#definitely tart. tiny bit of apple comes through

[queer-ecopunk]

crapple wine completed

[priscilla9993]

Love comes in many forms

“What is your favorite memory of Alice?”

When asked publicly that, Robin would jokingly reply that it was when she trapped Alice in a cage, having mistaken her for a spy during the days of the Rebellion. It would usually get a response of a half hearted chuckle or heightened interest of how that story continued from the asker. Most definitely, if she was with Alice in company or earshot distance of the gal, her shoulder would suffer a light nudge or her heart an immortal wound from deathly glares as consequences of her consistent answer to that exact question. The archer found it most amusing as she could tease the adventurer with their meet cute, worded in a way that sounded absolutely unromantic.

Of course, it was nothing more than a game of pretend with that answer and those actions. Anyone who spent five minutes with them could tell the two were in love. Despite having been together for years, they found themselves still finding out new things about each other and flirting like teenagers.

Privately in her head, Robin found herself unable to locate her favorite memory of Alice. Her mind would reel back to their time stuck in the tavern holding cell, sharing their life stories with one another, or to time spent exploring interests and ideas of travel in the quaint bookstore they spent their first date at. Her heart wavered in courage at how sweet those moments could truly be as the betrayals on both ends that came after the idyllic moments weren’t the best to boot. However, it didn’t matter as she pondered whether one of those must be her favorite.

She mentally shook her head. If anything, Robin pinpointed that her love for Alice weren’t primary things that could be written in a storybook that anyone could tell. They were the tiny things, trivial bits that couldn’t mean much logically, but were soothing for the heart against traces of doubt that outlined any relationship, even the few in theirs. 

For one, it was the touch of a warm hand when scared or cold, determining the other’s support to wordlessly say “I’m here” and “We’ll get through it together.” In larger measures, it was the embrace of a hug, comforting love resonating in the best and worst of situations, especially when feeling overwhelmed or alone, bodies desperately clinging on to each other for dear life. 

Robin always found herself happily surprised that Alice could find a way to make her laugh, even when she was a sobbing mess, worried that they’d never see each other again due to the curse, or as stupid as it sounded, upset over a trivial thing like messing up cooking macaroni and cheese. Her loving blue-eyed blondie, despite never having known of such a recipe until she had been cursed as Tilly, managed to make it better from scratch than the green eyed bartender who had grown up in modern day Storybrooke. There was always a thing about the mixture of cheeses or timing of the pasta that she could never get right, but it didn’t matter so long as they were doing it together, Alice constantly teasing her about it as they stirred the delicious and gooey contents in a pot. 

Another way was how sweet a kiss could be. An endearment on the lips was what a person would typically think of and indeed, Alice’s lips usually were delicious for Robin to kiss with the shorter woman having a penchant for sweets such as marmalade, jam tarts, and on special occasions, candy apples. Yet, Robin found herself remembering how Alice had kissed her on the forehead when she presumed the lover was asleep, on her hand whenever they had to part for more than a minute to bid adieu, and ever so often, on her cheek with just the lightest of pecks, a tenderness that lasted on the bespectacled dirty blonde in the form of a blush. The best kind of kisses were ones she thought were just left to childhood. As a kid, if her mom were to give her these, she would yell out in embarrassment and roll her eyes to divert from the cringe, but coming from Alice, she didn’t mind a bit. Whenever Robin got the rare bruise or cut from being reckless, Alice loved to tend to her wound if she could do anything about it, ending it with a small kiss to the painful spot and a blessing of quick healing. It didn’t make a difference physically, but when questioned, Robin replied with a smile that it didn’t hurt anymore.

There was also the matter of Alice’s expressions. Honestly, if Robin had a nickel for every time she was amused by her girlfriend, she’d have over five dollars. Okay, she wouldn’t be rich by any means, but in experiences she’d have a sparkling collage of rich expressions. The archer was entranced by her gorgeous partner and took the opportunity to take photos of Alice no matter where they were. She thanked her lucky stars for the modern technology of smartphones, with their high definition cameras that fit right into a pocket. With it, Robin could document the way the girl’s freckles aligned across her cheek, how Alice’s ocean eyes sparkled bright and full of energy, and the radiant smile that came after an infectious laugh. Some of Robin’s favorite snapshots were of the adventurer excitedly chasing small waves on a beach after a good cry with her papa, confused with creased eyebrows after a pun made by Robin, and mildly perplexed ice cream had gotten on her nose on a hot summer day.

Lastly, it was the fact that they could be content just being together. They could talk about anything to each other, like no one else existed but them. Through the good and bad, Alice and Robin were each other’s confidant, listening intently to the person’s woes and giving advice or support when possible. Truly, Robin knew Alice could talk for hours, giving her more time to retrace her thoughts and bounce off on deep tangents along with her, leading to further conversations. Sometimes, they didn’t need to talk at all and just laid there, side by side, hearing each other breathe as the clouds rolled by or the night wore on until they fell asleep. 

Awaking from her thoughts, her emerald eyes met Alice’s cerulean ones and puzzled expression. “You alright there, Ro Ro?” she asked the archer, having brought them back a hot chocolate, Robin’s traditional family favorite. 

Given the chance, Robin would ramble to anyone that would listen about what she loved about Alice. Then again, if the archer had to be honest, she’d never tell anyone the sum of these things, not even her love. It wasn’t for the fear of vulnerability like in her teenage years or fear of professing her love in public. On the contrary, the sharp shooter had courage and was just waiting for the right moment to say every romantic and cheesy line she could think of. Robin couldn’t wait until their wedding day, ready to announce her vows, the internal love letters, to her newly made fiancé, Alice. But until then, she’d spend every moment possible, making sure her love knew it, as she sleepily nodded and nuzzled her head into the gal’s shoulder, taking in the scent of shampoo and oranges from the adorned flannel.

[slasherfilth]

You Are What You Eat - Chapter One (Thomas Hewitt x Reader)

You hum along to the chorus of the song blasting from your radio as you drive along the seemingly endless dirt road. Your eyes were squinting now and again to try and see through all the dust your car was kicking up as you made your way down to your Fathers old property. It had been at least a decade since you had seen it; since you'd experienced dirt roads and the sticky feeling of sweat dripping from your forehead in the sweltering Texas sun. You'd moved out of the home a long time ago, eager to leave the backwash town of Fuller and onto something greater as you had once told your father. He'd been supportive in the decision but always said you would come back to the quiet life. Like your privacy too much to be livin' in those tiny places with too many people. You had rolled your eyes naturally, adamant that you would never miss this place once you made it out. But here you were. You were driving along the same dirt road from your childhood, surprisingly eager to be away from the hustle and bustle of city life. He had been right. A small smirk curled on your lips as you thought that. He'd have a field day if you'd ever managed to tell him that. However, a small pang of sadness hit you just as quickly as the thought came. That's the main reason your back. You couldn't tell him. The only reason you could afford to move back out was because of the inheritance and a house already paid into your name. A small sigh left your lips as you tried to focus on the music once more, at this point too exhausted to cry about it anymore.

It wasn't long until you finally pulled into the old house. A smile bloomed on your face as you took in the sight of the place you once called home. Memories of you running up the steps to the patio in a hurry from school, ready to blurt out your day to your parents. A simple rope and plank swing still hanging from the big sturdy tree that sat outside the front of the house. Remembering how you would read books from dawn till dusk under the cool shade of the tree as you grew older. With a huff of effort, you jumped out of the car, eager to stretch your legs after hours of driving. And with that you began to walk towards the all too familiar house, ready to start your new life. You could only hope you enjoyed it more than your last one.

Making your way inside you couldn't help but appreciate how cute your home really was. A housewife's dream really. Sky blue the outside, and a mix of light colours painting the interior. Big white windows over the walls, letting in natural light that bounced off the wooden furniture beautifully. You'd been fortunate. Dad had left everything to you. Which you'd appreciated since all you had yourself was a small couch, TV and a washing machine. This would be a much different experience. Humming, you made your way around the house, opening windows to let light and air in. Hoping to remove the musty smell that had built up over time. Once you finished your task, you sat down on the dining room table, taking it all in. You felt lighter already. The sadness of why you now have all of this was still there, but you pushed it away to think of the better opportunities. You could do so much more here—no one to tell you what to do or what to make. A broad grin enveloped your lips as you thought of that. And with that lovely thought, you made your way back to the car. You were initially going to wait before heading to the old business, give yourself time to adjust before setting to work. But the hardworking mentality of a country upbringing wouldn't let you. There was so much to be done, and you were more than a little excited.

 _____________________________________________________________

 By the time you got to town it was already in the evening, but you were too eager to take a look at the old bakery and see how much work is needed to start up again. You promised yourself you wouldn't stay long, that you could come back tomorrow and begin the real work. Still, for now, you just wanted to bask in the idea of finally being able to live your dream of having your own bakery. You hoped it would all work out. Hoped the locals remembered how good the bakery once was and feel the need to come to inspect again when word got out it was open once more. It wouldn't take long. Word travelled like wildfire through these parts. And with that, you wondered how long it would take for people to realise there was a new face in town. Not too long, you hoped. You were not always the most social person, but you would still like to make friends and have tea sometimes. Maybe you would even find that once special guy out there. You almost laughed at the thought. How many times your mother had asked about boys in your life. When were you gonna get yourself a man? You ain't gonna be bringing back one of those city boys are ya? You'll need a country boy, someone who can work and take care of you. At one time, it had made you laugh. How were you going to find a country boy in the city? But she had been right in the long run. Them boys had never tickled your fancy much. Always focused on their looks, carrying around combs and swaggering around all the ladies, acting smooth. You saw right through it all.

None of them would be able to handle a good day's work. Too weak to do some heavy lifting, no matter how much they bragged and too vain to get a bit dirty to accomplish something. You wrinkled your nose. You'd be lying to yourself if you said you hadn't fantasied about a tall, muscled up, hardworking family man taking you for a spin when you were planning your new life out here. Someone that would come along and just sweep you off your feet with one hand and help you around the house and bakery with the other. Another laugh left you; good luck, girlie. How about you make it through setting up and living here before you start fantasying about all that jazz.

As you were lost in your own thoughts, you checked around the small joint, happy to find big working ovens, a register, walk-in cooler and massive pantry. It had definitely been revamped since the last time you were here which made you happy. A lot less work than what you were expecting. A simple clean down and electricity organising and it would all be good to go. You would be open by the end of the week with any luck. A hum of appreciation left you as you walked back out to your car. Thinking of some recipes, you thought the locals would like. Maybe you should try to catch up with that old meat business. See if you could strike up a deal for some meat pies. And with that you drove home, giddy about what the next few days would bring.

 _______________________________________________________________

You were in the back, kneading some dough for a new apple pie recipe you had been dying to try. After finding an apple tree at the end of your yard growing some beautiful juice fruits, you'd spent some time trying to perfect a recipe. Today you were eager to make it and offer some free samples to see if the locals would like it as well, maybe it could be a signature dish in your cosy little bakery. You'd been here for a few weeks by now, settling in nicely to your new house and property. And even happier with the bakery opening the week prior. You had been quite busy that day, everyone seemed to have noticed the work you'd been doing there. Maybe the few brief conversations you'd had when visiting stores had managed to get the word around enough for people to be interested. You smiled as you went to grab the rolling pin however paused as you heard the faint jingle of bells, alerting you to someone's presences. Putting on a big smile, you dusted the flour off of your hands onto the lavender apron you donned making your way to the front. You found an older lady waiting in a lovely floral dress, thick glasses perched on her nose. She immediately gave you a loving grandmother vibe that you adored instantly.

"Good morning, Ma'am. What can I get 'cha?" You placed your hands on your hips and turned to the lady.

"Morning, Darlin'. I just wanted to come check out this old place. Haven't seen it so busy since ol' Danny passed, rest his soul." You smiled gently, feeling an odd tug at your heart. No one had mentioned your father at all since this place had opened. You were relieved but also sad in away. You would have hoped people remembered him a bit more.

"Well thank you, Ma'am. I'm trying my best to continue in his likeness. I'm (Y/N), Danny's daughter. I recently moved out into his old place." You extended a hand, feeling your cheeks heat up as her eyes widened briefly, giving you a once over from head to toe before taking your hand in a soft but firm handshake.

"Well, I'll be darned. Who knew someone like him could raise such a good-looking young lady? I'm Luda Mae. I'm on the property next to yours with the Hewitt family. Got Charlie, Monty and my boy, Thomas out there." A smile flashed on your face. You had seen the old white house briefly before and wondered if anyone was even there anymore. The idea of having neighbours was a delightful one.

"Pleasure to meet you, Luda Mae. It's nice to know I'm not the only one all the way out there. How about I get you some coffee and cakes, I'd love to hear a little about the town and yourself." You decided to be a bit more forward than usual. This woman just made you feel comfortable, and you were interested in who exactly was staying near you. A wide smile adorned the older woman face.

"Well, I'd love that darlin'. White with two sugars, please. And I'll like to try that lemon tart you've got in there. Haven't had a good one in a long time since this place shut down." Joy filled you as you nodded and set to work, making double for yourself as you went to sit down with her.

"I hope it's just as good as you remember." The two of you seemed to get along great, the conversation flowed smoothly as you explained why you came back out and your ideas for the business in the future. How you had gone to culinary school in order to start your own little bakery and how excited you were to share it with people here. The two of you exchanged recipes, and Luda let you in on what local flavours and harvests were available at different times of the year. She also told you about her family, the town's history since you left and odd bits and pieces that came to mind. In between the conversation, you would have to get up to serve some people, but she seemed to enjoy the talk and food which made you happy. No one had been incredibly rude or anything here, but this was the first time someone had shown you that good old country friendliness you remembered so fondly from your childhood.

"Yeah, is a shame the old slaughterhouse shut down, would have been great to have some meat pies around this place." That piqued your interest.

"Oh? I hadn't realised it shut down. I was thinking about trying to get some meat just for that. Well darn, I'll have to think of something else now. Will be too expensive to import for now." A small frown tugged at the edge of your lips. Luda Mae clicked her tongue but smiled.

"No worries dear, I'm sure you will figure something out. If you're ever in desperate need for something you just us know. Us Hewitts aren't the richest folk around, but we're the most generous if you can look past all that ridiculous talk." You kept a smile on your face as you took in Luda's small rant, slightly worried about what she could mean. Where they not well-liked amongst the community? Luda Mae looked like a typical town grandmother though. It was very strange to you. But you didn't wish to comment as you could already tell it was a sore spot. Instead, you nodded and thanked her profusely for her offer, offering a hug as she stood tidying up the plates and cups.

"Oh, don't worry about that I'll handle it. It was lovely to meet you, Ms Hewitt, you can come around anytime for a good chat. Feel free to bring the family too." She smiled wide at that and nodded at you while you gathered up the dishes quickly.

"Will do dear, you take care now. I'll be back." You move to the back with a warm feeling, dropping the dishes next to the sink. Turning you look back at the pie you were initially making before you had gotten interrupted—thoughts of Luda Mae's rant filling your mind. From what you gathered, they weren't the most well off and were considered outcasts even in this small town. You frown. You wondered why. But shaking your head, you turn back to work. You decided you would make up for the town's ridicule and begin making small goodies for the family. You're sure she would be appreciative. She also said she had a son, you wondered how old he was. Maybe a teenager? Perhaps he would like sweets as well.

_______________________________________________________________

So I’ve kind of been lurking around my favourite slashers for awhile and I love everyones stories so much. And now I feel confident adding my own little peices. I’m sure you can guess where the story is going from the clues and I hope you can see which amazingly gruesome muscial this is derived from. Tell me what you think and if you guys like it, I’ll be sure to bring that next chapter with lots of our amazing beefy boi. 

