#and author has VERY STRONG pie cravings

[diamondsareapearlsbestfriend]

Sans/Toriel 30 Day OTP Challenge: Day Ten

AO3 | Day One | Day Two | Day Three | Day Four | Day Five | Day Six | Day Seven | Day Eight | Day Nine

day ten: flustered

prompt: “Your OTP being flustered. It could be one member, it could be both.“

It was just a pie.

Sans had been over to Toriel's a ton of times – with Papyrus, on his own, for dinner, swapping joke books, helping Frisk with homework, whatever. Today wasn't any different; she'd been promising/threatening to teach him how to bake properly pretty much from the moment they met. Just because he might have accidentally developed some...complicated, possibly not 100% platonic feelings about Toriel, it didn't have to change anything. He hadn't screwed everything up yet, and anyway, it was probably just a phase, like that week he let Papyrus convince him that matching backwards baseball caps were a good idea. No big deal. And those couldn't be butterflies in his stomach when he thought about spending the day with her, because he didn't even have a stomach and if there were butterflies, they'd just fly out of his ribcage, so. No butterflies. No reason for anything to bug him – just two good buds, making baked goods. Sans smirked to himself at the unintentional becoming-a-poet-without-being-previously-aware-of-it, mentally filing it away to tell Toriel later as knocked on the door.

"Knock knock," he called through the door as usual.

"Come in! It's open!" came Frisk's cheerful response. Sans let himself in, sighing and shaking his head at them in (mostly) mock disappointment.

"Kid, you're supposed to ask 'who's there?' Kinda irresponsible to leave the door unlocked like that, don't you think? You know, there are some real weird types around here."

"I know, and most of them are our friends," Frisk pointed out, not incorrectly, without looking away from examining themselves in the hallway mirror. "Anyway, it's obviously you because no one else except Mom actually says "knock knock" when they knock." They grinned as they caught Sans' sockets in the mirror and spun around, striking a pose as he took in what they were wearing: an anime-style school blazer and skirt, topped off with a neon pink wig that almost came down to their knees and a matching pair of huge, fluffy cat ears.

"What do you think? Notice anything different?"

Sans cocked his head. "Hmm...nope, not getting it. Help meow-t here?"

Frisk groaned, burying their head in their hands to stifle a giggle. "That was pawful. Mom!" they yelled up the stairs. "Sans is here!"

"I will just be a few minutes!" Toriel called back. "Tell him to come in and make himself at home!"

"Come in and make yourself at home!" Frisk told him, enthusiastically if unnecessarily. Something buzzed, and they grabbed their phone from their blazer pocket, glancing down at it with concern. "Oops, I gotta go. Alphys will freak out if we're late to the convention – more than she is already, I mean. Tell Mom I'll be back for dinner! Wait, Sans, come here a sec –" Before he could blink, Frisk pulled off their cat ears and slipped the headband over the top of Sans' skull instead, holding out their phone with a triumphant smile. Sans played along, grinning and throwing up some bunny ears behind their head as the camera clicked.

"I'll send it to Mom later! Save me some pie, okay?" Frisk grabbed their ears back before they disappeared through the door in a pink whirlwind, leaving Sans alone in the hallway. He remembered Toriel had a thing about people moving stuff in the kitchen without her, so he hung back, looking at the pictures framing the walls while he waited. There was Toriel and Frisk smiling outside the school; a surprisingly good portrait of that kid with no arms with Frisk's signature scribbled underneath; a still life of some flowers that looked older, but it was hard to tell because they were yellow anyway. Sans was halfway up the stairs looking at them when he heard Toriel...singing? It was more like a soft hum, indecipherable but tuneful snatches of words, or maybe just noises, floating down the stairs, rising and swooping around a melody as soothingly beautiful as Toriel herself. Sans felt the smile on his face growing as he listened to her, and he found himself following the song the rest of the way up the stairs like the call of a Shyren.

"Tori?" It was coming from behind an old-fashioned wooden door; Sans hadn't been upstairs too many times, but he was pretty sure this was her room. He knocked, and the door creaked open. "Are you in –"

The song cut off in a sharp, startled bleat as Sans poked his head around the door and Toriel whirled around –wisps of fire magic dancing in the shower around her, pure white and very naked. She scrambled to cover herself with the shower curtain as Sans slammed the door so fast he barely avoiding taking his own skull off in the process.

"Sorry, Tori, sorry! I thought, uh, I mean, I didn't know you were..." The words tumbled out in an incoherent rush as he felt himself blushing so furiously he had to press a hand to his cheekbone to make sure he wasn't actually on fire, eyes still firmly shut even though there was a whole door between them now.

"No, no, Sans, please, it is not your – ah, silly me, I ought to have locked the door!" Toriel let out a shrill, nervous giggle, her voice rising to a pitch more audible to dogs. "I do apologise for keeping you waiting. I will just be a few minutes more, and then we can..."

"No, right, sure, yeah – you take your time, I'll just be, uh...stairs. Down. Downstairs." Sans cringed at his own incoherent babbling as he headed back down the stairs – seriously, what was he doing? He was supposed to be a lot more chill than this – if he'd walked in on anyone else, he'd just have shrugged it off or thought it was funny. It was funny, sort of, the kind of wacky misunderstanding that happened in those terrible MTT sitcoms Papyrus used to watch all day. Toriel was cool, they'd probably laugh about it later – or just never mention it again, he'd be cool with that too. 

"Hello, Sans!" True to her word, she reappeared barely a minute later, greeting him with a typically warm, though slightly apologetic smile. "Please do excuse the, ah, delay. I thought I had better find some suitable attire for baking." Instead of her royal robes, she was wearing a loose, flowing skirt and her #1 GOAT MOM shirt from Frisk that was maybe a size too small, but she always wore with pride anyway; her cheeks looked just a little pinker than usual, probably from her shower – not that Sans was still thinking about that, or at least he was sure he'd forget in, like, the next five minutes. "Anyway!" she beamed, clapping her hands together excitedly. "I trust you are ready for your..."

"...tu-Toriel?" Sans finished with her; he knew it was coming, but somehow it still hadn't gotten old, the way Toriel's eyes sparkled as she brayed with laughter and nodded approvingly.

"Ah, you are learning already!" she teased back, beckoning him into the kitchen with a twist of her head. "Come – take off your jacket, and we can get started. I mean..." Toriel hesitated for a moment as she caught Sans' sockets, a blush colouring her cheeks as she realised her accidental innuendo, "you do not have to take it off, of course, if you would prefer not to! But it will be easier without your clothes – I mean sleeves – in the way." 

"Heh." Sans grinned back at her, trying to shrug off any lingering awkwardness along with his hoodie, as he slung it over the back of a chair. "Sure, Tori, whatever you say – you're the boss."

"Wonderful." With a sweep of her hand, Toriel turned to the immaculately presented countertop, where all the ingredients were already precisely weighed and laid out in preparation. "In that case, let us begin! First we make the shell. Combine the flour, sugar and butter in that bowl, if you would be so kind."

Sans did as he was told, and they soon settled into a rhythm; it was weirdly soothing, pouring and mixing and breaking eggs while Toriel directed him, reading from the recipe and occasionally nodding and murmuring to herself as she studied his technique.

"Mm-hmm, yes, good...ah, I see." She paused, hovering over Sans' shoulder for a moment as he prodded ineffectively at the sticky mass in the bowl that had yet to turn into anything that looked like pastry with a wooden spoon. "May I?"

"Uh, sure...knock yourself out." Maybe it was all the stirring, but he was starting to feel very warm as Toriel leaned over him, removing the spoon before gently taking his hands and guiding them into the bowl, kneading and squeezing the mixture between their interlinked fingers.

"There, do you see?" she murmured, breath warm against the top of his spine as the dough began to form, soft and sticky under their hands. "Like this – it is a little messy, but do not be afraid to be firm with it. Feel your dough. After all, a good pastry is an essential foundation for the perfect pie – the backbone, one might even say!"

"Heh...right." Sans managed a weak chuckle, even though it was pretty difficult to concentrate on the dough with Toriel's body pressed against his back, the gentle vibration of her laughter through his bones; he could feel his cheekbones heating up as her fur inadvertently caressed his bare forearms, electricity like little pinpricks shooting all the way up his arms and straight to his soul. He wasn't even sure whether to be more relieved or disappointed when Toriel moved away, appraising their handiwork with a satisfied nod. 

"Much better! Now you can roll it out."

Sans scooped up the ball of dough, squishing it experimentally a few times before he laid it out on the countertop and picked up the rolling pin. He attempted to flatten it out, but the dough clung stubbornly first to his hands and then to the rolling pin, making it pretty much impossible to roll it into anything resembling pie-shape. 

"Ah, you may want to use some more flour for this part," Toriel offered, after a few moments watching him wrestle with the dough with her head cocked curiously to one side. "To stop it growing so...attached to you." She smiled and winked when Sans caught her eye, reaching for the flour bag. "Allow me..."

She sprinkled a generous helping of flour over the dough, dusting the countertop, the rolling pin and a little on the top of Sans' skull too, but he was more than okay with it as he flashed her a grateful smile in return. "Hey, you're right - that's a lot better. Thanks, Tori."

"You are most welcome, Sans – that is what I am here for!" She beamed like a proud teacher – which he supposed she was – as he rolled out the dough again and this time it actually stayed in place, enough for Sans to lift it carefully into the pie tin. He glanced back at Toriel for confirmation, who nodded encouragingly, so he started evening it out, pressing the dough with the tip of the rolling pin and his fingers - messily but firmly - as far into the crimped edges as it would go, like the recipe said. Toriel was quiet for a few moments, giving him space to work until Sans stepped back to take a look and she leaned in expectantly.

"Does that look okay to you?" 

"Wonderful!" Toriel clasped her hands together, her eyes lighting up with delight as she looked over his shoulder. "That looks to me like a fine dough indeed. I do believe it is ready for the oven – would you like to do the honours?"

"Don't mind if I dough." It wasn't his best joke, but Toriel still giggled as she made a show of opening the oven door for him; Sans had to admit he never expected to get this excited about pastry, but her enthusiasm was infectious and he could feel himself grinning too, weirdly honoured as he slid the pie carefully into the oven.

"Usually, I would add a touch of fire magic at this point," Toriel added as they closed the door together. "But sometimes it is nice to do things the traditional way, is it not?"

"Sure, traditional is good." Sans agreed as he glanced up from the oven and into her eyes; there was a smudge of flour across her nose, and it made him smile. "Hey, Tori – you, uh, you got something there..."

"Hmm?" Toriel blinked, her crimson eyes widening as Sans reached up, edging forwards onto his tiptoes just a little. She lowered her head to meet him, and the slightest hint of pink seemed to bloom across her now extra-white cheeks as Sans gently brushed his thumb across her nose, making her scrunch it up in an almost unfairly adorable way that made him want to do it again, and again.

"Got it."

"Oh! I see. Thank you." Toriel straightened up, but there was a mischievous edge to her smile, a sudden glint in her eye that was somehow simultaneously alarming and exciting (alarmingly exciting?) – and then she reached out and patted the top of his head, deliberately dusting off the flour and dough debris on her hands. "How rude of me. I suppose I ought to share?"

"Oh – okay, you wanna go?" Sans asked, any attempt at sounding tough probably undermined by the fact that he was laughing too as he shook the sticky flakes of dough from his skull. "Fine, if that's how it is – but I gotta warn ya, Tori, you might be about to have a -"

A blizzard of flour hit Sans right between the sockets before he could finish, and then it was on, both of them shrieking and snorting with laughter as they hurled any and all available foodstuffs across the kitchen at each other like they were Frisk's age. Toriel wielded her flour bag like some kind of snow queen, casting merciless flurries into the air and coating everything in her path, while Sans grabbed whatever he could to defend himself – sugar, cinnamon, the sticky globs of dough still clinging to his hands – until they ended up in a kind of standoff, backed against the counter. Sans was pretty sure he'd got her with a conveniently placed tub of cocoa when she dropped the flour and hurriedly bent down to pick it up – but she somehow slipped past with ninja-fast reflexes before he could touch her, neatly reversing their positions as she caught both of his hands in one of hers, not roughly enough to hurt but effortlessly rendering him helpless as she pinned him back against the counter.

"Oh my – I am sorry," she crowed, a blatant lie going by the triumphant smirk playing on her lips as she dangled the flour bag threateningly just above Sans' head with her other hand, "but what was that you were saying about a bad time...?"

"Okay, okay..." Sans knew she wouldn't actually dump the whole thing on him – even if she was that cruel, it'd be a terrible waste – but he squirmed ineffectively in her grip anyway, because damn, she was strong. She could probably snap him in half if she wanted to, and that...probably shouldn't have been stirring up as many feelings as it was when he caught Toriel's eye, both of them flushed, laughing and panting, "you win, I surrender, uncle. I'll do anything you say – just, please, no more flour."

“Hmm, I thought so.” Toriel released him, smoothing down her skirt and trying to sound stern, but she still had a twinkle in her eye as she glanced around at the state of her kitchen. “Very well, enough of this – we still have a pie to complete, do we not? The work has barely begun!”

She wasn't kidding about that, as they spent the rest of the afternoon dashing between pots of ominously bubbling cream and caramel, pouring and stirring and whisking frantically under Toriel's guidance: "Hmm, that looks a little lumpy. Try raising the heat – not too much, it will burn! Ah, perhaps leave this to me, you can start mixing the eggs over there...you do not think it is supposed to look like that? Well, try tasting it – with a spoon, Sans. You did remember to separate all the yolks, yes? What is that on the floor...?"

But despite being dangerously close to hard work, when Sans pulled out the pie wearing Toriel's way-too-big oven gloves, it was worth it. Because even the delicious aroma of butterscotch wafting temptingly through the room couldn't compete with the way Toriel's face lit up as he revealed their masterpiece, her fangs gleaming as she broke into a wide, dazzling smile.

"Oh my goodness, it looks perfect! Such a lovely colour – a little burn is fine, it adds character  – and a very nice rise. And that smell! Mmm, I can hardly wait to taste it!" Toriel licked her lips as she threw an arm around Sans' shoulders, pulling him into a celebratory hug. "Well done, Sans! Truly, I am impressed with your progress."

"Heh...thanks, Tori." He grinned up at her, flushing a little with pride despite the automatic instinct to shrug off the compliment. "It's not bad, huh? I mean, you helped a lot, but –"

"Oh, nonsense – do not be modest," she interrupted, fondly but firmly, giving him a playful squeeze before they separated and she moved onto collecting the various pots and bowls scattered across the countertop. "You should be proud of yourself. I must admit," she continued, piling them into the sink, "when Papyrus told me about your...first attempt at baking, I was surprised. I did recall you asking for the recipe, but somehow, I did not expect you to be interested in this type of thing."

"You mean the infamous sweet quiche?" Sans met her eyes with a wry smile as he joined her, picking up a few spoons and dropping them into the sink. “Yeah, I know –guess I was finally ready for a change from Grillby's every night. That and, well, Paps always cooks for us, even if it isn't the most...edible – but he tries, y'know? Always has. So I guess I thought maybe it was time to start pulling my weight, too. Make us something nice every once in a while.”

“How sweet.” Toriel glanced over at him, smiling with big, soft eyes that made him a little weak at the patellas. “Well, you have certainly made us something nice, and I do not doubt there will be many more where that came from – if you wish to continue learning, of course. But, for now...” She paused, quickly drying her hands on a tea towel while casting a hopeful look back at the pie. “I would say you have earned a little break, have you not?”

“You saw right through me, Tori.” Sans pulled up a chair, grinning as Toriel eagerly placed two plates on the table and went to bring the pie over – because yeah, of course he wanted to make something nice for Papyrus, But maybe he'd also kind of always wanted to make Toriel proud of him, even back in Snowdin when she was just a mysterious voice behind a door. He wanted to tell her he'd tried her recipe, just to hear what she'd say; back then, obviously, he never thought he'd get to bake it with her, and that it'd be better than anything he imagined, watching Toriel cut the pie into near-perfect triangles with as much care and precision as she took over everything as he sat with his jaw resting on his hand and a warm, fuzzy feeling growing in his soul, so sweet and strong he had to glance down to make sure it wasn't actually glowing through his t-shirt just before Toriel looked up and caught his sockets.

"What are you smiling at?" she asked, raising a suspicious eyebrow but smiling too as she slid a generous portion onto both of their plates.

Sans resisted the temptation to point out that technically he was always smiling, even if he was pretty sure he hadn't actually smiled like this in a long time. "Just the, uh...the pie. It's a great pie. Great lesson, Tori. I really feel like I've learned a lot.”

“If you say so.” Toriel let out a soft chuckle, a little bemused but fond as she dug into the pie. She was so perfect, closing her eyes and sighing in bliss as she took her first bite, and Sans couldn't have wiped the grin from his face if he'd tried, as a heavenly chorus of butterscotch and cinnamon melted in his mouth and he knew for sure – if he didn't already – that he was so, so boned.

But he didn't even care any more, because this – this was so, so worth it.

[twerkinwithhazza]

Pumpkin Seeds

Author’s Note: UH OHHH BACK AGAIN. I’m back yall finally off hiatus all because my phone is broken LOL. Anywho tumblr is a totally different place and most of my mutuals are adulting now. I would love new tumblr friends and I’m gonna try to continue this writing stuff but I’m busy with adult things now lol and it really depends on if you guys like what you see. Please excuse my rustiness this my first imagine in years... literally. I’ll get better with time. This was also slightly edited but I know there bound to be some mistakes. Anyways watch the Golden music video for clear skin and I hope you guys enjoy!  I think it's so adorable that whoever requested this thought this request wouldn't speak to me lol ! It definitely did because this went from a blurb to a full blown imagine.

psst you can read my other work here!

Warnings: smut smut smut and more smut and possible shitty writing, dirty talk, light choking, and some cursing.

