priest that is.” He squeezed Scully’s hand and she chuckled lightly.

“I … just me? I’m sure there are others who would like to be there for it,” Skinner said quietly. “Your family and friends? Why just me?”

“Because …” Scully started and then stopped, taking a deep breath. “You … Skinner … Walter, you have … you’ve put yourself on the line for us, especially me, so many times …” Mulder squeezed Scully’s hand once again. She nodded at him, blinking back tears, and then looked back at Skinner. “We would like you to be there and I … I would like for you to walk me down the aisle." She finished on a whisper, holding his gaze, as Mulder continued to hold her hand tightly.

Skinner stared at her, his mouth opening and closing, swallowing hard. “Your brothers should …” he rasped out, shaking his head, and she shook hers in response.

“They aren’t in the country,” she shrugged and smiled, her tears spilling over. “And I wouldn’t want them to do it anyway. It wouldn’t be right. They haven’t been here. They don’t … they don’t know me … or Mulder, not the way you do. They never risked their lives and careers, the way you have. They didn’t look out for me and have my back the way you did when Mulder was gone. They weren’t there when we …  buried him.” Mulder squeezed her hand again, and she gripped back.

“You were there for me when I needed someone by my side and for that I can never thank you enough. I would consider it a great honor if you would be there for me again and walk me down the aisle,” she said, her cheeks wet with tears as Skinner stared at her, and then reached for her other hand.

He cleared his throat many times, swallowing as he did. He looked down at the table and nodded his head. Looking up into her eyes, he took a deep breath. “Nothing would make me happier, Dana. I … it is my honor to do that for you.” He let go of her hand and stood up and she did as well.

They embraced and he said something Mulder did not catch, causing Scully to laugh through the tears he heard her crying, as Skinner held her close. He watched them, swallowing down a lump in his throat. Breaking apart a minute later, Scully wiped her face, trying to stop her tears. Skinner caught her hand and kissed the back of it, as she smiled.

“So,” he said, clearing his throat and  letting go of her head. “Are we eating this dessert or not?” They all laughed, the memories of the past painful, yet healing. Mulder stood up to grab the dessert, smiling as he did.

An hour later, after Skinner helped to clean up, not listening when they tried to stop him, they walked with him out onto the porch. He turned and hugged Scully again, shook Mulder’s hand with a clasp on his shoulder and then nodded at them.

“Tuesday, 3 p.m. Cathedral of the Sacraments. I’ll be there.” He nodded again, and they smiled at him.

As they watched him drive away, Mulder put his arm around Scully’s shoulders, and she wrapped her arms around his waist, pulling him close.

“You couldn’t have asked for anyone better,” he said softly, and she nodded. He kissed the top of her head, pulling her closer. Turning around, they walked back inside, closing the door behind them.

__________________________________________________

I cannot tell you how I adore the thought of Skinner being “Uncle Walter” and being a continuing part of their lives. I wish we could see him with their baby. You know he would make an absolute fool of himself over her... ❤️

[hargroves-angel]

Cookies And Cream 🏹🍪

Chapter 5 - Ice Cream

Warnings - Mentions Of Abuse, Fluff, Billy being baby 🥰

// Chapter 6 - Cheese Cake // Cookies And Cream Masterlist //

“Billy!” Y/N giggled. She was like an excitable puppy as she pulled him into her house.

“Woah angel what’s got you so happy?” He smirked. She had invited him over to do something, well that’s what Max said anyway. He kept trying to shove yesterday out of his mind, he didn’t care about who you liked anyway so he was confused as to why that lingering feeling of wonder wouldn’t go.

She daintily skipped as she dragged him into the kitchen. Several ingredients were placed on the counters. “What’s this?” He asked.

“We are baking! That’s why I asked your sister to tell you to come over today? I thought she told you why?” Billy shrugged. “Either way I’m on the cheerleading squad! And I’ve got my first team bake sale!” She was beaming at him, her eyes shone with joy.

“Really?! That’s great doll, didn’t know they did bake sales though” he chuckled. Looking around at the various equipment.

“It’s to get better uniforms for us and some new basketball hoops and jerseys for you guys... you know how they’re doing that cheerleader to a player thing- which reminds me!” She bounced upstairs leaving Billy for a moment.

Billy felt uneasy. He wanted to ask you who you liked but he also told himself that he didn’t care, because he didn’t... right?

She was holding a journal in her hand. It was a pastel pink colour with a white ribbon in it, she used that as book mark clearly.

“Look!” She showed him a list of names. It was various girls names on one side and boys on the other, each was paired with a line.

He read Y/N and followed the line to Billy. Who was Billy? Oh wait that was him... Jesus he’s been spending way too much time over thinking. Oh wait that was him! she was gonna be his cheerleader, he felt his heart swell. He hated it.

“Emery was meant to be paired with you, but after yesterday... she decided she wanted to go with Sean, how it works is that I’ll get given a cheerleading dress with my second name on it for when I’m cheering in competitions and practicing and then another for school games we get to switch into the special uniforms with our basketball players second name on, so mine will have Hargrove on it, team Hargrove for the win!” Y/N looked down, she seemed a little flustered. “It was Emery’s idea because Sean had given her a promise ring and she wanted to show off her future second name or something, I like the concept. I’m like your personal cheerleader!” She giggled. Billy’s heart fluttered at the thought of her being his personal cheerleader.

“Thats perf- great.. all good” he cleared his throat. Y/N felt a little unhappy with his response, she thought he’d be happier, oh well.

“Anyway!��� She shoved the book onto the table and flicked through it to a decorated page. “I was up all night making a list of what we have to make, and you’re helping me!” She declared.

“What! I don’t know the first thing about baking” he protested.

“Trust me, max filled me in, so that’s why I’m gonna teach you!” She put on her cooking apron over her dress. “One second” She left the room, Billy stood in the kitchen, looking at the patterned wallpaper on her walls. He jumped when he felt her hands wrap around his middle, she pulled an apron over his head and tied it up, he wanted to lean into her touch because it just felt so comfortable, so right. He shoved the thought to the back of his mind. He looked at the black material. 

“This has to be the darkest thing you own” He chuckled. 

“I bought it yesterday, I couldn't really imagine you wearing frilly pink or white aprons, Bad Boy” she teased. His heart warmed at the fact that she went out of her way for him. Damn, he needed to eat... Sure was getting hungry...

They washed their hands, Billy flicked some water at Y/N and she squealed doing the same.

“Billy! Stop you’re gonna ruin my dress!” She giggled pushing him away from her and throwing a cloth at him. He quickly dried his hands before creeping up behind Y/N and tickling her sides as she tried to dry her own hands. Her soft giggled filled the room as Billy kept tickling her, they both ended up falling on the floor, laughing. “Billy! Please stop!...” she giggled. He ceased, his body hovering over hers, his face now only inches away from hers, his eyes glanced over hers, he licked his lips, the hungry feeling getting really strong his whole stomach fluttering in... hunger?

“Y/N... I think... I... - we should get up and get started” he mumbled crawling off of her. His dick wanted him to go back, that was the closest they’d been. His mind and his heart told him to leave, he felt as though maybe he didn’t want to go that far... yet. For some reason he was starting to care about her... Jesus he was starving right now, he definitely needs to go to a doctor this amount of hunger surely wasn’t normal, he’d only had breakfast an hour ago!

“Ok what are we making first?” He asked looking inside the flour bag.

“Something simple, cookies!” She beamed at him. She got on her tip toes and tried to grabbed a huge book from the cabinet.

“Here lemme help princess” Billy chuckled picking up the book with ease and placing it on the table.

“Thank you” she went to the table and flicked through it. “Ok, so we have different types to make, so classic chocolate chip, double chocolate, cupcake mix cookies and sugar cookies!” She landed on a page that had the word cookies on it and proceeded to look through the various pages after that picking out the right recipes.

“Where did you get this from?” He asked, noticing how most of the pages were old and crinkled but some where fresh.

“It’s passed down the generations in my family, this was originally my great, great, great, great, great, great, great grandmothers recipies and then once they pass on they hand it to their daughters” she smiled at his inquisitive nature.

“Jesus that’s old” he smirked. “Let’s bake then” he was actually excited, the only time he baked was with his mother back in California, he only did it once because his father shouted at him for doing ‘girly things’. This felt nice though.

Y/N and Billy baked all the different types of cookies, Billy getting various ingredients down himself.

Billy had cookie dough on his cheek and had eaten half of the chocolate chips they were meant to be using. “Come here!” She scolded him and licked her thumb wiping the dough from him. 

She showed him how to cut out various shapes for the sugar cookies. Guiding his fingers to the right places and giggling whenever he got frustrated.

They moved on from the cookies to making other recipes. From doughnuts to cupcakes to even home made ice cream.

Billy’s big hands were good at kneading bread, and so he worked on a whole meal loaf whilst she tackled a Victoria sponge.

“Billy be careful! You’ll squish it” she laughed at his best efforts to bake.

“Princess I don’t understand! This is confusing” he groaned. Shoving the bread into the oven.

“That’s better, you’re doing really well Billy, these are gonna taste amazing” she giggled.

Billy was enjoying this more than he should have, he usually would’ve tried moving onto sex by now, with no interest in the actual time they spent together. But with Y/N things were different, he wanted to spend time with her... she was like an angel- his angel-

Y/N handed him a piping bag with icing in it.

“Look what happens when you squeeze it” she guided his hands to the cake she had made placing it on the spot she wanted.

Billy lightly squeezed the piping bag and the icing came out like whipped cream.

“I’m pretty good at this baking stuff” he boasted. Icing smeared down his cheek and flour down himself.

“You’re amazing Billy!” She gazed into his baby blues. He looked into hers.

Time stopped again. Billy’s Head was spinning, that damn feeling was back and his heart rate was through the roof. Not to mention how hot it was, all the windows were open and Billy had snacked on literally anything he could find and that damn hunger wouldn’t stop.

The timer pulled them both out of the trance. Y/N hurried over to the oven opening it, the scent of all their treats filling the room.

“This is the best part” She sniffed the air taking in the sweet sugary smell. Billy had a blush dusting his cheeks. Watching this angel in front of him.

Maybe he wasn’t feeling hungry... maybe it was something else. He pushed it to the back of his mind.

Billy blinked quickly and helped her get the cookies and desserts out of the oven.

“These turned out perfectly Billy!” She showed him the treats. There was one dodgy cookie in the corner.

“Ahh there’s my practise cookie” he smirked grabbing it off the burning hot tray and immediately flinching backwards. “Fuck!” he yelled holding his hand. Y/N put the tray down and took Billy to the sink, she ran cold water over his finger.

“What am I going to do with you” she rubbed his back, nursing his finger under the cold water. “That feeling better?” She asked after 2 minutes. He nodded. Feeling a bit embarrassed. Also a little confused, no one usually cared when he got hurt. It was usually ‘Man up pussy and get over it’, it felt nice to be cared for. “Let me kiss it better” she pressed her lips to his hand and placed a soothing kiss on it.

Ok she definitely was an angel, it’s like it just stopped burning immediately, or maybe it was the fact that it had been under freezing cold water for a minute or two but still, that small kiss made his mind go fuzzy.

“It’s all good, didn’t hurt that much” he brushed off.

“Sure thing bad boy” she handed him a cool rag and he held it on his fingers and thumb. “Anyway now that that’s over we can package everything, my second favourite part” She took him to the dining room, baskets and plastic wrap was around the place, bows and labels next to them.

“How about you hand me the treats, once they’ve cooled down, and I’ll wrap them and then you write the label and then ill put the bow on top, let’s start with cookies”

Billy handed her several cookies, keeping one for himself and biting into it. He wrote down the labels.

Y/N placed some in a big basket and a couple spread into small gift boxes similar to the one she gave him when they first met.

They moved on through the treats. Soon enough it was dark outside and everything had been complete.

Y/N and Billy sat down in her room, both laughing at one of his stories about Tommy.

“That’s mean!” She giggled.

“He deserved it” Billy protested. Their laughing calmed down and Billy looked up at the time. “I should get back, Maxine probably thinks I’ve died or something, I’ve never spent this much time with a girl” he smirked at her.

“So I’ve been told” she smiled at him.

“What do you mean?”

“There were rumours about you being a womaniser and stuff, even if you are ,Billy, or were, I don’t care by the way. To me you’re sweet, not anything like that. I only believe what I see not what I hear” she moved closer to him. His arm wrapping around her.

“Thanks, not many people now a days think like that” he mumbled, happy that she was willing to ignore that stuff to get to know him. She really was perfect.