[getitinbusan]

CAM BUNNY TWO - SMUT

Part ONE Here

"Baby I'm so bored." 

You set your book face down to hold it's space, it was the 4th time he'd interrupted you.

"Why aren't you working on your mixtape, you need to get it done Guk." 

His fingers walked up your bare leg and stopped at the hem of your shorts. 

"I need inspiration," he whined while climbing on top of you. 

Tucking his head into your neck he trailed kisses down your collar bone, "and I'm horny."

You giggled while pushing his head, trying to keep him at bay but it only made him try harder. 

"I'd wager a bet that in the last 2 months you've had more sex than in your entire life." 

He smiled devilishly, "It's not my fault you feel so good."

He picked up the new vibrator that had been delivered earlier, "Plus, how am I supposed to focus with all this stuff around." 

"You want me to use it on you? We can show..." you picked up the card, "DaddyDong69 his gift in action." 

Jungkook laughed, "I can't believe men send you these things. Do you think they'd still watch if they knew you had a boyfriend?" 

You playfully bit the tip of the silicone, "Wanna find out?" 

Hoseok quickly walked back to his room from the dance studio. Lately he'd been experiencing an unusual but not necessarily unwelcome side effect of his long practice sessions.

It took  about 10 minutes to hit, his work outs had been increasing his testosterone levels, making his blood pump straight to his cock.

Turning the handle and locking the door behind him, he immediately tugged his pants down. Laptop and moisturizer conveniently at the ready he woke up the screen with the pad of his finger. 

He shouldn't be on here but he couldn't help himself, the CAMBUNNY site had been bookmarked for the last few months and he'd become a regular.

Jungkook didn't have to know, you didn't have to know. As long as he stayed on the screen chat what did it hurt? 

Your light was off, damn, what a waste of an erection.

Scrolling through pictures, he could get off to someone else, but it wouldn't be the same. Suddenly like you knew he was waiting, your availability turned on. 

_______________

"You wanted to play Kookie, so we're going to play."

His eyes looked innocent and naive, two things he definitely wasn't. "Don't worry, I'll protect your secret identity."

You winked and threw the latex suit at him "Go put this on." 

Getting everything set up you flicked your room to open. 

Jungkook stood over you, "Why does everyone use weird names? What's an Angma-J?"

You laughed at him, "Well TOKKI...an Angma is a devilish fiend. A mischievous person who is extremely addicted to some pernicious habit, and in this case, I'm going to guess that it's porn." 

"Hmm," he repeated the word for practice, "pernicious...Is he a regular?"

"Yeah, he's been around a while, seems harmless enough. Want me to ask?" 

He slid the mask over his head, "Let's do it!" 

________________

"Hey baby," you spoke into the camera. "I was wondering if you'd like to watch something new tonight?"

Angma-J: What are you thinking? I'm so hard for you. 

I thought maybe you'd like to watch me get fucked by a real cock."

You pulled Jungkook and his shiny suit into the frame.

"You can pretend it's you in there...you inside me, you making me moan...what do you say?" 

Nothing, silence...you waited. Jungkook clicked mute, "Y/N, he's not going to do it, I'm telling you." 

"He will so you'd better shut up and remember not to use our names." 

________________

Was he really going to do it? Was he so sexually deprived that he'd sit here and watch you and Jungkook fuck while he masturbted?

He hit the keys one at a time���. words began appearing on the screen….

Angma-J: Fuck yes.

_______________

You gave a quick wink to the camera and pulled your shirt off leaving Jungkook dumbfounded.

He had been 100% positive that Angma-J was going to bail and that he'd just get to fuck you while wearing the suit. 

He was frozen, you needed to fix this.

Leaning close to the camera, tits filling the screen you blocked the view of the room. Hitting mute you turned your head to look at him. "Guk, baby, are you scared?" 

"Not scared, I just don't know how to start…"

"I want you to show him I'm yours okay? Show him that real men get to fuck real women and not just their hands."

"Okay."

"Come stand behind me and play with my tits."

Unmuting and backing away from the camera his gloved hands wrapped around your chest and firmly gave your nipples a tug.

His touch turned them hard and he couldn't resist lowering his head to take a long suck. The open zipper mouth of his mask dragged cool and sharp across your flesh in contrast to his hot tongue on your bulleted tips. 

He looked up at you, his eyes weren't sparkly and playful as usual, they were dark and dangerous.

He brought his mouth to yours, teasing, coaxing your tongue to meet his. Grabbing your breast he held up your nipple in the space between you, both your tongues darting over it and each other. 

"Lay back," he commanded.

Moving to pull him back with you he caught both your hands. His one large hand easily secured both your arms above your head.

He smirked while angling the camera between your legs, "Don't you love looking at this pretty cunt?" 

_________________

Hope could barely believe what he was seeing. He was so jealous that Jungkook got to fuck you whenever he wanted. 

He looked down at his weeping cock wishing he could just put it in you. 

Angma -J: put your fingers in her and fuck her with them …. rough.

________________

Jungkook looked at you, it was strange yet exciting to let someone else call the shots.

While he was apprehensive to proceed without your consent, he had also watched you before, and felt he knew your limits.

He held his fingers up to the camera and smiled before he plunged them two deep inside you without warning. 

His hand thrust hard, you were sure you'd be bruised from his knuckles in the morning. 

Still confining your hands, you were at his mercy. Bringing his mouth back to your chest he bit your nipple and tugged it between his teeth. 

"Fuck…" you almost said his name but caught yourself.

He laughed, "Fuck what baby? Does your tiny pussy hurt from my fingers?" He looked back at the camera, "should I give her another?"

________________

Hope shifted in his seat, cock in hand stroking the tip slowly.

He was trying not to be over eager, he wanted this to last. He'd tuned into you a few times but fuck, something about watching Jungkook use you made it 100 times better.

Angma -J: Tell me how she tastes

_______________

The question triggered him, the look he had on his face was predatory. Being allowed to let his perversions come out while in disguise felt so good.

He let go of your hands and dropped to his knees. Spreading your wet lips apart he smiled directly into the camera before taking a big lick. 

"So fucking good, like a tart juicy apple. You know when you take a hug bite and it gets all over your chin..fuck, just like that. 

He worked his mouth around your clit, circling it, sucking it, teasing it until your excitement was dripping. 

Using his tongue he gathered up your milky discharge and held it out for Angma-J to envy.

Making a show of swallowing it Jungkook moaned, "Hot apple pie." 

________________

He almost came right then and there. He had to look away from the screen before he blew his load.

Angma-J: Make her suck you off

_______________

You swear you'd never seen Jungkook this happy about anything.

He stood up over you with a crooked grin, "We both want my cock in your mouth."

Standing up you let your hands travel over the black vinyl suit. It hugged every curve, accentuated every muscle as his hard cock strained against it looking for release. 

You got on your knees and licked the outline of his tip while looking into the camera.

The zipper ran from bottom to top, starting at the base of his cock to just below his belly button. You opened it slowly and only enough to remove his balls.

His delicate flesh laying against the suit made a strong contrast for the camera. He let his head fall to watch while you sucked them into your mouth, one at a time, back and forth. 

"You want more, baby?"

Jungkook nodded as you worked the zipper higher. His full hard length sprang out demanding attention from your mouth. 

You put your hands behind your back so your viewer could see everything.

Just sucking his tip, Jungkook got whiney, not getting the full sensation he was after.

"That's not enough, I know you can take my whole cock." 

You smiled and flicked his tip with your tongue, "make me."

Grabbing a fist full of hair he pulled your head back, "Open wide for Appa." 

He slid his cock into your mouth slowly the first few times letting your throat relax then faster and deeper.

Holding your head stationary he fucked himself into your throat. Gagging around him, drool spilled from your mouth down your tits. Unclasping your hands from behind you, you rubbed the liquid over your breasts.

Lubricating your nipples you scissor pinched them between your fingertips. 

_______________

Angma-J: I want to see her pink pussy get off on the suit. Thigh ride? 

_______________

Jungkook groaned, "But i'm not done." 

"Too bad babe, you've gotta do what the customer wants and the customer wants to watch me get off."

You smiled playfully at the lens and switched to the bed camera.

"I think we can give you a good view from here." 

You patted the bed for Jungkook to lay down and grabbed a bottle of lube from the bedside table.

Holding it high in the air you let a stream fall slowly over his leg, fuck this was going to feel good. 

Straddling his thigh you let your sex slide across him. The slick of the wet vinyl dragging across your clit was almost too much sensation to handle.

Jungkook and J-Hope both stroked themselves in time with your motions as you humped Kookies leg.

Hobi leaned into the screen, your opening was glimmering with wetness and he could see you beginning to clench.

Crying out, Jungkook grabbed your hips and helped you move through your climax. The thick strings of your release clung between you and the suit, a white trail sticking to the material. 

Both men were becoming desperate to cum. 

"How should I finish her?"

______________

Angma-J: "In her ass, I bet she really likes that"

______________

"Do you like that baby? Do you like taking my cock in your ass?"

In show of approval you spread your ass cheeks apart.

Running his fingers over your cunt he gathered the excess slick and pushed it into your anus making you moan. 

He looked at the Camera, always the showman, "Are you ready?" 

He slapped your bottom, and pressed his tip at your entrance. Pushing nice and slow he meweled, "I love fucking this ass." 

Sitting back on his knees he held your hips guiding you to thrust yourself onto him.

He liked it like this, he was always afraid he'd go too deep or too hard but like this, you were in control. You weren't afraid, you loved every stroke, feeling him deep inside you. 

He was breathing heavy...

Hope was clutching his cock ready to explode....

"Tell me I'm being a good girl."

"So fucking good." J hope moaned to the screen.

"Tell me how badly you want to cum into me."

"I want to watch it drip out of you baby," Kookie purred.

As you sank back he grabbed your waist and held you still while ejaculating into you with a grunt.

Pulling his cock out you backed into the camera.

J-Hope finished himself while watching Jungkook's cum ooze out of you and down your leg. 

Turning off the feed you collapsed beside your boyfriend.

Pulling his mask off, you kissed him passionately.

"I missed your face...and your body. Let's get you out of this suit." 

Showered and napped, he headed back to the dorms around dinner time. Most of the guys were already eating in the common kitchen.

Jungkook opened the fridge, there had to be at least 5 pies in there.

He looked at the others, "who the hell ordered all these?"

J-Hope came walking in holding a plate with a fork shoved in his mouth.

"Hobi," Jungkook clued in, "what fucking type of pie is that?"

Hope set the items on the counter before Jungkook could chase him. As he began to flee he yelled out laughing, "I had a sudden craving for Apple." 

[harrystyleswatermelon-sugar]

Café

I am late for my shift at the café I work at every Sunday morning. Somehow my alarm didn’t go off as planned and as I jump under the shower, I can feel how time goes by way too fast. I skip breakfast after I did a really quick make-up and blow-dried my hair. Due to no time, I just simply tug everything in a ponytail and jump into my work clothes. Black skinny jeans, Sneaker and a work blouse. As I am ready to leave, I grab my apron and an umbrella, due to the London weather.

Just in time, I arrive at the café and I am very thankful that the tube was on time today. Sometimes I have to wait so long, until it finally arrives and often it is so crowded that I barely fit in. Today I am lucky and as I enter my working place, my colleague grins at me.

“Hey, Y/N. Just in time” he says and I roll my eyes at him. I still have 2 minutes left!

“Hey, Matt. I´ll be right back, just taking my stuff to the back” I say and move in the back. I put my bag down, take my apron and check into the system. Matt is my co-worker, we usually work together. He is permanently employed and I only work Sunday mornings, because I have a normal day job. I am a foreign language correspondent and work for a big company during the week. Because I usually sit in the office, I wanted to find a balance, when I saw that this café was looking for a waitress.

“Here I am, how was your week?” I ask him and kiss his cheek. He smiles at me and nods.

“Pretty good so far and yours? Here take this purse, the other one broke the other day” he suggests as I go through the stuff in the cabinet, looking for the purse. I take it from his hand and fill it with money out of the cash register.

“Nothing special so far, let´s see what happens here today” I laugh and he nods. We always have a great time together and I honestly love this job. We have been working together now for almost three years and over time he became one of my best friends. I look around and only see a few customers sitting on the tables. It is early for a Sunday, so I guess they are all still sleeping. A young man enters the café and I smile at him.

“Hello, welcome,” I say friendly and he returns the smile.

“Good morning, having a good day so far?” he asks and I laugh a little.

“Very good, as it should be. How can I help you?” as I prepare his order, I feel him looking at me. I mean, yes he is cute but I don’t really know what to do. I hate myself sometimes for not being able to flirt properly.

“Here you go, that is £2, please,” I say and hand him his coffee. He gives me £5, winks at me and says his goodbye.

“Have a nice day, see you soon. I´m definitely coming back” he leaves and Matt sighs.

“And there goes another chance for a happy ending. Seriously, Y/N there are so many men hitting on you and no one is good enough for you? He was hot!” my friend says and I clean the barista equipment.

“He was cute, but you know what happened the last time I tried to flirt. He didn’t get it and it was so awkward,” I explain myself and Matt leans next to me on the counter.

“Yes, but that was one guy. What if your mister right walks in right-“ he stops and I wait for him to finish. I am facing the sink and as Matt is not finishing his sentence I turn around. He stares at the door, open mouth and a shocked expression on his face.

I follow his gaze with mine and see a tall man standing in the doorframe. He wears sunglasses, which is a bit odd, because it is a rainy day and looks around the café. He wears a long black coat and a hat. Some dark curls are peaking out of it and it looks as if he has a bit longer hair than usual. He is attractive and I see, why Matt is staring at him.

“Hey, Matt. You okay?” I ask him and wave my hand in front of his face. He shakes his head and looks at me.

“Pinch me. Y/N pinch me! I think Harry Styles just came in,” he says and I poke his side gently.

“Who?” I reply and smile at him, as his eyes widen in shock.

“Who? You´re asking who Harry Styles is? Seriously? Don’t you watch the news or read tabloids?” I shake my head. I really don’t.

“He is a member of the biggest boy band in the world and he is so hot and funny. Oh my god, how do I look?” he asks and tries to bring his hair in order. I laugh and pat his back.

“You look great, fangirl. Go get him, tiger. Wait, is he gay?” I ask and he shrugs his shoulders.

“No one really knows, he never confirmed or denied anything. But he will be gay, when he sees me,” he assures me and winks. I laugh and nod as he walks off. I take the time to actually google this guy and Matt is right, he is hot. He honestly looks a bit like prince Eric from the Disney movie Ariel. I see Matt coming back and take my tray, to ask the other three guests if they want anything else. I see some dirty dishes on the table next to this Harry and take them with me. I order the salt and pepper shaker, our menu and shoot a glance at the man. He took his hat off and his sunglasses are in his hair, as he fuddles on his phone. I clean the table and knock the tray off the table whilst staring. Shit.

I kneel down and grab the shattered glass, as Matt comes to my rescue with a broom.

“Darling, what are you doing. Take your hands away, don’t cut yourself please” he says and I raise my hands, not touching any more glass. He sweeps everything together, putting it in the bin and then looking at me.

“You clumsy girl. Never boring when you´re here” he laughs and I roll my eyes, grabbing the tray and getting up.

The young man is looking at me with piercing green eyes and smiles. I smile back and follow Matt back to the counter. We check my hands and find only a very tiny cut at my thumb. He insists on putting a band-aid on it and I let him do it. He wouldn’t shut up anyways.

The next three hours are unspectacular, we get a few more customers but it is not as packed as on other Sundays. I have time to clean the fridge and the counter properly, while Matt is serving the customers. Every time he goes to Harry's table, he is nervous and ever time afterwards he won´t shut up about his sparkling green eyes and his smile and dimples, which I haven’t even noticed when he smiled at me earlier.