Glossary: (y/c/n)= your cousins name + (y/m/n)= your mothers name

Request: hi!!!! if you are wrtiting for Harry please can you do one where missus and Harry are at a family party and have a quickie in the bathroom? don’t worry if it’s not speaking to you lol xxx

Normally you and your husband loved spending time with your families. Harry was always playing a balancing act between filming music videos, doing interviews, writing sessions, and an occasional date night in the house that always involved a Postmates order from your favorite restaurants and the two of you binge-watching Netflix on shuffle. As much as the both of you enjoyed stuffing your face with poke bowls from Poke Papa and watching True Crime stories, it wasn’t exactly romantic or fulfilling for the both of you, just enough to hold you over until his schedule clears up. So when Harry finally got a weekend off, you guys were ecstatic! You spent the week cleaning the house and meal prepping so no Postmates would be needed and Harry used his free time in between interviews for shopping for special toys and pretty lingerie he wanted to see you model for him. Flirty text messages were sent back and forth during small work breaks about your plans for the weekend and now all the two of you had to do was make it Saturday.

You’re not gonna like this...

The 5 words that destroyed you and Harry’s weekend plans. Anne called while you were organizing your closet and announced that her and Gemma, along with your parents and favorite cousins were coming to town to spend time with the two of you. You tried to convince her that maybe a small dinner party at that new fancy restaurant downtown would be a perfect spot for a get together but she was adamant about coming over to cook the two of you a homecooked meal. Breaking the news to Harry was the worst part, he was clearly devastated (you swore you saw the man shed a few tears). Now here you were stuffing your mouth with Anne’s famous juicy cooked duck instead of your husband's juicy di...

“(Y/N) can you pass me the mashed potatoes”

Your dad’s strong yet muffled voice interrupted your train of thought and broke you out of your horny trance as he chowed down on his meal. Pushing the dish over in your dad's direction allowed you the chance to look around and take a glance at Harry who was making small talk with one of your favorite cousins. He was wearing a black button-down shirt, of course with a few buttons loose, and his cross necklace bounced on his chest as he laughed at your cousin's crazy work stories. You focused on his fingers, his infamous rings adorned his hands, you noted that they were slightly damp from eating and the condensation on his glass cup. As you were drinking in his appearance a small damp spot was forming in your panties but given that there were too many eyewitnesses including, yours and his parents so you chose to just clamp your thighs shut and stuff your mouth with more mashed potatoes. 

Harry deserved his credit as a husband. Despite his calm demeanor, he was very well aware of your little ordeal yet still managed to give interview advice to (y/c/n) and compliment your mom’s cocktail mix. He was quite amused by how increasingly frustrated you were becoming. He noted your concentrated face as you munched harshly on a string bean, hands clenching onto the fork for dear life. He decided to do a little temperature check to truly see how far gone you were.

“So what are we thinking for dessert pecan pie or crumble cake ?”, Harry questioned as he stuck his fork in his mouth, pulling it out again once all the gravy was licked clean. Your eyes finally met and you can tell that he was tossing the ball in your court, it was your job to show him how you wanted the game to be played.

“Mmm I don’t know I guess I’ll have some pecan pie but I really wish I had some pumpkin seeds”, you flatly said as you finished sipping your wine, maintaining full eye contact with him.

Pumpkin seeds. You and Harry were “outside of the box” thinkers, you had to be with his life as a celebrity not exactly pairing well with your shared sexual fantasies. You had code words to indicate to each other when you were craving the other one's touch, but you knew that using the same words around friends, family, and other public figures for too long would possibly cause some suspicion. So your code words changed with the seasons, literally. When the leaves started turning that classic golden yellow and auburn, your code words changed thus came the use of the word Pumpkin Seeds.

Gemma and your mom shared a glance, raising their eyebrows in collective confusion.

“Pumpkin seeds.. For dessert ?” Gemma finally burst out., both of your mothers soft laughter followed in the background.

“Heyyy” ,Harry pouted as he bopped Gemma on the nose with some gravy ,“ I have you know Pumpkin Seeds are one of our favorite midnight snacks”. 

“Gross“, Gemma stuck out her tongue and wiped her nose. You couldn't tell whether she was referring to the gravy on her nose, your choice of midnight snacks, Harry’s smug statement followed by a wink at you, or a combination of all three.

“Well we can be concerned with dessert once we break out the baby pictures, I’ve been dying to see the infamous skinny dipping picture (y/m/n) has been telling me about”. Anne clapped her hands together and hopped out of her seat heading to the kitchen. Your mother followed behind but not before instructing you to head up to the attic to retrieve the pictures. You glanced at Harry but he seemed occupied cleaning up the dinner plates with your dad. You let out a frustrated huff and made your way up to the attic to grab the photo albums. 

As you shuffled through old boxes holding Harry’s old tour outfits and your little knickknacks from your travels, you heard the attic door open.

“Pumpkin seeds huh?”, Harry lightly chuckled letting the attic door close and leaning against the door frame. 

You refused to make eye contact with him, continuing to shuffle through the bins locating a few photo albums as you went , “It was only a matter of time Harry and you know it. Our weekend got stolen and we haven’t... ya know in like two weeks. So, yes Harry I want some damn pumpkin seeds.”

You let out a huff. You didn’t mean to come off so sassy and aggressive but you were frustrated… sexually. Your cousin was getting more Harry time in the 3 hour family dinner than you had gotten in the past two weeks. You stacked the photo albums gently on top of each other and cradled them in your arms, finally turning to face your husband but you didn't have to look very far. Harry had closed that gap between the two of you, gripping your face and making you look up at him causing you to drop the albums in shock. 

“Well let’s get you your pumpkin seeds then”

That’s all it took and sparks turned into a flame, you and Harry’s bodies connected and a feverish makeout session broke out. You both were so hungry for each other after weeks of neglects and it just felt so damn good to finally connect. Harry’s wet kisses were making their way down your neck, nipping and sucking as he goes. You knew he was getting into it and normally you would be completely here for it if your kitchen wasn’t flooded with family members waiting to laugh at your baby pictures.

“Baby.. we… fuckkkkk”, You moaned out as Harry popped one of your nipples out of his mouth before moving to nip on the next one. “Baby we can’t your mom is downstairs… we have to go”, you finally let out and glanced down at your husband as pinched your nipples between his finger tips. “When has that ever stopped us”, he slyly laughs. In one swift motion, he turned you around pulling your back into his chest pulling down your skirt. You couldn’t even get words of protest out, Harry had his hands wrapped around your neck and was already freeing himself from his pants and boxers. He pulled your panties to the side and let out a hiss as he watched a string of your arousal stretch from your dripping flower to his fingers.

“Baby please just do something”, you huffed out a soft moan as you waited in anticipation. The grip around your throat tightened as he entered you, both of you letting out a sigh of relief. Harry completely bottomed out inside of you, touching that special spot that only he could. Your walls clenched around him, holding him in snug almost as if your pussy was begging him not to leave. Normally the two you were very vocal during sex from dirty talk to his loud moans and your even louder cries of pleasure. However you both knew that wasn’t possible right now and kept your moans down as much as you could. Harry was not making it easy though and the noise coming from the two of your bodies colliding were basty in the best ways possible. With every thrust of Harry’s hip you could hear your wetness coating Harry dick and as Harry picked up the speed his balls roughly tapped on your clit, only adding to your pleasure. You could barely form thoughts let alone sentence, Harry was literally fucking you silly and using your G-Spot as punching bag for his dick, The sounds and the pleasure were clearly getting to Harry as well, the grip he had on your hips grew tighter and his eyes were squeezed shut. 

“Bloody fucking hell you’re so tight around me, can’t even take it”, he groans and throws his head back as he roughly draws your hips into his. It didn’t even feel like it was possible but Harry picked up the speed of his thrust continuing the assault on your poor needy pussy even further. The pleasure was all too much and that oh so familiar feeling hit the pit of your stomach and you were starting to lose your composure. Your moans were getting increasingly louder and your grip on Harry was growing tighter. Harry knew his wife and he knew your dam was getting closer and closer to breaking and he was determined to get you there. He placed a hand over your mouth and moved his other hands down to your clit rubbing it in slow circles. “ Look at you” he cooed cockily, “Taking me so fucking well like a good girl should. Barely let out a scream ‘cus you don’t want your parents to hear how much of a cock whore you are”. He knew you wouldn’t last long with the way he was talking to you and he was absolutely correct because his words were driving you insane. As the pressure was continued building up in your stomach, you felt the telling twitch in Harry’s dick that let you know he was approaching his end too.

“Gonna give me what I want uh? Gonna cum all over my cock and let me cum in that tight little pussy of yours. You gotta hold it in.. don’t want to leave any drops for our guest to find huh? Gonna be a good girl and hold all my cum in you?”, Harry grunted into your ear as you whimpered against his hands. You were seeing stars and feeling butterflies in the pit of your stomach and you knew it was only a matter of time before you both came undone.” Oh baby”, you whined and your head fell down as the pressure from your stomach finally was released as your orgasm spilled out all over Harry’s dick and thighs. The gushing feeling from your orgasm and your weak whimpers and cries drove Harry overboard, burying his face in your neck and his roughly groaning as he released inside of you. The two of you stayed connected for a bit, thighs stuck together thanks to your shared orgasm with Harry’s arm wrapped around your waist supporting both of your weights up as you composed yourselves. When he finally pulled out of you, you kept every drop he gave you tucked inside your tight walls just as promised. 

“So those Pumpkin Seeds huh”

[seasonsofeverlark]

Pumpkin Pie and Cheese Buns

Author: @evestedic​

Prompt: Hard working coming home for thanksgiving. Stops at the store on the way to pick up the dessert she didn’t bother to make no one will notice anyway and runs into their ex lover. Tries to leave fast but has to take the walk of shame back to grab the cranberries too. Arrives home not just with the cranberries and pie…  [submitted by anonymous]

Rating: T

____________

“God damn it!” Katniss was not happy. 

It was Thanksgiving, which meant she was being forced to spend time with people she didn’t even know.

Why?

Because they’re family, Katniss.

She could hear her Aunt Martha’s voice. 

Why should she care that her cousin was getting married?

Or that her nephew had gotten into college? 

Or that her godfather was slipping her a 20 buck bill while winking an eye at her? 

She wasn’t a total bitch, so she bore with it, but this was people she saw one fucking time per year! 

If it wasn’t for Thanksgiving, she was sure she wouldn’t see them again as they never even called. Nor did she.

But, be that as it may, Prim loved big gatherings and the attention; she was, after all, quite cheerful. Her father also bore with it, although better than her. 

However, who knew? This year her mother was coming with her new boyfriend. 

Ugh, puke… 

And that was why she was there, November the 26th, coming back from work and on her way to Aunt’s Martha’s house. 

Katniss was not happy. 

She had already left the store not five minutes ago, but something kept nagging at the back of her head while she accommodated the bags in the back of her car. 

Of course, being who she was, she had forgotten dessert. The pumpkin pie with maple whipped cream. Sighing and fuming, she went back to the absolute chaos of the aisles. If she arrived at her aunt’s without dessert…well, she would rather face a biblical plague. 

After perusing the dessert stand and seeing everything was completely wiped out‒not even crumbs were left‒she gave up and thought about getting some canned peaches and cherries.  That’s when she heard it…   

“Is that you, Katniss?” 

That voice. 

She had loved it at one point. Now, it was just nails on a chalkboard. 

Turning around, she set her eyes on a huge blonde guy; he had a perfect gym advertisement body, a smirk on his face, and his arm around a blonde girl with the same perfect gym advertisement body. 

“Cato.” 

“Buying for Thanksgiving?”

“No, just came because I was craving some peaches.” 

“Oh.”

Seriously? It was the most direct sarcastic answer ever, and he had actually believed her? 

Katniss rolled her eyes and was about to turn around when the Barbie clone spoke. 

“Is this the one, babe?”

“Yes, baby, that’s her.”

“Oh, I thought she’d be…I don’t know, prettier?”

“She never wanted to put in the effort, baby.”

“She is standing right here. And if working out turns you dumb, I’m glad I didn’t do it.” 

Katniss had gone out with Cato for two years when they were nineteen. Back then, he had been a kind guy, funny and perhaps a bit silly, but very nice, normal. He had asked her out after a college party, and she accepted; the rest was history. 

However, after one year of being together, he began frequenting the campus gym and suddenly started to change. All he could talk about were diets, exercise, and protein. Katniss was all in for a healthier life; hell, she knew if she kept on eating Greasy Sae’s food every other night, she was going to clog her arteries by the time she was 35, but Cato was relentless. He got rid of all of her comfort food and she had been forbidden to eat chicken and meat ever again. Only turkey and fish were allowed, vegetables, no dairy or eggs, no sugar! She was going crazy; Katniss had reached the obscene point of hiding in the bathroom to eat a Snickers bar, only to quickly brush her teeth and rinse with Listerine at least thrice so that her boyfriend wouldn’t taste any trace of chocolate when he kissed her. It was that night when she knew she couldn’t do it anymore. She no longer recognized the guy she had agreed to date or herself, for that matter. So, Katniss decided to end it right then and there. She skipped her next class and went to their dorm only to find him banging the very same Barbie girl who was in front of her in the canned aisle right now. 

Quickest breakup ever. 

He had said it was her fault for not ‘putting in the effort,’ and she hated him for it. 

“Jealousy doesn’t fit you, Katniss. Well,” Cato gave her a once-over, “I doubt anything does. Have you gained weight?” 

“If I have, that wouldn’t be any of your fucking business. What are you doing here? Came to buy something for dinner? I think there’s a celery and mineral water pack on sale.” 

“Still salty because I chose someone better?” Cato shamelessly licked the girl’s ear, making her giggle in an obnoxious way that made Katniss want to gag. 

She didn’t have to stand here and watch this; she-

Was that a hand on her waist?

“Hey, sorry I took so long. I literally had to wrestle this from an old lady.” 

That voice. 

Peeta Mellark was holding onto her waist and smiling that charming smile that could probably tame a wild animal, while proudly presenting a ham to her.

“Um…” Eloquent as always. 

“Oh, sorry. I didn’t know you were with friends.” 

“Yeah, no…Not my friends.” 

“Aren’t you the baker guy? You’re slumming it with the bakery employee?” Cato laughed while Barbie‒Katniss really couldn’t care less about her actual name‒looked at Peeta appreciatively. 

“I haven’t introduced myself,” Peeta said, extending his right hand but not letting Katniss’ waist go. Cato immediately took it, flexing his bicep as he did so, but his expression faltered when he shook Peeta’s hand. “Peeta Mellark, owner of ‘The Cake Lair’. Have you guys ever been?” 

Katniss was confused. 

It wasn’t as if she and Peeta were actually friends. They had talked, yes. She simply loved the pastries he sold, and because of how she had raved about his cheese buns, well…the double entendre put her in an uncomfortable position, but he had only laughed and thanked her for the compliment, as he had, in fact, baked those himself. 

Peeta always made sure to set aside at least two cheese buns for her prior to the end of the day. 

And okay, yeah, they had exchanged numbers and texted from time to time, but nothing deep. It was always things about the weather, the cheese buns, or how Prim was. Did that qualify as being friends? 

Katniss was awful at being a good friend, hence why she only had two: Gale and Madge. Her sister and father didn’t count; they were family. 

Shaking her head, she returned to the present to find that arm still around her and Cato’s face getting red. 

“Just let go, dude.  You’re about to pop a vein.” Peeta chuckled. 

Katniss directed her gaze at their hands; she could see they were both squeezing the hell out of each other. Cato probably thought he could scare Peeta off with his muscles, but he clearly hadn’t seen Peeta shirtless on a hot day, hauling 100-pound flour sacks onto his back as if they were light cargo. Peeta was strong, like ‘I could iron clothes on your stomach’ fit; he just didn’t flaunt it, and Katniss appreciated that.

Cato huffed and let go, and Peeta smiled once more and winked at Barbie, who was giggling like an idiot. 

“So, we should be going soon if we want to make it, Katniss. You know how Aunt Martha gets if we don’t get the groceries in time for her.” 

So yeah, she had told him about her hellish weekend to come last week, but Katniss didn’t think he would remember. 

With his hand still on her waist and her still not shrugging it off, they made to pass Cato and his doll, but, of course, the bodybuilder felt the need to use the sole neuron in his brain. 

“You know you’re just a replacement, right? I mean, she went and looked for the next guy that kinda looked like me because she clearly can’t forget me.” 

Tuck your thumb over your middle finger to make a proper fist. If you wrap your fingers around your thumb, you’re likely going to break it. 

Her father’s words and the boxing lessons came back in a flash, and before Peeta could hold her back, Katniss pivoted on her left foot, momentum aiding her, and connected her first with Cato’s jaw. She wasn’t an expert boxer or anything of the sort; she just liked the exercise, and she was strong. But Katniss must have been lucky enough to hit the sweet spot because Cato dropped to the aisle floor, unconscious. 

“Babe!” Barbie girl screeched, and suddenly, two more gorilla-looking guys were coming to her aid. 

Friends of his, no doubt. 

“Tell your boy toy, next time he wants to bully me to think twice, lest he finds himself beaten up again by a woman,” Katniss spat at the blonde girl. 

“You did this?” A broad and tall black guy asked. He was actually pretty scary, but Katniss held her ground and managed to nod. To her surprise, he chuckled and sort of bowed to her. “He’s an ass. I bet he had it coming. We’ll take care of him.” 

“Thresh! He’s your friend…” Barbie girl actually had tears in her eyes. 

“He’s not. We’re just in the same weightlifting class. And don’t cry; he’ll come to soon. Finnick, help me bring this idiot back.” 

“You must have a mean right hook, hon,” the guy with reddish hair and perfect teeth told Katniss. 

“I do.” She jutted out her chin proudly; her dad had taught her well. 

“Nice to know you have it all sorted out. Katniss, should we go?” Peeta was pulling her a bit, and she let him, both soon finding themselves out in the parking lot, having decided to leave behind the cans and the ham. 

Once they were in front of her car, Katniss did something she rarely did. 

“I’m sorry I cost you your ham.” 

Peeta seemed surprised, but he simply smiled. “That’s okay. There are a lot of hams left, actually; I just needed an excuse to walk up to you.” 

“Why did you do that?” 

“That guy was an ass, and I know you could’ve handled it on your own, but…,” he leaned in a bit and whispered, “doesn’t it feel good to let him know you’re with someone much better now?” 

Katniss couldn’t help it, she laughed. “You’re full of yourself, Mellark!” 

“Hey! I’m a catch, I tell you. Owner of his own bakery, hard-working; I know how to cook and bake, and I’m easy on the eyes, too.” 

“Not to mention, tons and tons of humility.” 

“That, too.” He smiled, and Katniss rolled her eyes, but she really didn’t feel angry with him. She hadn’t needed his help, but he had offered it freely without expecting anything in return. “So, I guess this is where we part ways.” 