“I need to go” he quickly said, standing up rather fast. “Umm, see you Monday!” He mumbled leaving her house as quick as he could.

He breathed out heavily as he got past his front door.

He noticed Neil’s car parked by the side of the house, oh god.

“Where have you been boy” Neil asked gruffly.

“With a friend dad” he muttered “doesn’t matter anyway I’m here now”

“Yeah, after curfew, I asked you to babysit your fucking sister”

“She’s not my-”

“I don’t give a shit boy” Billy shoved past him into his room. Neil yelling after him. Susan got up from the couch.

“Don’t think you can fucking run away from me you little shit, you gonna run like your piece of shit mother huh?” Billy’s blood ran cold, how fucking dare he.

Billy balled his fists but Neil got the advantage shoving him against the wall. His shirt in his hands.

“You fucking come home late again, you fucking speak to me like again, you’re gonna regret it” he spat at Billy, “now what do you say!”

Billy looked the other way, he didn’t want to even look at Neil.

“Say it boy!”

Billy mumbled his response.

“SAY IT”

“I’m sorry sir” Neil slapped him and proceeded to let go of his shirt leaving Billy to fall down. His hands trying to steady himself. Susan rushed Neil out of the room.

“Fucking ungrateful piece of shit, doesn’t know the first fucking thing about-” Neil yelled at Susan.

Billy took a deep breath in. His eyes glazing over with hurt. He felt so lost, so lonely. His hands were shaking, hot tears blurring his vision as he slid down the wall. Letting himself cry, get every emotion out.

Y/N watched him from her window. Her own eyes watering. “Billy” She whispered. Wanting nothing then go run over to him and hold him, tell him everything was ok. She bit her lip, stepping away from her window. Her heart racing, she felt horrible. Should she have yelled something from the window? Would he have heard her? She took a deep breath in. Tears rolling down her cheeks. She shook with regret and sadness.

Billy needed help. She didn’t know how to help. But she was going to try anyway she could. Because she cared about him.

[ladyhistorypod]

Episode 5: Is a Woman’s Place Really in the Kitchen?

Sources:

Amelia Simmons

The Atlantic

Connecticut History

Michigan State University Libraries

Smithsonian Magazine

Further Viewing: Amelia Simmons’ Thanksgiving Dinner – YouTube

Buwei Yang Chao

“Chinese linguist, phonologist, composer and author: oral history transcript / and related material, 1974-1977”

Chowhound

Brown University

Brown University (YouTube)

Open Recipes Openly Arrived At: Mrs Chao’s How to Cook and Eat in Chinese (1945) and the Translation of Chinese Food

Chow Chop Suey: Food and Chinese American Journey (book by Anne Mendleson)

New York Times

Mary Mallon

Annals of Gastroenterology

History Channel

National Geographic

Smithsonian Magazine

Discover Magazine

Attributions:

Drum Roll

Stove Clicks

Food Vectors

Click below for a full text transcript of the episode!

Alana: I hit my step count for the first time in quarantine today because I was walking all up and down northwest Washington DC looking for brisket five days before Rosh Hashanah. By the time this comes out we’ll be well past Rosh Hashanah, we’ll be like into Yom Kippur kind of area.

Lexi: Yeah. We will.

Alana: But oh my god. I'm so tired. I'm not used to doing that much walking… but… all over… But I found one! I found one.

Lexi: Where’d you find it?

Alana: Trader Joe’s.

Lexi: Of course!

Alana: Trader Joe's, man. I looked at the farmer’s market but they were sold out and that was really sad because obviously…

Lexi: People probably preordered to the farmer’s market.

Alana: That's the thing I only thought about it like Thursday, and the preorders needed to be in by Wednesday.

Lexi: Ooooh.

Alana: So… walking all around northwest Washington. I checked the farmer’s market stand to be like oh maybe they brought extra and I went early like I get there at 10:30 now and they were sold out.

Haley: It’s kind of like Thanksgiving for it, like where you have to preorder your turkey or ham. And I'm kind of terrified for that moment because I'm hosting Thanksgiving. But I need like an eight to ten pound turkey, nothing like– I’ve seen thirty pound turkeys when I was researching this. Like how big is a brisket?

Alana: It depends. The brisket that I got was three pounds. Three point one pounds.

Haley: And that's it for you or for like others?

Alana: It's for me and for my extended quarantine household. Shout out to Maureen and Paul, I don't know if they're listening to this episode but they said they were gonna listen to the first two, so… 

Lexi: But you can make a lot of brisket if you want to.

Alana: Oh yeah, I'm gonna make all of it. It reheats really well.

[INTRO MUSIC]

Alana: Hello and welcome to Lady History; the good the bad and the ugly ladies you missed in history class. I'm in the virtual studio with my spice wife Lexi. Lexi, do you want to explain how we got spice married?

Lexi: Well for one we're both really spicy people, um, so that's got to be the first reason. When you put two spicy people together equals a spicy marriage. But no what happened was I was moving out of DC and I had a collection of spices because I love spices and I needed someone to take my spices so Alana took them. And then the other day Alana was cooking and talking about all the spices she uses and it happened to be a combination of the spices from both spice cabinets so it was a spice marriage.

Alana: We shared our spice assets.

Lexi: And hopefully someday we will live together, and our spices can stay together forever.

Alana: Someday.

Lexi: Or they'll expire. But spices last a long time. 

Alana: Spices last a while. Also here, “here” in air quotes is Haley. Haley, do you have a favorite dish to cook?

Haley: I love making anything with mashed potatoes. I really like find it just calming to peel potatoes and then chop them up and then watch them boil. I like those like specific steps I can go through.

Alana: I’m inviting you to help me make latkes because that's the worst part. This has been a very Alana is Jewish episode already but I'm inviting you to make latkes with me so that you can peel all the potatoes because I hate doing that.

Haley: I've never had a latke before so I don't know how much help I’ll be.

Alana: Didn’t you live in New York?

Haley: Latkes have eggs. I've never had a latke sans eggs, so.

Alana: I’ll find a way. For you I will find a way to make latkes sans eggs. And I'm Alana and my friends call me a Trader Ho because I grocery shop almost exclusively at Trader Joe's.

(Haley laughing)

Lexi: Which friends are that?

Alana: My internet friends. My sunshines.

Haley: I was like… we don't call you that. You have other friends?

Lexi: You have friends that aren’t us?

Lexi: Okay so the theme today is cooking and because of this theme I would like to dedicate this episode to my great grandmother Eleanor Delucia, who we called Nana most of us call Nana. But the reason I would like to dedicate it to her is because she spent a hundred years of life cooking and living through history and so I think it's very fitting that this episode would be dedicated to her. And because of that I want to ask you guys if there's any family recipes that are weird or unique to your family.

Alana: Yes I do have a very special recipe, actually I have a couple, from my Grandma Louise. I recently started– oh my god Alana’s going to be Jewish on main again– I started making challah every week from scratch and I'm using my grandmother's recipe that is so incredibly complicated. And like you– you have to boil water, but you can't boil water too much, like it has to be exactly 110 degrees when you use it. And then you have to rise the bread– like rise the dough at exactly 90 degrees, and it's so complicated and so I've started using that recipe and I'm crushing it. I’m crushing it. It was my first time making challah by myself and I used this recipe that was super complicated and I nailed it. I nailed it. And then the other one is, I started making a potato zucchini soup and– like when I was a teenager. And I made it for my grandparents at their house once and my grandmother was like “you know what would give this a really beautiful green color is if you left–” like you peel the zucchini but if you leave the peel in the bowl– not in the bowl, in the pot while all of the vegetables are cooking together, the soup will be more green. And it'll be like– the color will be more pronounced and– oh my god, she was so right. And so now that's like how I make it. So those are my fun family stories.

Lexi: That's so beautiful.

Haley: I don't think we have like a distinct recipe or sets of recipes. We will cook Cuban or Persian food. And I've noticed with my mom and myself since we're both like lazy, lazy beans, we’ll take the complicated recipe, like Alana was saying, with all the ingredients, all the different measurements, what you have it, and just make it into a Crockpot friendly, or like one pot friendly recipe, versus making it a three hour long process. Because so many times I’m like I really want Persian food and it wasn't until a few months ago where a Persian restaurant opened down the street from me. And every time I open like one of my marked Pinterest tabs it would be like eight to ten different ingredients that I could not get at my local supermarket. And then thirty plus steps, culminating into three to four hours of cooking, which I just do not have, especially writing a thesis at the moment.

Lexi: I think for my family it's a dessert heavy situation, like on both sides. My mom's family has these German rollout cookies that we make for Christmas, sometimes other holidays– we made little George Washingtons for my graduation party, which was cute, but they're just flat cookies. And then on my Italian family’s side, the thing that we do at weddings as we have a table where all the aunties bring cookies and then it's like a place of privilege or pride to be the best auntie with the best cookies for the wedding, which is really cute. So I think cookies are a big deal in my family.

Alana: Cookies are– are a big deal in my family too, and I find it– like, my grandmother died three years ago… just over three years ago– and I find like, making cookies so spiritual. That I'm like this is something that we used to do together. It's one of my favorite pictures of like little baby Alana and Grandma Louise and she's teaching me how to use a cookie cutter and it’s so cute.

Haley: Okay I have to amend mine because we've brought up desserts. Like I just said probably five minutes ago I'm real allergic to eggs so my Christmas like cookies all egg free, or like before we could do the– the substitutes were oreos like dipped in chocolate. But my birthday cake was a homemade Rice Krispies treat like cake. My mom would just make like a ginormous one and like decorate it. So all my– just because like what were you gonna do with a child that couldn’t eat her own birthday cake? That's just sad and depressing. So my mom basically was like we're gonna have a Rice Krispy treat or we're going to have ice cream cake. So that– I guess that is heavily unique for my family.

Lexi: So cookbooks emerged as a status symbol, and in 15th and 16th century Europe, cookbooks were filled with recipes from palaces and courts and they were favored by kings and queens. And the wealthy loyal followers acquired these cookbooks as a sign of their devotion, eating like royalty… it brought them closer to being royalty. Gradually, as access to print books became more common and literacy rates rose, cookbooks became a staple in households all around Europe. But one cookbook in particular changed the way a nation ate. And that’s the cookbook we're gonna talk about today. In the year 1796, Amelia Simmons wrote the United States of America's first ever cookbook. In doing so, she forever changed cookbooks, shaping a future in which cookbooks were used by people from all walks of life. Amelia’s book was called “American Cookery, or, The Art of Dressing Viands, Fish, Poultry, and Vegetables.”

Alana: Can you spell that?

Lexi: V-I-A-N-D-S. 

Alana: I hate French.

Lexi: It was published by Hudson and Goodwin in Hartford, Connecticut. While it was not the first cookbook printed in America, it was the first one written by an American. It was a unique cookbook. It was distinguished from its British counterparts for its attention to more practical methods of cooking and it provided recipes that can make large quantities of food for families on tight budgets. When I say large quantities, I mean the ingredients were prepared in huge, huge quantities. One of her cake recipes called for two pounds of butter. Amelia also believed in saving time, and one of her recipes called for the person making the recipe to milk a cow directly into the mixture. Amelia's cookbook resonated so successfully with America's home cooks that it was reprinted for thirty five years after its initial publication. Amelia's recipes may not be as commonplace in American households as they were during her lifetime, but they are a great resource for analyzing and understanding how food and language are related in history. Some of them you use terms became commonplace in American language such as calling pancakes slapjacks, referring to lard and butter as shortening, coining the Americanization of the Dutch word “Koekje”– I might have said that wrong– which would eventually become the word “cookie.” She actually spelled it like C-O-O-K-Y not I-E like we spell it today. Her legacy continues in her home state of Connecticut, where her recipe for “Election Cake”– a floury bread cake baked in large quantities– became a common after-voting snack for Connecticut's residents and remains relevant today. Plus, Amelia’s recipes let historical chefs recreate and taste recipes, experiencing the history of America through the flavor of food people the past preferred. And, so I guess in summary, Amelia kind of started the whole trend of American cookbook culture. She established the means by which American women make their food– and American people in general I guess not just women– but at the time she definitely was writing as a woman for other women because the recipes were so practical and focused on how a mother might cook for their kids or wife might cook for their husband or how you might cook for a family so definitely she was a woman writing for women but I really think it’s an interesting and fascinating story that she created the first cookbook, and it was a woman who did it, and that's really really cool.

Alana: I like how you said like cookbooks were status symbols and I'm thinking about cleaning out my grandmother's kitchen and there were just like cabinets full of cookbooks and I'm like oh, hello, yes, I am the aristocracy.