“Matt, I am starting to think that I have a crush on him because you don’t stop talking about him,” I laugh and dry my hands.

“I can´t believe he is here, just look at him. He is art. I need to wee, don’t let him go” he demands and I chuckle, as he throws his apron on the counter. I fill some coffee beans in the machine and look around myself. The customers are all well taken care of but I see Harry looking at me. He raises his hand and I nod, grabbing my purse.

“Hello there,” I say as I approach him. He smirks and leans back in his chair, totally checking me out.

“I would like another coffee, if that’s alright?” he asks very politely and I am surprised. I thought he would be a bit arrogant but despite being very handsome and famous AND rich, he seems pretty normal and grounded.

“Sure, anything else? We have an amazing apple tart with glazed pecan nuts,” I suggest and he smiles. Now I can see those dimples.

“Great, I´ll take that. Thank you very much. I like this place, is it always this empty?” he asks and I scribble his order down.

“Oh usually it is a bit more crowded, today seems to be a lazy Sunday. Wouldn’t have left the house either, if I didn’t have to be here” I say and look at him. His dark brown curls frame his face and I meet his eyes.

“Well, I´m glad you are. Working every Sunday?” I nod and grin at him.

“Yes, usually it´s Matt and I,” I respond and shove my memo back in my pocket. I take a step closer to his table and lean forward, to grab his empty mug. His cologne is phenomenal, he smells so good. I can´t define the nuances but it is definitely something dry. I like it and it is surely expensive like his whole existence.

“Be right back” he nods at me and I bring his dishes behind the counter. Matt stares at me and I turn a light shade of red.

“He is glamorous, isn’t he?” he asks quietly and I giggle as I prepare the coffee.

“He is friendly and very attractive, you are right” I agree with his earlier statement.

“What did he ask?”

“Oh for gods sake, Matt. He is human like everyone else. Would you please stop fangirling? I have to serve a customer, who is not an alien!” I am really annoyed by his behaviour and maybe my voice is a bit too loud. I see Harry turning around and Matt frowns, leaving me alone. I sigh and grab the plate and coffee, putting it on the tray and walk towards Harry.

“Here we go, enjoy,”

“Thank you, is everything alright? You seem a bit upset” he asks and I raise an eyebrow at him, looking over my shoulder to see Matt walking towards another customer.

“He is absolutely in love with you and is just an annoying prick about it. I was a bit harsh on him, but he can be so annoying. You have no idea” I sigh and he grins.

“I get it, you don’t really care who I am and he is the opposite” I shake my head and put my hand on my hip.

“It´s not that I don’t care, I didn’t know you before he explained it to me, so…well yeah you´re just another customer. Which is nothing bad! I love my customers, but I don’t freak out because you are a musician” I explain myself and struggle a bit. I hope I didn’t offend him.

“That’s absolutely fine and I am happy to be seen as someone normal. I will offer him to take a picture with me before I leave…but you have to tell him, I´m not interested in men, very sorry” he winks at me and I laugh uncomfortable.

“I will send him here with your check. Have a good day” I wish to him and leave him alone. I meet Matt behind the counter and he ignores me.

“Look, I am sorry but your fangirling is really annoying. Here, he wants to have the check. It might be your last chance to talk to him, so I waive” he rolls his eyes at me and grabs the little piece of paper, to leave.

“We good?” I ask and he nods.

“Yeah, `m sorry too” we smile at one another and I watch him talk to Harry all flustered. I look at my watch and sigh happily. Only 30 minutes left of my shift.

Matt beams, as he comes back and I wonder what he had told him. Surely not, that he is not gay.

“He said he likes you. You took really good care of him, that’s why we shall share his huge tip” he shows me the tip and my eyes shoot to Harry. He smiles and I look down again. £60. He leaves us the biggest tip I have ever seen.

I mouth a thank you in his direction and he smirks. Right as our shift ends and our co-workers arrive, Harry gets up to leave.

“Have a nice one, see you next week” I say and get ready to leave.

“Y/N, wait a sec,” Matt asks me and I wait for him, as Harry approaches him.

“This young lady here told me, you are a fan of mine. Would you like a picture? I thought I´d ask because the service was great” Harry says and I smile, as he looks at me. Matt nearly faints as he nods and takes out his phone. His hands are shaking and he takes two selfies with Harry. Our co-workers are a bit older and don’t even know who Harry is. I can relate to that.

“Thank you so much, it was a pleasure meeting you. Never thought you are as nice as everybody says. Thank you so much” Matt rambles and I chuckle quietly.

“The pleasure was all mine. I will definitely come back soon” Harry assures and we three walk our way to the door. He pulls it open and lets me step outside in the rain. Luckily I have my umbrella in hand.

“See you soon,” Harry says and puts his head and glasses on, then waves and leaves. Matt is beaming, Harry made his day.

“Do you think he will come back?” he asks and I shrug my shoulders.

“How am I supposed to know?” we laugh and walk in the other direction as Harry.

 A week later I am working again with Matt, as we see a familiar man with nearly shoulder-length hair and sunglasses approaching.

“Oh my god, he is back,” Matt whispers as Harry opens the door. He beams at us and I return the smile.

“Hello there, mind if I sit right here?” he asks and points to the counter.

“Good morning, of course not. Take a seat. Coffee?” I ask him and he nods. I make him his coffee and put it in front of him.

“There you go” I smile at him as he grabs the cup and our fingers touch.

“Y/N, 3 Cappuccino, I get the cake,” Matt says and grin to Harry. I prepare everything, heat the milk and foam it. I put the mugs on Matts tray and bump his hip, because he is staring at Harry.

“Thank you, Darling,” he says and leaves Harry and me alone.

“So your name is Y/N? I like it. How was your week?” he asks and I look at him. Is he just trying to make conversation or is he really interested?

“It was okay, had a lot to do at work but it´s okay. How was your week?” I return the question and put some mugs onto the shelf.

“It was great, I have some free time at the moment and I enjoy it very much…I was really looking forward coming here today,” he says and I am surprised. He was? I thought someone like him would have something better to do.

“Well Matt is happy about it, I guess” we both chuckle and he looks down on his phone, sipping some coffee. I work my normal routine, chatting to Harry when I have time and joking with Matt, who is very happy to have Harry here. He is all giggly and cute, he really has a crush on him. I should tell him now before it is too late. I grab Matts arm and pull him with me into the kitchen.

“Listen, I love you but please don’t get your hopes up. He told me he is not gay, I´m so sorry” I say and he smiles.

“I figured that. I don’t think he is here because of me…he is here because of you, Y/N” he replies and I roll my eyes at him.

“Yeah sure. Let´s go” I shrug it off and we get back to work.

When it is time for our colleagues to take over and we are finished with our shift, Harry is still there. Sitting at the counter, joking with Matt and smiling. I take off my apron and get my coffee to sit down next to Harry.

“So…what are you usually up to after your shift?” Harry asks and I look at Matt.

“Normally I get lunch with this lad or we just hang out a bit,” I reply and Matt nods, as he falls down on the chair next to me.

“What about a nice movie and some pizza today? I don’t feel like going into a restaurant,” he suggests. I shrug my shoulders as I say:

“I don’t mind some relaxed time at your home,” he smiles at me and nods to Harry.

“What about you? Wanna join? I feel like we three are friends now,” Matt says and I hide my face in my hands. He is so awkward sometimes. I hear Harry laughing and wish, I could just sink into the floor and never come back.

“Sure, why not. I haven’t planned anything for today, I´d love to join you.” He answers and I look at him very embarrassed.

“You don’t have to. He is just pushing people, like always,” I say and Harry shakes his head.

“No, I really want to” he assures me and I shrug my shoulders. It´s fine with me.

We have a really nice and funny evening all together. We watch some stupid funny movies, until I nearly pass out and walk over to my home, which isn’t far away.

 Three weeks later Matt and I are having a terrible hangover from the night before when we were at a concert at the O2. We partied a lot afterwards and had a great time but today I feel like shit and he even looks like shit.

“Oh god, I swear if these old ladies come in today, I will cry. My head is exploding and this is my fifth coffee today…It´s only 11 and just ugh,” Matty whines and I shoot a half-smile at him.

“At least my head is normal, I am just a bit sick today…luckily,” I answer and put the next order on his tray. He looks miserably at me before he walks off to the table. I don’t even notice, that Harry comes in. He wasn’t here since we had our movie night with him weeks ago. I thought he just wasn’t so fond of us anymore and disappeared.

“Hello, love. How´ve you been?” he asks and hugs me, kissing my cheek.

“Very well, thank you. We are slightly hungover today, so don’t be confused. How´ve you been?” I ask back and he smiles, as Matt approaches.

“Y/N. They wanted Espresso, not Cappuccino. Hi, Harry.” He says unenthusiastically and I nod, taking one of those cappuccinos for myself and making some Espresso. Matt hands one of the wrong orders to Harry and smiles.

“I thought you quit us,” he says very honest and Harry laughs.

“No way, you two are too adorable to quit. I was just busy, that´s all,” he answers and I smile.

The shift takes ages to pass by and we actually don’t talk very much. It is like an exchange of company from Harry for coffee from us. But it´s not awkward at all.

Matt says his goodbyes very quickly after we finished our shift and leaves us alone. I sigh and finish my coffee.

“You look tired, what would you say to a hot cup of tea and a crackling fire?” he asks and I look at him.

“Sounds perfect, but where do I get this? Maybe with a nice bath…oh why don’t I have a tub?” I sigh and he chuckles.

“I have all of it and you are gladly invited to come home with me…If you want,” he looks a bit shy and I smile at him. How could I resist when someone asks me to take care of my hangover.

Harry takes me home to his huge house and guides me into his kitchen, where he makes us some tea. We sit on his couch and sip our teas. I like his house, it is comfy and more personal than I thought. I expected more like a furniture prospect, no personal things but he has some framed pictures on the wall and a lot of books in an immense bookshelf. The whole interior has Harry written all over it. I mean, I don’t know him that well but I do know him a bit.

“Would you like to have a bath?” he asks and I laugh a little.

“No, it´s just nice to not sit alone at home and suffer,” I reply and he chuckles, kicking his boots off of his feet. He was wearing black Chelsea boots with some black skinny jeans and a warm sweater. The upper part of his prince-like locks is tugged back in a small bun, so it doesn’t bother him.

“Anytime, you can stop by as often as you want,” he assures and I lean back in this unbelievably comfortable couch.

“Very nice of you. You know…when you walked in a few weeks ago and Matt explained to me who you were, I thought you would be arrogant and kind of a snob…but I am glad you turned out to be nothing of that,” he laughs and rests his arm behind me on the rest of his couch.

“I am glad, I didn’t turn out as a douchebag either. I am happy to have met you both…Can I be honest with you?” he asks and I nod my head. Of course, he can be honest with me.

“When I decided to walk into this café I was just interested in you. I saw you from outside and I just had to go in…I never expected to find such amazing new friends and now I am kind of scared to destroy this friendly relationship but…I have to ask. I would like to take you out on a date sometime, if you are fine with that?” his voice seems a bit shaky and I look at him, to see if he really means it.

“I mean, I know I come with a huge package and I would totally understand if you don’t want to get involved in all this media business frenzy…but I like you, I really do and I would love to take you out for dinner…You are amazing,” he says and I smile, turning a bit red on my cheeks.

“I would love to, because…I like you too and I don’t care about your package. I like you, not your fame or money. Just you, you are a gentleman and extremely friendly, funny and charming. I think you would treat a girl like a lady,” I respond and he beams at me, showing his amazing dimples and his cute smile.

“You have no idea how relieved I am, that you said yes. Most women say yes to a date with me, because I am Harry Styles and they want to spend time with me, they are not interested in me but my money and fame. The fact that you didn’t know me when I walked into the café is so amazing and so surreal, I was extremely nervous to ask you out. Like a normal man would be, if he isn’t famous,” he says and I nod. I get what he means.

“Glad to be able to ground you,” I laugh and he joins before he leans in and hugs me tight. I close my eyes and hug him back, inhaling his expensive scent.

I let him go and look at him. Could I fall in love with this handsome guy? I am sure he is a good man, friendly and kind, loving and passionate. My heart beats a bit faster, as I look into his mesmerizing emerald green eyes and as he now tugs a loose strand of my hair behind my ear, I close my eyes for a split second. His hand touches my cheek, caressing it slightly, before I feel a light pressure on my lips.

I don’t have to open my eyes, I know that he kisses me and I don’t complain at all. I lean into the kiss and he grabs my face with both of his hands, scooting closer on the couch. I put my hands on his hip and snake my hands under his sweater. It gets a bit steamier very fast and I can feel his tongue asking for permission to enter my lips. I open them and our tongues start an erotic fight, while he pushes me back onto the couch. He hovers now over me in the perfect position for me to get off his sweater. I let my hands wander over his toned and tattooed body, as he kisses my neck.

“We haven’t even dated yet,” he whispers and I can feel his hands under my shirt.

“I know” I reply and try to catch my breath before he kisses me again and I get dizzy in my head.

This is amazing, I wish we would never stop but eventually, he sits up straight and looks at me with red kissed lips and flushed cheeks.

“We will continue here very soon, but first I want to take you out on a date. I don’t do this just for fun” he explains and takes his sweater back. I like that he is not like the other guys. I like that he wants to be responsible and sure. He seems to care, that the girl doesn’t feel like she´s being used.

 This was requested by my friend and I love writing requests, so if you have one send it. They are always open. 

I hope you liked it, please share and like and comment the hell out of it. 

Love, xx 

[xoruffitup]

Adam in Burn This (6/12)

I saw Burn This again on June 12th and HOO BOY, for this show I’ve got nothing but flail! I think I’ve already worked through most of my critical analyst urges already, so this is gonna be just pure, chaotic Adam fangirling. :’)

The man was robbed of his Tony. Pale is this character who I would absolutely hate on the page or in abstract. But then Adam, the utter jerk, barges and flails his way on stage and makes Pale so human and compelling and just absolutely riveting to watch that hating him becomes physically impossible. I mentioned before how the play functions to make the audience Anna’s proxy (down towards the end of the second section here), and never has that been truer than last night. I literally was Anna, okay. I was repelled and intimidated and scandalized by Pale’s uncontrollable, massive presence; his encroaching, searing physicality; his unpretentious, guileless anger and passions and frenetic creative energy.

One second, you’re watching this massive brickhouse tumble into crying, sniffling pieces so vulnerable and wrecked it could tear your heart out. The next he’s cracking a joke, flirting, cussing, and every single swing is so bracingly authentic that you’re literally pulled to the edge of your seat, unsure if in attraction or revulsion. Either way, you’re along for the wild ride with him every step of the way, feeling the same conflicted and unwilling compulsion towards him Anna is. Pale doesn’t just unwittingly seduce Anna; Adam absorbs every single audience member’s attention like a black hole and before you know it the audience is caring for him even before they have any hope of deciding whether they even like him. (Evidenced by the collective gasp of fear that rises from the audience when Pale, drunk, climbs outside onto a fire escape.) To call him magnetic, electric, a revelation to watch – They’re all woefully inadequate descriptions. He’s a literal inferno, blazing even when he’s silent.

So even though I have yet to reach a personal resolution on whether I accept Pale from an ethical perspective, I am nevertheless complete trash for him because Adam really leaves me no choice in the matter. Damn him. <3

Last night I sat in the upper balcony for the first time, but my friend brought binoculars we passed back and forth (lol, yes really) and I actually saw so many new, detailed nuances to Adam’s acting. I’ll go through the moments that really stood out – though it’s honestly hard to pick because he really is that Extra during the entire damn play.