“What are your plans for tonight, Peeta?” Katniss suddenly asked, and he was surprised as well. 

“Uhhhh, not much. Bake something? Eat it while watching TV, nothing exciting.” 

“You can come to my Aunt Martha’s, if you want. Prim would love to see you, and this way I can repay your ‘act of kindness’.” 

“Really? You sure it wouldn’t bother you?” 

“If it did, I wouldn’t have asked.” 

“Sure, I’d love to.” 

“Okay, but before that, there’s something I need you to do for me.” 

“What is it?” 

“Can you drive? My right hand is killing me.” 

                                                °•. ✿ .•°

“Why couldn’t you just buy it?” Katniss whined.

“Because I actually enjoy baking. You should know this already.” Peeta chuckled as he handled the mixer. After a few more turns, it seemed everything was ready. “I just need to flour the containers now.” Peeta patted his hands on his apron and went back to the pantry. 

Katniss took her chance. 

She slowly inched her hand forward, her eyes not leaving Peeta’s back, just in case. 

Two more inches and-

“I swear, Katniss, if you’re reaching for that dough I won’t make any cheese buns for a week.”

“You wouldn’t dare!” she exclaimed, shocked. That wasn’t fair! Peeta hadn’t even turned around, but he knew what she had been about to do. 

“Try me, love.” He then approached the table again, watching a grumbling Katniss cross her arms. “You know you can’t have raw dough while pregnant.”

“That’s a stupid rule. I bet it’s invented. How did women manage centuries ago, then?” 

“Oh, I don’t know. They sometimes died intoxicated, so no biggie.” Peeta was serious now. 

“I wouldn’t die over a bit of dough…” She said it under her breath, but he heard.

Peeta sighed, and Katniss felt a pang of regret. Damn him. “Katniss, do we really have to discuss this again? It’s Thanksgiving, and I’d bet my bank account Aunt Martha would come down here and force you to go to the party if you weren’t so-” 

“Go on, finish what you were going to say.” Katniss knew she was so big she might be in need of her own postal code. 

“-tired. You’re carrying twins, and that’s not an easy feat. The only thing she asked for was the pumpkin pie with maple whipped cream.”

“Every fucking year.” 

“She indulges during the holiday.”

“Why not just get one from the bakery?”

“She wants it fresh.” 

“Why doesn’t she come down here and get it herself?”

“You really want your Aunt Martha here? Right now? Today?”

“…No.” Why did Peeta have to be so logical? 

“I know you’re crabby and your feet are probably swelling. Let me put this in the oven, and then I’ll massage them with some of that lavender cream your mother gave you.” 

“And a bath.”

“A massage and a bath, you got it.” 

Peeta, of course, fulfilled his promise and left Katniss so relaxed she fell asleep and didn’t even notice her husband had gone and come back from the Everdeen’s annual Thanksgiving gathering. 

By the time she opened her eyes, he was sitting next to her, reading a book. 

“Hey…did you all get a proper rest?” Peeta put a hand on her belly, smiling. 

“I think so, yeah; they just started moving.” 

“I can feel. Here, let me help you up.” Peeta’s strength was no joke. He could single-handedly lift her up, yes, even when she felt like a whale, and prop her on the bed so she could sit comfortably. “That okay?” 

“Yes, perfect.” 

“Happy anniversary, love.” He presented her with a huge cheese bun, making her laugh.

“Peeta, just because we fucked for the first time four years ago today, doesn’t mean it’s an anniversary.”

“For me it is! Come on, I bet you didn’t think we’d end up doing it in the bathroom that night.” 

“I seriously didn’t.”

“But here we are, and that’s all that matters.” 

Her husband really was the cheesiest person alive, but she secretly adored that part of him. 

“Shut up and let me enjoy my cheese bun.”

“Your wish is my command.” 

[jay-and-dean]

Rescue You  Chapter 12 : December 5

Dean x reader

Summary : My name is Y/n. I’m the outcast of my witch community. This is the story of how I rescued Dean Winchester, the story of how he saved me.

Serie Warnings : Swearing. Injuries. Smut. Fluff. Angst.

Chapter warning : Smut, fluff, violence, swearing, death ?

Words : 3 k

Author note : There will be 14 chapters, the schedule of the editing is added in the Masterlist. If everything goes as planned, I will stick to that schedule.

***Rescue You Masterlist***

***Want to read more ? => MASTERLIST***

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December 5, 10am

             My fingers find this place I love so much, on his stomach, where his skin forms straight folds around his bellybutton when he’s sitting. It’s so soft there. I dig my index in his lower stomach, making him contract his abs, then do it again.

“What are you doing ?” he asks, his hand still in my hair.

I don’t answer and put a kiss just above his navel, my head still resting here. I smile when I find a freckle I didn’t know yet and blow on the blond peach fuzz.

           This moment could be perfect. It could, if there wasn’t horrors in my head. Screams and burning skin smell, guilt and fear. If I wasn’t craving for him, locked with the man I love and desire, unable to make love.

           Dean’s phone rings and I feel the muscles of his body move under me when he stretches his arm to reach it.

“Yeah Sammy ?”

“Hi Dean, how is Y/n ?” I hear his brother answer because of the silence around.

“Smart, beautiful, half naked” Dean answers, making Sam and me chuckle.

“Yeah… right” Sammy says with an audible smile. “I need some of her blood and she has to whisper an incantation, after that, the spell is ready.”

I move and put my chin on Dean’s chest to see him. He raises an eyebrow at me and I nod.

“Okay” my boyfriend says.

“Great, Rowena and I will come to the cabin to get the blood and teach her the incantation, do you need something ?”

“Chocolate” I murmur.

“Yeah, chocolate, pie and beer” Dean orders, pushing a strand of my hair out of my face.

“Of course… Just, try to wear clothes when we show up.”

He hangs up and puts the phone down, then wiggles to lay more, going down on the bed. My chin finds itself close to his tattoo.

“Hi there” he whispers.

“Hi baby” I say, gently moving my head so my lips caress his chest.

“How is it right now ?” he asks.

“Deafening” I sigh. “The voices are telling me that if I eat your heart with an incantation, I could get your physical strength…”

We promised to tell each other everything, so I do. He grimaces.

“Well tell them my heart must be rubbery” he answers, trying to joke as usual.

I crawl a little higher and catch his lips, trying to enjoy him without arousing him. But, as usual, he can’t help but grab my butt through my panties and the covers. He hums and deepens the kiss, one hand grabbing my neck.

           The effect is instantaneous : his breath fasten and his hips jerk up. His nails digging on my ass cheek, he holds back a groan that fades in his throat.

“Dean…” I break the kiss. “We can’t…”

He lets go of me and sighs.

“I know, I’m sorry. You just…” his thumb strokes my lower lip. “You have an effect on me.”

His erection pokes my thigh and I feel slick wet my folds. I want him so bad. He lets his head fall on the pillow and look at the ceiling, his index and thumb playing with a strand of my messy hair.

           I look at his Adam’s apple and at the scruff on his jaw. My nipples harden under the oversized t-shirt he gave me.

“Baby ?” I call with a little smile.

He looks down at me and frowns at my impish look.

           I get up suddenly and he grunts. From where I am, I can see the tent on the cover. I can touch him, I have proven that this is possible ; but my love can’t keep his hands off of me, and that’s a problem, because obviously pleasure makes my guard go down…

           Searching the cabin, I bite my lip.

“What are you doing ?” he asks and I find what I was looking for.

“Close your eyes baby” I say before I turn to him.

“Why ?”

“Dean, close your eyes. You trust me ?” I insist.

“Well I think if you had wanted to kill me, you would have done it a long time ago” he chuckles. “Eyes closed Y/n.”

           I take the ropes and walk back to the bed, straddling him cautiously not to touch his crotch, I coil the rope against the wooden bars of the bed.

“Mh… I don’t think it’s a good idea Y/n” he says, his eyes still closed, probably thinking I have plans to ride him.

“Don’t open your eyes, give me your hands” I say, admiring him.

He doesn’t say anything else, giving me his beautiful hands, I kiss them both and put them above his head. When he feels the ropes against his wrists, his eyes open wide, and his pupils dilate.

“Hey kinky baby, what are you doing ? You know we are in sex probation…”

“Yeah but the real problem is, you can’t resist me” I grin, tightening the ropes so much he hisses.

“Guilty.”

I bend to kiss him, and realize this is a bad idea… What if I had a crisis, he would be tied up and defenseless. What if I forgot and, too turn on, I wanted more ?

You will hurt him.

           I shake those ideas out of my brain by bending to kiss his jaw, his collarbones, his tattoo.

“Y/n…” he moans, his hips jerking up again.

“Relax Dean” I smile to hide my doubts.

           When I reach his sweatpants, I kiss him just above the belt and hear the bed crack, he’s already fighting against the ropes. The idea of my wolf trusting me with his precious body arouses me, and by the time I kiss his length through the fabric, opening my mouth wide to take him gently between my teeth, my panties are ruined.

“Don’t tease me baby… I really can’t take it right now” he pants, making me smile.

I take his pants off slowly, discovering he is not wearing underwear.

           His cock springs free and I immediately grab it to put open-mouth kisses from the base to the top.

“Oh F-fffuck…” he gasps, his beautiful face disappearing between his elbows.

           I won’t lose time, or it will be impossible for me to resist. Making him come hard and fast is the goal.

           I lick my lips to wet them and let my tongue sloppily soak the head of his cock. When I take him in my mouth, I realize he’s way too big for me to go very deep.

Eat him entirely.

I swallow around him but saliva drips on his balls anyway, starting to move my head up and down, I scratch his stomach.

“Y/n…” he moans, his voice an inch higher than usual, and he tugs hard at the rope. “Y/n… Fuck !”

           My hips roll, searching for friction but I focus to stop them. One of my hand holds him, stroking what my mouth can’t reach, the other goes down to his balls.

“Rah !” he cries out. “Baby… You… Damn !”

           My love is a man that says a lot with his touches, but unable to use his hands, he becomes loud, like he was trying to caress me with his words. I love that a little too much. The wooden bed is cracking, ropes barely able to hold back my wolf.

           He is beautiful, his chest reddening, his strong arms fighting against the ropes with visible strength, his hips resisting the urge to thrust up and his thighs contracting. He tries to look at me but his head falls back between his elbows, his back arching a little.

           I want to give him more so I push down, and a sharp pain hits my throat, but I manage to suppress my gag reflex. I did that only once, with Aiden, but he’s not that big.

“Son of a bitch !” Dean gasps, apparently surprised, and it encourages me.

Going even lower, I take him almost completely before choking a little. Letting go, I take a deep inhale and lick his cock, before starting to suck again, moaning around him.

“Baby…” he pants. “Baby, I’m…”

           Closing my eyes, I sink again, opening my throat to him and, suddenly, a loud cracking noise shakes the room. His hands, still tied up together, grab my hair and my eyes roll when he hits deeper than anything ever did. Tears falls off the corner of my eyes and his cock throbs hard.

           He tugs at my hair slightly, like he was trying to make me let go but I only go up until his head is still on my mouth, swallowing hard. In a shaking gasp, he comes. Ropes of hot salty cum fill my mouth in twitches of his cock and low growls in his chest.

 December 5, 2:27pm

             Sam’s right eyebrow raises when he enters, his glare immediately noticing the broken bars of the bed and the ropes next to it. He shakes his head like he wanted to chase an image off of it, and puts the bags on the table, but his eyes fall on Dean’s bruised wrists and he clears his throat.

           We did manage to let things there, not triggering a powers-crisis, but I had to wipe in the bathroom, completely soaked and shaking. Keeping my fingers away from my clit when I changed panties was a struggle, but the voices were still raging, so I had to fight. And Dean had so many love words he drowned the anger storm in it.

“If you forgot pie…” my boyfriend starts but his brother cuts him.

“I didn’t.”

“Where is Rowena ?” I ask, emptying the bags to give Dean the pie and find the chocolate.

“Yeah… She…” Sam hesitates and I look at him. “She didn’t come. She’s… kinda afraid of you, I mean, of this powers.”

I sigh and sit, putting my head in my hands.

“She’s right” I whisper but feel my lover’s hand on my back.

“She’s not. You’re the person I trust the most, screw her” Dean grunts.

“We don’t need her anyway” Sam states, clearing his throat again at his brother’s word. “She gave me everything. Y/n, we just need anyone of your Community, Coven or not, and you will be free.

“Yeah… But who” I think out loud, taking the piece of pie Dean gives me.

“That’s the problem, this community has always been really good at hiding” Sam sighs. “According to my sources, other hunters have killed some of the running witches, I’m not sure there is a lot left in the area…”

Dean takes a big bite of pie and hums, like he wasn’t worried at all, even if I know his brain is going a thousand miles.

           Sam’s phone rings and he frowns before answering.

“Aiden” he says to us and Dean puts is fork. “Yes Aiden ? … What ! … Okay, go hide in the dungeon and don’t make a sound… I’m on my way.”

“What is it” my boyfriend asks, getting up.

“Witches found the bunker, Aiden hid but he says they’re searching everywhere” Sam answers, taking his car keys in his hands.

“We come with you” Dean states, leaving everything on the table.

Sam opens his mouth to say something but Dean cuts him.

“Witches, Sam, if we can get one, we can fix Y/n.”

 December 5, 10pm

             Sam turns off the car lights and parks outside of the garage. The second the car is still, Dean jumps out of it and opens the trunk.

“Witch killing bullet, Y/n, don’t be afraid to use it” he states sternly, giving me a heavy gun and silently showing me how to use it. “The bitches don’t have powers anymore, but don’t let them get close to you.”

“They might have left” Sam frowns. “Seeing we were not here.”

“I don’t think so, I say they’ll be prepared and wait for us, be careful” my boyfriend puts a light kiss on my temple and his back straightens.

He’s in hunter position, and he’s beautiful. Sam gives me the little piece of paper where he wrote the words for the incantation. He made me repeat it a few times in the car, so I learned it by heart, but I take it anyway.

“Remember, I prepared the spell, mixed all the ingredients already, I put it in an empty bottle of whiskey to hide it, you remember where ?” Sam says and I nod. “Only your blood is missing.”

I take a deep breath and remember what he explained in the car.

“At least they aren’t aware we know they’re here…” I state in a sigh, looking at Dean to give me courage.

           Aiden never called back, and Sam didn’t call him, to avoid making his phone ring. He must be dead now, no way they didn’t find him ; I just wish I had a chance to say goodbye.

             Dean pushes the front door open slowly. Everything is quiet. He silently points the right and Sam nods, going down the stairs stealthily. Once in the library, Sam points the bottle to me, and Dean grabs my hand to keep me close to him. He looks like an action movie hero, his gun in his hand, his footsteps mortally quiet, his whole body on alert.

           Suddenly, a shotgun sound echoes and I jump, clinging to Dean in reflex. Sam comes running and I lift my gun in shaking hands.

“Dean” Sam calls and a bullet blows up something behind him.

           My love grunts and I turn to him, blood is soaking his jeans.

“Oh my God baby !” I can’t help but gasp.

He pushes his jacket in a growl and discovers a bullet wound on his lower stomach.

“No no no no no… baby…” I whine trying to touch him but he stops me, hushing me.

“Y/n !” a voice calls me and I lift my eyes.

           I can’t believe it, it’s Ophelia, the woman who hurt Dean in the first place. She is just there, pointing a gun at Dean. The rage inside me is making me dizzy, but I can’t let it blow, because I’m not sure I wouldn’t hurt my love.

“Step back from him” she orders.

“No way” Dean groans but I move back anyway.

“Ophelia… I’m the one you want” I try but she laughs.

“I want him dead as much as I want you dead. Killing you is impossible for now, but I can kill him. Give me those powers, and I will just go.”

“Yes” I say, lifting my hands in surrender. “But only if Sam and Dean are safe.”

“Whatever” she shrugs. “They won’t be a threat anymore anyway.”

           Ophelia was never the sharpest tool in the box, and I’m pretty sure she’s not alone in this. Walking to the bottle, I stay on my guard. I walk pass Sam ; he’s saying nothing and not moving, probably seeing an opportunity there. Dean falls on one knee and my heart breaks. Not again, not him.

Be strong my wolf, I will heal you…

“You” a familiar voice says to Sam. “Move next to your brother.”

My sister. I stare at her with my broken heart in my eyes and my mother joins her. Both pointing their guns at the brothers, they don’t say a word, and barely look at me.

“I shouldn’t have left you live” I groan, my blood boiling.

“I just want my daughter back” my mom whines and a tear of hate falls on my cheek.

           The power is raging, I have to hurry or this place, my lover’s home, will burn to aches. I take the bottle of whiskey and open it, putting the gun down next to me I grab the little knife Dean made me hide in my belt, an cut my arm, cautiously pouring my blood in the bottle.

           Everyone is looking at me. I empty the bottle at my feet, making sure I’m in the middle of it. The liquid turns to black sand.

           Ophelia doesn’t know the last step is commanding her name like when I took the powers, I will use her ignorance to fool her, and only say it once she freed my wolf. The bitch is dead.

           My hair starts to float in the air again and the voices yell. I clear my throat and whisper the incantation. The powers fight back and the voices are like a million people calling me. Every inch of my body hurts again. The lights flicker and my skin starts glowing like lava again. Pain is killing me.

But suddenly… It stops. My hair fall back on my shoulders lazily, the burning fades, the voices die and the pain vanishes. The sand takes fire and disappears.

“And ?” Ophelia calls. “Is that it ?”

“Yes” I nod.

“I don’t feel anything” she groans.

“Oh believe me you will, idiot ! Why do you think I wanted to get rid of it ?” I smile exaggeratedly. “At first it is okay, but the pain is unbearable after the third day” I bluff.

“Kill him” she says with a smile and my heart stops.

           Before I can move my eyes toward him, my mother pushes the trigger and Dean falls back, a bullet in his chest. I can’t scream, my heart in the back of my throat.

Aiden appears behind him, alive, walking freely.

“Y/n…” he tries to look sorry. “You don’t have your powers anymore, you are free…”

Him.

I am sure now, how could I not see it coming… He is the one that let the witches enter. He wants me back so bad. He used them to get me inoffensive again, promising them the powers, at the condition Dean dies…

           I look down at the man I love struggling to breathe, but no rage, no storm can be unleashed to save him now, my powers are already too far gone, I feel them in the air.