Haley: I actually have a question about the cookbooks, Lex, cuz I couldn’t find this in my research. But could you find like what constitutes as a long time for being an in-print cookbook.

Lexi: So, nothing I read said like thirty five– because because thirty five years was how long hers was printed for.

Haley: Right.

Lexi: Nothing said that that was the longest or that that was normal. It was notable but it wasn't a record. So…

Haley: Right.

Lexi: You know. I don't know exactly how long recipes last, but when you think about how trends change so much and how we don’t really eat things today that my grandma used to cook at dinner parties in the seventies. I'm sure cookbooks don't last that long and when we think about Amelia's methods and then we think about what people ate even in the mid-1800s it was totally different already, so even fifty sixty years later so. Yeah.

Haley: That’s the exact train of thought I was using because I've noticed when I was just researching different women to see who I wanted to dive into, a lot of the cookbooks if they weren’t out for those like thirty year chunks, it was revisions. Every few years here's a revised copy. And that's like a thing in our academic world as well where new trends happen, new events happen. And recipes and also just work needs to be updated. So I like that like the thirty years but also that she's just still relevant.

Lexi: Yeah. So we don't know that much about her. Like, all we know is that she was an orphan and that's literally it. We don't know about her personal life, we just know that she wrote this book. There's no other records of her in any way. Yeah, and there's actually a Youtuber I'd like to shout out named I believe it's Townsend's I think that's how you say it– it's like the word “town” and the word “end”– who does these recipes that Amelia put in the book. And he does other historical recipes too, and other historical videos but if you want to see an entire playlist of Amelia's Thanksgiving dinner recipes check out that channel.

Haley: Well that's a great segue into my gal because we're gonna keep going on the cookbook train and also kind of I want to say revolutionizing the American kitchen, in a sense, but we're going to do with Chinese food now. Not necessarily like the American food, which I got from Amelia, sensing it’s more of a not necessarily British take but American classics.

Lexi: Establishing American classics.

Haley: There we go. Yep, that's awesome. So I'm going to preface this, I calling–

Lexi: Something I forgot to say on that, she used like corn and stuff which was not available in Britain so… 

Haley: Oh, I love that. That's. So good for what I'm gonna be talking about. So she is Dr. Buwei Yang Chao. And I'm gonna do a little side note: I’m not going to be pronouncing these Chinese words, phrases, whatchahaveits, correctly because I do not speak Chinese. And yes, you heard it, Doctor. But don't worry we'll get into that. Born in 1889 in Nanjing, China Buwei was a Chinese-American physician and writer but most recognizable as a person who brought us, as Americans, potstickers, stir fry, and essentially the first cookbook of Chinese-American food. Before we begin, I just want to go over what potstickers are because I didn't know what potstickers were and I'll get into that more but potstickers are type of Chinese dumpling usually with a crescent shape, pan fried on one side, simmered in some sort of broth. And full disclosure part of the reason why I didn't know what potstickers were because I've only had them from Trader Joe's. I.E. that whole egg thing coming back in. So back to Dr. Buwei. As a female doctor in China, she did have a Japanese training as a surgeon and gynecologist and she actually pioneered the use of birth control for women in China which blew my mind. I was reading like a New York Times article and got into a whole wormhole of this doctor’s just life and bam, coming out with pioneering in birth control and medicine of that nature. And she definitely had a mix of Chinese medicine and then also like Western school medicine because a lot of the Western schools were in Asia so she got the mix of both. And she was credited with that sense of bringing Western medicine to China as one of like the first females to do it. And a lot of the time, her medical like knowledge was noted as quote “new style” and also as a side note I believe that in her entry exam essay it was about women's education, which I thought was really cool. Like how educating women was a good and powerful thing. And I only found that only one article so it might not be true, but I'm praying that it is true because I was just so baller to go into med school with your entry essay being about women's education and like the right that women have to be educated at such a professional level. So why did I bring this all up, because come on Haley we're here to talk about food. Well, while she was in Japan and studying at Tokyo Women's Medical College, she started cooking her own meals because she didn't enjoy the Japanese cuisine. It just didn't sit right with her. Totally different, she wanted the comfort of home and since Japan didn't have–

Alana: Raw fish? I’m with her. I’m with her. I don’t do the raw fish.

Haley: Exactly. Like if we went to Italy and for me, the eggs in all those pastas, I would be going out, buying my own pasta, making my own carbonara, sans eggs. Totally natural. But Japan, kind of like what Lexi was getting to, Japan didn’t have all the traditional ingredients, so she would modify her traditional Chinese recipes to fit in with what she could get from the Japanese markets. And when she returned to China in 1919, she opened the Sen Ren Hospital, and after a few more years, marriage, blossoming career, she was offered to teach at Harvard University in Cambridge, Massachusetts. Thus we get into her time in the U.S. And her and her husband like there are a couple of years where they go back and forth teaching, practicing medicine, living their life. So when she was writing or just before she was writing her first cookbook which is “How to Cook and Eat in Chinese” and that came out in 1945. She would try and test out her food. This was also often in the U. S. so with ingredients that her readers would have, and she added these elements to her everyday cooking. So this wasn't like “I'm going to write this cookbook for people to buy it and make money off of it but not use it myself.” She fully invested, saying “look, if I'm gonna produce something for people to read, I have to use it in my everyday cooking. I have to live by this.” which I really respect. So in a history perspective, 1945 was the tail end of World War II, and for writing cookbooks– writing cookbooks takes years to do. If you saw the movie “Julie and Julia” you kind of get a glimpse of that, where you first write about the outline, what you want to cook. You want to have appetizers, mains, and desserts. And then you get it to the publisher, they say “cool, do these work?” You test and test and test, just years and years and honestly I could be totally getting this timeline wrong. This is just my preliminary knowledge. So 1940s, we’re in World War II, it was also a difficult time for cooking and food in general in the United States because not just having the native Chinese cultural food that she was used to, and now she had to supplement in the U. S., they’re are also going through food shortages and kind of restrictions from food stamps and just what was available during World War II. So she really used some innovative and creative thinking when writing this masterpiece of hers. And a lot of it also came from, just the New York World's Fair happened in 1939, and I don't think this had a direct impact on her writing the cookbook but I think it had an impact on her selling a cookbook and becoming like this wide sensation because that World's Fair was about showcasing food from around the world and pushing having new cuisine in US culture. And then a few years later, we have this cookbook about Chinese food. And on overall note, Buwei’s cookbook was not the first Chinese cookbook in the U. S. in terms of being published in English, but it was more the first that was universally understood in the sense of getting the food, understanding the writing and measurements, it was very comprehensive and accessible to a wide audience. This OG cookbook in 1945 “How to Cook and Eat in Chinese” also had expanded editions in 1949, 1956, and 1968. So what I was asking Lexi before, she kind of kept up with the words, terms, recipes, and just… I tried to find some of the cookbooks but all of them are out of print at this point. Regardless, it brought new terms and techniques to US kitchens and over two hundred different recipes which included terms, ingredients, techniques, tools, but also like etiquette. So how to use chopsticks, what are the polite ways you should be eating dumplings vs fried rice; which I thought was really cool, and I tried to look through like the two cookbooks I had in my apartment and I couldn't find anything where it was like “here's the etiquette you should use.” Granted, they were more US based cookbooks, it wasn't one targeted for a certain cuisine. And she also acknowledged the help from her husband and daughter, Rulan. She would cook and her daughter would write down in English, usually translated from Chinese to English. So if I may dazzle you with a quote from– I believe this is from The New York Times– and also just culmination of an audio source that I found. It was like an interview and I saw– there's just so many, so many things of her using like this quote and a mo– mashup of this quote: “I am ashamed to have written this book. First, because I am a doctor and ought to be practicing instead of cooking. Secondly, because I didn’t write this book. The way I didn’t was like this. I speak little English and write less. So I cooked my dishes in Chinese, my daughter Rulan put my Chinese into English.” And this quote has so many variations, but it's basically saying that she can't take full credit because she was still a doctor, she couldn't necessarily write in English the way that US publications wanted her to, and she needed a lot of help, which is so fair for any cookbook or any writing source. And I just thought that was amazing. Like I kept finding clips and even when people were kind of telling her story years later, we're saying like she was ashamed to like have written this cookbook and taken away from her medical studies. But also values how great of an impact this cookbook had on the U.S. Now you know how I said that she coined the term stir fry and potstickers. Well it's because “cha’ao” and “guotie”– again, we don't speak Chinese, please don't come after me– really didn't have English translations. Like the term Chinese food is really just like a US word. It's not something that's used in China. You can't– you won't go to China and just be like “I want the Chinese food. I'm going to Chinese food restaurant it's because the way Chinese food is broken up in China is regionally so they they don't group it up as one whole country as we do and how someone of this cookbook does it's very specific to where you are in China and it's not a representation of the country as a whole like unit but for this cookbook and us as Americans we just say Chinese food and that's again coming back to what is available in each region so for the US and for this cookbook this is what's available in the U. S. not what's in available in northern versus southern China and there are a ton of other words that were in this book that didn't even stick in our English macular so like that's what is really interesting trying to find a copy but alas I couldn't find one online because I feel like if we re read this we wouldn't understand as shafts not just like with the vernacular but just the way it was written and the way some of the food kind of was presented she also just to wrap everything up she wrote two more books afterwards of how to order in each Chinese and then another autobiography called an autobiography of Chinese women put into English by her husband your friend child so she still just fantastic amazing woman like this blew my mind especially being in San Francisco that's my story of Dr. Buwei.

Alana: So I am going to be talking about Mary Mallon, and there has been a lot of talk about her recently and we'll get to why she's been in the news. So she was born on September 23rd, which is my mom's birthday and also yesterday on the day this comes out, in 1869 in a poor area of Ireland called the Cookstown in County Tyrone. And I am like a little bit familiar with Irish geography, like I know the names of some counties in the Republic of Ireland. Like we've talked about County Mayo, we talked about County Cork, County Kildare, if you know it then you know it. And I was like I've never heard of County Tyrone and I know there are like twenty-eight counties in the Republic of Ireland but– so I was curious, I was like where is that. It's actually in Northern Ireland so it's technically in the U.K. So Mary Mallon immigrated to New York City as a teenager in 1883 or 1884, about then. And she starts working as a cook, around the turn of the twentieth century and she is famous for her peach ice cream. In 1906, she was hired as a chef for the family of Charles Warren, who was a banker in 1906 so they have cash cash. And they go on vacation in Oyster Bay and Mary comes with them to be their chef. Several members of the Warren family contract typhoid over those couple weeks. And typhoid is considered at the time a poor people's disease, because you contract it mostly from contaminated water. Imagine thinking that like, only rich people deserve clean water. Like call me a socialist, but I really think that everyone should have access to clean water. And Warren’s landlord is concerned about being able to rent the property the next summer because there was this outbreak. And so he has hired a sanitation engineer named George Soper, and he's been an expert in tracing the outbreaks, and he tests all the pipes, and he tests everything. There's nothing. So he focuses on Mary. Turns out, several other families that Mary had worked for have also had typhoid outbreaks. And this is where, listeners if you haven't guessed, Mary Mallon becomes… Lexi put in a drum roll here please…

(Drum roll)

Speaker 1: Typhoid Mary. I can see Haley like laughing in her Zoom but they’re on mute so that's fun. So George Soper goes after her. Asks for samples of everything and she chases him out of her kitchen with a fork. Like a– like a barbecue, two pronged fork. Not like a… like a dinner fork.

Lexi: I have a tiny fork are you scared of me?

Alana: Like a FORK. So he returns with cops to have her arrested. And Mary hides under a floor board, but some of her dress is caught. And so they find her, and they arrest her and they force her into quarantine for three years on North Brother Island, which is a quarantine facility– a little dot of an island in the East River near the Bronx. She is tested up and down for typhoid and they all come back positive for salmonella typhi, which is the bacteria that causes typhoid. But she has no symptoms. She's the picture of health. She is released in 1910 on the condition to never cook again. In 1915, there is a typhoid outbreak at Sloan Maternity Hospital in Manhattan. And the health department is called, and the hospital is just like how– like, we’re a hospital, everything is so sanitary, how did this happen? And the health department says who… who's doing your cooking? And the nurse– the nurses are just like “oh, this lovely Irish immigrant. Her name is Mary Brown.” She had changed her name to keep working as a cook. And that sounds kind of like irresponsible, but what else could she do? She had no other skills, she's not married, she originally immigrated with her aunt and uncle but they've died, and she's an Irish immigrant during a time of very high anti-Irish sentiments. She really didn't have another choice. But they catch her, and they forced her back into quarantine for the rest of her life. They’re… say that she could have had a gallbladder removal surgery and they would have let her go, but she didn't want it. And I was like why wouldn’t she want it? But also, the doctors imprisoned her, essentially. And she even referred to herself in a letter to her lawyer as “the kidnapped woman”. So I do kind of understand why she'd say no. And then she died in 1938 of a stroke. And only nine people attended her funeral, which– this is another like Alana’s Jewish kind of thing but I'm like “that's not even a Minyan how are you going to do anything??” Lexi is rolling her eyes at me. But in pop culture she is demonized, she's the butt of jokes and cartoons. But there are other asymptomatic carriers at this point, all over the country and even in New York. So I think she is demonized particularly because she's a woman, particularly because she is unmarried, and particularly because she's an Irish immigrant at a time of anti-Irish-ism. I don't know if that's a word. But she's been in the news recently. A lot of my sources are from like June. People talking about Typhoid Mary because… talking about asymptomatic carriers and being super spreaders. 