Act 1

When he puts his leg up on the couch to show Anna how “fucked up” his pants are, then kind of realizes he’s standing there with his leg all weird up on the couch, asking her to look at his pants… Then just smoothly lifts his leg over the table before he lowers it, then makes the coyest face ever at her while he does this slow, deliberate twirl with the most shit-eating look on his face. The audience dies, then he cracks “I coulda been the dancer,” and the audience falls apart again.

The way you can feel his momentum and buzzing energy begin to darken, right before he breaks down completely. When he stops pacing around for the first time and his voice changes, going soft as the guilt and sorrow creeps up on him in the form of physical pain he feels driving straight through his heart. And it’s alarming, when he goes still for the first time.

I swear I’ve never seen him cry so much as last night. Once he broke down, the sniffling was constant, with these utterly, completely broken sounds mixed in whenever he tried to talk.

“Nah, this ain’t me…” “I’m trying to picture him here.”

And he keeps aggressively pushing his hair back while he’s crying, as if he can force the tears away with brute force.

OKAY so watching their first kissing scene through a pair of binoculars was like being personally undressed and ravished, holy god. A bomb could have gone off in the theater and he wouldn’t have looked away from her, he had such consuming focus. When he slides close to her, the first thing he does is slowly lift a hand to touch her hair, his eyes darting between where his fingers brush the strands and her face, gauging her reaction. And then when he leans in so slowly for the kiss, watching her first before his attention shifts to her mouth, and the kiss is slow and deep and….

Yeah I felt things.

From up in the balcony.

Adam’s kissing sex appeal is literally so flaming strong, I felt that heat from the damn balcony. I dare you to show me another man with such raw, intense sex appeal. Go on, I’ll wait. He asks her, “You okay?” when he pulls back, and she says in a sort of daze, “I’m fine.”

….Girl, I feel it too.

AHEM ANYWAY MOVING ON.

And then in the next scene, as if totally oblivious that he’s a literal tornado of sex, he just sweeps out the door with an over-the-shoulder “Alright I’m outta here” and it’s so blasé and masterfully hilarious.

Act 2 When he’s laying on the couch alone, half-asleep, and starts vaguely waving his arm in an attempt to remove invisible blankets. Then, without a single word, he reduces the entire audience to hysterics when he spends a solid two minutes pulling at the collar of his coat in a completely futile effort to take it off. That’s the level acting we’re dealing with here. He’s one-hand fighting his own coat and trying so damn hard and it’s the most entertaining thing of your entire year like WHAT EVEN.

God alsdfjsdlakjf okay when he comes out in the kimono robe and it’s open at first, for like 30 blissful seconds that massive, toned chest is out there to see above those tight black briefs and it is SO MUCH I blacked out and couldn’t even process the sight the first time I saw the play. …. Then he closes the robe, carefully ties it, fights with the sleeves because they clearly aren’t built for massive fuckin arms like his, and in an instant he’s the softest being I’ve ever seen and I’m confused as hell as to how I’m aroused and ‘omg bb’ adoring at the same time??? I think I need therapy? Or Adam needs to stop being massive and sexy but also awkward and soft at the same time, for the sake of my sanity?

I fail to imagine an image that will make my life more than giant Adam in this tiny bright purple silk kimono that barely reaches his thighs, bare foot, tying a dish towel around a pot of tea he just made like a tea cozy, then oh so carefully carrying the tea pot over to the table with his one arm still out of the sleeve and this look of intense focus on his face. I was overwhelmed and could not even begin to name the feels.

Let’s make it even WORSE shall we? When he hands Anna a cup of tea, kisses her forehead twice, says “That tea’s no good for a bad stomach. You want some milk?” then strokes her hair back, then asks “You want some eggs?”

GOD PALE GET OUT WHO GAVE YOU THE RIGHT

(^ We are all Anna)

The part where he sneakily picks up the phone to eavesdrop on Anna and Burton’s phone conversation, and stays completely silent for a long minute before hilariously bursting out, “YA GOT SOMETHIN’ TO SAY, BRUCE?!” And then AND THEN Anna angrily storms out of the bedroom and the bastard hides his face behind the empty robe sleeve and bats his eyelashes at her and bends at the knees in this cutesy little sorority girl squat and IM….?! “Real cute,” Anna says, trying real hard to be unimpressed, while the audience is in an uproar and everyone’s desperately trying to process all these newfound perplexing Adam Driver feels (WELCOME TO HELL, BITCHES. IT DOESN’T GET BETTER)

Okay okay there are SO many juicy bits during the exchange when Anna’s explaining she wants things to end between them. I was watching through the binoculars and when Anna says, “We’re apples and oranges.” He immediately gets this hella adorable smirk when he goes, “Oh yeah? Who’s the apple and who’s the orange?” Then the smirk grows when he’s all “Ever had an apple tart glazed with marmalade?” And then he’s just grinning because he’s so damn proud of how clever he is and he’s still in the FUCKIN purple kimono and he is ridiculous, I’d hate it if he didn’t own me body and soul.

Then it gets BETTER when he says, “You told me you ain’t been with no one else since you was with me a month ago. Me either. I figure one more time and we’ll have ourselves a hat trick.” And oh my GOD the shit eating grin! He looks at Larry, just grinning like a 5 year old and Larry gives him this hysterical disapproving, unamused shake of his head, but Pale just looks back at Anna full-on sunshine smiling and I’m like WHY ARE U MY PERSONAL BABY

(PS: JJ – That is what we need to see on Ben Solo’s face in TROS. You better deliver!)

He says some of my favorite dialogue here – The bit about “people walking down the street don’t mean a thing they’re doing.” He grows somber here, and this is a portion of the play’s call to its characters to strive for both emotional and artistic authenticity no matter what the price.

And then the scene gets heavy…. He stands up, disappears to get partially dressed, comes out, they start arguing, he’s still determined to make her see what’s clearly between them… And then she drops the definitive bomb over everything: “I don’t like you and I’m frightened of you.”

I watched his face through the binoculars while she delivered the blows, and it was literally like seeing a candle snuffed out. His expression melted like ice – Resolute and hard and determined one moment, and the next moment her words rush over and visibly crush him as the certainty melts from his face and leaves him empty and shell-shocked. Three seconds of silence when nothing moves but the set of his mouth and the light and strength in his face, but you’ve seen a grown man utterly crushed.

Ah, the last scene. In the first performance it was devastatingly, beautifully heartbreaking. In later performances it was humorous even while tragically inevitable. Either way, it’s brilliantly written and exquisitely acted. (Though as I’ve expressed before, I do prefer the more serious, helplessly sad versions.) I’ve never seen the two of them clutch each other as desperately and heart-rendering tenderly as they did in this performance. She fell into him on the couch, and he cradled her entire body to himself – Reaching a hand down to her thigh to pull her across his lap so his arms could engulf her entirely. They rocked together, and she clutched his arms still tighter to herself, and he kissed all over her hair while they made sounds near tears. And then Pale does break open a bit with something approaching a sob, before he curses and objects “I’m gonna cry all over your hair.”

But he only holds her tighter, as if they’ve both lost all conscious control over their bodies at this point, in the face of the all-powerful compulsion drawing them into each other’s orbits. The ending of this performance was absolutely stunning, leaving you with a myriad of unraveled emotions that are at once painfully incomplete and ill-defined, and yet just as bitingly complex and untamable as the most compelling moments of reality.

Over all, it’s nothing short of incredible to see how Adam continuously succeeds in upping his game throughout the course of the play’s run. He already brought the house down at the very first preview, and yet he manages to find new twists and interpretations to embody each and every time. What struck me this time is how boldly natural he’s become in the role – The way he leans into the accent like he’s really spent his entire damn life using the hard edges of the pronunciation like verbal brass knuckles. Adam has gotten to the point where just a single emphasized vowel sound brings the audience to hysterics:

“I heard that mollaaases you were pourin’ over maaam. Needed a shot o’ insulin.”

“Good niiiight, sleep tiiiiight.”

“Drinkin’ and thinkin’, man. Worse than drinkin’ and drivin’.”

“Fuckin’ hate Christmas. Look out… ribbons.”

“Get outta here; You’re useless!”

“Lemon will kill yaaa!”

“That was me and youuu up there.”

He has mastered how to pitch his voice for perfect, killer comedic effect. What’s more is how effortless he makes it seem; How utterly guileless. How he can swing from ugly crying to casual insensitive quip in the span of a minute, and make it just seem like the routine (if highly irregular) over-active synapses of a guy on coke. Even just his body language, the way he paces around the apartment in Act 1, completely out of sorts and out of his depth, like he’s never seen a coat rack or a stove before; A physical embodiment of his discomfiture with the emotions that don’t feel like they belong within him. His presence is imposing and even threatening, and yet his body language is alert and defensive, sometimes even self-flagellate. He embodies so many idiosyncrasies and tensions, it’s easy to see why his emotions burst from him in such tidal, chaotic floods.

I’m so thankful to have tickets to the final performance next month! I shudder to think of the feels I will drown in over how absolutely legend-level powerful Adam’s performance will be at that point. What a talent. What a man. 

I’d be overjoyed to receive any and all questions/thoughts about the play! :) Thanks for reading!

[dead-inside-like-loki]

As it Cools by the Windowsill (one shot?):

Y/N danced around her kitchen, the air smelled of sweet confections. She was once again preparing a large array of baked goods for an online order from her independent bakery. All that was left for her to do was cool the pie and frost the cookies. She carefully set the pie atop the windowsill before turning to the table where roughly two hundred macrons awaited filling and a hundred and fifty sugar cookies needed decorating. Needless to say she’d be busy for the next few hours.

Y/N hummed along to the radio while she piped filling onto macron after macron. About an hour later she had finished piping, she began frosting the cookies. Once she finished bagging the now completed desserts, she turned to take the pie only to discover it was gone. The tin was there with a note in elegant handwriting that said ‘It was delicious, Thank you. -L’. She had to admit that she was rather cross. It had taken quite a bit of time and effort to make that pie so perfect. How rude of them to simply steal it and leave a note. She figured this ‘L’ was probably just one of the neighborhood kids and decided to brush it off, setting to work on a new pie.

The next few weeks became an unfortunately familiar cycle. Y/N would bake an astonishing tart only to find it pillaged by the mysterious ‘L’, who never failed to leave a thank you note. She was beginning to wonder who exactly was to blame for all the extra work she was having to put into baking. After some pondering she formed a simple plan to set the pie to cool and wait outside for whoever dared to try and take it. The next day she set to doing just that. There it was, probably her finest apple pie yet and she placed it upon the sill to cool as she was her tradition.

Once outside she sat among the wildflowers beside her garden shed and waited. After about half an hour the scent of warm apples and cinnamon danced across her nose on the breeze. She was pulled from her slight daze by a rattle in the shed, followed by a muffled curse. Y/N held her breath as the door opened slowly. Whoever stepped out was most definitely not one of the neighborhood kids, fear struck as the figure stood. He was a tall man with long ebony hair. He was dirty, thin and walked with a slight limp, Y/N’s fear partially turning into concern. She watched cautiously as he crept over to the window. As soon as he reached for the pie she confronted him, armed with a trowel.  

“H-Hey! Explain yourself! Pie thief!” Y/N aimed the tiny spade at the man who turned to face her. She could now easily take in his slender jawline and beguiling emerald eyes. He looked at her first with fear, then amusement as he noticed her weapon of choice.

“My darling, I hate to break it to you but a spade is hardly a proper weapon to use in the presence of a god.” he smirked and took a step forward, causing the frightened woman to take one back. This continued until Y/N had backed against the shack he’d evidently been using as a hiding place. “Still believe yourself to be intimidating? Will you strike me should I take another step? Just give it a try. Come on then.” He took one more step forward and she lashed out at his arm, watching the trowel pass through him harmlessly. 

“What?! I don’t understand… How did you- How didn’t it- How!?” She dropped the tool and stammered.

“Simple. Because this me isn’t actually me. Just look on, to the window there.” A second stranger waved from inside of her house, the one before her melted in a wave of light. She tried to comprehend what the hell had just happened as the man waved for her to join him inside. Curiously or maybe just dumb, she followed his instruction and re-entered her home. “Welcome home sweetie, how was work?” he asked with a cocky grin.

“Oh, shove it. Why are you in my home?” she stayed on the opposite side of the island as she walked into the kitchen. 

He shrugged and stared out the window. “The smell.”

“The… smell?”

“Yes. It reminds me of my home on Asgard. Especially of my late mother…” his voice trailed off and wrapped his arms around himself “she used to scold me for such things. Sneaking treats after nightfall, peeking at what gifts I’d be getting for my birthday, eavesdropping on private conversations between her and Odin but, mostly for using my magic against my brother. She’d have to withdraw from important meetings to reprimand me at times. By the end of it she’d always give a warm smile, look me in the eyes, and tousle my hair. It made me feel as though someone really cared for me. The kind of love only an honest and true mother could give.” He hadn’t noticed you move to stand beside him or the tears that ran down both of their faces. “I apologize for the trouble I’ve caused you. I know I have no right to linger here in your abode or ask your assistance. I’ll take my leave then.” He moved to walk away but she grabbed his arm. 

“Your name.” she spoke softly.

“Pardon?”

“I’d like to know your name.”

“My name is Loki. What about you my darling baker?”

“Y/N”

“Well Y/N.” he lifted her chin and wiped the tears from your cheeks with a gentle touch she wouldn’t soon forget “I apologize once more and bid you farewell.” 

**************

Taglist: @lokidokimagines @lo-ki-ticklish @sociallyawkwardbeanwhowrites

[luninosity]

Here, have a piece of the story in question! I think maybe I’ll put the first bit up on AO3 tomorrow or Friday, then, if there’s interest!

##

Day one. Los Angeles at fifteen minutes before six in the morning. The Raven Studios lot, and a make-up chair. The first make-up chair, on the first official day, not a test or an exploration.

 Jason patiently closed eyes for an airbrush, a sharpened eyeliner pencil, gentle blending. Opened them and regarded himself in the mirror.

 Another person looked back, a strange hybrid self. Captain Stephen Lanyon’s slightly longer hair, courtesy of extensions, enough to pull into a gentlemanly queue. Lighter in places than Jason’s own dark brown: still brown, yeah, but kissed by the sun, by salt, by shipboard naval life. The airbrush had sun-kissed his skin as well; he was tempted to touch it, but knew better. Cherry Khan’s hands danced around him, working her spells; he’d liked her calmness ever since the first trial run. They got along; he was glad to’ve met her, part of Jillian Poe’s crew.

 He met his own gaze, through mirror-gleam and make-up. Still his eyes. Still his clothes, at least for the moment: jeans and a casual red shirt, simple and uncomplicated.

 He liked to think of himself as uncomplicated. He was: an action hero, big and justifiably proud of muscles, generally goodhearted, appreciative of his family and his grandmother’s marinara sauce.

 He didn’t feel uncomplicated right now. This role, this chance, this future: he wanted to grab onto it with both hands and cling. To prove that he could be that other self. Someone who could do more than kick and punch and shout angrily at evildoers.

 He wanted to tell stories. To tell this story, history-drenched and rich as velvet and deeply textured with the lives of two men loving each other, as men had throughout the past.

 He wanted to do this story justice. He wanted to prove himself. He wanted to impress Colby Kent and apologize to Colby Kent. They’d not spent any real time together—a table read or two, a few emails from Colby wearing the producer hat and checking on a detail or two of Jason’s contract—and Jason’d been gnawed half to death by guilt.

 He wasn’t really a dick. He hadn’t meant to hurt Colby. He’d been having a rough day, chased in circles by desperation and inadequacy, and he’d said stupid words in the hallway, and Colby’d heard him and then not been able to look at him, and—

 And Colby and Jillian had cast him anyway. That was the part Jason couldn’t figure out.