Dean coughs and I pant in panic.

Sam holds Dean. I take my gun back in my hand.

           I a split second, I see everything : Ophelia trying to make the gun move with her hand, the surprise on her face when she can’t, the pained look on my wolf’s face.

I point my gun at Aiden, my finger on the trigger.

“Aiden Powell” I state and a blinding light hits him violently, making him stumble.

Boom.

__________________________________

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[ramblings-of-a-mad-cat]

🍄🌻💐🌼 for the ask meme. Either or both characters (or mix-n-match). c: And 💫 for you!

You are a gem, thank you for asking!! 

🍄 What are your OCs favourite snacks? Their favourite comfort food which always cheers them up when they’re down? Favourite meal to make? Do they enjoy baking and cooking and are they any good in the kitchen? 

For Luca - 

I like to imagine that Jacob was low-key the best cook in the family, and that he passed on his secret arts to Luca during their quality time. After he disappeared, Luca was left, more or less, to take care of themself. To make their own dinner, and so on. I’d imagine they’re quite good at traditional, muggle cooking. Their favorite thing to make, and they would do so as a holiday tradition, is Pumpkin Pie. (Treacle Tart got nothing on #BestPie) But as for comfort food, I think it would be as simple as fish n chips, especially since they like any and all things with potato. What really calms them down though, is tea. Chamomile by preference, but any tea will do. They make a habit of drinking it every night before bed. 

For Gail - 

Gail and Jacob do not get along nearly as well as either of them do with Luca. So Gail would not have learned Jacob’s trade, and while it would still fall to her to take on responsibilities that a child shouldn’t have to, the cooking part would not come nearly so easily to her. Fact: Gail burns everything. Including water. She gets easily stressed out and ultimately resorts to involving magic in her cooking, which, while it is a shortcut, tends to result in everything being tasteless. Gail doesn’t have nearly the sweet tooth that Luca has, but she does have a particular weakness for mint chocolate-chip ice cream. She refuses to cry in front of other people, so she needs some comfortable garbage food for when she inevitably lets it all out. One final note - Gail drinks a lot of coffee. Like, a lot. Usually without sweetener. But it’s a fix for her. 

🌻 What little things do they notice about people or the world around them that make them happy? What tiny little treasures do they find in the normal every day that makes the world seem a little brighter for them?

For Luca - 

One of Luca’s greatest strengths lies in their empathy, and how emotionally open they are. As a result, they’re able to notice the minor details in a person, if they spend enough time with them. The way Rowan firmly adjusts their glasses whenever they decide on a new goal. The way Tonks wrinkles her nose when she’s annoyed. Little quirks and habits like that, which help define the people in their life and keep them grounded. Luca lives for the people they’ve grown close to, the found-family that’s been established - especially as they get older and more mature, able to understand the failings and problems of the Fawley family itself. There’s a kind of unique joy in using this observational skill to make their friends feel better, too. Luca often feels like a burden, so if they can engage with a close friend and point out these quirks to them, it can make both parties feel better. Penny having a stressful day? Enter Luca to remind her to take her braids out once classes are over, since she sometimes gets a headache if she keeps them in too long. Chiara has a post-full moon “hangover?” Luca is the one who’s memorized Borf’s schedule and knows where to find them and bring them to her. Little things like this help Luca feel like they’re being helpful, that they belong.

For Gail - 

Gail is simultaneously much more outgoing, and far less open. She engages with people but never gets vulnerable. She’s cheerful and pleasant, but only on a surface level. Gail boxes a lot of her emotions because she operates on a mindset of what is useful, and what isn’t. She might be having a terrible day and need to break down, but that wastes time, and doesn’t accomplish anything. So she buries it. Ignoring her anxiety allows her to come off as quite dauntless, but it’s always borrowed time. Sooner or later, she has to let it out. But when she’s alone and lets her emotions out, it can be quite cleansing. Gail has a strange and unhealthy cycle of managing her stress, letting it build up and then expelling it. Usually in private, unless she manages to find a fix, like Quidditch. But she always feels much better after the fact, and it’s these moments that she looks forward too. Watching the stars as the moonlight shines down on her tear-stained face. Getting that first cup of coffee in the morning after a night of sleeping fitfully. If she has a break-down and trashes her room or breaks her possessions…then repairing them and cleaning up everything can be very therapeutic. The satisfaction of catching the Snitch…that’s a high that she can ride for at least the next several hours. To talk about the “little things” that Gail treasures takes one down a dangerous path. Because while she is by no means an addict…she does have that type of personality. She doesn’t drink at all, period. But if she did…not only would she be a lightweight, she’d very much be in danger of becoming dependent, as alluded to,  she unconsciously leans on “fixes.” 

💐 How does your OC handle being unwell or forced to rest in bed? Who cares for them and in what ways? Does your OC enjoy being doted on or are they a terrible patient? Reversed: is your OC good at taking care of others who are ill or in need?

For Luca - 

Poor Luca has an unfortunate pattern of winding up in the Hospital Wing or otherwise in need of medical care. Usually because of varying mental illnesses that the Wizarding World is entirely baffled by. Sadly, Luca eventually gets somewhat used to waking up in an Infirmary. While I wouldn’t say they enjoy being doted on at all, I also wouldn’t call them a terrible patient - but it just depends on who’s treating them. Being taken care of is partially a relief, but it also invokes Luca’s fear that they are a burden and their sense that they don’t deserve the care they’re getting. As for who would take care of them, I again have to give reference to the ultimate squad, the badger squad. Very likely, assuming it wasn’t Madam Pomfrey or other teachers, Luca would be cared for by Rowan, Penny, Chiara, and Tonks. Post-Year Five, throw Ben in as well. If it was their friends, whom they adore and respect, Luca would likely be a lot more comfortable. If it was the staff of Hogwarts, barring Flitwick, Luca would be very antsy and want to whole ordeal to be over with. They do not trust the majority of their teachers at all. 

Flipping the situation in reverse, we see Luca at their strongest. They were born to be a caretaker, of any sort. To tend to magical creatures, to teach younger, less experiences students..and yes, to heal the sick and the wounded. Granted, Luca doesn’t entirely have the skill-set for Healing, since they’re abysmal at Herbology and only passable at Potions. But both of Luca’s parents were Healers, so they naturally picked up a few things. The main strength they have in looking after those in need really comes from their attitude. Luca is endlessly patient and forgiving to a fault. They might fail in a number of other situations, but this? This is where they shine. 

For Gail - 

Bringing things back around, being bed-ridden or otherwise incapacitated is going to have a strong impact on Gail, but it might depend on the context whether it brings out the best in her, or the worst. Because this girl needs a rest. There is no denying that she could really use a break, but she also occupies herself and distracts herself from her pain by keeping busy. She doesn’t really know how to not be busy. Grinding that to a halt could have unforeseen side-effects. It just depends mainly on how bad her anxiety is. The loss of control will either be a panic-button, or a source of immense relief. Though Gail will never admit is, she actually does like being doted on. She likes getting that kind of attention and being made to feel loved. Suffice it to say, her primary mentors and care-givers never gave her that love. So she craves it without even understanding that she craves it. Meanwhile, Gail has a squad of her own - mainly Rowan, Badeea, Talbott, Barnaby, and on occasion, Ben. If even one of them found her in a less than ideal state, they would not rest until she was well again. However, unlike Luca, Gail has a lot of respect for the staff, and a particular bond with McGonagall. She highly respects Dumbledore, and authority figures in general. So she would feel safe no matter who was in charge of her care.

Gail as a Healer or someone in charge of another person’s care…is again, a situation that would depend highly on the context. Gail is driven and tries to keep things professional, but she deals with emotional context just like anyone else. She has the skill-set that Luca does not. She got Outstandings on all the O.W.L.s that Healers want, and she earned those marks. But what she’s lacking is that inherent sense of kindness and mercy. How careful Gail would be as a caretaker would depend on how much she cared about her patient. If it was someone she didn’t really know, she would likely want to outsource it. If it was someone she disliked or hated…it would be a battle with her own integrity, but she might be inclined to refuse. But if it was Ben who was in trouble? Or Badeea, or Talbott? You better believe Gail would push everyone else aside and take control of the situation herself. She also values family above all else, so if it were Luca or Jacob, she would regard it as her obligation to see things through - no matter what her feelings might be.

🌺 What does your OC do to calm down when they’re scared or after a nightmare? Do they have any special comfort items or need to be reassured by a specific person? How do they handle this if they’re alone?

For Luca -

(It’s like this question was made for the Fawleys.) Luca has, and has always had, severe issues with sleeping. Such problems were exacerbated by a near-death experience with a Lethifold when they were young. It gave them claustophobia, insomnia, and an irrational fear of cloth. They would have night terrors, nightmares, and sleep paralysis. The only thing that pacified these issues was putting an end to sleeping alone. As far back as first year, Luca and their Hufflepuff squad devised a sleeping cycle, where they would partner up to share beds in the night. Had to keep it low-key, since most people wouldn’t get that it was platonic, but it worked wonders. I don’t know if I would say Luca is an extravert, as they definitely don’t seem like the type - but with the right people, they can emotionally heal and deal with things much easier. They’re able to figure things out with their friends, particularly Rowan. I don’t know that I would say they have any comfort items, but they do have “Beatrice Jr” the stuffed puffskein that Beatrice made for them. And they also have a furry, purring companion who is always guarding them. Talking to their loves ones to figure everything out is Luca’s go-to after a mental breakdown or a nightmare. But if they find themselves alone…they’ll either write an unsent letter to someone in their family, or go for a walk. Usually winding up in the Creature Reserve. 

For Gail - 

As I alluded to, she has the unfortunate habit of putting everything in boxes. To keep herself grounded, Gail will frantically try to normalize everything. Come up with an explanation for her issues, even if the explanation is unsound…or she’ll label the issue as a physical problem that needs to be dealt with, and take immediate steps to make that happen. Gail is a low-key control freak with a pathological need to have all of her struggles, well, under control. She manages, because she can’t not manage or admit to herself that she’s drowning. As a result, she rarely asks for help, except from the very small list of people she’s willing to cry in front of. Which consists of family, Ben, and maybe someone like Badeea. Though Gail chooses to isolate herself in dealing with anxiety, it isn’t helping and she knows it. She just can’t admit to herself that she’s desperate for someone to ask if she’s okay, or hug her just a bit longer than needed…because she knows that she’ll burst into tears if someone does. To that end, I think the best thing for Gail would be just that. For her to be reassured by those she trusts, and to be shown that it’s not the end of the world if she lets someone else in. Fun fact, she actually does have a comfort object. Wearing the key to her school trunk around her neck at all times, to prevent anyone from breaking into it - which has happened before. Waking up from a nightmare and grabbing onto the key until it digs into her skin and draws blood…again, it grounds Gail. Helps her slowly come down from an anxiety attack.

💫What is your favourite fact about this character and why?

Gonna discuss them both at once for this one. Frankly, I think my favorite thing about the Fawley twins is that I ended up writing them as twins. In many ways, they feel like two sides of the same coin to me. This is because, while I have several AUs stewing in my head, I keep finding myself reluctant to actually write one where Luca and Gail were raised together. In almost every idea I have, they grew up separately, and didn’t meet until young adulthood. It almost feels like an instrumental, fundamental part of their dynamic.That they yearn for the companionship and connection of having a twin sibling…but they don’t really get that. After all, a twin is a free best friend, right? Well, no. Gail and Luca are similar in some ways, but different in the ways that really matter. They have different values, different habits, different ways of approaching life. They get on each other’s nerves. But ultimately, they do get along. It just depends on the timeline. But I also think it’s telling that Luca adores Jacob and Gail…does care about him, but only because he’s family. She pretty much can’t stand him. Likewise, she can’t stand Tulip, who Luca has always had a soft spot for. She’s much more lawful and has faith in specific values. She’s a pragmatist. Luca keeps things open, and judges things on a case by case basis. Gives peopel the benefit of the doubt. They’re an idealist. 

Luca and Gail aren’t polar opposites, but they’re not Fred and George either. 

Oh boy. That was a lot of fun. Thank you so much!!

[bubble-tea-bunny]

peachy

[sweet pea x reader]

author’s note: got skyrim for switch and evo was this weekend so i’ve been really distracted sorry guys haha. was trying to write a reggie fic but it was giving me some trouble so i wrote this to take a break from it. hopefully that one will be out next. i actually really like the premise and am determined to make it work!   

word count: 2,051

The bell jingles quietly when he comes in. Rain has been pouring all day and it’s best enjoyed from inside Pop’s, where it’s warm and there’s good food and the neon lights bounce off water droplets and the wet cement. In a world of gray the chock’lit shop is a bright red beacon, and maybe if they were strong enough to reach, the lights would paint the clouds red too. Through the roar of the raindrops, if you listen hard enough, you might be able to hear the humming of the tall sign.

Sweet Pea dries his boots on the mat by the door and brushes his hair back, for it had been soaked on the walk over here. But his fingers do little to fix the mess it’s become, and a few strands fall forward again to rest against his forehead. Little water droplets trail down his face that he wipes away before he goes to find Fangs in one of the booths.

You’re taking the order of some customers two tables away and he has to walk past you to get to Fangs. He hears you repeating the dishes they asked for, and you smile when they confirm that it’s all correct. It’s still on your face even as you turn away to head back towards the kitchen, even as you glance up at him when he rounds you on his way to his friend. It doesn’t occur to him to smile back. Not really his thing. (In his defense, there wouldn’t have been time to give one back anyway, since neither of you stopped walking.) But he does glance over his shoulder briefly to look at you again, his brows furrowed. He’s never seen you before.

Fangs confirms it for him the moment he slides into the seat opposite, vinyl squelching with his movements. Seems Pop got a new waitress, he comments, then takes a sip of his cola. She’s cute. Sweet Pea neither confirms nor denies the statement as he instead occupies himself with looking through the menu. The rain outside starts falling harder.

When you come by, notepad out and grabbing the pen tucked behind your ear, his eyes pass over your name tag. [Name]. From what he can tell so far, you wear the name well—soft and sweet, like your lipsticked grin. Maybe it’s practiced, given your job, or maybe it’s genuine. He figures it doesn’t matter either way. It turns people into ice cream on a hot day. They can’t help melting in the midst of it. Fangs is proof enough of that, with the way he’s looking at you. Sweet Pea would laugh if it weren’t his turn to order.

After you’ve left, he looks over at Fangs. “I think you’re drooling,” he teases.

Fangs rolls his eyes. “Shut up.”

There aren’t many people in the diner, so their food doesn’t take long to be prepared. They’re talking about tonight’s meeting at the Wyrm but promptly quiet down about it as you return with what they’ve ordered: a burger and fries for Fangs, and a milkshake and slice of peach pie for Sweet Pea. Enjoy, you say with a smile, and they do.

Fangs is practically inhaling his food, and Sweet Pea watches on in amusement. He hadn’t been particularly hungry, so he’d opted for dessert. His pace is much slower as he neatly cuts off pieces of the pie with his fork before spearing it through and bringing it up to his mouth. It’s perfectly warm, contrasted with the perfect chill of his vanilla milkshake. He’s always had a sweet tooth, and the sweets at Pop’s were the best possible sweets to load up on.

The cherry atop his shake has stained the portion of whipped cream that it rests on, turning it pink, and he plucks it up between thumb and index. Tilting his head back, he lowers the cherry into his mouth and bites it off, then sets the stem off to the side. As he chews, his gaze slides over to you, where you stand at the counter refilling sugar pourers, and his eyes follow the length of your legs, starting from your ankles, up your calves and up past your knees and up still until he reaches your thighs and he can only go halfway before your uniform dress cuts him off, and he’s left wondering what the rest looks like underneath. You seem to feel him watching and glance over at the same moment he swallows, and you grin. The cherry’s aftertaste is pleasant on his tongue and he’s thinking he’d rather have you to sate his sweet tooth instead.

He can try to deny that your presence in the diner has not, in fact, encouraged him to eat there more often, but that’s exactly what it is. Sometimes he comes in alone and sits on one of the stools at the counter, and your smile always seems to get a little bigger when he shows up. He’ll order a burger and some soda and he’ll finish off with a slice of pie—peach, as usual.

You keep him company while he eats, leaning on the counter with both forearms poised in front of you, and he’s trying to ignore the way your stance is pushing up your breasts and the way they strain against the fabric of the dress. He forces himself to look you in the eye and you’re smirking slightly. It’s hard to miss from this distance. And it’s at times like these—when the stares might be getting a little too intense and the tall milkshake glass is empty so he’s looking for another sugary fix fast and the shade of butterscotch on your painted lips makes them look like a prime candidate—that your attention is pulled away by a party of three in one of the booths.

Try not to miss me while I’m gone, you state with a chuckle before you go to help that table. He tries and he’s only really half successful. It’s boring eating in silence, and he hates when you have to check on the other customers. He enjoys having you to himself, hogging you to the point he forgets there’s anyone else here at all.

The scent of peaches reaches his nose as you walk away, and he’s confused because there’s no peach pie in sight. His gaze follows you in silent speculation as he pops another French fry in his mouth. He might be craving peach pie but not enough to hallucinate the smell. And he smirks to himself as he turns back to his plate, the small mystery quickly solved: you smell like his favorite dessert.

It’s your color too. He’d mentioned offhandedly once that the two of you should catch a movie at the drive-in, and you were quick to say yes. The evening he picks you up is the first time he sees you outside of your work uniform—you wear a peach dress. He wonders if it’s purposeful.

“You look good,” he says, turning his attention back on the road as he pulls away from the curb.

You smile lopsidedly, fingering the hem of the dress, fabric soft against the skin of your thighs. “Thanks.”

Tonight the drive-in is showing an old black-and-white flick. Sweet Pea gets a spot in the middle of the lot but a little farther back, since he hadn’t arrived early enough to score one near the front. While you run to the concession stand to grab a soda, he twists the dial on the radio in search of the correct station. Upon your return, a rush of cold air floods the car as you open the door and close it behind you. The ice cubes in your drink clink together as you set it down in the cup holder. Not long after, the parking lot lights dim and the screen begins showing the intro credits.