Lexi: I think that's so fascinating how people are tying her story into our current situation.

Lexi: You can find this podcast on Twitter and Instagram at leading history pond our show notes and a transcript of this episode will be on lady history pot dot tumblr dot com if you like the show leave us a review or tell your friends and if you don't like the show keep yourself our logo is by Alexia Ibarra you can find her on Instagram and Twitter at LexiBDraws. Our theme music is by me garage band and Amelia Earhart; Lexi is doing the editing. You will not see us, and we will not see you, but you will hear us, next time, on Lady History.

Haley: Next week on Lady History, we're talking about our suffragists. Women's right to vote and remember everyone, register to vote please and thank you.

[OUTRO MUSIC]

Haley: I really don't understand eggs on a fundamental level.

[peter-parkers-passport]

Flower Child (Peter Parker x ofc)

Chapter 6: Lila and Ted’s Excellent Friday Night

warnings: mentions of death and grief, poorly translated French

Lila Landry hated few things. She hated intolerance, and saw no point of those who couldn’t accept differences between people. She hated ignorance, and people who let intolerance and injustice prosper simply because it didn’t affect them personally. She positively loathed big pharma and fossil fuel industries, but that was just the political stance she was raised on. She also dreaded the idea of being surrounded by massive crowds of her peers, which was exactly what her school had planned for Friday afternoon. 

Midtown kicked off their homecoming week with an assembly the Friday before, just to get the students hyped for the week of events soon to follow. There was a themed week, something Lila personally didn’t partake in (especially when the theme was a return to the 1980s), a ton of after school activities, something Lila didn’t care for, and finally, a dance. The only reason Lila knew so much about it was because Liz Allan was head of the homecoming committee, and spent her free time in decathlon going over planning. Lila noticed that it stressed Liz out quite a bit, but she took great measures to keep that to herself. Some kind of leadership trait, Lila figured, although didn’t necessarily agree with.

What stressed Lila out was that the thought of sitting in a completely full auditorium where multiple things happened all at once, and she was sandwiched between people she didn’t really know on all sides. It made her stomach turn thinking of all the things she had to do before she got home to her dad, and sitting still for an hour and a half was not going to make it any better. So instead, Lila talked to the home economics teacher, Mr. Crayne, who had agreed to let Lila use the kitchen that was his classroom. 

So while everyone gathered for the homecoming assembly, Lila entered the home economics classroom with a slip of paper permitting her to be there during the assembly in one hand, a bag full of baking necessities in the other, and flicked on the lights. Setting down the bag and note, Lila pulled out her phone, selected a song from a playlist inspired by her mother (the particular song was by Tears for Fears), and made her way to the sink to wash her hands. Once that was finished, and the groceries were emptied onto the countertops, Lila’s body slipped into autopilot, and the baking commenced.

Baking was second nature to her, as well as cooking. She was an expert at it, but that was likely due to the fact that she’d been doing it long before she’d even learned to write. Lila liked to think that it was just because her mother was a natural, and passed that skill down to her, but she knew that it was because cooking was Mommy-and-Lila time. Ted Landry wasn’t allowed near the kitchen on days when they were cooking, not even if he needed a glass of water. The record player was always blaring some classic or another, and the food meant to be prepared was scattered around the countertops. It was these memories that put a smile on Lila’s face as she sifted the flour.

When the flour was appropriately measured and placed in the correct bowl, Lila turned her attention to the fruit she had gone out of her way to purchase that morning. There was a stall at the Forest Hills farmers market that Angelina Landry used to take Lila to that she claimed sold the best fresh fruit in New York. It was at that tiny booth that she met Isaac Evans, a man of eighty, who sold the Landrys their best fruit. Now that her mother wasn’t there to keep the tradition of buying the fruit with her, Lila always made sure to stop by and check in on the man herself. Only now, she made sure to bring a bright bouquet of whatever was newest and (in her opinion) most beautiful. Isaac always sold her the fruit at a ridiculously discounted rate, so she made sure to return the favor, and catch up with him and Mrs. Evans if she was there.

Soon, the smell of citrus overwhelmed her, and Lila’s fingertips had splotches of blue on them as she completed the batter. Whisking furiously until it was at the appropriate consistency, she poured the batter into the two bread tins she’d brought along with her. Sliding both of the tins into the oven, Lila set a timer, and hastily cleaned up her workspace. She had roughly forty-five minutes before she needed to prepare the icing that went along with the recipe, and she figured she’d better finish her homework in the meantime. 

Since her trip to D.C. was tomorrow, Lila had spent all of her free time finishing up her school work, so as to be completely free of any outside responsibilities, per recommendation of Liz. Not to mention, she’d had a very busy evening planned out, hence the baking at two in the afternoon. The baking was for May Parker, who couldn’t get enough of Lila’s desserts, and was in need of a thank-you from the Landrys for being so accommodating of their need to switch around their volunteer schedule. At the nearest homeless shelter in Queens to the Landrys, Ted and Lila made their regular appearance helping out wherever they could on Sundays. Be it making repairs, helping in the kitchen, or just keeping the homeless company, they were there every Sunday morning. May Parker happened to head the location they volunteered at, and became fast friends with the family that visited regularly since the Battle of New York.

She was a busy woman, rebuilding a community after the disaster in Manhattan, and helping the people who needed it most. Lila figured it was a good thing, hardly being able to switch volunteer schedules around due to the sheer enormity of the volunteer list. But May managed to, and it didn’t go unnoticed by the Landrys. So Ted got her a bouquet, and Lila was left to bake one of her favorites: lemon and blueberry bread. And while the sweet smell filled the kitchen around her, Lila tried to focus on her chemistry homework. She didn’t want to be left with homework after volunteering, for she also had plans to spend with her dad that evening. He’d managed to take the night off, and they were both looking forward to spending it together.

At long last, Lila finished her homework, and hastily shoved it in her backpack before getting started on the icing to complete her bread. She finished just in time, taking the bread out, removing them from the tins, and placing them on a rack to cool a bit. Speeding up the process just a bit by fanning the bread with a spare baking sheet, Lila waited five minutes before drizzling the homemade icing over the top of both loaves. The smell was intoxicating as always, and Lila smiled proudly at what she’d made. Cutting into it, she made neat slices and decorated them intricately around a plate she’d brought from home. After wrapping up the bread in cling wrap, Lila cleaned her station one last time, and left the classroom.

A quick glance at the nearest clock told Lila that school was almost over. Students were still being held in the gym for the remainder of the assembly, and Lila figured that it might be alright to text her dad to pick her up a little earlier than anticipated. A quick reply informed her that Ted was on his way, and excitement settled in Lila’s stomach. As she shoved her phone in her back pocket, she rounded the corner, nearly dropping the bread she’d worked so hard to bake after running into two men clearly looking to leave the school as quickly as possible. One of the men was short, with long hair and a baseball cap perched firmly on is head. His beard had patches of black and white, and he looked absolutely terrified to be running into a teenage girl in the middle of a high school. The other man was taller, and a little more at ease, looking at Lila in surprise, but also disregarding her as soon as she was assessed. He placed a hand under the plate that Lila was fumbling with, and another on her shoulder to quickly steady her. 

“Oh, my gosh, I am s-so sorry,” Lila apologized, heart skipping a beat. The man quickly removed his hands as soon as she was steady once again. He didn’t seem completely threatening, but a bad feeling panged in Lila’s gut regardless.

“No problem,” He grumbled, and the pair walked away. She turned to look at them, and noticed the shorter man look over at the taller one as they both assessed a piece of technology that had a resemblance to a scanner Lila wasn’t able to place.

She furrowed her eyebrows when she heard the shorter man whisper harshly, “I told you high schools creep me out. Teenagers, they’re everywhere.” Another detail caught her eye, something bulging on each of their hips. Lila’s eyes widened, and silently hoped they were carrying outdated pagers-

Suddenly Lila was nearly knocked down once again; and once again, she was steadied. A hand went to the bread, and another hand went to her arm. A small gasp of surprise left her lips before her head whipped back around to see Peter Parker staring at her equally in shock, Ned Leeds not far behind him. “P-Peter,” She whispered, more so a reaction than anything else. He let go of her once she got her bearings once again, and took a step back. Lila looked from him to his friend. “Ned, hi.”

He waved and smiled warmly at her, like he always did. “Hi, Lila.”

She glanced back behind her, and the two men she’d previously run into were nowhere in sight. Lila frowned in confusion before turning back to Peter and Ned. They were both looking over her shoulder as well, like the two men she’d encountered had also run into the pair of them. “What are you - what are you doing out of the assembly?”

A look of poorly concealed panic settled into Peter’s features, and he opened and closed his mouth several times before being able to make words come out. Lila’s suspicion, which wasn’t there in the first place, began to form as Peter struggled to answer a seemingly simple question. And it wasn’t even Peter who answered it.

“Oh, you know,” Ned said, though Lila didn’t know, “Peter hates large crowds, and I wanted to show him my new Lego Death Star set.” A tint of pink splashed across Peter’s cheeks at the mention of the Legos, and Lila saw him send Ned a warning glare. Ned’s answer felt very much like a lie, but for the simple reason that Lila couldn’t prove otherwise, she let it slide.

“That’s r-really cool. How many pieces?” It was merely her being polite, but the surprised expressions on both of their faces made up for it entirely. Peter was still fidgeting, looking over her shoulder and down the hallway the two men disappeared. She tried her best to ignore it, but when it came to Peter, he was always difficult for her to ignore.

“Three thousand, eight hundred, and three,” Ned said impressively, and Lila’s eyebrows raised slightly.

“Wow, that’s amazing-”

“Is that lemon blueberry bread?” Peter interrupted. Lila looked over at him in surprise, and followed his gaze down to the plate of warm dessert she still held in her hand. The abrupt change in topic didn’t slip by Lila as Peter seemed to hope it would.

But once again, Lila had to let it slide. “O-Oh.” She replied, a blush matching Peter’s finding its way to her cheeks. “I totally forgot that M-May always saves you a piece. Yeah, it - it is.”

Peter still seemed flabbergasted. “I had no idea it was you that made them.”

“‘I find your lack of faith disturbing,’” Lila quoted boldly, cracking a large smile at the shocked looks they wore. “I’m perfectly capable of - of making delicious desserts.”

“Oh no,” Peter said, suddenly trying to backtrack, “That wasn’t what I meant at all-”

“I’m messing with you, Peter,” Lila said, still screaming on the inside that she was even capable of such an easygoing conversation with Peter. “Do you guys w-want to try some?” She’d lifted the cling wrap off of the plate just enough for the boys to each grab a piece and dig in. A warm feeling of satisfaction sat with her as they wolfed down their pieces, complimenting her baking the entire time. A buzz in her back pocket brought her back down from the blissful cloud she was on (being able to talk to the boy she’d been obsessing over so normally had her on a high she wasn’t sure she could replicate), and she remembered her dad saying he was going to meet her at her school.

“Well, I-I have to get going, my d-dad’s coming to get me.” The boys offered their thanks for sharing the dessert, said goodbye, and skirted around her, heading down the hallway quickly. Lila, still acting strangely out of character, called after Peter. He turned back to face her, and she smiled sadly. “I’m sorry Tony St-Stark is keeping you from going with us tomorrow.”

Peter, for the briefest moment, looked confused, before remembering what exactly tomorrow was. He smiled tightly, and nodded. “Thanks, Lila.”

He raced down the remainder of the hallway, seemingly chasing after the two guys who ran into her previously. As Lila walked in the opposite direction, a strange feeling grew in her gut, thinking back on Peter’s behavior. Maybe her initial impression of the strangers she’d encountered wasn’t at all incorrect, and maybe Peter felt the same way about them that she did.