 “A bit more brightness, I think,” Cherry murmured, and one slim finger dabbed a mystery potion under his eyes. “And don’t fret so much. Is it first-day jitters, then? Or something else? Maybe…a boy?” She lifted eyebrows at him; Jason laughed. “Tell me all about it if it is. All the details.”

 “Sort of a boy,” Jason agreed obligingly. True, for a given interpretation. “It’s not like that, though. Just that I said something dumb and I haven’t been able to apologize. He’s probably not even thinking about it or me—” Also likely true; Colby must have much more interesting thoughts to occupy his time. Fabulous parties in that luxurious apartment. New ways to spend that A-list income. Guys flinging themselves his direction. Everyone adoring him.

 “—it’s just, y’know, it bothers me,” he finished. “But at least I look great, Cher, thanks.”

 “You’re lovely, dear.” She patted his shoulder. “And I’m sure if you apologize he’ll forgive you. Especially with those big pretty eyes. I’d forgive you.”

 “Thanks more?”

 “I could think of a few more things to do with you, if I was at all interested in the eggplant crowd.” Cherry patted him again. Her partner Diana was a chef, Jason knew; they’d chatted about the proper layering of lasagna and Jason’s family’s recipe early on. “I’m sure your boy could, too.”

 “He’s not my anything. It’s not…” He sighed. “It’s not like that.”

 “Of course it’s not,” Cherry said, “you’re only obsessing over something dumb you said and whether or not he’s thinking of you,” and poked a pencil at his eyebrow.

 It wasn’t like that. It’d never be. Colby might’ve agreed to work with him, the in-role chemistry might be fantastic, but Colby couldn’t look at him. Found other people to talk to after table reads. Sent proper businesslike emails that always sounded vaguely British in tone and phrasing, as if that childhood training remained inescapable.

 But Jason remembered the way that hand felt in his. He’d seen those glorious eyes upturned and gazing into his. He’d seen Colby Kent flinch, an ephemeral specter of genuine vulnerability. He’d wanted to help then; he wanted to now.

 He didn’t even know why. They weren’t friends. Colby couldn’t need him.

 But some tiny wistful part of his heart hoped Colby had someone, among that sea of admirers. Someone who’d see him. Someone who’d be there for him.

 Jason’s heart wished it could help. Not even because Colby Kent was gorgeous and talented and a daydream come to life. Just because it did not like the idea of someone being unhappy, and particularly that someone being Colby, who would choose a co-star based on what’d be best for the film, regardless of personal discomfort.

 Jason, eyeing himself and his newly shaped eyebrows, knew he should be thinking of his own role. Slipping into Stephen’s skin. Preparing for a soundstage and a ship’s deck, the movie-magic half-built version. Conversations with Leo Whyte, playing his loyal lieutenant. Later, that afternoon, one conversation with Colby. A moment in which William Crawford, Viscount Easterly, had dared ill health and parental anger to slip onto Stephen’s ship and say farewell. They would not touch, not even kiss, in a space filled with crew and pre-departure bustle; but they would take each other’s hands, briefly, and they would know.

 Jason, who’d taken Colby’s hand once, understood. Intimacy stolen out of public view. A commitment made sweeter by the ache of restraint. By the brush of skin to skin, laid bare.

 Colby’d chosen. Had put his hand into Jason’s, given the invitation.

 And Jason needed to stop remembering, imagining, wondering. For one thing, he didn’t have the right. For another, those imaginings were starting to cause certain effects in his jeans, a fact simultaneously hot and potentially embarrassing and startling. He knew what he liked, as far as sweetness and surrender actively forthrightly given; he could not remember a time when he’d gone achingly hard from the memory of a touch of a hand.

 Dammit. He had to stop thinking about Colby Kent. About wide blue eyes with their unusual darker outer ring of color, about the sparkle in them when saying Captain like a dare, like a tease—

 “Good morning!” Cherry chirped to someone behind his shoulder. “What’re you doing in this early, sugar, you’re not on set until this afternoon!”

 “I can’t come by to say hello to my favorite artistic genius?” That voice. Oh god, that voice. Amusement in ancient castles. Sunlight over stones. Arthurian mythology by way of Southern California. Jason sat frozen, thanking God and Cherry for concealer that’d hide flushed cheeks.

 Colby went on, “I’ve also bought pastries for everyone. There’s more on the cart outside, but I thought I’d bring this box over. I know they’re nothing as good as Di’s, but perhaps still good enough to begin the shoot with? And—oh, Jason! Good morning. Would you like some sort of apple tart? Or a cinnamon…well, I don’t know what that is, but it’s definitely got cinnamon in.”

 “Um,” Jason managed.

 “I’ll just leave these and get out of your way.”

 “No you won’t,” Cherry said, picking up something round and chocolate-dipped. “Colby, darling, tell us exactly everything from Maureen Hart’s engagement party last month. Did she really invite all her exes? And did Skylar Mason really get drunk and fall into the pool, because the tabloids are saying so, but I know someone who worked on all five seasons of Vampire High with him and said he was the sweetest nicest boy—”

 Colby, who of course had been invited—Mo Hart’s engagement party invite list had comprised most of A-list Hollywood, several billionaires, and a prince or two, and decidedly not Jason—perched on the edge of a second chair and said willingly, “No, as far as I know he only tripped over someone, there was hardly any room to breathe even up on that rooftop patio, and I’m very sorry but I didn’t properly count the number of exes, though I did see Brett Claremont gazing longingly at Lindsay Miller, and she seemed to be looking back?” and they disappeared into a discussion of glamorous film-star hook-ups and break-ups and whether Lindsay should take Brett back, for a good twenty minutes.

 They seemed to forget that Jason existed. That was fine. Jason was busy getting breath back. Forcing blood into other parts of his body.

 Colby, he noticed, tended not to lead a conversation. Answering questions, smiling, happily responding to whatever Cherry wanted to know and apologizing for not knowing some answers, but definitely reacting instead of directing. Being exactly what she wanted of him.

 Jason did not know what to do with this information.

 He watched Colby Kent some more. Colby, even dressed casually, came in layers. Comfortable-looking but stylish pants, not jeans. A blue cardigan over a button-down shirt, even at six in the morning. The cardigan was buttoned also. Jason thought about that for a minute, too.

 Colby might just be one of those people who couldn’t stand to look unkempt. Considering the motion of those hands, the half-messy swoop of dark hair that fluffed outward more on one side than the other, Jason wasn’t sure. Something about the sleeves and the buttons suggested armor. Something about Colby’s smile suggested steps across ice: not shy, not afraid, but aware. Conscious of each reply, as if making sure it was what would be desired.

 Colby’s hair was longer now as well. William needed to have dramatic windswept Byronic locks, good for pensive longing beside a library window or winding a lover’s fingers through. Colby hadn’t done extensions, though; that was all his hair, soft and dark and rumpled from the early morning.

 Jason’s fingers, without regard for Jason’s brain, wanted to go over there and rumple it more.

 “I’m so sorry,” Colby said, turning his way. “We’re neglecting you. It wasn’t even that good a party; I only went because, well, they invited me, and I didn’t want to be rude and say no. I left early, in fact, and went home and found a book. Have you had any pastries? This one’s got blueberries and some sort of creamy center. How are you feeling about this morning? Have you been practicing all of Stephen’s nautical terminology?”

 You went because they invited you and your popularity with the media, Jason thought. You probably bought the most expensive item on their gift list, too. And then went home early. With a book. He said, “What book?”

[aphreal42]

Knight Shop: Apples

I have very little explanation for this, but I blame this book I read (Apples of Uncommon Character by Rowan Jacobsen) and @trulycertain who brought the book to my attention in the first place. 

Alistair had been on shift for five minutes. Almost exactly five minutes. Which he knew because he’d been staring at the shop clock for the small portions of those five minutes that he hadn’t spent staring longingly at the break room. He’d meant to save it for lunch, he really had. But… it was just sitting in there, tempting him with its siren call of sweet, berrylike flavor. How could he be expected to wait for three hours? He might go mad trying to resist for that long. Best not to risk it.

Twenty seconds later, he emerged from the break room, mouth full of juice from his first bite of crisp, ripe apple. He chewed slowly, letting the flavors fill his mouth as he savored every bit of it. He’d never known apples could taste like this!

It didn’t look like much, he reflected as he took a second bite. Squat and round, with a stripey mottling of red. But Maker’s breath, the flavor…

He couldn’t possibly keep this discovery to himself. Swallowing, he enjoyed the slight tartness lingering on his tongue, then announced to the room, “This is incredible! Everyone should eat these.”

The pronouncement didn’t earn the sort of reception he’d hoped for. Cassandra’s eyebrows lowered in irritation as she was distracted from her paperback. There might have been a tiny twitch of a few muscles in Gal’s face, but that could have been the lighting. Blackwall didn’t even look up from whatever automotive magazine he was paging through.

Determined to properly evangelize on behalf of this miraculous fruit, Alistair tried again. “It’s amazing. You have no idea what you’re missing out on.”

“It is an apple.” Cassandra’s flat tone conveyed a complete lack of appreciation. “You can find a hundred like it at the shop down the street.”

Now he had her. “No, you can’t. Because this apple didn’t come from a shop. This apple--” He held it up so they could admire it in all of its quirky, particolored beauty. “--came from a tree!”

There was a long pause as the other knights stared at him, finally giving his prize the awe it was due. Satisfied, Alistair took another bite, the crisp flesh crunching satisfyingly between his teeth.

It was Gal who finally spoke, with that glint in his eyes that Alistair had learned to distrust. “So, out of curiosity, where do you think the apples in shops come from, originally?”

Blackwall, eyes still glued on his magazine, snorted, and Cassandra failed to conceal a grin. Alistair glared at the trio of his fellow knights as he chewed, refusing to waste any of this sublime apple experience by rushing through it.

Until his mouth was clear to offer a retort, Alistair had to settle for fixing Gal with the most withering look he could manage. Which had about as much effect as expected. Snakes were always immune to their own venom.

Ignoring Gal’s self-satisfied smirk -- Alistair had been working here long enough to catalog at least some of the man’s micro-expressions, and he’d had ample opportunity to see that particular one -- he finally swallowed the bite of apple and pointedly didn’t answer the question. “This apple was purchased directly from the person who picked it off its tree.” Or possibly from the person who employed the person who had picked it, but close enough. “Alexia’s stall at the market has a new neighbor, and the neighbor has an orchard.”

Blackwall finally took an interest in the conversation, and his amusement was even easier to read than Gal’s. “You came to work straight from your lady’s house this morning, then?”

Trust Blackwall to completely miss the point. “Of course not. She doesn’t have time for fencing practice in the morning. I got this when I was there yesterday afternoon.”

With a noncommittal grunt, Blackwall’s smile faded, and he went back to his magazine.

Gal had lost interest in hearing about the marvel of fresh-picked heirloom apples, as well, and Cass hadn’t had any to begin with. Alistair was beginning to despair of finding anyone who appreciated his fruit-related epiphany when the Shop door opened with a cheery jingle. Kosh stepped in, head ducked as he passed through the doorway.

Finally, someone who would appreciate a culinary discovery! “Kosh! You like apples, right?”

The vashoth didn’t answer immediately, blinking at him with the cautious look of someone not sure what he was walking into. Which, to be fair, was usually the wisest response to entering the Shop.

Alistair held up his half-eaten apple in demonstration, and a look of relief crossed Kosh’s face with the confirmation they were talking about concrete, specific fruit. He nodded, slowly. “Apples, yes. Why apples?”

“Because Alexia met a guy at the market who owns an orchard, and this isn’t just an apple! It’s a…” Running out of descriptions, he flourished the -- What had Alexia called it? A Grav? Something like that. He flourished the probably-a-Grav dramatically, then settled for taking another bite, letting the apple speak for him.

Kosh’s eyes brightened. “An heirloom orchard? Will the owner have a stall at the market regularly?”

Alistair nodded, fairly certain that he’d made out most of Kosh’s words through ears full of apple crunching and that he wasn’t agreeing to something he’d regret later. Not that he thought Kosh would try that. Definitely no talking to Erren this morning, though.

Kosh’s mostly-audible words continued. “Do you think she’d mind finding out if he has any clock-apple trees?”

Clock apples? Then again, a month ago, the kids Alexia worked with had been picking tomatoes called BumbleBees, so why not a clock apple?

Alistair shrugged and nodded simultaneously, trying to indicate wordlessly that no, he doubted she’d mind, and sure, he’d ask her to ask. Apparently satisfied with that answer, Kosh thanked him and went to speak to Cass about whatever he’d actually come to the Shop for.

Alistair took another bite, the crunching drowning out their soft conversation, which almost certainly had nothing to do with apples. Their loss.

Alexia perused the carefully stacked piles of fruit, squinting at the hand-written tags labeling each variety. There were several that looked like the ones from last week, patchy red and green, but none of the labels matched up.

“Something in particular I can help you find?” The man who ran the stall looked exactly like the sort of person Alexia would have pictured owning an apple orchard, friendly and serious, but in a relaxed, comfortable sort of way. A warm smile creased his slightly weathered face, and his fingernails always had dirt under them.

“I got some Gravensteins from you last week, and my knight enjoyed them so much I was hoping I could get more for him. But I don’t seem to be able to find any.”

The man’s smile crinkled the skin around his eyes. “Your friend has good taste; Gravs are the best thing that come off my trees this time of year. But they don’t last. People snap them up so quickly I can’t keep them in the stall for more than a week or two. And I wouldn’t want to; they go to mush in a fortnight after they’re off the tree.” He scanned his eyes around the stall, settling on a small pile of large, somewhat flattened apples. “Try the Rambour. It’s not quite as berry-sweet, but there’s some nice aromatic in there. Might do until fall when the rest of the trees start ripening up.”

“Thank you, I’ll give those a try.” Alexia placed a few of the Rambours onto the scale, noting the raised texture of the pale flecks on their skin.

As the grower wrote down the weight, Alexia got to her second purpose for stopping by his stall. “I also wanted to ask… My knight raved about your apples to a friend, and his friend wanted to know if you have any clock-apple trees.”

He gently set the large, red-streaked apples into her basket. “I thought I heard wrong the first time, but that’s twice now, so I have to ask. Your knight?”

Alexia refused to flush in the face of the man’s amused curiosity. She’d forgotten how that sounded to people who weren’t used to the Shop. “I fence competitively. He’s my training partner.” Which was an explanation, if not the full one.

“Fencing as in swords, so call him a knight.” He nodded to himself, satisfied with that logic. “Well, I’m afraid I can’t help. I’ve never heard of clock apples.”

“It’s possible he might have remembered the name wrong.”

“Better with swords than words, your knight?”

“You could say that.” Alexia couldn’t have said if her contented amusement was for the orchard owner’s clear enjoyment of talking about a knight or at the memory of meandering sentences that lost their way and ended up trailing off into something entirely unrelated to where they’d begun. “His friend’s an avid baker, if that helps any. He would almost certainly be looking for something to put in pies or tarts.”

“Aha!” The man’s eyes lit up. “You’re looking for a Glockenapfel. The name, like the fruit, is from the Anderfels. But no, I don’t grow any. I’d like to, but I’ve never been able to get a start to take well here. I think they just don’t like my soil. If your friend is looking for good bakers, though, here’s what I can tell him.” He reached for a small scrap of paper, torn from a brown bag, and jotted notes down on it as he spoke, using the stub of a pencil. “If he’s looking to make a Fereldan style pie, all melted and binding together, I’ll have Bramleys in about six weeks, if the weather holds out. But if he wants something more like the Glockenapfel, the crisper fruits they favor in Anders and Orlesian baking, tell him to wait about two months until the Calville Blancs are ready. Make the best apple tarts in or out of Val Royeaux, those do.” He passed her the scrap of paper, with the names and date ranges clearly written on it. “To prevent any more problems in translation.”