Sweet Pea isn’t keeping track of how long it is before his eyes start to linger away from the movie and over to you. And it’s not as if the movie is boring. It’s actually really interesting, and it has its funny parts too. But you’re emanating a heat that’s hard to ignore. You haven’t seemed to notice anything, still focused on the film. The lights are bouncing off your face, and he can’t quite tell if that’s what’s causing the brightness in your eyes or if it’s something else.

One of the characters makes another joke and you laugh, and it pulls a smile from him. You glance at him only to find him already watching you, and you tilt your head. “You okay?”

He nods. “Yeah.”

You aren’t satisfied with the response, however. And he’s not surprised. It hadn’t been a very convincing one, and it’s probably written all over his face that there’s something on his mind. Your brows furrow in concern and the smile drops. “You aren’t bored, are you?”

“No, not at all,” he assures. “I’m just… a little distracted.”

This puts the smile back on your face, but it’s slowly morphing into a smirk. Small, but unmistakable. “By what?”

Sweet Pea has his left hand poised on the steering wheel, tapping his fingers on it as he gives you a smirk of his own. “I have a feeling you know by what.”

You laugh and there’s a sparkle in your eye. You turn your body to face him properly and now the projector screen casts half your face in light and half in shadow.  Am I at least a nice distraction? you ask quietly, and the following period of silence is filled with the audio of the film filtering through the radio.

He hums quietly in confirmation, and it sounds almost like a purr. You’re leaning closer to each other without really meaning to and his gaze flickers from your lips up to your eyes as he says in a hushed voice You’re my favorite kind.

Your smile’s sweet enough to give him cavities, but so does the way you taste. Your lips are syrupy and sugary from the cola you’d been sipping. His left hand leaves the steering wheel to tangle itself in your hair. The movie is mere background noise now, and the glare of it turns you into silhouettes for cars farther behind in the lot and maybe they can see you, but neither of you cares. Besides, it’s highly unlikely you’re the only car whose attention has strayed.

You pant heavily and tilt your head back to allow Sweet Pea space as he slides his lips along your jaw. He lays a kiss on the soft spot beneath your ear before continuing down the column of your neck. And the smell of peaches is strong the whole time, making him smirk as he finds your pulse point. When he nips at it, hard enough to make you gasp, equal parts from shock and from pleasure, he’s pretending it’s the hottest day of summer and you’re the prettiest peach in the orchard.

The scent lingers in the car even after he drops you off. Fangs can smell it when he’s in there the next day and he immediately knows what (or rather who) it’s from. “New air freshener?” he inquires with feigned innocence as Sweet Pea gets into the driver’s seat. “Didn’t think you liked peach.”

Sweet Pea closes the door and glances at his friend, who’s smirking widely. He sighs but he’s smiling slightly as he shrugs. “It’s grown on me.”  

It’s raining again today, and as they hit the road, Fangs asks So… Pop’s? and for a few beats it’s just some pop song floating on the air and the pounding of raindrops on the windshield and the squeak of the wipers every several seconds. Where else? Sweet Pea responds, and Fangs chuckles. There really is no better place from which to watch the rain pour. 

At the diner, they’re engulfed in warmth and a cherry neon glow. You come by their table to take their order even though you know it will just be their usuals and you’ve long since memorized what they are, and as Sweet Pea meets your gaze, he decides he’s a bigger fan of the glow on your cheeks.

[crazyblondelife]

My New Way of Eating

Could I please have a May do over please? It seems that I spent the whole month of May either in the hospital, feeling sick, going to the doctor or in pain! After I wrote the last update about how things were going after my appendectomy, I was back at the doctor having fluid drained from below my right lung! I am never sick and this has really taken it’s toll on me mentally as well as physically. I was so thrilled to be finished with my antibiotic, but am now back on antibiotics for a while longer. I’ll find out how long on Wednesday at my appointment with the infectious disease doctor (sounds terrifying). This has been a HUGE wakeup call for me! I want to live the rest of my life feeling good and having the energy to do the things I want to do! It’s all about quality of life. What’s the point in living a long life if you’re too sick and tired to do anything and a burden on the people around you?

I’ve been continuing to read and learn as much as I can about how to eat better and make sure that I’m healthy from now on. I really do believe that what we put in our bodies directly affects our health even more than genetics. Here are a few facts about how our diets have changed over the years in this country!

In this country, we went from eating about 10 pounds of sugar per person, per year in 1800 to 152 pounds of sugar (and 146 pounds of flour) per person, per year today. On average, that’s one pound of sugar every single day! Sugar is added to absolutely everything, including ketchup, so become a label reader!

Sugar is addictive and those sugar loaded foods literally become drugs that disrupt our metabolism and make us fat and sick. Since sugar is so addictive, our brains need to be rewired and this takes work and determination. It would be so easy to stay in the same patterns of eating convenience foods and brushing the facts under the rug, but our quality of life and health depends on our choices at the grocery store.

Let’s send the trillion-dollar junk food industry a message and eat real food. That means foods nature created, which don’t come with barcodes, fake ingredients, or an ingredient list at all. Let’s support local farmers by buying food from farmer’s markets when possible. It’s more nutritious and the money is directly supporting families in your community.

Our brain chemistry believe it or not…regulates our weight and metabolism. There is so much to learn about metabolism. We’ve all been taught that we want a fast metabolism, but actually, the opposite is true. When your metabolism is high, your body is working too hard to break down the bad foods that you’re putting into it. According to Dr. Steven R. Gundry who wrote the longevity paradox, a fast metabolism may not be what you want. ”LONGEVITY MYTH #2 — FASTER METABOLISM = LONGER LIFE

Have you always envied your friends with rocket-speed metabolisms? You know, the friends who can eat anything and still remain rail thin?

Well, the latest studies reveal that, although occasional increases in metabolic rate due to exercise are beneficial, a constantly higher metabolism may be harmful and lead to early mortality. So, the truth is, a lower metabolic rate is actually better for your health.

Life is a marathon. Not a sprint.

If you operate at high energy levels all the time, you’re sure to burn out. You’ll just be putting your body through too much oxidative stress. Of course, if you’re conserving more energy, you’ll likely be able to run longer running at a lower metabolic rate.

As Dr. Gundry says in The Longevity Paradox: It’s better to be a Prius than a Maserati. Don’t you want to be a more efficient fuel burner? Get 50 miles to the gallon instead of only 19? Makes sense, doesn’t it?”

Eating the right foods sends a message to your brain to shut down hunger and cravings so you burn fat and feel great . Sugary, processed foods send the opposite message.

Making the right choices to opt for real, whole, unprocessed foods becomes crucial to ditching the junk food habit, but so do your emotional triggers and emotional health.

Whenever you get a strong desire for a chocolate chip cookie or other junk food, ask yourself two questions: What am I feeling?, and What do I need?. What you need can never be gotten by stuffing your face with junk. Emotional eating as a way of self medicating and whether it’s food or drugs or alcohol, self medicating is never the answer.

Changing lifestyle habits and making better choices isn’t always easy, but if you’re someone who cares about quality of life as you age, it is crucial! You have a chance, right now, to make the decision today to stop and detox, not only from junk food, but also from junk thoughts. We must de-clutter our bodies and our minds in order to live our best lives!

Cutting way back on sugar consumption is one thing that I’ll be working on, but the other and equally important thing is going back to being vegetarian (I will eat fish). I was a vegetarian for 18 years and honestly looking back, I felt better. Maybe it was because I was younger, but I also think it was because I was consciously making better food choices. I had endless energy and don’t ever remember feeling tired or sluggish. According to The Longevity Paradox as well as many many other sources, vegetarians live longer, healthier lives. You can find research that supports nearly anything, but the truth is…when you get down to the facts, no matter whether you eat meat or don’t, it’s about the quality of the food that goes into your body. You can be a vegetarian and eat nothing but M&M’s all day long. If you’re a person who doesn’t want to give up eating meat, consider cutting back to once or twice a week and make sure that the meat you eat comes from a good source, preferably local and organic. To read more about the pros and cons of being vegetarian, read this article from Mind Body Green written by Dr. B.J. Hardick.

Changing the way you eat can be a huge time commitment, but think about it this way…Is your quality of life worth a little bit of time spent planning and cooking meals and being mindful about what goes into your body? It really is that simple!

I’ve also heard the argument that eating more fruits and vegetables and shopping for quality food is more expensive, but I promise… it is much much much cheaper than the doctor bills you’ll receive if you don’t take care of yourself!

If you’re looking for guidance and inspiration, here are some of the books and websites that I feel are very helpful with information as well as recipes and lifestyle suggestions. I believe these sources to be legitimate and give sound advice.

As I’ve mentioned in a previous post, I love anything by Dr. Christiane Northrup. I have had several of her books, Including Women’s Bodies, Women’s Wisdom, for many years and use her as a reference regularly.

I’ve also mentioned The Longevity Paradox by Dr. Steven Gundry - this book will make so much sense if you read it all the way through! Dr. Gundry includes recipes and the science behind intermittent fasting.

The Blue Zones and The Blue Zones Solutions by Dan Buettner - Bestselling author Dan Buettner reveals how to transform your health using smart nutrition, lifestyle, and fitness habits gleaned from longevity research on the diets, eating habits, and lifestyle practices of the communities he's identified as "Blue Zones"—those places with the world's longest-lived, and thus healthiest, people

Website - Dr. B. J. Hardick - organic foodie and fanatic for green living and earthly sustainability. You’ll find recipes and great articles on living a healthy lifestyle.

Some of my favorite cookbooks are A Year In a Vegetarian Kitchen by Jack Bishop, Vegetarian Cooking for Everyone by Deborah Madison, and How to Cook Everything Vegetarian by Mark Bittman.

Having said all of this, I will not be a total crazy fanatic about my diet. If someone offers me a slice of homemade pie or a chocolate chip cookie fresh from the oven, I will say YES! I will also probably have the occasional slice of bacon with a garden fresh tomato in the summer and other “treats”, but for the most part, I will embrace and enjoy being a vegetarian, intermittent faster and all around healthy eater, knowing that I’m doing myself and those who love me the best favor ever!

You might enjoy these healthy recipes from past posts - Cilantro Lime Quinoa Bowls with Salmon, Strawberry Cocoa Energy Balls, Easy and Delicious Vegetarian Chili, and Roasted Carrot and Chickpea Bowls with Avocado.

I just want to mention one more thing. When I was a vegetarian before, I never felt as though I was depriving myself. Vegetables are delicious and there are so many ways to cook them. Combined with beans and grains and occasional pasta, you’ll never miss the meat!

[jeremystrele]

Caring for New Mothers Shouldn’t Stop at Six Weeks, According To Author + Co-Founder of Mama Goodness, Jessica Prescott

Caring for New Mothers Shouldn’t Stop at Six Weeks, According To Author + Co-Founder of Mama Goodness, Jessica Prescott

Family

Ashe Davenport

Cookbook author, postpartum doula and co-founder of Mama Goodness, Jess Prescott, with her two boys Louie and Jude. Photo – Bri Hammond for The Design Files.

Little Jude and Jess reading a book. Photo – Bri Hammond for The Design Files.

Jess and her husband Andy at home in Preston. Photo – Bri Hammond for The Design Files.

Andy, Louie, Jude and Jess in bed! Photo – Bri Hammond for The Design Files.

Jess with Louie, who started school this year. Photo – Bri Hammond for The Design Files.

Jess is a vegan chef who has written multiple coobooks! Photo – Bri Hammond for The Design Files.

The family at their dining table. Photo – Bri Hammond for The Design Files.

Jess letting Jude outside. Photo – Bri Hammond for The Design Files.

Louie checking on the lemons in the backyard. Photo – Bri Hammond for The Design Files.

Jess and Jude cheersing with watermelon! Photo – Bri Hammond for The Design Files.

Jess and Jude having a snack. Photo – Bri Hammond for The Design Files.

What I would have given for a Jess Prescott after I gave birth to my first baby. And my second. And right now, for that matter, as I tow my 3 + 5 year old to daycare and rush to work, only to rush back two hours later with reports of a snotty nose. Then home to the impossible task of working while parenting as my “sick” child climbs mountains of folding yelling for snacks. Infinite, eternal snacks. 

Jess says postpartum is forever. And maybe that’s a healthy way to look at things. Because rates of postpartum depression are at an all-time high. Daycare fees are inordinate. And a third of mothers describe their birth as traumatic. There’s immense pressure to look incredible, have meaningful careers and “hold space” for our kid’s tsunami of emotion. All on Very. Little. Sleep. 

We need all the support we can get. At a policy level, in the workplace, at home, in life. Jess provides that support through Mama Goodness. And teaches us how to ask for it.

Ashe Davenport: There’s pressure on birthing people to “snap back” after the baby arrives, physically, emotionally, socially, etc. How much do you hate that on a scale of 1-100?

Jess Prescott: I don’t ‘hate’ it per se, but I am deeply saddened by it as it is detrimental to the mental and physical health of birthing people, which trickles down to their children, their community, and society at large. Nothing is the same after birth. How can they be when we have gone through one of the most monumental transitions we will ever go through as humans? To grow and birth a baby is a massive undertaking that requires deep rest in the days, weeks and months that follow. Birthing people need to be physically and emotionally nourished, and given the time and space to bond with the living, breathing piece of themselves they have brought into the world. And not worry about whether or not their jeans fit.

My Maternal and Child Health Nurse was most interested in weighing grams and ticking boxes. And my Parents’ Group was grim. What do you think is missing from the standard support systems available to new parents? 

Compassion. Help. FOOD. Raising little humans is just so hard, and even with the best supports in place, sleep deprivation can make the strongest of people unravel. There needs to be more acknowledgment of this, and the narrative needs to shift so that people feel safe admitting they aren’t coping. We need to normalise the challenges that parents of small humans go through, so that others know how to help, and so that help becomes the norm and not the thing we seek out only when we are at rock bottom.

It also truly baffles me that support tends to only last for 6 or so weeks, and anything beyond that is considered indulgent. After the meal train runs out and the doula and midwife visits stop, we are left on our own with a tiny baby and sometimes multiple other children. Most babies are still waking multiple times in the night and we are unable to put them down in the day time, not even to shower or fix ourselves something to eat. Time after time, I’ve seen new mums struggle with this as I bid them farewell at my final Postpartum Doula visit. There is a sense of bewilderment as they wonder how they will survive the days alone after feeding their hungry little babies all night now that partners have gone back to work and all paid support has come to a bittersweet end. Society needs to change its view of mothers so that they are shown the reverence they deserve, rather than being cast aside until they are able to rejoin the workforce.

I notice a lot of people’s eyes glaze over when I talk about motherhood. Either that or they’re completely horrified. How do you respond to that?

Haha oh the eye glaze. I mean, I get it. They have different interests to me and that’s ok. I’m not sure I was overly excited about the children of strangers before I was a mother myself. Now I understand that to most people, our children are an extension of ourselves, and when people pay attention to our kids or our boring stories about our kids, it is deeply validating. People who GET that are very special. 

As for the horror, well, I remind them that the love outweighs it all. It really does. It doesn’t make sense until you know that love yourself, but it does. Motherhood is the most deeply humbling journey I have ever been on, and it has added a depth to my character that I am grateful for, even on the hardest of days.

Social media: friend or sadist to a vulnerable parent craving connection/visibility? 

Both! We are very lucky to have access to so much information and connection at our fingertips and I know I’m not alone when I say that Instagram made the endless hours of breastfeeding more bearable. But it is up to us to curate our feed. If someone makes us feel yuck, either unfollow or mute them. We owe no explanation to anyone except ourselves.

I burned with shame at the thought of someone knowing I wasn’t coping. What would you say to that new parent who desperately needs help, but refuses to admit it?

Oh gosh, I wish you could see how hard it is for everyone, that you are not alone in your struggles and that even that ‘perfect mum’ to whom everything comes effortlessly is struggling. Everyone is struggling in their own way, even non-parents. It’s ok to need help. It’s normal to need help. How this help looks will be different for everyone but you are not alone. It is FUCKING HARD to raise a family.  It’s not something we were ever supposed to do alone, so to feel like you need help means there is something RIGHT with you, not something wrong.

I also want to add that postpartum depression is most commonly diagnosed when the firstborn child is 4 years old – regardless of whether subsequent children are born. Keep checking in on your friends, people. Especially the strong ones and even when their babies aren’t babies anymore.

How do you hope a new mum feels after a delivery from Mama Goodness? 

Loved. Seen. Relieved. Overjoyed. Like a giant weight has been lifted off their shoulders. That they can rest easy knowing that meals and snacks are taken care of for the next few days, and that everything they consume will be bringing them maximum nutrition. Like they are a part of our village.

What’s the last miniature joy you experienced?

Oh, they are all around me! This morning when Andy handed me my coffee. Every morning when Jude says ‘you have a good sweep mama?’ as he wraps his little body around mine. Or when he grabs my face and says ‘I wuv you so much’ followed by ‘I wuv your hair’.

How should people support new mums when they are visiting – What are the visitor ‘do’s and don’ts’ for 0-6 weeks postpartum?

Don’t expect to visit in the first couple of weeks. It is such a tender and raw time, most people have no idea what day or time it is and are still bonding with their baby and learning to breastfeed. If you are lucky enough to receive an invite over, bring food. Send a message when you’re on your way, reminding them that they don’t need to tidy before you come, and asking if they need anything. Even if they say no, ALWAYS BRING FOOD. Only stay for a maximum of an hour and make sure you wash your hands but don’t for one minute expect to hold the baby, unless they ask you to so that they can shower/go to the bathroom/play with their toddler/nap. Make them a tea and wash any dishes in the sink while you are at it. Ask how you can help. Give heaps of attention to their other children. Don’t be late, they probably have naps and midwife visits scheduled around your visit.

And 6+ weeks postpartum?

Again, food. Don’t expect that because the birthing person is past that 6 week mark they are miraculously able to resume their old life. Getting out of the house with a small child is a full time job. Offer to go to them, unless they are desperate for an outing in which case, invite them over and send them home with food. Tell them how amazing and beautiful they are, tell them you are in awe of them, and ask them how they are TRULY doing. 

Did I mention you should always give a person with a new baby FOOD??!! Even when they have a 6 or 9 month old, they need food!

What food should we bring to a friend who has just had a baby?