                                 *****

“Comment ça va, Tulip?” Was the first thing Lila heard after getting in the car. Looking over at her father, who was perched in front of the steering wheel, her smile almost fell. He wasn’t okay. His complexion was pale, and he didn’t trim his beard that morning like he usually did, instead letting it stay a little scraggly, something he typically hated. The bags that rest under his eyes were a little darker than normal, and there was a crease in between his eyebrows. The smile on his face, and the dim light that was in his eyes told Lila that he was trying to put on a brave face for her.

But she wouldn’t have even had to look over at Ted to realize something was wrong. He was speaking French, something he had learned from Angelina while they were together. She spoke it all the time in their household when Lila was growing up, and it was as easy to speak and comprehend as breathing. She loved the language itself, it was gorgeous and romantic, much like her parents. But now, with her mother gone, there was always a touch of nostalgia that came along with speaking it. Lila and Ted fell into a rhythm of only speaking it at times where they really needed Angelina, when they missed her the most. 

Being as their grief occurred at any point in time, the pair decided never to question the other when it happened. Speaking in French was a brief respite from the weight of her not being with them anymore, and was also a means of supporting each other in her absence. So Lila gripped the platter of goodies fractionally tighter, and smiled reassuringly. It made her feel better seeing Ted’s shoulders relax ever so slightly at her expression. “Ça va bien.” She skipped over asking him how he was doing, as the answer was obvious. “J’ai fet ça pour May,” Lila gestured to the platter of food that Peter and Ned had previously gotten into, and smiled proudly down at the bread. She glanced up to see her father’s reaction, happy to take his mind off of whatever was troubling him. He commented on it, saying how they looked positively delicious, and that May was going to be thrilled. Simultaneously, Ted pulled out of the school parking lot, and headed over to the homeless shelter that they were due to volunteer at. 

They spoke about everything that happened in their days, and managed to have a completely normal conversation, just in French. It was difficult for Lila, seeing her dad hold himself together so that he wouldn’t collapse in front of her. Not that he hadn’t before, the two were very open with their emotions due to years of therapy the pair attended, but it was still hard on her that it was hard on him. She hoped to whatever higher being was out there (more than likely the Asgardians) that when it was Lila’s turn for love, she wouldn’t end up like her dad. Loving someone so wholeheartedly and completely, only to have them ripped out of her grasp forever. She also prayed that her dad would someday find it in himself to recognize that he deserved to be happy with someone new.

The traffic through Queens wasn’t as awful as it could’ve been, and Ted and Lila arrived five minutes early to the shelter. They spoke for a few minutes more in the car, before deciding to head inside. Ted opened the back door of the car and pulled out a beautiful assortment of vibrant yellow sunflowers with purple asters scattered in between. She smiled, complimenting him on his choice, and Lila then turned to face the door. Only, she was stopped when Ted placed a hand on her shoulder. Looking back around at him, he smiled warmly, blinking quickly to stop the tears that looked to escape. “Ta mère serait si fière, Lila.”

Your mother would be proud, Lila.

She swallowed the growing lump in her throat, not expecting the comment at all. Looking up at her dad, in his warm, brown eyes, she could tell he meant it more than he meant anything. She wanted to take it, she wanted to accept that compliment, but truthfully? She couldn’t. What had Lila done besides get good grades and help her dad around his business? Sure, she was kind, and treated everyone with respect, but was that enough? Was that really enough for her mother to be proud of her? All Lila was able to manage was a shaky smile (which felt more like a grimace, in her opinion) and squeak out, “Really?”

“She’d be so proud, Lila,” Ted repeated. “With you branching out, making new friends, and this whole decathlon thing? She’d be over the moon for you, just like I am.” Lila wasn’t sure how to take that, and she was lucky her dad understood that. Instead of waiting for a reply that was unlikely to come, he threw his arm over her shoulders and brought her in close. With a gentle kiss on the forehead, he rubbed her arms reassuringly and guided her inside.

                               *****

It was all Lila could do to not burst into tears after her dad talked about her mom the way he did, but fortunately, the shelter was so busy that it didn’t even seem to matter. They were immediately greeted by the staff of the shelter, including May Parker, who looked busy and tired. Any creases due to worry melted off of her face after seeing the Landrys walk inside, and lit up exponentially at seeing that they didn’t come empty-handed. There were volunteers bustling around, spending time with a few kids here or there, talking to some of the people in need of a place to stay, and some were leading activities. The familiarity of the place calmed Lila down a bit, and she smiled warmly as May walked over to greet them.

“Ted, Lila, so glad you could make it!” She weaved in between a few tables and stopped right in front of them, eyes darting in between the two. “What’s all this?” Her gaze flickered down to the flowers and lemon bread, expression brightening just a bit more. 

Lila smiled. “It’s the least we could do. We know how b-busy you are, and switching around our schedules means more than you know.” Together, Lila and Ted handed her the flowers and treats, and watched with satisfaction as she took them appreciatively.

“You guys… you didn’t have to go through all that trouble.”

“No trouble at all,” Ted commented. She sent him a grateful smile before quickly digging into a slice of lemon blueberry bread, and guiding them to the back so she could assign them to their stations. Lila smiled as Ted and May caught each other up on their weeks as they walked, occasionally stopping to greet people they recognized.

Lila loved her dad’s relationship with May. She was the person who helped show Lila and Ted the ropes when they decided to start volunteering at the shelter, and was incredibly sympathetic towards their reasons for joining. For the last eight years, she bonded with Ted over their kids, over their interests, and over what had happened when aliens invaded New York. Volunteering was something that Lila and Ted were able to look forward to, and feel like they were giving back to the community that helped them rebuild after Angelina died, and the biggest favor of all came the previous January, when Ben Parker was shot and killed.

Lila had been lucky enough to meet Ben Parker, and develop a good relationship with him. He came in on the occasional Sunday, helping out where he could and talking to Lila in the process. She always got the impression that he liked her, and he often pulled her aside to tell her funny stories, especially on the days where she couldn’t help but miss her mom. Ben always laughed at her corny jokes and listened intently whenever she would speak. His patience was unending, and Lila felt her world grow a little darker when she had heard of his death.

There was no question: the Landrys supplied the best flowers they possibly could when Ben was put to rest. And Ted and Lila were constantly at the ready to help May (and by extension help Peter) grieve and process. That was really how Ted and May grew to be such good friends, was by helping each other through the loss of their spouses. It wasn’t a simple matter, dealing with that type of pain, but knowing that someone like May Parker was in Lila’s corner helped ease some of the burden of no longer having a mother, and Ted not having a wife.

May put them to work with food, and caught up with them a little bit before returning to her office. She asked Lila how school was, to which she replied that she was doing well, and that she was terrified for the decathlon. May had even been so kind as to ask her about how she was healing, knowing full well what had happened at Delmar’s a few nights ago. 

“I’m on the mend,” Lila admitted, washing her hands before putting on some gloves, turning to face May, who had given Lila her complete attention. Thinking about the past few days walking around with her injury brought memories to the surface that made her cheeks tint pink. “I really c-couldn’t have made it through this week without Michelle o-or Peter.”

“Peter?” May’s eyebrows raised a little bit, but were accompanied with a smile. “My Peter?”

“Y-Yeah,” Lila tucked her hair behind her ear, trying her best not to blush too much, or smile too wide. “Ever since it h-happened, he’s - he’s gone out of his w-way to make sure I was okay.”

Apparently, Lila said just the right thing, for May’s smiled a genuine smile at her comment. “Good, I’m so glad to hear that. Honestly, I’ve been a little worried he’s been neglecting his friends, lately.”

Lila tilted her head in confusion, “Why would you think that?”

“Well, he’s been so busy, you know? With the Stark Internship, he… he’s so focused on that internship that sometimes I worry he’s letting everything else go.” She let out a sound that was a blend of a scoff and a laugh. “I don’t know, maybe I worry too much.”

“H-He’s too smart to let things go, May,” Lila answered truthfully. Peter Parker was the smartest person she knew. Well, besides Michelle. “I’m sure it’s just overwhelming to him at the moment. Working with Tony Stark, they’re lofty e-expectations. If anyone could navigate it, it’s him.”

May looked over at Lila, regarding the small girl as she threw an apron on over her head. Smiling, she nodded, “Yeah. He’s a pretty bright kid.”

                      *****

“You’re wrong, you’re dead wrong.”

“Yeah, okay, Tulip.”

“No, listen, I’m just saying - Dad, stop, for a second. I’m just saying, Sokka’s character development is some of the best in any television show ever.”

“Over Zuko, Lila? Zuko? He literally overcame evil and helped Aang overthrow his own father for the sake of good. No way is Sokka’s better.” 

Ted and Lila were busy pointing their chopsticks at each other to actually eat the food perched in their laps. Their heated discussion came from their binge-watching of Avatar: The Last Airbender. Over the past few weeks, they’d been re-watching the show for the fun of it, and repeatedly arrived at the intense debate of whose character arc was better. Obviously, Lila thought it was Sokka, who ended up with a fresh respect for how capable women, particularly the women of the show, actually were. Ted, however, was convinced it was Zuko, having shifted sides from being evil just to win favor of a father who didn’t really love him, over to the side of good, because it was right.

He was completely incorrect, of course. And even if he was right, what a cliché. 

Lila had a pretty great night with her dad. After preparing meals for the homeless throughout the afternoon, Ted treated her to their own dinner. Consisting of Lila’s favorite, they shared sesame chicken and dumplings as well as many laughs over the children’s cartoon Ted bought her as a gift. They’d talked over the show about everything and nothing, mostly just enjoying each other’s company. It started as a trading of stories, mainly concerning the shop and the customers fitting in it. Then it became a casual commentary of the show, ending with the furious debate between whose arc was better.

Lila took another bite of chicken, rather half-heartedly at that. “Dad?” She asked, and her father hummed in response, staring at the chicken he was still digging into. “Do you think this weekend’s gonna be okay?”

Ted looked straight up at her, “What makes you think it won’t?”

“I don’t know,” She shrugged, setting her food down. “With Peter quitting the team, I just-” Huffing, she brushed a loose strand of hair to the side. “- I know there’s a possibility that I might have to be on the panel, and I don’t want to mess it up for anybody. What if I mess it up? Like, royally screw the pooch, how can I-?”

“Tulip,” Ted said sternly, taking Lila off guard. “This competition doesn’t matter if you don’t stop digging that hole you’ve made for yourself. You are thinking little: Little of yourself, little of your capabilities. You need to remember that you are Lila Landry, you’re smart, beautiful, and you can do absolutely anything because that’s who you are. Don’t let this competition consume you, it’s not everything.” 

He paused and looked at her as Lila looked back down at her lap. Blinking furiously, she tried her best not to cry. Good tears, thankful tears, but that was the last thing she needed. In the end, her dad was right, Lila was ready for Washington, and the academic decathlon wasn’t ready for her. If she had to, she was going to kick major ass, and protest in front of an embassy (Michelle’s idea) in the meantime. Ted then nudged her leg gently, and she looked up at him. “You wanna open your fortune cookie, now?”

Lila chuckled, nodding. Reaching for the cookies that sat on the table, she tossed one to her dad before opening the packaging around her own. Watching as Ted did the same, she waited until his was off, too. They counted to three, and each opened their fortunes. As per usual, Lila read hers first. “‘Soon life will become more interesting. “Hmm,” she hummed happily, glancing up and laughing at her dad’s confused expression. “What’s yours?”

“‘You cannot direct the wind. Or a cat.’” 

They shared a look and cackled at the silly fortune. But when she looked back on it, Lila really should’ve paid more attention to her own fortune. For in two days’ time, her life would be changed forever.

[vlleneuve]

sans peur: chapter one

Welcome to the first chapter of my great, the-Beast-is-too-nice-for-his-own-good, Belle-works-herself-too-hard, love-makes-everything-better extravaganza! You can find the prologue here, and the whole story on AO3. 

Here, we meet Belle and get to walk around in her world for a little bit. 

Enjoy!

Ah, the smell of… old linen.

The sun had barely risen, but Belle already had a lot on her to-do list. She pulled herself out of bed unceremoniously and ran a brush haphazardly through her hair, before pulling it back away from her face. She changed into her blue frock, went down and cooked herself an egg that she paired with some bread for breakfast, and marched out the door. Her parents weren’t even awake yet.

The rest of the world hardly was either. As she strolled into town, she found that only a few farmers had set up their carts. More would pour in soon enough, but for now, she got what she needed. She headed to the church, where she found Pere Robert, the preacher of Villeneuve’s little assembly. He was also the only person in town she wasn’t the daughter of who supported her love of reading.