Smiling, Alexia accepted the notes and paid for the Rambours, taking the fruit back to tuck away at her own stall, out of sight to avoid tempting any of the university student volunteers to have a snack. These were for Alistair, so they had to make it safely home.

[emmatrustsno-one]

Food (and class) in Harry Potter A (lengthy) guide for fans who aren’t British

After another user asked me some questions about British food as it appears in Harry Potter I decided to make a post about it, as no doubt other foreign readers have similar questions. I will talk about EVERYTHING so sorry if you have to scroll through loads of stuff you know to find what you want, but I have written it to be accessible to literally anyone and I don’t want to assume people know what something is just because I do.

Also, it was impossible to make the post without referencing class. The fact that it was impossible only goes to show how it’s probably impossible to understand the books in depth without an understanding of class in Britain. The whole texts are encoded with references to class which are so subtle (much like class itself) that even I, who grew up being encoded in the same way, had to analyse the texts to find them. At some point I’ll make a post about just class, but for now we’ll stick to the light-hearted topic of food!

Foods eaten at Hogwarts:

Main courses:

Probably to give a subtle wave to the fact that Hogwarts is the magical version of a public school, nearly all the food consumed there is traditional and British. A public school here is NOT a state-maintained school, it is a private, extremely expensive, prestigious, boarding school, e.g Eton, which only the children of people with a lot of money and a lot of influence attend. By default, these people are usually upper class or aristocracy. (Obviously in the wizarding world money isn’t a factor in school attendance, but nevertheless that is what Hogwarts is modelled on.) There is never any mention of processed foods at Hogwarts except chips and a few common desserts. Here is a list, with explanation, of foods mentioned there:

stew/casserole (meat and vegetables cooked together with stock for several hours)

roast beef and chicken (the two most commonly eaten meats here, I would say)

pork/lamb chops (cuts of those meats with a bit of bone through the top)

sausage (usually made with pig meat in the UK)

bacon (here it is larger and softer than in many countries)

steak (a cut of beef, usually expensive)

boiled (in water until soft, no skins), roast (in the oven until brown, no skins) and mashed (boiled and puréed, no skins) potatoes

chips (not crisps, of course, but rather fat French fries)

Yorkshire pudding (pancake batter which is cooked in a muffin pan in the oven until risen and crispy; originated from the county of Yorkshire and usually served with roast beef)

PLEASE NOTE THAT ‘PUDDING’ IS NOT NECESSARILY SWEET, NOR A MOUSSE-LIKE SAUCE THING. I MADE A BLOG POST LAST WEEK ABOUT ‘PUDDING’.

peas (usually small and taken out of the pod, a bit like petit pois, – garden peas; occasionally larger and softer – marrowfat peas; sometimes mashed up into a purée – mushy peas, which are usually served with chips)

carrots (peeled and either boiled or roasted)

gravy (like meat jus, but nowadays normally made from a flavoured powder that you add water to and stir. It’s brown and fairly thick)

ketchup (this one annoys me because no-one I know says ketchup – it’s tomato sauce, at least in the north)

sprouts (brussels sprouts )

steak and kidney pie (pastry filled with steak and kidney in a gravy)

PLEASE NOTE THAT PIE IS USUALLY SAVOURY HERE. We do have fruit pies, but if someone says ‘pie’ a British person will picture a savoury thing, probably with meat in it.

steak and kidney pudding (steak and kidney in gravy encased in suet pastry, which is a crumbly, soft pastry made from just suet, flour and water. It is steamed, not baked, usually)

sausage rolls (a staple of British lunchtime foods – sausagemeat wrapped in a flaky pastry and eaten hot or cold)

jacket potato (also called a baked potato, it’s a whole potato baked in the oven with the skin still on until it’s crisp on the outside and soft on the inside, and is usually served with cheese in it)

porridge (oats cooked in milk or water, often called oatmeal in other countries)

marmalade (jam made from citrus fruits, usually orange)

PLEASE NOT THAT JAM IS NON-CITRUS FRUIT AND SUGAR COOKED UNTIL IT SETS INTO A SPREAD.

Desserts:

jam tart (a small, open pastry case with jam in it)

ice cream (the most common flavours here are vanilla, chocolate and strawberry)

apple pie (pastry case with sweetened apples)

treacle tart (pastry case with a sweet, thin filling made from golden syrup and breadcrumbs, not treacle)

éclairs (popular French cream cake – long choux bun filled with cream and topped with chocolate)

jam doughnuts (dough fried in oil and filled with jam, most often strawberry)

jelly (called jell-o in some countries – flavoured gelatine)

NOT TO BE CONFUSED WITH JAM – AMERICANS CALL JAM JELLY.

rice pudding (short grain rice cooked for several hours in milk and sugar until it forms a thick mixture not unlike sweet porridge)

custard tart (pastry case filled with an egg, milk and sugar mixture which has been baked until set)

spotted dick (steamed suet pudding, which is like a warm sponge cake, filled with raisins and served with custard)

chocolate gateau (fancy chocolate cake with cream on top)

trifle (layered fruit, jelly, sponge cake, custard and cream – a classic)

mint humbugs (a hard mint to freshen your breath after eating)

At Christmas:

roast turkey (the meat we traditionally eat at Christmas)

chipolatas (tiny pork sausages)

buttered peas (just peas with a bit of butter on the them)

cranberry sauce (cranberries and sugar cooked together until set – served with savoury foods like turkey – it’s not as sweet as jam)

turkey sandwiches (literally the entire country eats this on Christmas night to use up some turkey)

Christmas cake (very rich, dense fruit cake topped with a layer of marzipan and then a layer of icing)

Christmas pudding (hot, very rich steamed pudding made from dried fruits, nuts and suet, often served with brandy sauce)

crumpets (these aren’t a Christmas food, they just happen to eat them at Christmas. They are round, flat buns, though not exactly bread, with holes in them, that you toast and butter. Often people eat them for breakfast, or, like in the book, as a snack at night. They are savoury, not sweet)

mince pies (small pies filled with a mixture of dried fruits, sugar and brandy – sweet, not savoury – they were made with minced meat a few hundred years ago, and the name mince pie has stuck)

fudge (a type of sweet made by heating sugar, butter and milk until it sets)

During the Triwizard Tournament:

bouillabaisse (French fish stew/soup that hardly anyone here has heard of/would try!)

goulash (Eastern European stew made with meat and paprika that a lot of people have at least heard of and would try!)

blancmange (French dessert which is a basically white, almond-flavoured jelly that some people have heard of and a few would try)

It’s necessary to mention here, how the fact that Hermione knows what the bouillabaisse is and has tried it is a DEFINITE indicator of class. She is upper middle class. I’ll talk more about why when I do a class post, but for now it’s enough to say that no working-class child, unless they have family ties to France or have learned about it in French at school, would even know what it was and would be very unlikely to try it if given the opportunity. You can’t read that scene, as a British person, and not understand that Hermione comes from a cultured, moneyed background.

It’s also interesting to compare these foods with the foods usually served at state-maintained schools at the time HP was written: we are talking about fatty, greasy, processed rubbish with no nutrition at all, e.g. turkey twizzlers, nuggets, pizza, chips, hot dogs, cakes. You do still find such foods in state schools but normally alongside more healthy options. Since Jamie Oliver’s war on school food things are a lot better, but the point is that the food at Hogwarts is a clear nod to the privilege of the pupils: working-class kids wouldn’t have been able to eat things like that at school. My primary school (ages 4-11) served stew sometimes, with overcooked vegetables, but that’s all, and my secondary school served pizza, hot dogs, nuggets and chips every day and that was it.

Foods mentioned but not eaten in the Great Hall:

sherbet lemons (real sweets, they are strong, lemon-flavoured hard sweets that contain a powder that makes your tongue fizz)

custard creams (biscuits made from 2 square simple biscuits with vanilla cream sandwiched between them)

Foods eaten at the Weasleys’:

Food is one of the main ways by which the Weasleys are coded as working-class. Everything they eat is either a comfort food your grandma makes or some cheap thing you eat and don’t mind but wish was something else.

corned beef sandwiches (corned beef is beef which has been processed and salt-cured and has the mushy consistency of cat food. It was popular during the war, when meat was scarce and rationed, and is associated with poverty and lack of better meat. That isn’t to say that people don’t like it, but it is true that many people don’t)

Speaking of processed meats, the Weasleys eat a lot of sausage and bacon, which are very popular but also available cheaply.

chicken and ham pie (this is the only time I can think of that it is mentioned that the Weasleys were having a ‘proper’ meat, as in unprocessed, and if I remember correctly it was for Harry’s birthday, so a special occasion. It’s pastry filled with chicken and ham in a white sauce and is the sort of thing your grandma probably made)

boiled potatoes (they do have boiled potatoes at Hogwarts, but alongside other types of potato.)

It’s hard for me to explain why, but boiled potatoes, specifically, have a working-class connotation. You are definitely more likely to eat boiled potatoes in a working-class family. Here are 2 anecdotes form my life about boiled potatoes to illustrate my point!

1. I know someone from a privileged background. Her father was an electrical engineer who held government contracts. She went to a grammar school (a school that’s free but you have to pass a test to go to) and lived in an affluent city where one of the main public schools is. As soon as she opens her mouth you can hear that she’s from an upper middle-class background. I once discussed cooking dinner with her and said I was making boiled potatoes. She scoffed and said she never did as she couldn’t see the point – if she has boiled them she might as well mash them.

2. At university my friend started going out with a guy from a solid middle-class background. His parents had a second home in South Africa, where his father worked for part of the year. They were staunch Tories (supported the political party to the right of the centre). She and I once discussed making dinner and she said it was her turn to make it tonight and the guy wanted sautéed potatoes. Her exact words next were “he’ll just have to make do with boiled, I’m too tired”.

Somehow the fact that the Weasleys eat boiled potatoes makes them working-class, an under-class. It’s somehow seen as lazy and simple by people from higher classes.

rhubarb crumble (stewed rhubarb topped with a flour, butter and sugar mixture that goes hard and crumbly, usually served with custard)

Again, this is a working-class mainstay. Many people used to grow rhubarb in their gardens because it grows easily and is hardy in our weather. Add a bit of sugar and it’s an almost free dessert.

chocolate pudding (not to be confused with chocolate pudding in American terms, ours is a suet pudding made with chocolate and served hot, usually with a chocolate sauce)

Foods eaten with the Dursleys:

a bun from the bakers (could be either a sandwich made from a bread roll or a sweet bun such as an iced bread roll, without more info it’s not clear. The word ‘bun’ is used to describe many things, and it’s different depending on where you are in the country. For example, I would never say ‘bun’ and mean sandwich but I know some people do. I personally picture an iced bun).

knickerbocker glory (an ice cream sundae)

fruit cake (dense cake made with dried fruits, like a dressed down version of Christmas cake, seems quite old-fashioned now)

roast pork (a joint of pork roast in the oven, often with a layer of fat over it that goes crispy)

soup (a common starter)

salmon (usually a whole fish, baked or poached)

lemon meringue pie (the French dessert anglicised – a pastry case filled with a layer of set lemon cream and topped with meringue)

grapefruit

I want to pause at this point to point out how clear it is that the Dursleys are higher class than the Weasleys. For one, Uncle Vernon just buys whatever he fancies from the bakers for lunch but Ron (and presumably the whole family) are given sandwiches made by Mrs Weasley, containing what they can afford. Secondly, roast pork and salmon are expensive and only eaten by people with more than the basic amount of money and even then really only on special occasions. Sometimes people will have a salmon on the buffet at their wedding, for instance. It’s a far cry from processed meats and chicken and ham pie. Not least because you can make a decent pie out of even poor quality meat, but to make a good roast, especially if you are trying to impress your boss, you need a good quality joint. Thirdly, if on a diet it’s unlikely someone working-class would eat grapefruit for breakfast. I know working-class kids who wouldn’t even be able to identify a grapefruit. Moreover, the fact that they served the meal to Vernon’s boss in three courses, followed by after-dinner mints shows that they either are middle-class, or, more likely, trying to appear so. The Weasleys just have their main course and pudding, even on special occasions. I don’t think I’ve ever had a starter in my life except for in restaurants. Furthermore, at the zoo Dudley and Piers get ice creams and Harry gets a lemon ice lolly. I don’t think there is any more striking a symbol of a working-class person in the 90s trying to treat themselves than cheap lemon ice lollies! All ice cream stands had one and it was always the cheapest thing. By doing this, Vernon is showing that he views Harry as a lesser-class than himself and Dudley. Lastly, while Petunia is preparing the meal for Vernon’s boss, Harry is given bread and cheese for his supper. Bread and cheese conjures up images of Scrooge sitting in the dark eating alone because it was so cheap: Victorian levels of poverty and definite allusions to being a lesser-class.

On a side note, the Dursleys still got their milk and eggs from the milkman, a man from a dairy who delivered to people’s houses in the mornings. In those days lots of people still did, and you do still get milkmen now to a lesser degree. My grandparents got their milk from the milkman and so did my husband’s parents, up until at least 2000.

whipped cream and sugared violets (I had to look up sugared violets myself. I think I am probably too working-class, or possibly too northern, to have heard of them. They seem to be the head of the violet flower dipped in egg white and sugar so that it becomes hard. I have never heard of putting them in cream to make a pudding before.)

Additional foods relating to Hagrid:

birthday cake (usually sponge and covered in icing. In Britain, unlike many countries, you do not buy your own birthday cake: your parents usually get one for you)

rock cakes (these are real, though I grew up calling them rock buns. They are a basically a blob of cake cake batter with currants in, baked for a short time. They are like a cross between muffins and cookies)

treacle toffee (hard black toffee, often eaten around bonfire night)

stoat sandwiches (as far as I am concerned these are not real! I have never heard of anyone eating that! A stoat is small animal like a weasel)

Foods sold by magical establishments, e.g. Honeydukes/the Hogwarts Express:

these foods don’t exist outside HP, but could theoretically be made –

pumpkin juice

pumpkin pasties (a pasty is like a pie but the pastry is filled and then folded over, not topped with a lid)

chocoballs filled with strawberry mousse and clotted cream (clotted cream is thick, rich cream that has thickened naturally, not by whipping)

mulled mead (you can get mead, though it’s not common, and mulled just means it’s cooked through with various spices)

cherry syrup with soda (to us, soda is carbonated water, not pop)

these foods aren’t real but are based on real ones –

Drooble’s best blowing gum (wizard bubble gum)

liquorice wands (you can get sticks of liquorice

fizzing whizzbees (imo based on a sweet called a flying saucer, which is a     thin, rice paper-like shell shaped like a flying saucer and filled with sherbet

exploding bonbons (bonbons here are round and soft, sometimes with a powdery centre, which break apart easily and fill your mouth

these foods are real –

peppermint creams (icing sugar mixed with peppermint oil until soft but firm, often coated in chocolate        

mars bars (chocolate coated nougat-cream and caramel)

these foods aren’t real and aren’t really based on anything, as far as I can tell –

                                                  butterbeer

                                                  gillywater

                                                  sugar quills

                                                  ice mice

                                                  cockroach cluster

                                                  blood pops

                                                  toothflossing stringmints

                                                  pepper imps

                                                  cauldron cakes

these foods weren’t real before HP but now exist as part of the HP merchandise –

Bertie Bott’s every flavour beans (they are like jelly beans)

Chocolate frogs

Two final things. Firstly, on the topic of class it is worth noting that Lupin felt he had to apologise for only having teabags. Literally nobody who is working-class drinks tea in any other form than teabags 99.9% of the time. You can get loose leaf tea, which is seen as fancy, nicer and is certainly more expensive. I got some for Christmas last year, for instance. Nobody working-class would ever even bat an eyelid at someone offering them tea in bag form. It’s totally normal. The fact that Lupin apologises shows that he is acutely aware that he is more lowly than the average Hogwarts teacher. He is embarrassed by something that most of the population find normal. He feels under them, in class terms. Even though he knows Harry grew up without privilege (though the Dursleys themselves are middle-class), now that Harry is part of Hogwarts he has ascended enough in class terms that Lupin is concerned he will disappointed to have tea from a bag. This goes some way to showing how class isn’t just about money: it’s about tastes and habits.