Anything that’s easy to digest, can be eaten with one hand and can be frozen if their fridge is full already (lucky them!). Think soups, stews, lasagna, cottage pie etc. To me, a perfect food hamper contains a lasagna, a soup, a loaf of bread, something sweet such as chocolate or cookies, and tea. Of course you can always just order a pack from Mama Goodness. But seriously, even a pie from your local bakery will be appreciated. New mums are HUNGRY!

FAMILY FAVOURITES

Family cafe

It’s not really a café, but a small Turkish bakery that my family frequents – Tammy’s at the Preston market. Tammy is the loveliest person and she is vegan which means there are endless vegan options as well as non-vegan options. The mushroom and cheese borek is heaven and if you are lucky enough to visit on a day when Tammy has made dolmas, you are in for a treat. I love it so much. There are so many great cafes in Melbourne but none of them feel like home the way Tammy’s does.

‘Me time’ activity?

Pilates, baby!

Sunday morning breakfast ritual? 

Sunday mornings are just as chaotic as the rest of the week as the boys still want brekky at 6am which is way too early for me to eat. But on a good week, I make sourdough on Saturday which I then bake first thing Sunday morning. By the time it’s ready to eat, the boys are ready for their second breakfast and we sit together and eat endless slices. They call it ‘mama bread’. It’s really special.

Weekend getaway?

Anglesea used to be our go-to because my in-laws had a house there. They recently sold, which is bittersweet because we truly love that part of Victoria, but it means we are being forced to explore other pockets of regional Victoria. I have to say, I am yet to be disappointed, we are really very lucky here and manage to find yum food and good op shops wherever we go.

Head to Mama Goodness to book one of Jess’s postpartum doula or food services. And you can check out her brilliant cookbooks, Vegan One-Pot Wonders, Vegan Goodness & Vegan Goodness: Feasts

Need support with perinatal anxiety and depression? You’re not alone. This is a serious illness that affects up to one in five expecting or new mums and one in ten expecting or new dads. PANDA (Perinatal Anxiety & Depression Australia) is a great resource for women, men and families who need help – click here to find out more.  

[cruelafterglow]

i've felt some pain, i've seen some things, (but I'm here now)

title: i’ve felt some pain, i’ve seen some things, (but I’m here now) pairing: hannah abbott x susan bones w: 1744 words author notes: secret santa gift for @winterylovegood , hope you will love it honey cause I have loved being your secret santa ao3 and ff.net

Stress baking was a common thing for Susan Bones. Exams? Stress baking. Bad breakup with some silly guys? Stress Baking. Aunt murdered by a supremacist wizard? Stress baking.

(it was all flour and sugar, and knots in her belly)

On the contrary, Hannah Abbott hated baking, because it was her mother’s thing. She had not set foot in the kitchen seen her death. It was too much, seeing the wizard recipes book on the counter and the rolling pin and smelling the cinnamon and pumpkin odor when she opened the cupboard to take a glass. It was too much.

So, when seven months after the end of the war (there is voluntaries team for rebuilding Hogwarts and so many commemorations to which she can’t go because she can’t even make it out of her bed, there are marble memorials and snow on the roofs) Susan proposed her doing Christmas baking together, she had to say no.

She had to, hadn’t she? There was this small cute girl on her doorstep, honey-like hair braided and a smile like liquid sun, and she said no.

“No, Susan”. She had never told such things to her, her best friend, before. She could not even imagine it happen one more time. It was too painful to watch: her solar face falling apart (in spite of her red nose from a cold and of the huge scarves rolled up around her neck), incomprehension shining in her eyes, her mouth mid-opened like if she was about to have the last word, to make her said yes.

Hannah closed and locked the door before she has the chance to.

“If you try an alohomora on my door, Susan, I will jinx you” she warned her with a shaking voice.

“What is going on, Hannah, for Merlin’s sake! Can you stop acting like a child and open this freaking door? Have I done something to upset you like this? Is it because we did not go shopping last week because…”

The fact was that Susan had preferred to talk to a thousand of strangers about the Second Wizarding War, like the freaking heroine that she was, rather than spending her afternoon with her.

But some things were sacred. Shopping afternoons were not, but baking was.

“It is not.” sighed Hannah, sitting on the hard floor, her back against the door. Somehow, she imagined Hannah doing the same thing, on the other side.

“It is because of the baking?” asked Hannah slowly like she was picking her words, carefully.

Susan knew she was.

“It’s my mom…she made these cookies for Christmas. In shape of stars, trees and snowmen. Lots of sugar, a bit dry but chewy when you ate it with a glass of milk”

There was a silence. Long, soft. Hannah closed her eyes, and she could almost feel it, smell it.

The past. A laugh. A hand brushing her face with nothing but pure love. Cookie dough.

“Your mom, did she bake with her wand?”

“Yes. It was amazing.”

“I could teach you the muggle way. My way.” said Susan after a while. “If you want of course, because I would never force you to do something you’re uncomfortable with.” she added precipitately.

Deeply, in the core, Hannah knew it was what she needed. But she could not push herself to open this door and to let come in the reality, the grief, the pain of a kitchen who will never be her mom’s anymore.

“It’s almost Christmas, Hannah. You need to open this door.”

Inside, the girl remarked that she had not answered. But she was not able to do so yet.

“I do not see the causality between Christmas and me opening my door”

“It’s about charity. You cannot let me freeze to death outside.”

Hannah grinned. She tried to reprimand this but it was stronger than her. Susan was stronger than her, a true fighter.

Hannah stood up.

(She did not know this much about charity. Yes, she was a Hufflepuff. Yes, she was kind and good, hard-worker and generous but –)

She opened the door. Suddenly Susan hugged her. It was not soft like when they were younger, it was not calming like when they were grieving and crying and shaking because of the fear and the dead everywhere.

It was good. She was sweet and soft, Susan, but not then. At this precise moment when their bodies collided, it was hard and strong.

“fuck Susan, I think you’re trying to kill me with your love, right now” the other girl managed to whisper. “I appreciate that, but you are going to break me something.”

“Nothing that love can’t heal.”

Susan did not let her go, did not reduce the pressure of her warm body against hers. Hanna felt her check burning, far too conscious of Susan’s hands and yellow painted nails slowly rubbing her back.

Nothing that love can’t heal. It was what Susan was aimed at: heal people and their broken bones and their bruises and their dislocated bodies.

But their hearts?

“Susan…” she mumbles.

Her perfume was all over her face, Hannah’s chin deeply buried in her shoulder. Inhaling deeply, she noticed a mark, a pinkish scar, where her pull did not cover her bare skin.

She put her lips on this nightmare’s present, hiding, it, covering it. Hannah wondered if Susan felt it: The lingering sensation of her mouth against a place that used to hurt, to bring her back into the horror.

There’s no gap between them, there’s no distance, there’s nothing but a thousand moves or words that one of the girls could say or do.

But they did not. They did not move, they did not speak.

(Hannah had begun thinking about Susan differently for a while: since the first day of sun after the war. It was a picnic. Flowers in her hair, vodka in a pumpkin juice bottle, and the hard feeling of guilt sinking in their stomachs)

They did not speak until Susan tossed a lock of Hannah’s hair away, behind her ear, making her shivering, melting, a feeling of urgency pulsing in her whole body.

Except that she did not know what exactly was the nature of this emergency. She wanted to let herself go to these feelings.

She needed it. She wanted her.

“Hannah” whispered the brown-haired girl, her eyes flickering. “I want to help you, I want to be there for you. All the time.”

Her hand was still cupping Hannah’s face and each contact send shivers down the blond girl like if a thousand of snowflakes were falling down on her cheeks.

Melting because of the heat of her own body, of her own heart.

“May I?” asked then Susan, her face so close that Hannah could see how long her lashes were.

But Hannah had no words, no answer.

Just a tiny move, so slow like when you’re walking in a dream, towards her that was just enough to break the distance between their bodies.

Leading her towards the kitchen, Hannah lifted her up on the kitchen counter and it was it.

She was kissing Susan, her very first best friend since year one (even before Justin or Ernie), her anchor, her fighter, another survivor.

Sometimes, Susan’s lips brushed Hannah from her pink lips to her collarbone, her neck, her jaw. Sometimes they stopped, just to look at each other (red nose from the cold, red lips from the kiss, red cheeks from the feelings).

A long moment after their first kiss, Susan broke their bodies apart, letting Hannah craving for more.

“We have to Christmas baking together now” she affirmed with a new tenderness in her smile while she straightens her hair with her fingers. Like it’s usual, normal.

Susan wanted it, she wanted it to be her routine. She had always looked up to good things to wake up to, even when the days were dark and the nights were red and grey, stroke by green lethal spells.

It was a good pumpkin pie, a warm scarf, Hannah and her golden soul.

“Will you kiss me like that again if we bake?” Hannah wondered, amused by her own high-pitched tone.

Susan grabbed her shoulder to get down the counter and wandered her brown eyes on the whole kitchen.

“Oh, it will be better than that. Cooking makes everything better”

And it did. It was chocolate flavored all over their faces, flour-fights finishing in tight hugs. After a while, their fists were sore around the rolling pin, their faces twitched because of concentration, wanting their pastries to be better and better and better –

Hannah was not used to using her own hands to cook. To feel the soft dough in her palm while she kneaded it. To whisk flour, egg and sugar in a bowl with a new vigor and a growing desire to make her sweet mom proud of her.

Hannah was not used to using her own hand to cook. It was a whole new set of gestures, from licking her finger tipped with chocolate, to brushing her girlfriend’s hair.

They put the plates in the oven, smiling wider.

(Hint: the cookies were good. Golden and crispy, glazed with hot sugar, filled with melted chocolate or salt caramel.)

This night, they fell asleep at the precise moment when their heads touched the pillows, exhausted by the feelings, the sugary adrenaline.

Holding sticky hands.

Later, when the snow began to melt on the pavement, Hannah decided to accompany Susan to support group.

To understand why she did what she did. To understand what motivated her to bake at night and to hold on her when she was crying in her sleep.

The castle was still worthy of a Danish painting – grey snowy sky, frozen grass, deep dark lake, and a dozen of people swaddled in gloves and scarves and coats, all in shade of grey and icy blue.

She went one day to hear about the traumas of a young girl, a first-year at the time of the Battle of Hogwarts.

She went another day to share her own story. Their story.

And even the days where it was too hard for her to shower, to stand up or to speak, Susan left to the meeting, fighting and healing enough for both of them.

Even when there still was ice and shadow in Hannah’s heart and soul, Susan left a plate of cookies fresh out of the oven for her.

[senkou-lights]

Does AU Senkou have kids?

“Oh, you want to hear about my kids? Well…”

“In total, there are six of them. Most are foals that Onyx and I have adopted, though three of them are related to us biologically, thanks to the wonders of magic!

“First is…”

Oracle Lights and Rampage.

“These are our first two foals. Both of them are related to us biologically, thanks to a little help with magic…” Senkou paused a bit… carefully leaving out exactly how these two were birthed. That was a memory he’d rather not revisit. “Oracle is a sweet young colt, very interested in science and the wonders of magic. Truthfully very intelligent for his age.

“Rampage takes after his father… That is to say, he takes after Onyx in personality. Kind’ve brash, protective, and a tough colt. Even for an Earth pony, he is incredibly strong, so much so that it’s sort of bordering super-pony status. He takes it upon himself to protect Oracle, and this was partially fueled by… past events… that happened in their early life.”

“Next is Wild Spirit. She is a young filly that Onyx honestly “found” and brought home one day, much to my surprise… She’s a huge history buff, constantly running around, and highly imaginative, Wild Spirit kind’ve made sure our hooves were always full, but she’s always a good little filly. Doesn’t really break rules or disrespect her elders… In fact, she idolizes all of my family, since the Unkens were a huge part of history which she is very knowledgeable about.

“Astro Lights. He, um… is kind’ve interesting in his origin. We opened the door one day, and literally found a baby on our front doorstep. It’s kind’ve sad, really… Somepony must’ve just abandoned him there? We alerted the authorities, and let everypony know that we found him, but… Nopony came to claim him. But, it’s not all bad. He’s such a sweetie pie, even if his origin is a mystery… Very quiet, reclusive, and a complete daddy’s colt (He’s my little foal

“Astro has some… strange qualities. He grows very slowly, physically speaking, which have resulted in a few… difficulties. It seems like he’d prefer to be by my side, always craving the attention of his daddy, but I often worry about his lack of friends and social life…

“Next up is Flash Bolt. He’s, um, being very shy in this photo, but… his story is not one I’d like to advertise too much. Flash has always been a good friend of Oracle and Rampage, Onyx and I got used to seeing him come over a lot, even staying the night. One thing I noticed with him is that he seemed to… always be hungry, and often could stay over without needing to ask the permission of his parents… It later turned out he only had a father, and he wasn’t very… active, in Flash’s life.” Senkou frowned, not quite liking to bring up this next part.

“And then.. Flash’s father was… killed. You see, his father was part of the military, and… he simply died in the line of duty. Flash had no where to go, or more specifically, no where he wanted to go. So… we sort’ve took him in. We try to take good care of him, and he does seem quite happy, but… y-yeah…

“Last, but certainly not least, is the youngest of our family. Prismsnow. Just like Oracle and Rampage, she is biologically related to Onyx and me. Right now, she’s just a little baby, but already the sweetest thing. Everypony adores her in our family, especially Astro and Wild.”

“And those are all of my foals! Honestly? I could talk for hours about each and every one of them. I truly love all of my babies… But I’ll spare you the ranting and just leave it at introductions. I certainly wouldn’t mind more questions about my fillies and colts though!”

[iammarylastar]

Warning: racist content, violence and blood.

Chapter 4: Troubles

“Awww! What a gorgeous baby you have there! Boy or girl?”

The lady of the immigration service who was in charge with them couldn’t stop babbling, a wide grin taped on her face.

“She was meant to be a boy. She’s a she!” Stefan showed off, his precious baby girl in his arms.

“What a drop dead gorgeous lady! How old are you Princess?” She dropped her pen to reach out and stroked the fatty calves of the wiggling baby girl.

“She will hit 6 weeks in a few days. She was born on board!”

“She is a beauty! Congratulations and ̀ welcome to Australia!” She nicely said. Australian seemed to be very nice and welcoming people.

“And what’s your name, little angel?”

“Miss Lizzy Gibson! You’re not paid to talk rain and good weather with migrants but to register them.” Her boss coldly called her to order.

Blushing furiously to be scold like a child, the young woman adjusted her glasses up her nose, grabbed her pen back, cleared her throat and asked, a serious frown between her eyebrows:

“OK. Name?”

“Courtney.” Stefan proudly announced, lifting the tiny girl up to tickle her chubby cheek with his nose.

“Well. Your first name Ma'am?” She conscientiously wrote down the precious information.

“Mieke.” She answered, making the woman stop writing.

“Jewish?” She quirked an eyebrow.  The woman nodded shyly but kept her eyes straight on hers.

All the Jewish people who disembarked here in Sydney usually looked exhausted, frightened and lost, averting their gaze down to the floor, trembling in fear to be beaten to death or worse while confessing their religion. They’d often lost everything : family, friends, house, honour and dignity.  But not those two. Three. The young couple seemed happy and blessed, together with that cutie pie the man held lovingly against his chest.

“You?” She asked the man, suddenly hit by his stunning blue gaze, her mouth getting dry before such an handsomeness.

“Stef… Stephen.” He hesitated. And got obviously uncomfortable. Weird.

“And where are you from?” Her job was also to find out traitors or Nazis. Her hierarchy’s instructions were to send any suspicious case to the upper stage, where strong men would roughly get the truth out of them.

“London, England.” The woman firmly uttered.

That made sense, their accent sounded European’s. Most of the candidates to exile came from this troubled part of the world.  The man, as handsome as he looked, was still acting suspiciously, nervously stroking and patting his newborn’s back, shifting from one foot to another in a too fast pace.

Nonetheless, she couldn’t resolve herself to denounce his strange behaviour, promising him and the whole family to the hell of policy questioning, demand in custody during what could be a months-long investigation.

“And I guess you lost your identity papers… whilst the destruction of your house?” She started, her long, meaningful look inviting Mieke to complete the story.

“Yes. An air raid destroyed all the area where we lived. These two suitcases are all we have now. And her.” Mieke spoke, subtly shoving back in her pocket the false documents she had been fiddling for the beginning of their encounter. Covering her husband’s hand with hers, stroking both her man and child, she threw a begging stare at the woman.

“I’m so sorry to hear about such a tragedy. Thanks God you’re safe. And your daughter will have a good life here.”

“Again welcome to Sydney Mr and Mrs Courtney. I wish you the very best, for you and miss… Jesus I forgot to note it!”

Stefan opened his mouth, the woman obviously misunderstood what he had said, but Mieke cut him off.

“Brittany. We thought it could be a nice reminding of where she’s from. It’s out little Bree.” She lied with such self-assurance Stefan thought for one second it was true.

Plus he liked how it sounded. A hint of Brandt, a hint of their past. The perfect name for their baby girl. The perfect mix of their past to start to build their future. A brighter future for them all.

“Owww! How beautiful name you’re wearing darling!” She rambled in awe again, while writing the name down the precious paper. She checked all the items were filled then stamped the three copies, and handed one to Mieke.

“You have me disturbed from my task, little doll. Sorry I can’t resist to kiss her, may I?”

She was already up her chair, walking around her desk. She stopped near Stefan, waiting for permission. He nodded though he felt like she was playing tricks to take his daughter from him and throw him in jail for misspelling his name or caught in the act of lying.

He relaxed a bit whilst crossing the genuine shiny gaze with which she looked at his offspring. Lightly patting the baby girl’s back, she attacked her chubby cheeks, stroking and kissing every pieces she could.

“Ohhh little princess you’re so adorable!” She glanced at Mieke, both women had a large grin taped on their faces. Women. ..

“I’m already fond of her! ”

“Miss Gibson! ” the boss barked from behind them.  “Contact with migrants is totally forbidden, so have I to remind you the consequences of disobey an order?”

Startling, the woman squeezed quickly Stefan’s hand and rushed back to her desk, apologizing to her grumpy boss, her look on the floor.

Sitting down, she gathered the papers spread on her desk, mumbling to the couple.

“Sorry, I couldn’t help it. Was worth the reprimand.” Then spoke louder the usual speech  “Welcome to Australia Mr Courtney. The authority will study your case and you’re waited next month with wife and child to finalize your identity papers and immigration file.”