Perhaps the kindest face in town, he knew exactly what she had come for, and led her to a little back room with two small shelves of books. One was entirely religious texts that Pere Robert saved for the church, and the other was his own personal collection of plays and novels, such books that he let Belle borrow to her heart’s desire. She returned the one she had borrowed yesterday to its spot on the shelf, and picked out another old favorite. WIth a collection so small, she’d already read all the books many times over, but reading was such a delight to her that somehow, it didn’t matter.

“How’s your family, Belle?” He asked as they made their way back out of the little room.

She took a pause as she thought of her mother. “My parents are… well enough. My mother has fallen ill. But, I’m working as hard as I can to take care of her. I’m sure she’ll be better in no time at all.” Whether she truly believed that was uncertain, but saying it out loud certainly seemed to help.

Pere Robert smiled warmly. “You know that the community is here for you, Belle. If you or your family ever need anything, be sure to reach out. Sickness can be hard, not only for the ill, but for the ones closest to them.”

He’s so wise, she thought.

“Thank you.” They shared a smile. “In the meantime, Mr. Montague and Ms. Capulet will keep me company.”

“Take care,” he said as she stepped back out into town.

“Au revoir!”

It was already getting brighter out, which meant there were already more people milling about. Belle tried to weave her way through as best she could, but of course, it was only a matter of time before she was stopped by Gaston.

“Ah, Belle! Just who I wanted to see. What have you got there?”

“A book, Gaston.” Belle fought every urge in her body to roll her eyes.

“A book!” he harrumphed. “No doubt a book of recipes! I can’t see a woman reading anything else.”

God, she hated him. “Actually, it’s a play, about true love.”

But he was already lost in his own world. ‘What a good wife you would make, Belle! Just think of it, the two of us, with you to cook and clean and take care of me, we’d be the perfect pair.”

“Nice try.” She took a step past him and tried to continue on her way back home.

But he persisted. “I was thinking you should join me for dinner tonight, why, there’ll be roast duck and mashed potatoes and corn, and all the desserts your petite little heart could ever dream of. I bet that’s more than you could get back home, isn’t it?”

She turned sharply on her heel. “It doesn’t matter, because I will not be having dinner with you tonight. And don’t you ever insult my family again.”

“No, no, not insulting! Just stating a simple fact. If you dined with me, I’d say you’d have a much better time, is all.” He gave an evil grin.

“Well, I never would, so you can stop dreaming. Good day, Gaston.” She turned back towards home, and marched away with her chin held high.

If only she could live in a world where the Gaston-like men were nice and felt true love for their wives, and the villagers were good and kind and supported each other if, say, one of them liked to read. If only there were a world where there was no sickness, and no fear. What a world that would be.

She blew out a low breath, and with it all her fantasies of a perfect world. Dreaming wouldn’t get her there, but working hard would. She picked up her pace and made it back just in time to fix a full breakfast for her parents.

“Did you already eat something, sweetheart?” her father asked. He was a stout little man, with greying hair and a bushy mustache that occupied his upper lip. His cheeks were always rosy red, and his heart always filled to the brim with love for his wife and daughter.

“Of course I did, but don’t worry about me.” This was true, of course, because Belle would never lie to her parents. But it was also true that what she ate was much less than what she had fixed for her parents. She was young and healthy, she reasoned, but Maman and Papa were getting older, and they needed the extra strength more than she did. Especially if Maman was sick.

“Our Belle, always taking care of us instead of the other way round.” Her mother was someone who had always been (and always would be) naturally beautiful -- eyes that shone with kindness and a smile that eased all worry. Although, as of the past few days, that lovely face had been overrun by the sweat and bright red of sickness. Yet all the same, when she smiled at Belle, she smiled as if there were nothing wrong.

That smile solidified Belle’s resolve.

“Today,” she started slowly, “I’m going to leave town to gather supplies for Maman. Villeneuve is too small a village to have adequate medicines and remedies, but I’m thinking that if I travel to a town like Beaumont, I’ll be able to gather what I need.” She watched the look on her parents’ faces. Her father’s mouth was hanging open, and getting ready to splutter in protest. Her mother, however, seemed calm.

“I know that it’s dangerous,” she continued, “but I would rather do this despite the risk, than sit here and do nothing. So I’m going once I get Phillipe ready. I should be back tomorrow, but if I’m not, don’t worry. I won’t rest until I make sure I have what I need.”

She watched as her father’s jaw clicked shut. There was silence for a moment as her parents considered what she had said.

Belle was right, of course. Someone needed to go to find medicine, and while sending a young girl out alone was dangerous, she would be much more able to defend herself than if her father went. As much as they wished there was another way, they knew that this was best.

“Oh Belle,” her father sighed, standing and moving to cup her face in his hand, “you’re so brave.”

She smiled. “I’m not brave,” she reassured him, “I just have a problem that needs fixing. And I've never had a problem that I didn’t fix. I just have to keep up the streak.” Everyone gave a light chuckle, and stood in pleasant silence for a moment before Belle’s parents went back to finishing their breakfast.

The sun was high in the sky as Belle secured the last satchel to Phillipe’s side. She checked everything over once again, and ran through the list of to-do’s she had in her mind. Seeing that she’d checked them all off, she went back inside to bid her parents goodbye.

“Remember, if I’m not back in a day or two, don’t worry. I’ll be back. Just take care of yourselves.”

“We love you, Belle,” her mother said softly. They embraced, and for a moment, Belle felt sad, before she shook it off. She would go, and she would get medicine, and Maman would better in no time. And when it was all better, she would never have needed to be sad. She took in a deep breath, and with a final wave to her parents, she disembarked for Beaumont.

Chapter Two

[vfdbaudelairefile13]

Chapter Thirty-Nine:

The One With the Deus Ex Machina

“It’s your birthday?” Violet asked as Klaus slowly nodded. He took a deep breath glancing up at his sister through his sobs.

“I’m going to die on my birthday,” he cried before bursting into sobs once more.

“Klaus…” Violet replied putting a hand on her brother’s shoulder. “You’re not going to die…”

“ Yes I am!” he shouted burying his head in his arms.

“No, you’re not. I’m not going to let that happen,” she replied. “Especially not on your birthday. I’m sorry that I didn’t know…I mean if I would’ve known...I would’ve said it.”

He looked up at her. “You do not need to be sorry. You didn’t know what today was. Hell, I forgot my own birthday. Like...who does that?”

“Well to be fair, you do have a lot on your mind,”

“I forgot all about it until I started thinking about the bread,” Klaus explained wiping his eyes. “Something about the bread made me remember my twelfth birthday...and how my parents tried to make bread pudding,”

Violet looked at him confused. “What happened? Did the kitchen catch on fire?” she blushed with embarrassment when she remembered that she had caused a kitchen fire once. “Been there, done that.”

Klaus looked up at his sister, offering the smallest of smiles. “No. No fire. Just the worst dessert I’ve ever tasted,” he said sticking out his tongue remembering the sour taste. “It was a new recipe that they were trying out,” Klaus explained to Violet as he wiped tears coming from his eyes. “They wanted it to be special for my birthday...probably because I kept making a big deal about Sunny stealing all their attention.” he gave a small frown. “God, I was such a brat.”

“You were a kid,” Violet explained.

“I was a brat,” he argued. He turned to his older sister, a look of regret plastered on his face. “Do you think Sunny thinks I hate her? Do...do you think they thought I resented them for having another kid…?” he glanced up watching Violet’s expression. “I mean another kid after me,” He said. “Cause I didn’t resent them and I don’t hate Sunny.”

“No,” Violet replied sternly. “Sunny and your parents know that you love them, Klaus. Now go back to your story,” she smiled at her brother trying to keep him focused on the memory of his parents doing something for him rather than letting him sulk about whether or not his baby sister and parents knew he loves them.

“Well, the bread pudding came out burned and it tasted sour and it was extremely soggy. Like even Sunny wouldn’t eat it. She actually threw her bowl to the wall,” he smiled as he pictured his twelfth birthday. As he closed his eyes, he was back in the Baudelaire mansion. He was happy and safe and warm. He and Sunny were sat down at the dining table. Klaus anxiously waiting for his parents to bring in his birthday cake while Sunny bit down on a spoon. Violet watched as her brother smiled. “Life was so easy back then. My only issue was Sunny and if I’m being honest...she was never truly an issue.”

Violet laughed. “What happened next?” she asked curiously.

In his mind, his parents walked in holding two bowls of bread pudding each. Klaus could tell by their faces that they were skeptical. So in return, he was skeptical. He wondered why they had not just gone with a traditional cake. His mother telling him that they wanted to try something special for their only son. “Believe it or not,” he said to Violet, his eyes still closed. “Remember, I have a really good memory and in my mind, our mother described me as her ‘only son’ and not ‘firstborn’.” he comments which causes Violet to smile.

As the memory slowly ended, Klaus blinked his eyes open. Violet glanced down at him to see he was crying again. “You know...when they say you shouldn’t make a promise you can’t keep?” he asked her.

“I don’t follow,”

“They promised me that next year, for my thirteenth birthday, I’d have the best birthday in the world.” Klaus looked at Violet, choking on his tears as he said it. He sighed, taking his glasses off to wipe away the tears. He gestured around the jail cell. “Not to sound spoiled, but I was hoping for a better birthday than being imprisoned for murder and being burned at the stake.” he sighed again. “And then add on the fact that...they’re not here... Sunny isn’t here…my family…” he stopped when he realized what he was about to say. Even though he had stopped himself, Violet knew exactly how he was going to end that sentence. She turned her head to hide her frown. “I...I didn’t mean…”

Violet took a deep breath, making sure to smile as she turned to him. “No...you’re right. This is a terrible birthday.”

“I’m glad that you’re here with me, though,” he comments still crying.

Violet sighed once more as she pulled him into a tight hug. She felt her own eyes fill up with tears as she hugged her sobbing brother. She knew that he missed his parents deeply and she knew that he wanted nothing more than for Sunny to be safe. She also knew that deep down he didn’t mean to exclude her. So as she held her brother tightly, trying to give him the support that he desperately needed, she cried alongside him. “You don’t sound spoiled at all,” she muttered to him as his sniffling and tears seemed to be stopping.  The two half-siblings stood together for a moment and cried quietly, entertaining the notion of how dreadful their lives had become in such a short time.

For Klaus, it seemed like his twelfth birthday was just the other day and yet his memories of the lousy bread pudding seemed as faint and blurry as his first sight of the Village of Fowl Devotees. For Violet, that day had been just another normal day but it was one she had spent with her father because, before the Baudelaire fire, that was what most of her life comprised of spending all the time in the world with her father. And both siblings did not understand how something could be so close and so distant at the same time and the children wept for their dead parents and all of the happy things in their lives that had been taken away from them since the terrible fires that had claimed the lives of their parents.

Finally, it seemed that Violet and Klaus had cried themselves out, as Violet wiped her eyes and struggled to give her brother a smile. “Klaus,” she called out.

“Yeah?” he asked wiping his eyes for the final time.

“I am prepared to offer you the birthday gift of your choice,” Violet said gesturing around the jail cell. “Anything at all that you want in the Deluxe Cell, you can have.”

Klaus gave a small smile. “Thanks,” he replied as he glanced around the filthy room. “But what I’d really love is deus ex machina….and for the Quagmires and Sunny to be rescued,”

Violet sighed. “Me, too.” Violet glanced around the small jail cell as she tied up her hair. She glanced from the bread to the pitcher to the morbid noose and then to the wooden bench. She closed her eyes as she tightened her ribbon. She opened her eyes slowly smiling at Klaus. “Happy birthday, Klaus!” she said happily causing her brother to look at her confused.

“What?”

“I think there’s a gift waiting for you,” Violet explained. “From the best big sister ever.”

Klaus smiled but as Violet picked up the stale bread, his smile faded into a look of utter confusion. “You’re giving me inedible bread?” he asked confused.

“No, you spoiled ass,” Violet joked rolling her eyes. “I’m giving you deus ex machina,”

“How?” he asked confused.

“Watch and learn, little bro,”

Klaus watched as Violet tugged as hard as she could on the noose that hung from the ceiling of the jail. She smiled when she realized that it wasn’t going to fall from the ceiling. She glanced nervously at bench. She noticed that the metal stands that the bench stood on weren’t fully intact to the ground. She smiled brightly. “Klaus,” she said pointing to the bench. “Help me lift this,”

He looked at her confused but did as she said. With the combined efforts of the fourteen-year-old inventor and the newly-turned thirteen-year-old researcher, the bench was lifted off the ground and Violet quickly made do with the bread, noose, and bench. Quickly, Violet fashioned these items into some sort of battering ram. Klaus looked at her confused.