Secondly, in compiling this post it became really clear that sausages are a leitmotiv marking times when Harry feels cosy, familial and homey. The first thing Hagrid does is cook him sausages, which represent being lifted out of the world of cold and hunger he is living in; becoming someone who others care about and want to care for. When he is rescued to the Weasleys in CoS and is blown away by the wizarding house and starts to feel at home and safe, the first thing Molly does is feed him loads of sausages. Sausages are often mentioned at breakfast at Hogwarts, especially when Harry is in a good mood. Perhaps it was unconscious and JKR herself associates sausages with feelings of family and at home-ness.

One final thing and that’s it, I promise. While writing this it struck me how different what I mean when I say “privilege” is from what an American means when they say it. I have mentioned this before, and at some point will do a blog post about it, but race is bound up so intricately with American history and life that words like “privilege” are encoded with images of skin colour. I bet the average American read “privilege” and pictured a white person, but in the UK that wouldn’t be the case. Skin colour has nothing to do with it. Here, “privilege” means what you have access to, how valid other people see your tastes and way of life, what you have grown up doing, seeing, eating, hearing, believing. It is bound up inexorably with how much money you have, what you do for a living and where you live and, crucially, with your family’s status historically. That one thing is the reason that comparisons between death eaters and Nazis don’t really hold up: HP is about genealogy and not ideology.

[snowbellewells]

Self-Promo Sunday: Do-Si-Dos and Tagalongs

(This is a little one-shot originally written for Halloween a few years back, prior to season 7 airing. I know that Halloween has passed, but only by a couple of days, and so I thought I would bring this little bit of mischief and fluff back. I suppose we might call this a sort of alternate s7 headcanon fic, looking at a bit of domesticity that might have happened had everyone stayed in Storybrooke post s6. Enjoy!!). I have attempted to use a “Read more” break - I hope it worked on mobile. If you prefer this fic can also be found on AO3 and ff.net in my “Of Swans and Swords and Hopeful Hearts” collection.

Summary : Emma stumbles into a bit of a household mystery, leading right back to her pirate husband and a very sweet reward for everyone.

“Do-Si-Dos & Tagalongs” By: @snowbellewells

It all began with little Robyn, as it often did, and her wisps of untamed auburn hair framing her face, with that mischievous, gap-toothed six-year-old child’s grin and twinkle in her bright, beguiling eyes – both features that never failed to remind those who had known him of her late father and the bit of roguish bandit his smile never quite lost, even after settling in modern day Storybrooke. She had come to the two-story house Emma, Killian, and Henry had called home for some five years, with a platter full of cookies and tarts, nearly three months past, beaming and incredibly proud of herself as she presented the whole thing to the Savior, her pirate husband, and their Author son, whom she merely called “Auntie Emma”, “Uncle Killy”, and “Cousin Henry”, as a ‘thank you’ to the three of them for helping her to corral and coax her erstwhile little black cat Mac back home when he’d gotten out of the house and made a beeline for trouble, just as his young mistress often did. Regina and Zelena both trailed after her, doing their best to look bored and unconcerned with the proceedings, hands in pockets of tailored coats and matching sisterly arched brows challenging anyone to assume otherwise.

It was Regina who had shrugged sardonically when Killian exclaimed over the deliciousness of the crisp, chocolate Thin Mints, “No need to get so excited, Pirate. We just over-ordered from the Girl Scouts.”

There had been a whole, long explanation required of Emma from her inquisitive Captain once the Mills sisters and their pint size charge had gone. ‘What were Girl Scouts? Why did they sell cookies? How does one procure such delicacies? Which flavors were the best?’ and so on. For the moment, however, Emma had not been able to do more than giggle to herself at her dumbstruck husband smiling affectionately at the little girl and her gift, crow’s feet crinkling adorably beside his eyes – not to mention Robyn beaming back at him. She had sneakily managed to snap a couple pictures of the whole thing with her iPhone before Killian realized, and though Henry had seen what she was up to and smirked knowingly, he had refrained from giving her away.

Emma hadn’t thought much more about the little episode since. As was always true of Girl Scout cookies (and homemade Enchanted Forest-style apple and cherry tarts too, she was quickly learning) the plate of goodies hadn’t lasted long. Henry, fully a teenager and having recently taken up track at Violet, Grace, and Nicholas and Ava’s urging, (‘His own little crew!’, the perpetual loner Emma had been all through her own school years kept crowing happily inside) ate enough for the three of them combined, Killian had the most ridiculous sweet tooth she had ever seen, and she was rapidly discovering her own weakness for warmed up baked goods of all kinds on a chilly Fall evening. Never in her life had Emma been so settled and comfortable in one place for so long, and she couldn’t deny that she was savoring it. So when her favorites, the Do-Si-Dos, Henry’s preferred Samoas, and Killian’s Thin Mints all vanished by the end of that week, she was disappointed to find their surprise treats gone, but not at all shocked. Nothing seemed strange in fact, until she went to dig through her purse where she always kept five or ten bucks worth of dollar bills tucked away for impulsive buys, and instead found nothing but empty space.

The first time, she merely shook her head at herself; confused, but figuring that she must have snagged something at the gas station counter the last time she filled the Bug and then forgotten to replenish her stash. But it kept happening – a second, third, fourth, and even fifth, time. The radar which used to serve her well as a bail bondsperson tracking down skips in Boston had been set off and her suspicious nature engaged. A strange little mystery had presented itself in her house by the sea – and Emma Swan was determined to get to the bottom of it.

[[MORE]]

Henry was her first suspect, as she thought he might have just figured he was getting a quick advance on his allowance to take his friends for Cokes and cheese fries at Granny’s after practice or something like that. Yet, after watching her son for just a couple of days – and his allowance payout coming and going without him offering to pay her back – Emma ruled him out as the culprit. That only left her sneakily playful pirate husband, and honestly she should have known it was him without even having to test her findings.

Emma wasn’t sure how Killian was managing to swipe his loot right out from under her nose without her being able to catch him at it, and she was even more puzzled by what he could possibly be buying so often that she never saw a trace of, but then, she had never doubted how slick he was, and he’d had centuries to perfect his skills.

The whole little intrigue carried on for nearly another month before Emma finally got the lucky break that spoiled Killian’s secret. She came home early from the station one afternoon; her dad having arrived a couple hours ahead of his own shift to give her a break, and as she turned the corner onto their street – though theirs was really the only house on it as the land began to roll down toward the harbor – she saw Killian closing the door behind him as he disappeared back inside, while Robyn with one of her little Girl Scout buddies in tow hopped down the front steps and out through the white picket fence onto the sidewalk, the two of them giggling together conspiratorially as they did.

Pulling up beside them, Emma parked her car at the curb quickly and hopped out to catch them before they could get far. She met the girls at the sidewalk, and for a moment wasn’t sure whether to crouch down at their level playfully, or to cross her arms and give them her ‘Mom’ look to get the answers she suddenly sensed she had found at last. She went with arms crossed authoritatively over her chest, eyebrow cocked expectantly, not wanting to consider the fact that she must look like some sort of blonde cross between her own schoolteacher-princess mother and Robyn’s Aunt Regina when she meant business. All she said was, “What brings you two here?” with a hint of a jest in her words, even though her stance clearly expected an answer.

Robyn had the decency to flush and look a bit nervous, her eyes falling to study the squeaky-clean saddle shoes she always wore with her Girl Scout uniform, before snapping her eyes back up to the Savior’s with a smile that would have done both her snarky mother and her charming outlaw father proud. ‘Oh yeah,’ Emma thought, she was definitely seeing a bit of Zelena’s formerly conniving streak now. “Nothing really,” the girl tried brightly. “Laney had just never met Captain Hook before, and so I told her it was no big deal, we were tight, and brought her over.”

The other little girl said nothing to confirm or deny Robyn’s claim, though her awkward shifting from side-to-side easily spoke for itself. Not that Emma would have mistaken her for the ringleader of whatever shenanigan was playing out here anyway; that had her unofficial niece’s fingerprints all over it. “That’s all, huh?” Emma questioned, making her tone clearly convey her doubt.

Zelena’s little troublemaker she might be, but Robyn had a penchant for stepping into mischief that was all her own and everyone knew it. When Emma didn’t budge, it only took a few more awkward seconds of stare down on the sidewalk before the little schemer cracked. When she spoke again, it was with the sincere tone of Robin Hood, legend of Sherwood Forest, which she confessed. “Oh alright, fine! You caught us! But it was just too easy not to try!”

“Wait…what was too easy?” Emma questioned, momentarily more confused than she had been, tapping her foot on the concrete and giving the youngster an even more searching look. “What are you talking about?!?” she pressed in near exasperation.

It was at this juncture that Robyn’s little pal lost her nerve and deserted the cause, clearly not having signed on to face questioning by the Sheriff-Savior. She blurted out an excuse about her mom waiting for her, blushing and stammering as she did, and then turned tail and ran.

“Fraidy cat,” Robyn muttered in disgust, the curled lip and glower she adopted as she crossed her own little arms in annoyance reminding Emma so strongly of the now reformed Wicked Witch in her heyday that for a moment she almost burst out laughing at the expression on such a tiny face, completely ruining the serious stance she was trying to hold.

“Okay, Robyn,” Emma sighed, once it was just the two of them. With a guiding hand on the little girl’s shoulder, she walked them back toward the front porch, taking a seat on the steps with her. “Let’s have it – the truth this time. Whatever you’ve been up to, it can’t be that terrible. I’m not really mad, just ready to get to the bottom of this little mystery.”

Robyn heaved a large sigh, dramatically aggrieved as only a little girl could be, and then finally started talking. “I just wanted our troop to sell the most cookies – and your husband’s such an easy target. You know that, right? I mean, I figured it out weeks ago when we brought you guys those ‘Thank You’ treats – Mom, Aunt Regina, and I… remember?”

Emma nodded, thinking back over evening meals since then, when Killian hadn’t eaten much and she had questioned if he felt alright, only to have him say he wasn’t very hungry; occasions where she had offered to make cookies and he had evasively insisted she needn’t trouble herself on his account, and again to the odd disappearance of her random bits of spending money. She was putting the pieces together even before Robyn finished coming clean.

“Your pirate just can’t resist us,” the kid shrugged, looking only a little bit sheepish now that she was caught, but not really sorry. “I don’t know if it’s the outfits, or little girls with big pleading eyes needing help, or if he just really likes our cookies, but every time I bring a new member of the troop by with boxes to sell, no matter how often we show up, he buys some more. It’s like he can’t help himself. And hey, who am I to complain?”

Emma snorted indelicately, struck by Robyn’s cunning and ingenuity, along with the sheer ridiculousness of the entire situation. Shaking her head in both disbelief and begrudging affection that wouldn’t have him any other way, Emma wondered mildly for a few seconds how she hadn’t known this was the case from the start. ‘Fearsome pirate of the seas,’ she mocked in her head, ‘bested by a bunch of cute six-year-olds with baked goods.’

Knowing that she shouldn’t simply let Robyn off with being so opportunistic and sneaky, yet not really sure what to do about it either, Emma merely gave the little girl a wry smile and light one-armed squeeze to her side with a gentle remonstrance. “Well, it’s not like you’ve really done much harm – except to my pocketbook.” She did frown just a bit there, and Robyn looked genuinely contrite. “But no more, okay? I don’t know where my pirate has been stashing his loot, but he has to be almost out of room. We’ve made our contribution to the Girl Scouts for the year. Got it?”

Robyn nodded dutifully, and though there was no judging the mischief that her hurricane “niece” could get into, Emma sensed that she understood the game was up.

Ruffling Robyn’s hair, Emma felt a momentary pang in her chest, picturing Henry at that age and wondering what he had been like and if he had been as playfully ornery as well. Having her son with her now, the relationship they had forged, and the family they’d become was incredible – so much more than she had ever thought she would have – but things happened occasionally, striking her at the oddest times and there would be a melancholy moment or two of wishing she could take a portal back in time to re-live what she had lost with her son, who would be grown up and ready to leave them all too soon.

As if sensing her change in mood, Robyn reached out her little hand to lay it on Emma’s arm. “Aunt Emma?” she asked softly, her voice as hesitant and concerned as it ever got. “Are you alright? Your eyes got kinda funny and far away.”

Shaking the bittersweet reflections from her mind, Emma gave Robyn another gentle smile. “Yep, Trouble, I’m fine. Just got sidetracked for a minute.” She stood and pulled Robyn up playfully beside her. “Now, you’d better go home before it starts getting dark. We’re good, okay? Don’t worry. I am gonna have to call your Mom and talk to her about this, but I imagine if you don’t pull any more get-rich-quick schemes, we’ll all just put this behind us.”

“Okay, Aunt Emma,” Robyn agreed, bouncing back to her usual chipper self and past the anxious moment with a child’s usual resilience. She gave her honorary auntie a hug around the waist, which Emma gladly returned, and then set off toward Zelena’s little house a block over.

“Go straight home and get there safe!” Emma called after her in parting, to which she saw Robyn nod smartly and wave back over her shoulder. Emma watched her until the little girl rounded the corner at the end of the street and out of sight.

Turning, Emma opened their heavy oak front door and slipped into their home soundlessly, hoping if her luck held, that she just might catch Killian unawares with his prize. What she got as she stood in the entryway, flabbergasted and mouth hanging open, was not quite what she had expected at all. Standing almost directly across from her, frozen before the door into the cellar that until now they had both skirted around and almost never opened – demons purged, but still not eager to loose painful memories – looking both startled at patently guilty, was her husband. Caught red handed, Emma’s inner voice supplied smugly.

“Why, hello there, Love,” Killian finally greeted, trying for suave and “turning on the smolder” as Emma had often teased him in calling it since showing her pirate Tangled and delighting in his resounding approval of Flynn Rider. He would have succeeded too, if she hadn’t known him as well as she did. “You’re home early.”

“Yep,” she stated simply, popping the ‘p’ sound as he often did in his own speech and immediately causing a change in his demeanor, alerted that she was onto his subterfuge. Emma pushed away from the door and stalked toward him slowly, the heels of her boots on hardwood the only sound in the quiet foyer as her gaze pinned him in place – turning all of his usual methods back on him and loving it.

“Would you like to tell me what you’ve been up to?” she queried, her voice practically a purr as she reached out a finger to run lightly through the chest hair peeking out of his overly undone shirt collar and batting her lashes seductively at him, as if she really were some blushing damsel in his original realm.

“Why – uh – whatever do you mean, Swan?” he tried, an equally over-the-top stab at guileless innocence on his face and in those stunning blue eyes, even as she also saw him swallow hard and scratch nervously behind his ear, the one tic he couldn’t seem to rid himself of, no matter how much a dead giveaway it was.

“I mean,” Emma murmured silkily, eyes narrowing as she leaned in even closer to him, nose almost brushing against his and her breath hot along his collarbone as she practically licked her lips while studying her quarry. Granted, her own pulse had skyrocketed at his close proximity, but she was more pleased to revel in the way her husband squirmed nervously under her hungry gaze. “You’ve been discovered, Pirate. Your supplier ratted you out.”