She wrote down the date and time of the appointment on a squared paper and reached out for Mieke to take it. Miss Gibson winked at the couple, placing her forefinger on her lips to seal whatever secret she wanted to keep from her boss’ ears.

*

Stefan grabbed then yanked at Mieke’s wrist, making her face and bump into him. Stealing her lips in a searing kiss, he pinned her roughly against the wall of their new flat.

Gasping for air, Mieke whispered whilst being nipped and licked along her neck.

“Stefan, what’s that for?”

Not that she was complaining, but it has been a long, stressful day and she craved to test their bed.

They had walked across the whole town, seeking after an address miss Lizzy had scrawled in the back of the appointment note.

128 Kookaburras Street, Sydney. Ask for Cora. Good luck. Lizzy Gibson.

They had finally reach the street, exhausted and soaked in sweat, Mieke’s arms burned and hurt for holding miss Courtney, Stefan’s shoulders and hands dead for lifting the two luggage for miles. Both had worn their heavy woolen coats all the way, under the hard sun of the Australian summer.

Cora was Lizzy’s cousin. She lived in a small house which had an extra tiny flat to rent next door. She was as in love at the first sight with baby Bree as Lizzy had been and more than happy to have that lovely couple as neighbours.

The two floors furnished flat was cozy, there was just a kitchen and a water closet downstairs and a bedroom upstairs. No bathroom here but she nicely offered them to use hers as often as they needed. Plus a free babysitter whenever they want or need to entrust the little girl.

Bree was soon asleep, they manage to make a crib with a blankets and a big basket they borrowed to Cora. Time to settle down and enjoy their new home.  Mieke would happily crash down their bed and sleep for the next three days.

The way her husband grinded against her thigh made her realize they could test all their new bed’s potential.

He grinned against her skin, teasing her:

“I just can’t wait to start our honeymoon babe. ”

“Honeymoon?"  It must be the Australian thick air, they’ve been married for 6 months already and had enjoyed a long, sensual, suave and Earth-shattering honeymoon in London.

"I’ve never got to make love to my new wife.” Lifting her up swiftly from the ground, he walked her towards their bedroom, which he intended to fully take advantage of.

“Come here, Mrs Courtney, let’s have some fun in there.”

*

Unfortunately, all the money they had saved wasn’t worth that much then.  Untoward side effect of an economy being in war. Marvin provided a job on the docks to Stefan, they needed arms to unload the cargos down the ship. After only three days of getting up at the crack of dawn and lifting too much heavy stuff till sunset, Stefan had to forfeit, the wound on his stomach hurt like a bitch and he got fever, which had Mieke worried to death.

Marvin worried too and strictly forbad Stefan to come back to work. He promised him to find a job more appropriate, like truck driver or foreman but in no case he would want to see Stefan lifting heavy boxes.

That stubborn German insisted to leave the bed and have his job back. He had to afford the rent and refused to see Mieke forced to leave their daughter to work herself to death.

“I’m not the one who’s dying for working my ass off.” She snapped at him when he wretchedly fell on the floor, too weak to stand up straight.

“Stop scolding me woman. You’d better bring your little ass here and give me a hand to get up.” He laughed when she wiggled her ass before his nose, pretty sure it could help him to get better.

Pulling on his hand, she managed to have him up, letting him lean heavily on her shoulder. Stefan stumbled back, hooking his arms around her waist, making them both tumble on the bed. He rolled over her, hissing from some pain coming from his abdomen.

She laughed out loud when feeling his not-weak-anymore member which was grinding against her belly.

“Let me practice you once or twice. It will help to recover faster.” He teased in her ear, biting on her neck.

“Word.” She just uttered, before being kissed roughly and hearing her panties torn and thrown to the side.

* They got up early that day. They were expected at the Immigration department to get their official Australian documents as political refugees.  They were registered as English citizen and with a job and respectable situation, it won’t be long before they got their Australian citizenship. Technically, Courtney  -damn her name is Brittany now- could be considerate as an Aussie, like they say Down Under, the boat she was born on flew the Australian flag. To tell the truth, none of them really cared. As long as they were together, a roof over their heads, happiness filling their plates.

New name, new start, new life.

They celebrated that day by having one of the best sex they’d ever had,  laughing between their sighs of pleasure, him tickling her sides while she was purposely leaving marks on his neck.

Had he been aware it was the last time he was making love to his wife, he would have made it last longer. He would have been more careful to record her slightest moans, the feeling of her lips on him, the softness of her skin and curves. Every line of her beautiful face.

Wails coming from the crib forced them to get out of bed, and get ready for their appointment.

Knock, knock.

Stefan quickly put a shirt on and walked downstairs to open the door to this unexpected visitor. Probably Cora, their neighbour, who was used to bring them extra veggies or bottle of milk she had. Or someone turned angry by their loud screams of their latest ecstasy. He chuckled at the thought as he grabbed the doorknob.

“Mr Stephen Courtney? "  Two men all suited in seriousness and black uniforms were standing on the threshold, papers in hand.

"Yes?”

He thought Australian authorities were so kind to bring them the documents at home. It would keep them from a long walk across the city; Rain was beginning to fall, and he wouldn’t want Courtney  -Bree, he wasn’t used to call her that- to be soaked and grumpy. He drew a filthy smirk on his face; he could put the baby back in her bed and Mieke back to their.

“Does a certain Captain Stefan Brandt mean something to you, Mr. Courtney?” The man asked.

His heart stopped. His mouth got dry. His grip tightened on the knob, his knees getting weak for a second.

“No.” He curtly replied.

Mieke popped up behind him, and stopped the baby talk she was singing to Courtney. Bree.

“We were talked a German SS officer by the name of Stefan Brandt had arrived by sea with wife and kid, and tries to hide behind false name here in Sydney.”

Despite the stabs in his guts, Stefan  -Stephen!- stood up straight, poker face.

“I’m sorry I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I’m afraid I can’t accept your answer Mr. Courtney. The sailor who spit out the information was pretty clear: a tall dark blond male with blue eyes and a damn pretty brunette who gave birth in the ship to a lovely baby girl, about 6 weeks ago. How old is your baby girl Mr Courtney? If I’m not mistaken, you told the immigration service lady she was born on board.”

Connor.

This stupid Irish was almost dumb with an empty stomach, but completely unable to hold his tongue after three drinks.

Stephen clenched his teeth, and didn’t answer.

Staring coldly behind his shoulder, the man continued :

“Does that pretty lady of yours know about that?”

“No. She doesn’t.” He cut him off.

“If I may, I’d love to hear it from her.” He insisted, one step forward.

“No, you may not."  Stefan stepped back to protect his wife and child.

"Now if you would excuse us, we’re expected.” Stefan grabbed Mieke’s hand, interlocking their fingers together. No. Nobody would divide them.

The man stiffened and reached his arm out, preventing them to walk further out.

“I’m sorry but you’re not going anywhere. You’ll follow us to the police station where we’ll proceed to an official interrogation. I’d like to clear some things up about who you are. Or who you pretend to be.”

Mieke crushed her husband’s hand, holding her breath. No. Not that curse again.  She bit her lips which were going to whisper her husband’s name. She wouldn’t risk making a mistake and jeopardize his chance.

“Baby…” she tried.

The tense filled the air around them and Brittany started wailing, her cries getting louder despite her mother’s attempt to calm her down. Losing battle.

The man in black grinned devilishly. “Think wise, Mr. Courtney or whatever your name is. We ’re empowered to use the force if necessary and there are things nobody here is willing for your wife and your adorable child to witness. Aren’t we?”

Stefan clenched his teeth, jawlines sharp. He could feel Mieke trembled. Following these guys was the smartest thing to do, they had repeated their story again and again, to be ready for a moment like that. They had just pictured they would be settled in an office of the Immigration Department building, not here, on their own household. He nonetheless couldn’t resolve himself to let go off the knob he was pulverizing.

No. He won’t leave his house. He won’t leave his wife. Or his daughter. No way. He won’t allow anyone to jeopardize his family, his happiness. He couldn’t stand to figure out his baby girl growing up without her dad. Never let his devastating childhood happen again.

The man was not known to be patient. He was the head detective of the Sydney police department, in charge with the possibly ‘alien enemy’ cases. He was very skilled to detect the cheaters, he got nose for lies and inconsistencies in the stories that are a complete fabrication. He could worm the truth out of the toughest guy, beating up those rats was his favorite part of his job. He had some Nazis or deserters on his list of prides, and was craving to add this one. As cute as his little family seemed, he wouldn’t fool him. A German wuss and a Jewish princess, he shivered in disgust. He would never allow bad blood invade his country. Australia deserved the best of white, honest people.

The cries of the ashamed mixed-blood baby started to piss him off and the brazen faced standing still in front of him wrecked his nerves. He was the law, he was mandated by the Australian government to take that man for questioning. He had to submit to his authority.

“Please, follow me.” He ordered.

Stefan didn’t even move a finger, but tightened his grip on Mieke. He glanced at her, to snap once again to her gorgeous face, which was wasted by terror. She was clung to her screaming daughter, petrified by the situation.

Couldn’t they just be happy? Left alone, just the three of them?

“Now!” The man barked, grabbing Stefan’s wrist.

Game over.

“Don’t fucking touch me!” Stefan yanked at the man’s grip. He knew he was wrong -oh yes he was- but he saw no other options.

Though the man was short and skinny, he was quick to strongly punch Stefan in the face, then in the guts, obviously used to fight.

Mieke screamed as she witnessed his husband crashing down the floor, grunting loudly as he wrapped his arms on his stomach.

She jumped forward to grab his husband, the baby roaring out in her other arm.  The man bluntly pushed her backward, purposely crashing a foot on Stefan’s hand as he poorly tried to roll on all four.

“Bastard!” He growled between his teeth, the taste of blood invaded his mouth. “Stay away from her!”

The man bent over his face, pressing his heel harder on Stefan’s hand, eliciting a loud rumble from the back of his throat.

“Are you giving me orders, Mr. Courtney? Do you think you’re allowed to open your mouth? I gave you the opportunity to talk lately but you just screwed it up.” He lifted his heel just enough to crash it violently back on Stefan’s hand.

Stefan howled in pain, curling his knees under his chest in a desperate attempt to stand up.

“Down!” He yelled at Stefan, kicking violently in his side again. “You’ll stand up only when I decide you could.”

“No!” Mieke screamed out, kneeling down near him.

The man kicked her roughly in the shoulder, making her fall hard on the floor. Tightening her grip on Courtney not to let her down, Mieke shrieked both in fear and rage.

“FUCK YOU!” Stefan shouted , tugging at the sleeve of the man who was threatening his family.

“Don’t you dare!"  The man lost his nerves and hit Stefan like his fist was a hammer, again and again until his knuckles got red.  Stefan could only glance at Mieke who was soaked in tears, hugging Courtney safely against her chest, rocking her to make her stop crying.

Then the man started kicking relentlessly on Stefan’s belly, smirking at the crack of his ribs. Gasping from a flash of pain, Stefan threw up, breakfast and blood, while hearing in the distance, his brain getting dizzy and confused:

"And consider yourself lucky I won’t throw your Jewish wife and spawn in a camp. They’re all full of rats and black beetles. I don’t want to add more garbage out there.” The man said in his ear, throwing a threatening glance to Mieke.

“Mieke…” Stefan weakly whispered.

The man viciously smirked in contentment.  He had warned him, he was the law. He had power of life and death on strangers, mostly traitors to their countries. He doubted for a second that the guy was a soldier, a captain. He was so weak, despite his large frame and bulging arms.

The woman was still crying , the baby screaming for her little life.

“Shut the fuck up!” He growled at the two females, walking across Stefan’s body, a threatening fist over his head.

Mieke crept back against the wall, hiding her baby girl with her arms. The palm violently hit her face, making her head jerk to the side. Crouching down, the man wiped the tears that soaked her face, letting trails of blood, Stefan’s blood, on her bruised jaw.

“Look at you, poor lamb. Sometimes I feel like the Führer is right. Jewish aren’t better than those dirty natives. You’re even not able to find someone strong enough to protect you.” Narrowing his eyes to scrutinize her face and swollen cheek, he snorted.

“What a shame, you’ve got a damn pretty face. Stay hidden until the bruises disappear and then you could hook a bit to save money.  Pretty Jewish princesses like you make good whores on the docks.”

She averted her eyes from his disgusting lustful stare and locked Stefan’s beaten face. Clenching her trembling jaws not to let a sigh or a sob out, she silently cry watching the waste that was her husband.

Stefan couldn’t move a thing, turning his head to witness that bastard hit his wife was already a miracle. Tears flowing down his face, blood slipping out from his cut mouth, he made a lame attempt to reach out his hand towards her.

“Mieke..” he barely whispered, bubbles of blood spitting from his mouth and nostril.

“DAMMIT! This vermin is hard to knock down!” The man left Mieke to face the nearly unconscious body of that so-called Mr. Courtney.

One last kick in his abs, one last punch on his jaw, one last heart-rending scream from Mieke calling his name covered by his daughter’s cries. Then nothing.

Black out.

@tigpooh67 @jaicourtneyseyes @kenziKen @bookwarm85 @beautifulramblingbrains @jaihardy @badassbaker @pathybo @jojuarez

@singingpeople @pernilleals @beltz2016 @captstefanbrandt  @writingismyhappytime @kiiiimberlyriiiicker1995 @jaihardi @ashtotes @muremlinchen @anditcametopass

@societalfailure

@red-diary

[seasonsofeverlark]

Apple Cinnamon Buns

Author: @hutchhitched​

Prompt: visual prompt [submitted by @mandelion82​]

Rating: T

Summary: Katniss and Prim enjoy a late fall day at a Christmas market when Katniss discovers a booth that sells the most delicious treats and run by a delectable man with deep blue eyes and wavy blonde hair.

Author’s Note: Visual prompt under the cut.

_________

Katniss shivered and tugged her fleece jacket tighter around her shoulders. She was used to being up this early but not surrounded by people at this hour. The sun was barely over the horizon, but Panem’s Harvest Festival was already in full swing. Prim, her little sister, bopped along beside her, a grin on her face, as the Everdeen sisters prepared to take the world by storm.

Or attempt to get ahead on Christmas shopping, at least. It wasn’t that serious.

“Who do you have to shop for?” Prim asked, yawning as she spoke. She wasn’t a morning person, and the fact that she’d pestered Katniss for weeks to attend as well as gotten up early when she didn’t have to was evidence enough the Harvest Festival was important to her.

“Not too many,” Katniss answered, rolling her Christmas list like a movie trailer in her head. “Gale, Mom, Uncle Haymtich, you. The usual.”

“Gale, huh? Is that because…”

“We’re just friends, Prim. I’ve told you that a million times,” Katniss insisted. “I’m not interested in anything else. Neither is he. I’m like his little sister. He doesn’t look at me that way.”

“Maybe you’re not interested in anything else, but I’m about a thousand percent sure that he wants more than friendship from you.”

“Whatever.”

Katniss didn’t mean to be dismissive, but what Prim said just wasn’t true. Gale and she had been best friends for years, and there’d been nothing between them other than a deep friendship the entire time.

“Agree to disagree,” Prim chirped, thoroughly unconcerned. “I have to get something for Mom and Haymitch, too. Let’s work on those, and then we can take off on our own to finish shopping. Sound good?”

“Sure.”

They ambled together, strolling through the stalls, checking out crafts and decorations and all sorts of unusual things Katniss would never have thought would make good gifts until she saw them. They decided on an antique brandy snifter for their uncle and a basket of pampering products for their mother before separating to shop for each other. Katniss had just found and purchased a really cool pocketknife for Gale and the softest pair of cashmere gloves for Prim when she turned the corner and spied a refreshment stand. Her stomach rumbled at the sight.

“Oh, I need some of that,” Katniss murmured, her eyes wide.

She approached slowly, reading signs and sniffing the different aromas that wafted from the stand. Drawn by the promise of something delicious, she drifted close before stopping and staring. She could almost swear she was under a magical spell. Another customer jostled her as she stood, and she shook herself. Just then, she heard a deep voice, sweet and spicy like pumpkin pie.

“Can I help you?”

Katniss locked eyes with the man behind the counter, her eyes captured by his deep blue gaze. Kindness danced there and life and contentment. She wasn’t sure what he was selling, but she wanted all of it.

“I’m— I’m not sure,” she answered, moving a little closer and returning his wide smile. White teeth glimmered behind full, pink, kissable lips. Ashy blonde hair flopped in waves over his forehead, and he tossed his head to get it out of his eyes. Sapphire eyes deep as the mines from which they came sparkled. She wanted to tumble into them and fall forever.

“Hungry? Thirsty?” he asked.

“Yes,” came her immediate response before she blushed bright red. His smirk indicated he understood she’d been talking about another kind of hunger.

“If you want a little something of both, I can make suggestions.”

She nodded, eager for him to keep speaking, craving the sound of the rumbled baritone that filled her ears when he addressed her. Her eyes roved over broad shoulders under red and baby blue flannel sleeves that were rolled up to reveal strong forearms ending in masculine hands with long, tapered fingers. Artist’s hands, she thought. They had to be. When they gestured, she remembered he was talking and snapped to attention.

“Do you like sweet or savory?”

Katniss gaped at him, unable to speak. There was something about the way he’d said the word sweet that made her want to climb over the counter and jump him. Since that was completely inappropriate, she forced herself to answer.

“It depends. I like a little of both.”

His pupils contracted, and he cleared his throat. “Well, we’re known for our apple cinnamon buns, which you can see on the sign down in front. I’d suggest trying one with a scoop of ice cream, but we also have cheese buns if you’d rather try something savory.”

She hesitated, tempted by the idea of cheese buns because they sounded overly delicious, but if they were known for something else, who was she to turn it down?

“I’ll take the apple cinnamon bun, please.”

“Ice cream?”

“I guess?”

He studied her. “Yes, I think so. You’ll enjoy it more that way, I think. Very creamy. Evens out the texture and mixes well with the tartness of the apples. Or we have apple crisp, if that’s more to your liking.”

“No, I like buns,” she blurted and felt her face grow even hotter.

“Funny,” he said with a smile, “so do I. Now, for the drink. That’s harder. We have so many options, and you look like you’d appreciate several of them. My first instinct is apple cider, but that’s a lot of apple going on at once. What about hot chocolate? I think that could be more your thing.”

“I love hot chocolate,” she admitted with a grin. “It’s my favorite.”