“What’s the bread for?” he asked.

Violet punched the bread as hard as she could, allowing her brother to listen to the thud! It made. “This bread is so hard, Sunny wouldn’t even be able to bite it,” she explained. “Hence why I’m going to use it to break down this wall.”

“Do you really think you’ll be able to do that?”

She sighed, shrugging her shoulders in response. “It’s the best I can come up with,”

“You’ve done more with less,” Klaus reasoned.

“Actually I’ve done less with more but seeing that the bastard stole my backpack,” Violet replied annoyed. “All I have are these raw materials and whatever is in mine and yours pockets.”

Klaus shuddered remembering what was in Violet’s backpack. “Random question,”

“Random answer,” Violet replied making sure her battering ram was intact.

“What did we use to escape the elevator shaft?” he asked meekly.

Without truly paying attention to why she was being asked that, she merely replied. “My grappling hook,” she turned her head to glance at Klaus, who was slightly shaking. “Why?”

“No reason,”

“Bullshit,”

“I don’t need to trouble you,”

“It wouldn’t be troubling me…” she argued. She stopped toying with her invention to look at her brother. Klaus had never seen her face that serious in the short time that they had known each other. She placed a hand on his shoulder. “What did that bastard do to you?” she asked him with unblinking eyes.

He shook his head in response, biting his lip. “Why?” he asked.

“Because depending on the severity of it...I’m going to do it to him,” Violet replied. “Show him how it feels and that goes for whatever he’s done to Sunny and the Quagmires, too.”

Klaus smiled at his big sister. “I...it’s…” he stuttered.

Violet sighed. “It’s okay...if you’re not ready to tell me,” she replied in a gentle tone noticing that her brother was slowly shaking..

He slowly nodded. “I...I...I’m sorry. I just...I just can’t say right now,” Klaus said. “The last person I told...Olaf killed him.”

She nodded. “I’ll be here when you can. Ready to listen and ready to retaliate against that bastard,”  she placed a gentle hand on her younger brother’s shoulder. “And if you’re afraid that he’ll kill me...that’s not going to happen I am not going anywhere. What’s that thing that you and Sunny say?”

“Just us?” he answered unsure if that’s what she was referring to.

“It’s just us,” Violet repeated. “You Sunny and I. The three musketeers,”

Klaus gave a small smile and nodded. “And Isadora and Duncan,”

“Just us five,” Violet repeated.

Violet grabbed a hold of her invention and slowly swung it, making sure to not hit the wall. She smiled. Klaus looked the invention over, wearing a face of amazement and disbelief. “Violet, if your invention saves our lives, the Quagmires, and Sunny, it will be the best present ever given me, that’s including a book of Finnish poetry that my father gave me when I turned eight.”

Violet smiled triumphantly. “Speaking of poetry, why don’t you start decoding Isadora’s couplets. We still haven’t figured out where they are hidden, and you are definitely the more well read of us two,”

Klaus pulled out the small scrolls of paper from his pocket. “Poetry can be difficult to interpret even when you’re not searching for a hidden message,” he explained as he dipped one of the scrolls in the water and stuck it to the jailhouse wall opposite of the one Violet was using her invention on. “But...if my father had taught me anything...it’s how to dissect poetry.”

“You got this,” Violet reassured him.

“And you’ve got that,” he reassured her.

Violet gripped her invention tightly as she swung it towards the wall. It hit with a loud thump! Causing both Violet and Klaus to freeze in their places. Both siblings hoping that Olaf did not hear the ruckus. Violet slowly counted to five with her fingers before thwacking the wall again with her make-shift battering ram. The thumps! Were making both children nervous so after the fifth one, every time that Violet would swing her battering ram at the wall, she’d yell “Hey!”  as loud as she could. After five times of doing that she realized that it might still sound suspiciously that she was screaming ‘hey!’ at random, but calculated times. So she began to sing ‘Happy Birthday’ to her brother but with every thump! To the wall her battering ram made. She would loudly cheer hey! Hoping to drown out the noise.

The noise got to be enough because before long the two siblings could hear Esme growling and Olaf stomping his feet on the floor above them. Violet stopped using her battering ram and grabbed Klaus, pulling him to the front of the jail cell. She quickly maneuvered Klaus to stand exactly where she needed him to help her block her invention from Olaf’s sight. Klaus looked to her confused, but she pushed on his back to make him look forward as Olaf lazily popped his head out from above them.

“Orphans! You are annoying the chief of police!” he barked at the two half-siblings glaring at them. “ What’s that infernal singing and thwacking?” he hissed suspiciously. “ Don’t make me come down there.”

Violet gave the villain an innocent smile as Klaus glanced up at him nervously. “It’s Klaus’ birthday! We’re celebrating!” Violet explained in an innocent tone.

Olaf merely growled. “Children…” he hissed rolling his eyes. “Celebrate all you want….it doesn’t change a damn thing.”

With that, the villain disappeared from their sight. But Violet kept her grip on Klaus’ arm for a few seconds to keep him in place in case Olaf was going to sneak a quick glance back at them. The children could hear Esme questioning Olaf.

“Apparently it’s the boy’s birthday,” Olaf replied annoyed. “Whoopee,”

“But what’s with the fucking thwacking!?” she asked irritated.

“The brats are celebrating,”

“What do you mean they’re celebrating?” Esme asked confused. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, they’re celebrating. That’s what the pretty orphan said,”

“But they’re in a jail cell...how are they celebrating?” she asked. “By being annoying little pests?”

“Kids are fucking stupid. One is going to die anyway just let them have their juvenile fun,” Olaf replied.

Violet rolled her eyes as Klaus scoffed. “I guess us stupid kids are going to outsmart him...again,” she muttered as she walked back to her battering ram.

“If we’re stupid what does that make them?” Klaus asked curiously.

“Imbeciles,” Violet replied with a smile as she swung her battering ram at the wall again.

After a few more thumps! The two children could hear Esme kicking something as harshly as she could. “This pounding in my helmet! I cannot fucking take it! I am going to blow my top and I’m going to blow my cover!”

Both kids couldn’t help but laugh at the discomfort Violet’s invention was causing Esme. They listened carefully as Olaf sighed. “Okay, let’s go. We have a funeral pyre to build!”

Violet and Klaus quickly ran to the bars of their jail cell as Olaf and Esme came down the stairs. Violet continued to sing loudly, and she made sure to purposely sing off key just to irritate Esme even more, and both children would clap when she yelled ‘hey!’ just to keep Olaf from being suspicious. As the two villains walked out of the uptown jail, Esme plugged her ears with her fingers, rolling her eyes at the two children while Olaf looked at them as though they were crazy.

“Whoo! It’s your birthday!” Olaf remarked sarcastically as he hurriedly passed their jail cell. “Who the fuck cares,”

Klaus flipped him off in response as the villain exited the building.

“That was a close one,” Violet admitted. “Now to break out of this jail in peace,”

For the next ten minutes or so, Violet swung her battering ram furiously at the same spot in the wall watching as it slowly, but surely damaged the wall that stood between the two half-siblings and their freedom while Klaus focused on Isadora’s four poems, rereading them back to himself several times trying to figure out what he should be looking for. Finally, Violet sighed turning to Klaus about ready to ask him to switch jobs. For him to swing the battering ram at the wall and for her to try her luck at decoding Isadora’s poetry but when she looked to her brother, he had a wide grin on his face.  Now as I am sure you know grinning is something you do when you are entertained in someway, such as reading a good book or watching someone you don’t care for spill their rootbeer float all over themselves. But there weren’t any books in the uptown jail, and unfortunately neither sibling had a rootbeer float with them so there was no way that either one of them could spill it upon themselves, so when Violet saw Klaus grinning she knew it was for some other reason. He was grinning as he traced his fingers along the beginnings of each scroll.

“Klaus?” Violet called out. Klaus turned his attention away from the poems to Violet.

“Your girlfriend is brilliant,” he replied still grinning.

“You’re smiling,” Violet commented.

“I am?”

“You’re in jail...and you’re smiling,”

“I think I know where the Quagmires and Sunny are,” he said happily.

“Really?” Violet cried happily walking over to where Klaus had stuck the poems on the wall.

He nodded. “Look at the four poems in order and you’ll see what I mean.”

“ For our inheritance we are held in here. Only you can end our fear. Until dawn comes we cannot speak. No words can come from this sad beak. The first thing you read contains the clue. An initial way to speak to you. Inside these letters the eye will see. Nearby are your friends, baby sister, and VFD.” Violet recited aloud. She glanced at her brother confused. “I think you’re much better at analyzing poetry than I am...because I don’t get it.”

“But you’re the one who first suggested the solution,” Klaus explained.

“Wait, really?”

“When we received the third poem, you thought that initial meant initials like VFD,” he explained.

“But you said that it probably meant ‘first’,” Violet argued. “The poems are the first way the Quagmires and Sunny can speak to us from where they are hidden.”

“I was wrong,” Klaus admitted. “I’ve never been so happy to be wrong in my life. Isadora meant initials all along. I didn’t realize it until I read the part that said ‘inside these letters the eye will see.’ She’s hiding her location inside the poem, just like my Aunt Josephine hid her loaction inside her note, remember? Sunny and I told you about that.”

“The lady whose house wasn’t hurricane proof and she tried to give you guys up to Olaf in exchange for her life?” Violet asked making sure she had the right guardian.

“Yeah,”

“Ah, yeah I don’t like her much,”

“Neither did Sunny and I. But that’s not the point,” Klaus said. “When Isadora says ‘the first thing you read contains the clue,’ he recited smiling. “We thought she meant the first poem...but I think she meant the first letter. She couldn’t tell us directly where she, her brother, and our sister were hidden, in case someone else got the poems from the crows before we did, so she had to use a sort of code. If we look at the first letter of each line, we can see their location.”

Violet smiled as she glanced at the poems. “‘For our inheritance we are held in here.’ That’s F. ‘Only you can end our fear.’ that’s O.”

“‘Until dawn comes we cannot speak,’ That’s U. ‘No words can come from this sad beak.’ That’s N.”

“‘The first thing you read contains the clue’. Taht’s T,” Violet said excitedly as her brother nodded. “‘An initial way to speak to you.’ that’s A.”

“‘Inside these letters the eye will see’, That’s I,” Klaus explained just as excitedly as his sister had. “‘Nearby are your friends, your baby sister, and VFD.’ That’s N.” he looked to Violet. ‘Which spells?”

“Fountain,” she replied happily.

Klaus nodded. “As in, Fowl Fountain.”

“That’s brilliant,” Violet replied, turning to her brother. “ You’re brilliant!” she shouted hugging him tightly.

He groaned. “ Isadora is brilliant,” Klaus countered. “But I will take the compliment,”

Violet grabbed Klaus into a headlock excitedly, ruffling his hair and giving him a noogie. He tried to pull away from her grasp. “God, you are such a nerd! But I am so glad you are!” she said.

“Let...me...go,” he whined. She laughed, releasing her grip on her brother. He rolled his eyes as he tried to fix his hair. “It’s my birthday, be nice,”

“That was me being nice,” she replied. “I’m just so excited! You figured it out!”

“And according to the blueprints…” Klaus muttered staring at the damage Violet had already done to the jailhouse wall. “Fowl Fountain is right outside that very wall.”

Violet smirked as she glanced towards the wall. “Well, I’d better keep smashing that very wall then,” she said as she grabbed ahold of her invention and swung it once more at the nearly broken wall.

“Do you need help?” he asked. “Maybe our combined strength can break the wall quicker?”

Violet shrugged as she nodded her head. The two siblings gripped the battering ram.

“Let’s step back as far as we can, and on the count of three, we run quickly toward the wall. Aim the battering ram for the same spot I’ve been hitting,” Violet instructed her younger brother. “Ready?” she called back to him.

“Yes,” Klaus replied.

“One...two...three,” Violet called out and both children ran forward and smacked the bench against the wall as hard as they could Thunk! The battering ram made a noise so loud that it felt as if the entire jail would collapse. But it only left a few dents in a few of the bricks as if the wall had only been bruised slightly. “Again,” she called back.

The two siblings backed up once more. “One...two...three,” Klaus called out. Thunk! Outside the children could hear a few crows flutter wildly, frightened by the noise. A few more bricks were bruised, and one had a long crack down the middle. “It’s working!” Klaus cheered excitedly. “Your battering ram is working!”

“Did you have any doubts?” Violet asked happily.

“On your inventing skills, never,”

“Let’s hit it again,” Violet suggested. “One...two...three,”

The two children backed up as much as they could and the two siblings gripped so hard on Violet’s invention s they ran at full speed towards the already broken wall.

“Ow!” Klaus cried and stumbled a little bit.

“Oh my God, are you okay?” Violet asked worriedly.

“A brick fell on my fucking toe,” he cried.

“Hooray!” Violet cheered. “I mean, sorry about your toe, Klaus, but if bricks are falling it means the wall is definitely weakening. Let’s put down the battering ram and get a better look.”

Klaus shook his head furiously. “No, we don’t need a better look,” he explained. “We’ll know it’s worked when we can see Fowl Fountain!”

“Good point,”

“One...two...three!” he called out as once more the siblings backed up as much as they could and ran at top speed towards the wall. Thunk! The two siblings raced towards the wall of the Deluxe Cell and smacked Violet’s battering ram against the bricks with their mightiest thunk! yet.

A noise that was accompanied by an enormous cracking sound as the invention split into two. Violet staggered in one direction while Klaus staggered in another as each separate half-sibling made them lose their balance, and a huge cloud of dust sprung from the point where the battering ram hit the wall.

A huge cloud fo dust is not a beautiful thing to look at. Very few painters have done portraits of huge clouds of dust or included them in their landscapes or still lifes. Several photographers have rarely tried to capture the ‘beauty’ of a huge cloud of dust in any of their catalogs, portfolios, or collages. Film directors rarely choose huge clouds of dust to play the lead roles in romantic comedies, and as far as my research has shown, a huge cloud of dust has never placed higher than twenty-fifth in a beauty pageant. Nevertheless, as the two half-siblings stumbled around their jail cell, dropping each half of the battering ram and listening to the sound of crows flying in circles outside, they stared at the huge cloud of dust as if it were a thing of great beauty. Because this particular huge dust cloud was made of the brick and mortar of the Village of Fowl Devotees’ jailhouse wall and Violet and Klaus could see now that Violet’s invention worked. As the huge cloud of dust settled on the cell floor, making it even dirtier, the two children gazed around them with big dusty grins on their faces because they saw an additional beautiful sight, a big, gaping hole in the wall of the Deluxe Cell, perfect for a speedy escape.

__________________________________________________

Count Olaf still in his ridiculous Detective Dupin disguise smiled at the approaching sunset. “Ah, cocktail hour,” he said happily. “When the sky is gold with the promise of fortunes and sparkling with the light of a thousand stolen sapphires,’

Esme, who was still in her ridiculous Officer Luciana disguise looked to her villainous boyfriend confused. “Who said that?”

“What?” Olaf asked confused.

“Is that a quote or…”

“I just made it up, turtledove.”

“Olaf, you have the soul of a poet.”

“Yes,” he said smirking. “And her brother’s, too. We shoved them and the bratty baby in the fountain, remember?”

She nodded.

“Everything is going exactly as I planned. For once,” he said.

“So you planned for Jacques Snicket to follow us to town so you could frame his neice and the bookworm for his murder?”

“Well that wasn’t the original plan,” he admitted. “But that’s the best part about my plan. Parts of the plan were unplanned and changed at the last minute. You don’t want to over plan a plan,”

“But you always over plan  a plan,” she explained confused.

He sighed angrily. “Not the point,” he said. “The point is I’m able to give my ladylove the best gift in the world,” he paused for dramatic effect. “An enormous fortune,”

Esme looked at him unamused. “ I have that,” She replied utterly annoyed. “What I don’t have is the most important part of a tea set,”

“The teapot?” Olaf asked confused.

Esme glared at him. “No, you dumb ass. The sugar bowl! That librarian told me where it is. I want to go after it.”

“We will,” he says annoyed. “After we take care of little Miss Snicket and the Baudelaire boy, my dumpling,”

Esme rolled her eyes in response. He turned to his henchpeople who were busy creating the funeral pyres for Klaus and whichever Quagmire triplet was the unlucky one chosen to burn alongside him in Violet’s place.

“Build faster!” he demanded angrily. “The faster we build, the faster those fortunes are mine!”

“Yes, boss,” the hook-handed man replied.

Olaf turned to Esme. “Which Quagmire do you think they chose to burn?”

“I do hope it’s the girl seeing as you won’t let me keep the Baudelaire boy,” Esme replied crossing her arms across her chest.

Olaf growled. “We already have the baby,”

“Well...babies do go with everything,” Esme commented still clearly annoyed.

“And we might not even need her,” Olaf explained. “When I figure out just how much the Snicket girl is worth...we can dispose of the baby,”

“When can we dispose of the Snicket brat?” Esme asked annoyed.

Olaf shrugged his shoulders. “Might keep that one,”

“You disgust me,”

“You’re a fucking hypocrite,”

“You still disgust me,”

“You both disgust me,” the hook-handed man muttered under his breath. Neither one of his bosses could hear him.

“Where are we even going to store the brats?” Esme asked.

“We could shove them in the red herring and strap them to the roof again,” Olaf replied. “But that’s not viable in the long term. They’ll hit growth spurts eventually. We need something big enough to store children until they come of age and their fortunes are ours. A place that’s large and mobile and away from prying eyes,”

“Ummm boss,”

“What?”

“Look,” the hook-handed man replied pointing a hook to the sky.

Olaf pulled out his spyglass glancing at the strange object that was flying in the sky.

“Perfect,” he muttered.

“What is it, darling?” Esme asked trying to reach for the spyglass.

“Something big enough to store three orphans,”

“Like a sack?”

Olaf rolled his eyes. “No...think bigger,”

__________________________________________________________

“We did it!” Violet cried happily as she stepped through the hole in the cell into the courtyard.

Klaus paused to wipe the dust off his glasses before stepping through the hole in the wall. Once he was out of the jail cell, he rushed up and hugged Violet tightly. She jumped at the sudden contact but after a brief moment, she relaxed and hugged her brother back. “ You did it! We escaped!” he cried happily. “ This is the best birthday present ever, Vi!”

Violet gave a small smile. “We’re not out of the woods yet,” she explained. “There’s still plenty of trouble on the horizon. We have to save Sunny and the Quagmires and then find some way out of this vile village.”

Klaus released his older sister form his embrace as he sighed. “You’re right,” he agreed. “The townspeople, Olaf, and Esme will be back any minute now to burn me at the stake,”

Violet ushered for Klaus to follow her to Fowl Fountain as they paced quickly across the courtyard. Both siblings frowned when they saw Fowl Fountain up close. “The fountain looks as solid as can be,” Klaus commented sadly. Fowl Fountain looked entirely impenetrable. The metal crow sat and spat water all over itself as if the idea of Violet and Klaus saving their friends and baby sister made it sick to its stomach.

“He had to get them inside somehow,” Violet pointed out. “Perhaps there’s a secret mechanism that opens a hidden entrance,”

“But we cleaned every inch of this damn fountain for our afternoon chores the other day,” Klaus argued. “We would have noticed while we were scrubbing all those carved feathers.”

“Maybe Isadora gave us a clue in her poems,” Violet suggested.

Klaus quickly took the four scraps out of his pocket. “There must be another clue about how Olaf shoved them in the fountain,”

Klaus read the poems out loud as Violet scratched her head confused.

“You see, ‘this sad beak’ is an odd choice of words, even for a poet,” Klaus explained.

“Also, Isadora doesn’t usually rely on overly florid imagery,” Violet pointed out.

“We jumped to the conclusion that she meant the crows...what if she meant the beak of the Fowl Fountain,” Klaus explained as the two kids stepped on to the edge of the fountain.

Violet looked to Klaus. “Well come on, tall boy,”

“What?”Klaus asked confused.

“You’re taller than me, get on your tippy-toes and reach that beak,” Violet said pointing towards the fountain’s beak.

Klaus sighed and tried his hardest to reach the beak on his own. But it was no use. “If Sunny were here, this would be easier,” he admitted after trying for a long, desperate minute. “I could just lift her,”

Violet smiled at him. “Lift me,”

“What?”

“Lift me,” she repeated holding her arms out.

“Vi...not to insult you...but I am not sporty at all. Sunny is sportier than me,” Klaus explained.

“You’re not even going to try?”

“I’m sorry would you like me to drop you?”

Violet sighed angrily. “Fine,” she said. “ I’ll lift you,”

“I don’t think that will work either,”

“Goddammit, Klaus! Stop arguing with me. We have to try one of these things!” Violet yelled frustrated. “And quickly!”

Klaus sighed and glanced from Violet to the fountain. “Fine, I’ll climb on your shoulders,” he said after contemplating which plan had a better success rate. “You’re stronger than me, but if you absolutely can’t handle my weight on your shoulders, let me know and we’ll try the other way.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Violet said patting her shoulders as she knelt down giving her brother a better chance of getting on top of her shoulders.

“Violet, I’m serious. I don’t want to hurt you,”

“I’ll be fine. If we’re right and they’re in there then I can deal with a little back pain,” she said as Klaus climbed on to his older sister’s shoulders. He wobbled the entire time as she gripped his legs as tightly as she could. She winced in pain as quietly as she could. Doing her best to ignore the extra weight on her shoulders. “Hurry,” she choked out.

“I...almost...got...it,” he strained as he went from kneeling on his sister's shoulders to actually standing up. “Just...a little...higher,” he explained. He gripped the beak but nothing happened. “Violet…”

“...yeah…” she winced as she wobbled from holding up her thirteen-year-old brother.

“It’s not working,” Klaus cried down to her. “I don’t get it. Why ‘beak’ and not ‘crow’ or ‘bird’? Poets choose their words carefully. It has to mean something,”

“Please...tell me...you’re having a brain blast up there….cause you’re getting fucking heavy!” Violet cried desperately.

Klaus rolled his eyes. “Brain blast?” he repeated. “I’m not Jimmy Neutron”

“Close enough!” she yelled.

“‘Inside these letters the eye will see’,” he muttered to himself as he began to recite the poems that he had committed to memory. It took all his concentration to recite the couplets Isadora had sent them while he was teetering back and forth. “That’s a strange way to put it. Why didn’t she write ‘inside these letters I hope you’ll see’ or ‘inside these letters you just might see.’” he asked.

“I don’t fucking know! Maybe we can ask her once we get them out of that damn fountain!” Violet cried. She was trying as hard as she could to steady herself, but the sight of two figures wearing crow-shaped hats coming around a nearby corner did not help her find her balance. “Yo, Neutron! I don’t mean to rush you, but please have your brain blast as quickly as you can! The citizens might be approaching! And I’m not sure how much longer I can hold on!”

Klaus rolled his eyes again at his sister calling him Jimmy Neutron. He repeating the same part of the poem to himself, again and again, closing his eyes so he wouldn’t see the world wobbling around him. “ I got it!” He said finally. But Violet couldn’t hear him over her own scream as her legs gave out sending her toppling to the ground, skinning her knee and losing her grip on Klaus entirely. Luckily, Klaus grabbed a firm grip on to the slippery beak of Fowl Fountain as Violet fell, as the cold water splashed on him, he reached over and hit the eye of the fountain. As he hit the secret button within the fountain’s eye, the eye depressed. With the statue and his hands being wet from the water and the fact that Klaus had barely any upper body strength it didn’t take him long for him to lose his own grip from the fountain as he fell to the ground elbows first, nearly landing on Violet. He rolled on to his back as he looked over his elbows, which had received nasty scrapes matching the ones that Violet received on her knees. The two siblings laid there, on their backs in pain as the fountain creaked as the beak opened as wide as it could, each part of the beak flipping slowly down. Once the beak was entirely opened, the torso of the giant bird began to open as if it were receiving an autopsy. Through the rushing water, the two siblings could see three pairs of hands appear as a young girl climbed down smiling at the two people who opened the fountain. The two siblings laid there and watched as a young boy handed the young girl a small toddler. The young boy then followed the two girls out of the fountain. The three lowered themselves to the ground.

“Vuh!” Sunny shrieked happily from behind the muzzle. “Kluh!”

Isadora placed Sunny on the ground as she ran happily to her siblings, jumping on them happily.

“Violet!” Isadora yelled

“Klaus!” Duncan yelled.

Violet and Klaus smiled at one another as they slowly sat up, ignoring the pain in their knees and elbows. The two older siblings wrapped their arms swiftly and tightly around Sunny for a good few moments before Sunny wiggled in their embrace holding out her arms to indicate for the two Quagmires to join. Duncan and Isadora joined the embrace as Violet and Klaus unwrapped their arms from their baby sister to allow their two friends to join and in that moment...the five orphans were happy and relieved even though they were not out of the woods yet.