“That doesn’t surprise me somehow. You have that look.”

“What look is that?” she asked and was mildly surprised it sounded a little bit like flirting. “Hot? Or Chocolate?”

Blushing furiously, Peeta stammered an answer. “N-no! Just…you… I meant… Yes, hot— That’s not what I meant. More like sweet. With some substance. God, kill me now.”

“Please let me have my bun and sweetness before you’re murdered.”

She ducked her head, embarrassed at her brazenness. What was up with her? This wasn’t her modus operandi with men. Usually, she kept as far from them as possible unless it was Gale. But there was something about this guy. He was gentle and funny and interesting, and she wanted to keep talking to him forever.

Unfortunately, the woman behind her coughed, indicating her impatience, and he hurried to get her food. His co-worker finished with his customer and motioned to the person behind Katniss in line who flashed a glare as she moved up to the register. Katniss didn’t bother to respond, she remained focused on the man warming up the apple cinnamon bun, topping it with a dollop of ice cream, and pouring a cup of hot chocolate. Before he turned back to the register, he counted out a few marshmallows and then added two more to her drink.

“Here you go,” he said. “That’ll be $7.50.”

Katniss fished in her wallet, produced her debit card, and tried to hand it to him. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m so sorry, but we only take cash.”

Her face drained. She didn’t have any on her. She rarely carried it, and she hadn’t even thought about pulling out any to bring with her today.

“I-I don’t have any. I’m so sorry.”

The other customer left with her food, and his co-worker, likely a relative since they were so similar in appearance, slipped out the back of the booth leaving them alone.

“Don’t worry about it,” he urged softly. “It’s my treat.”

“You can’t!” she protested. “I’ll find my sister and see if she has cash. I’m�� This is so humiliating.”

“Hey,” he said, his tone gentle, “it’s my treat. I know you’re going to love this, and word of mouth advertising is worth more than the cost of a bun and drink. Take it. Please.”

“I couldn’t. Seriously.”

“Please. I insist.” She hesitated for several moments, until he confessed, “Please, because if you wait much longer, my brother’s going to be back, and he’ll see what I’m doing. He can be, uh, a bit of a jerk, so you’d really be doing me a favor.”

She inhaled and held it for a beat before accepting his offering. “Thank you, uh…?”

“Peeta,” he said with a smile. “Peeta Mellark. This is my family’s booth.”

“Katniss Everdeen. Merely a customer at Panem’s Harvest Festival.”

“Well, I’m glad you chose to patron us. It’s been a highlight of the weekend, so far.”

Peeta’s brother returned, and he straightened, standing upright instead of leaning toward her over the counter. “Come by again before you leave,” he suggested. “I’d love to meet your sister.”

Katniss backed away with a nod of thanks. He obviously didn’t feel comfortable continuing the conversation with his brother next to him, so she decided to take the win and go. Glancing at the time, she realized she should be thinking about meeting up with Prim soon. First, though, she was going to eat her apple cinnamon bun and drink her hot chocolate.

The first spoonful melted on her tongue, and she released an indecent moan that would have horrified her if she hadn’t been in the throes of an orgasm in her mouth. There wasn’t a word to describe the explosion on her taste buds, but it was something to the effect of every superlative she could imagine. The hot chocolate was even better. She briefly considered selling herself on the street to get another cup.

“What are you doing?” Prim asked when they met up again. Katniss sat in a stupor, high on sugar and calculating how much more she could eat without quadrupling her daily caloric intake.

“How much cash do you have on you?” she demanded, eyes rolling.

Confused, Prim stared at her. “Why?

“There’s this booth. Best thing ever. Have to go back. They only take cash.” The words tumbled out in a half-coherent babble, but she didn’t care. She needed more of what Peeta had given her.

“Okay,” Prim agreed, although she flashed Katniss a look that indicated she thought her sister was losing it.

Katniss bounced to her feet and grabbed her purchases. Dragging Prim along by the hand, she wound through the stalls until she found Peeta’s booth again. He was still there, helping customers with a friendly smile.

“Oh,” Prim breathed. “I get it now. He’s gorgeous.”

“His buns are better.”

“Well, I can’t see them from here, but I’ll take your word for it.”

Katniss smacked her on the arm. Indignant, she snapped, “His apple cinnamon buns! Get your head out of the gutter.”

“Hard to keep the thoughts pure when a guy looks like that.”

“You know what, Prim? You’re absolutely right. He’s stunning. Let’s go get some of that.”

Katniss had every intention of laying her hands on more of Peeta’s buns. With any luck, she’d get his phone number, too.

[mrmichaelchadler]

Alternative Stakes: Debra Granik on Leave No Trace

“I always think that my assignment is to seek out stories that are experienced by people who don't get the ticket for Easy Street.”

This is what writer/director Debra Granik tells me one afternoon in New York, when we settle down to talk about “Leave No Trace”—a quietly aching, lyrical film that tells the story of a father and his young teenage daughter, living off-the-grid away from the eyes and ears of the authorities. Granik’s articulated artistic focus on insular people living on the fringes of society won’t come as a surprise to anyone who’s seen her previous films like “Down to the Bone” and the Oscar-nominated Ozark tale, “Winter’s Bone,” which famously introduced Jennifer Lawrence to the world. The filmmaker expressly isn’t interested in stories that revolve around characters that have everything or are out to seek wealth. “I am interested in the lives of everyday, ordinary Americans,” she explains. “The struggle to have a living wage doesn't come easy. You're ready to work, you want it, you seek it … but it's not like it's just given to you. For whole swaths of people, that map of ‘come along this way, come to college, do this and that,’ isn't offered. It’s a big country, you know?”

“Leave No Trace” is picturesquely set amid the bright and wet landscapes of the Pacific Northwest. The aforementioned father and daughter, Will and Tom (played by Ben Foster and the terrific newcomer Thomasin Harcourt McKenzie, respectively), are based on a real-life family that was first discovered by author Peter Rock in a brief newspaper article. Rock then turned their account into his novel, My Abandonment, filling in many of the blanks the way he imagined them. Then the book came Granik’s way, and she and her co-writer Anne Rosellini further massaged it for screen, imagining their own version of the true story. “There were two producers that had optioned the book, which was published by 2004,” Granik recalls. “And they held it for a while looking for someone to direct. It was a good time for both of us. [My creative screenwriting partner] Anne Rosellini and I read the book and really responded. You play the whole book in your mind's movie screen first: tall trees, moss that was described ... It felt like it was going to be very photogenic and that there would be a lot of texture with reflective surfaces. It was all going to be things that the camera will love.”

A seemingly small film with a big scope, “Leave No Trace” poses deep questions about the veteran experience in America, societal conformism and even responsible parenting. While the individual experiences of two voluntary outcasts trying to survive on their own terms clash with a system not exactly designed to tolerate them, they come at odds with one another, too. A veteran struggling with PTSD, Will tries to do his best as a father despite his personal psychological troubles, and raises Tom not only with practical knowledge, but also through a firm sense of moral code. Meanwhile, Tom finds herself at a guilt-ridden crossroads: on one hand, she wants to be with and support her father. On the other, she craves the simple but safe comforts of a settled-existence. 

Granik calls the daily perils of the unconventional lifestyle, adopted by Will and Tom, “alternative stakes.” “I want to be part of a movement that helps re-establish that stakes can be more diverse,” she reflects. 

I know you've made a documentary, “Stray Dog,” since “Winter’s Bone,” but still, it’s been eight years since your last narrative feature. What took so long? We really missed you.

Thank you. Right after “Winter's Bone,” I had a feature project that I was very interested in and I did a lot of research for it. (Not “Stray Dog”; another film that I'm finishing now.) The narrative script was about a person’s journey after incarceration—they tried to live in a way that keeps them out of jail. But things happen that they get caught up in the same life style and go back to jail. I want to ask, “When does someone not go back to jail?” We know that story; we know how people get caught back up in the criminal justice system, but what we don't know is how people get out, and stay out.

It turned out; it was better suited for documentary. Narrative can tell a sort of more streamlined, cogent story. But “cogent” doesn't allow for all the ands. [There are] a lot of ways that people feel very frustrated with that process and they stick it out. And they withstand setbacks. Who knows how they keep their faith, but they do make it over to the other side. The time that it takes to make the feature is really contingent on the feature being sort of almost ready-made—so coming to a book is more ready-made. You at least have the story that someone sorted out.

One of the things I really love about “Leave No Trace” is the way you handle the stakes the father and daughter are up against. I saw this as a pretty high-stakes survival story about people who could even die. While you opt-in for a consistently peaceful, serene feeling visually, the stakes are always there.

Well I love that you can process and even assign that. I share your feeling—stakes don't have to be the barrel of a gun pressed against someone's head. Stakes don't have to be the threat of being harmed by the violence of another person. You're right. Stakes are, how do you keep your body temperature from reaching a dangerous place if you've gotten wet, or where are you going to go? If your life was working and you were trying to be undetected by society, and then they say, "We need you to come back, you need to be able to come back in," and you feel as though you can't. That's high-stakes; especially if you've got someone else that you're responsible for. So I do really love other people's stories that have those (I don't know what we want to call them) alternative stakes. It’s not the threat of a high jinx crime or someone going into the inner sanctums of the banking system.

It’s something more primal.

Yeah. As we've pyramid-ized so many things; the algorithm has forced us into a really thin line. I think we used to have a big pie of what stakes could be. Social realism was always about the stakes of everyday life. In many countries, the issues around the end of agrarian life and tradition [exist]. [As in,] what does it mean to send people from a village to their first corporate jobs? What does it mean to go from a non-mechanized everyday life to a very mechanized one? Those are diverse stakes. But our appetite got reduced. We're like gladiator culture now; we like one stake. We've gone full circle and I think we probably do it every hundred years or something. It's so tiring.

Perhaps there is an element of escapism in the stakes we choose to care about in big budget entertainment now. But then I see a film like yours and I feel you're grounding us back to our core.

It's true—rent is a stake, right? At the end of every month, there's a huge amount of people that need to worry about whether they've got enough money to stretch to get what they need. Losing your job, whether it’s a working class job or a high finance job, those are big stakes. So whether Spider-Man loses the rope [or not] ... I agree, I think that's an easier stake to comprehend. Is he going to get there or not? Is he really falling or will he be able to stop his fall on the balcony on floor 80? It is true, we want the stakes to be so far away. Probably at the end of the month, people want the stakes to be really about whether he is going to be able to jump on a moving train or not.

How did you dip your toes into that region in the Pacific Northwest, get to know the communities and then marry your experience with what was already in the book? 

Research is always the extremely fun part because you're not filming yet. I mean that really passionately. You're allowed to explore, take a lot of pictures, meet people, and ask questions. You're not looking at your clock and trying to figure out, "Are we going to make the day?" You find different routes. Someone says, "Oh yeah, just five minutes from here is the town where the teenagers have a Bunny Club." Veterans who are willing to speak to you might look at your script and be able to say, "I really think it might go more like this," or, "This is something that I remember someone saying to me.”

It's funny, the author [of the book] and I took a similar approach. The things that were itemized or described with some precision in this very brief article that appeared in the paper (when the-real life family was discovered), didn't give much. And so [the author] used every bit of that in his book and I then stayed very close to what he did in the first third of his book. He imagined what happened to them, and I imagined what happened to them slightly differently. I spoke to him and I said, (because in the book we deviate dramatically—in the book the father dies in a very grizzly way), "I'm wondering what would happen if the father lives after he's injured," And he said, "You should follow that thought, because this version is just my version. If it's not completely making sense in your head, you should at least run the story like that once, do a draft where he lives and see what happens." And I did that. Anne and I thought it was a very strong way to look at their decision to part. It wasn't because he died. They have to make that decision.

I love that you took that direction. The greatest sign of love to me is being brave enough to allow your loved one their freedom.

It’s very hard, yes. It’s like taking a bullet sometimes.

And Thomasin Harcourt McKenzie, in the role of that young person craving her own path, is phenomenal. There's something really raw and unadulterated about her. How did you find her?

Thom is from New Zealand, born and raised there. And she taped her own audition and sent it to the casting directors we were working with. Initially I said, "It's out of the question, she's from New Zealand. It's a low budget film, we can't even bring her here." But the more we kept casting, the more her audition stuck. I kept going back to it. We met and we said, "Can we call her at least?" So we had several Skype calls, and I loved what she had to say about the book and the screenplay. She had a lot of rich thoughts. And she seemed like she hadn't been in the fray of New York and LA yet. And so she did seem un-jaded; not very urban. She's filming two things now. So she is already [busy]; her schedule is booking up really quickly. 

Did you have Ben Foster in mind as the father, as you were writing it? He has a certain presence and look; really quiet, but with a lot brewing underneath. 

I left that really open. I was really concentrating on the information I was getting from inspirational sources to kind of understand that character. As we started to get serious about someone who could fill those shoes, I was very impressed with what Ben had done; specifically related to sensitive research and portrayals of veterans, of people who had been involved in combat. And I liked his work very much in Oren Moverman's film, “The Messenger.” I felt that Ben would bring a complexity. But then I thought this is also a really fresh, new kind of role for him. So the discussions were very positive with him. I realized that he had a great interest in the material, in non-conforming lifestyles. He was interested in what it would be like to opt-out a little bit from the digital era.

I can definitely see that about him.

Yeah. Ben was about to be a father, his first. And so I think he was very open to Thom leading the way on that part. They had a lot of tasks to do, which was really helpful. They had to really pass each other, do things with each other, like make fire work. She really had to get those things prepared, feather the sticks. And their food and their sustenance really rely on them being a team. So they did this very immersive rehearsal together for two days, with a primitive skills instructor.

And they both really admired her. She was extremely excellent at what she does. And they got their first knives and learned how to use them really well. The skills teacher taught them about five or six things she carefully selected that they could do in a shorter time, and then perform on screen. And I think that brought them together in a really great way. They critiqued each other and they were very aware of how they were doing.

There are moments between them that anchor their relationship in believable and relatable truths. One happens early on in the movie—she finds this little charm or piece of jewelry and he says, "Okay, if it’s still here when we get back, you can take it. That’s fair."

That incident, or that little moment, was described in the book. But I did really like it because I thought it was very true to a teen person who would know that park very well. And I did like that in Peter's book, the father definitely has systems and wants to make a systematic way of living. He wants to have rules, he wants to have ethics, and he wants to feel that he is doing right by his daughter. It's maybe an old-school way of teen parenting. But of course, she's not a saint, she has mischief is in her. And I wanted to be able to show that. In that moment, it gave us the opportunity to be able to show all those things.

My other favorite scene is the one with the bees and beehive handler. Being that intimate with something that can but doesn’t want to harm you felt very in synch with the themes of the film, both poetically and philosophically.

The beekeeper is a very passionate beekeeper. There are many of them. That's another thing that is like, the devotional dancers, or like people that run these agricultural clubs. Beekeeping is one of these things that you find in every state, every place. And this was the Pacific North-west version—there is something very spiritual about it. In real life, she was playing herself. And when we were rehearsing, she said to me that she thought Thom could handle the bees. She thought, many people can't. You have to be very calm to hold them because they need to feel safe; they can't feel like you're going to crush them. The only time they would ever sting, as she says, is when they feel that you're going to kill them. So they sting in self-defense.

So I said, "Thom, how do you feel?" And she said, "I want to do it." And then I said, "Well, I've got to call your parents. Because there are a lot of insurance issues, the production can't let you do it.” It would have to be something that you want to do and that your parents consent to. And she really liked Susan, the beekeeper. She went a couple of times to Susan's own home, where she keeps her own hives. And they practiced and they looked at it and Susan explained to her how to proceed. So it wasn’t any kind of complicated stunt.

In a lot of ways, “Leave No Trace” is a pretty political film, maybe quietly so. You deal with issues around veterans, the hardships or everyday Americans, the living-off-the-grid and from-the-land attitude, and so on. 

Most stories will actually have some kind of political resonance. And then even if we don't plan on it, we'll bring that to [the table], right? We'll bring assumptions about someone's race or their ethnicity on screen. I like to create stories where I'm not foreclosing the option to consider in an open-minded way. One of my jobs as a storyteller, in the way that I self-describe my job, is to engender some kind of consideration or empathy; to ask some questions that at least make you motivated to want to understand another person. Something about what they've lived through, what they think about. 

So I was trying to make sure that we're surrounding [Will] with a few questions from a brochure, from a psychiatric test [about PTSD]. Things that made us wonder about him, and of course by extension, what might have happened to him; what might befall him. And similarly for his daughter, when the social workers are asking her certain things, it gives us a chance to ask not just what we would want for the characters. It's an interesting, complex process.

There is now an improved sense of support in the industry for female driven stories and female filmmakers. I'm wondering if, when you compare your experience as a director since “Winter's Bone” to today, you feel a sense of renewed hope that things might get easier for women.

Oh, I do. I do feel very optimistic. I think that we're now seeing the statistical [evidences]. In the ‘90s when many film schools decided to have parity, the film class would have 50% women, 50% men. Now a couple of decades later, we've started to see that that made a difference. The amount of women that are permitted to be in the academic setting, or the training program, then are going to come out and start performing their art, or executing their skills. You know you plant the tree, and many years later, the tree is standing and up there and ready to be in the forest.

So I think that that alone is one element. And the other: all the cultural shifts that have to happen. Culture just gets so stale. “Time's Up” is a really great phrase. To vote we had to say, "Time's up". People of color have to say, "Time's up" [to] this country’s hideous legacy. Time's up on a lot of practices that perpetuate these legacies. What I hope you hold the torch for just as a journalist and as a writer and thinker (I want to just give you this really positive feedback); I think you're on to something that I've not really heard any other journalist be able to pinpoint: what's the pie and the stakes? How many stakes do we acknowledge as worthy?

So we [need to] have a space and culture that can take [existential stakes] that are not committed through violence. Like we said, someone can be at risk for many different reasons. So I think until our appetite for stakes broadens back out again, we're going to have a problem. There are women who make [genre] films, but statistically they are I think in the minority. Stakes of a lot of other women [is what] I'm interested in. And those are hopefully being highlighted and becoming more relevant and more front and center in today's society, where the conversation seems to be shifting. It's not just about gender. It's about our appetite for what we consider worthy to care about.

To read Susan Wloszczyna's interview with Ben Foster about "Leave No Trace," click here 

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