At that, Killian huffed out a low breath, eyes falling as he gave a slight chuckle and shook his head, having known his wife would eventually get to the bottom of what he had been doing, and almost relieved to have the secret out in the open. He truly had not meant to gather such and collection of the things anyway, but he simply could not bring himself to say no to the adorable miniature females in their sharp skirt and vest ensembles, and by this point, he was pretty sure they knew it and kept arriving at his doorstep on purpose. At any rate, Emma might have his head at the amount of money he had pilfered from her and spent needlessly, but surely they would enjoy the spoils, if nothing else. At length, with a short dip of his head in a resigned nod, Killian answered, “Aye, I figured she might at some point.”

Emma couldn’t help cracking the tiniest smile, the whole thing so silly, so domestic, so normal, and nothing like the trials they had faced ever since meeting one another and the secrets they once held back for fear of losing the other they had fought so hard to find. She shook her head, leaning in to rest her forehead against his, simply enjoying the warm comfort of his skin on hers and the soft texture of his hair where her fingers had delved in at his nape. “You’re hopeless, Babe… You know that, don’t you?”

“As you say, Wife,” he agreed good naturedly, his voice low and mumbled against the shell of her ear, making her tremble helplessly to the point of being weak-kneed, the stern composure she’d been trying to hold long gone.

“Well, let’s see this stash of booty you’ve stored up,” she prodded, curious now just how many boxes of Girl Scout cookies he had managed to amass, and anxious to tease him just a little bit more about how he had been so taken in.

Sighing with mostly pretended reluctance, Killian took her hand and led her back down the cellar steps behind him, into the once dark room she had not ventured to for some time. Once there, to her amused shock and surprise, right up against the bars where she had once, while possessed by the Darkness, bound Gold as a prisoner, were stacked boxes and boxes of every type cookie the Scouts sold, nearly reaching up to the ceiling. There was nothing else to do but burst into a fit of helpless giggles, and when she did, leaning into her husband’s side to stay upright, Emma felt his shoulders shaking as he joined in.

Never again would she look at this space and see nothing but lonely dark and a depth of despair and hate. Unintentional though it might have been, Killian had placed a whole new memory front and center.

They ended up bagging the cookies in half dozens and giving them out to very happy trick-or-treaters the next week on Halloween night.

And if they enjoyed feeding the remnants of the last couple boxes to each other in bed… well, that was their own delicious secret no one else need know.

Tagging: @whimsicallyenchantedrose @searchingwardrobes @kmomof4 @jennjenn615 @let-it-raines @resident-of-storybrooke @winterbaby89 @laschatzi @linda8084 @thislassishooked @therooksshiningknight @thisonesatellite

[theswayuk]

Seven Stars For Seven Park

At Seven Park Place, prepare yourself to feel special.

Beautified in the most gorgeous decor and furnishings, the tiny eatery consists of just nine tables, making it one of the smallest Michelin-starred Restaurants in the world.

It also means that where hotel restaurants are typically scaled towards grander proportions, particularly when you consider the dining rooms within its Mayfair vicinity, Seven Park Place, from in terms of both the service and atmosphere, is refreshingly intimate, warm and most importantly – inviting.

Helmed by Executive Head Chef William Drabble, the menu offers contemporary French fare which changes seasonally to reflect the best of local British produce. Expect refined, beautifully plated dishes like luxurious poached lobster tail with lobster butter sauce and decadent desserts, including their classic tarte tartin. Portion sizes are decent, so go easy on the bread basket here.

And finally, before committing to still or sparkling water, be sure to ask for the water menu. This may sound unusual, but Seven Park Place actually offers a separate water menu with detailed tasting notes so you can choose to peruse a water menu if you wish. Just like how the menu offers an approach to suit every dining style from the 2-course a la carte up to a gourmand tasting menu, you can choose a water with a subtle tinge of sweetness or something that’s lightly sparkling if you wish.

I’m definitely not a water ‘connoisseur’, but it’s a little bit of fun going through so many options!

Not long after we were seated, our amuse bouche arrived consisting of salmon tartare, chicken liver and filled choux pastries. A bread selection soon followed, with several options including one containing raisins and bacon bits – my personal favourite, which was served alongside three butters. Don’t miss the one thats been flavoured with chilli from the Pyrenees which isn’t spicy at all, but adds a rather lovely kick.

For my first drink, I wanted something a little lighter as we were doing matched wines, so the signature cocktail, with its crisp citrus notes, was a perfect option. Taking inspiration from 1857 when St James Club opened, the drink recalls the club’s original vision of welcoming travelling diplomats. Featuring ingredients from all the worlds continents, a sip of the cocktail is meant to take one on a journey around the world.

When it comes to lobster, it’s easy for it to be the star of the show but also equally easy to succumb to the pressure of incredibly high expectations. Without generating too much hype, I’ll keep it simple – it’s a perfectly executed dish that’s well worth the additional £20 supplement. Fresh lobster topped with a luxurious, velvety sauce that’s bursting with umami, this is one of those memorable dishes that you need to order when you’re dining here. Paired with a glass of 2007 Delas Freres Hermitage Blanc Marquise de la Tourette, Franc

If this dish is not in season, it may have been replaced with a variation or something similar so it’s worth asking for a recommendation.

I’m more a savoury person myself, but I thoroughly enjoyed the array of ‘desserts’ here to end the evening. From the pre-dessert sorbet, dessert, home made marshmallows and chocolate selection – everything was a treat.

Their signature dish, the tarte tatin of apple, calvados ice cream and rich toffee sauce was divine, not overtly sweet and another must-order, along with their cheese platter. Though if you were tossing up between the two, definitely go for the tarte tartin. A wonderful way to end the meal.

And if you’re wondering what the gold cup is, they always serve Blue Mountain coffee in a gold cup. Because it’s all about the little details.

Address: 7-8 Park Place Mayfair, London SW1A 1LS

[freezingat90]

Venezuelan Roses and Half a Nickel

“Please come again!” I shout after a leaving customer, his hands full with a large rose bouquet.

I sigh, running my hands through my hair and taking a long, hard glance at the ticking clock on the flower shop wall.

“10 more minutes to go,” I say to myself, counting the tiny marks on the edges of the clock. “10 more minutes until I can finally leave, until I can finally go home.” I mutter to myself behind the counter. 

Surveying my messy workspace, I notice a flyer Ian’s left there, for the street fair this Friday, and it sends a pang through my heart that quickly transforms into frustrating anger. 

Ian came around less and less, and lately he had completely disappeared. Sort of like a ghost. 

No, I think unhappily, I’m the one who’s the ghost. 

“COME ENJOY A DAY OF FUN FROM 12PM TO 5PM AT SUNHURST LANE!” reads the cheery font, in obnoxiously bright yellows and pinks. 

The smiling bunny illustration at the bottom, complete with a little note from Ian that reads “Hope to see you there!” in a messy scrawl makes my blood boil, and without thinking I rip the flyer into shreds, stomping and crushing the pieces of paper beneath my sneaker sole. 

I’m so caught up in my childish fury that I don’t even notice the door chime sound a few odd notes, and a stranger walk in the shop door. 

Stomp. 

Rip. 

Stomp again. 

“Sorry,” he begins, caution in his voice, “should I come back later?” 

I freeze, and turn around to see a tall, dark and handsome stranger staring down at me. 

Well, he’s not really dark. Or handsome. But towering over me, he sure is tall. 

“Yes-” I say, kicking what’s left of the mutilated flyer behind me. “-I mean, no! No!! I’m not in the middle of anything. Of course not.” 

He furrows his eyebrows, and his eyes jump to the shredded flyer for a moment before averting them and looking back at me. 

“Alright. Okay.” he says, looking over the arrays of bouquets and flowers behind me. 

I open a drawer, and pull out a notepad and pen to avoid making eye contact. 

“Show me the best flowers you’ve got.” he says to me, a bit forcefully. 

“Sure,” I say, leading him around the various displays and shelves. From the wall I take down a large bouquet, filled to the brim with ruby red roses. To me, they look more like roses you dipped in blood or something gross, but Ian always insisted that they were a “romance color”, whatever that means. 

“Huh. I mean, they’re just red roses.” he says, wrinkling his nose. 

I feel just the tad bit offended, and cross my arms as I deny this ridiculous claim. “These aren’t just red roses, Mister. These are a special breed, imported all the way from Venezuela. Does your thick skull even know where that is??” I choke on the words as the come out, rude and harsh and defensive. 

I expect him to get angry, to walk out of the store huffing, but he just laughs at me. The sheer audacity of this man, I think to myself, cheeks burning red now not just out of anger, but embarrassment as well. 

“What’s so funny??” the words fall out of me, hasty and confused. 

“See,” he begins, face stretched side to side by his wide smile, “I was going to find the most beautiful flowers in the world, and give them to the most beautiful girl in the world. Now, I see I still have some work to do on the flower part of that. But, I..” 

He stops, trying to remember something. 

“Take your time.” I interject, standing a little firmer. 

“... think my search for the most beautiful girl in the world is most definitely over, now that I’ve seen you.” 

His face-stretching smile gets even stretchier, if that were even possible. 

His words sound rehearsed, like he’s practiced it a thousand times in front of the mirror. God, what a fucking loser, I think to myself, trying to replace my happy thoughts with angry denial. 

He looks at me expectedly, like he wants me to immediately declare my eternal love for him. 

“Well?” he asks, straightening his posture. 

“Are you going to buy the flowers or not?” I ask, trying to keep my voice as deadpan and level as possible. 

My fingernails dig into my palm, leaving fresh red imprints. 

“Are you?” I repeat. 

“Uhh, no,” he says sheepishly. “See, I only have about $2 and half a nickel in my pocket, so I don’t think I’ll be purchasing.. what was it you said? Fancy Venezuelan flowers anytime soon.” 

I furrow my brow in confusion. 

“How can you have half a nickel?” 

“No, no I’ll show you.” he says, turning inside out his pockets until he pulls out what really appears to be half a nickel. 

“Damn.” I say to myself, looking at the sharp edge where the coin split in half. 

“It’s super sick, right? I was just walking down the street one day, when this muscular dude held a gun to my face and-” 

I cut him off, shaking my head. “You’re saying a random stranger approached you and held a gun to your face. Not even your head. Your face.” 

He nods sincerely. “Swear on my 5th grade gym teacher’s grave. And then, he pressed this half nickel-” he holds the broken coin up to the light, and the reflected glow lands on my cheek- “and told me to protect it, for one day it would be my calling.” 

I’m both interested and bewildered at the same time by this strange man, who talks of muscular men and callings in the same tone I would discuss my math homework with- a tone of utter normalcy. 

Looking him up and down, I see that he’s really more of a boy. A gangly tall high school boy, to be exact. 

“And then I never saw him again.” he finishes with a dramatic flourish of the hand.

Hours later, leaned against the wall, he’s woven stories all about gorgons and jewel thieves, corrupt kings and world-destroying bazookas, from the most rotten apples to the sweetest peach tarts, and I feel lost inside his words. They flow out of him, like a raging stream, running wild with reckless abandon. 

I am so suddenly consumed by this strange man- no, boy, that I miss 8 calls from Ian and a stiff text from my brother asking me where I am, and why I’m not home. 

The clock that I had so painstakingly watched hours before now flew at lightning speed, until the hands had finally joined each other at 12. 

“I’ll see you again, alright?” he says to me, jogging out of the shop. 

This insolent, fascinating boy feels the need to fucking jog in a flower shop. 

“Alright.” I call after him, and it is only then when I realize I hadn’t gotten his name, and even more importantly, the explanation behind the strange words of love. 

Looking back on this day, years later, I now see it as a finality, the end rather than the beginning of the story. But in that moment, it was my glorious first chapter. 

[gallifreyanlibertea]

Petty

a/n: ‘Cause you know Arthur doesn’t let things go, and omegaverse pettiness is something I’ve always dreamed about- you can’t exactly be passive-aggressive with all those hostile scents lmao...

This is my first time writing a post-break-up fic so forgive me if the situation is messed up a bit. I just wanted to do something else, rather than Alfred loving Arthur or Arthur loving Alfred..

Day 4: Summer Camp for the usuknetwork’s Summer Getaway event. 

Alfred hadn’t been too happy when he had found that his ex-boyfriend was his daughter’s camp counselor.

Of course, he had nothing to fear. Amelia was only four years old, and with a face like hers, one couldn’t even fathom the thought of hurting her. Chubby cheeks, blonde hair curled into pigtails, big blue eyes, little dimples just like her father’s- well, Alfred supposed anything of hers that reminded his ex of him would be rather unfortunate, but the point was that she was a child.

She was a cute, cute child, and even an ex as crazy as Arthur Kirkland wouldn’t do a thing to her.

Hell, Alfred had met the omega in high school. High school! A hell of a long time ago. Alfred could barely remember the mathematical concepts he’d learned there, let alone an old fling.

Yet as he took Amelia to her first day at a tots’ summer camp, upon hearing positive reviews about an eccentric camp counselor who’d taught his neighbor’s three-year-old how to say the ABC’s forwards and backward, he was almost immediately pierced through the chest by those molten green eyes.

“Alfred Jones.” 

Arthur practically hissed the name and it was like a scene out of a western movie. Alfred could feel his Adam's apple bobbing as Arthur sized him up from behind the counter, hair just as blond and wild as he remembered, brows, if anything, wilder.

And that English accent. It was the same exact one he’d sported all throughout high school and if Alfred didn’t fear for his life just then, with all the bitter scents being thrown at him, he would’ve cracked a joke about how Arthur had to have been practicing it.

“Hi, I’m here to sign my daughter up for the program?”

Arthur emitted yet another tart scent, this one put a crinkle in Alfred’s nose, and Alfred wondered exactly what he’d done to hurt the man.

He had remembered Arthur as a boy he used to date, and that was it. An ex-boyfriend, neither sane nor crazy, because those details didn’t matter to him, he didn’t care. But that itself had been taken to the next level that day, as his arm automatically shot out to protect his little pup, who’d taken to cowering behind Alfred’s leg at the warning scent the alpha had thrown off, just for a split second. With his jaw clenched, brows furrowed in slight worry.

Arthur Kirkland was crazy, and for whatever reason it was, hated Alfred Jones. 

And Alfred should’ve turned and taken Amelia away right that second, but she seemed completely and utterly unaware of the hostility, and the reviews were good, and the charge was even better-

As Arthur had led Amelia away, her little hand closing around Arthur’s finger, he turned to shoot one last parting look in Alfred’s direction before turning back to Amelia with a rare, soft smile.

Through all of this, he was somehow flattered that Arthur would care enough to remember to hate him. Alfred, however, had not one clue as to why. He remembered the face, he remembered the name, he remembered that he had done something and they had broken up, yes, he remembered to that extent.

But it was around ten years ago.

It couldn’t possibly have been so bad that Arthur felt the need to throw a bitter scent in his direction every time their gazes met. That he would ignore the fact that Alfred existed, that he would dismiss Alfred’s small-talk in every weekly parent meeting, not even so much as looking him in the eyes.

“It’s kinda hot in here, isn’t it?”

And Arthur would frown, flipping through the papers on his desk like Alfred hadn’t just spoken, plucking out a file labeled with Amelia’s name.

“Your daughter takes well to group activity and assumes leadership quite easily, but that can serve to be a problem seeing as she is equally disruptive at times.”

He would do it all in those teeny tiny shorts too, crossing those legs sternly, leaving Alfred torn between wanting to strangle Arthur and wanting to strangle himself in between those thighs.

“She’s usually pretty calm.” Alfred would say and Arthur would cock an eyebrow.

“Maybe at home with you, sir, but she’s picked a fight with at least ten other alphas in the span of five days. Nevertheless, she has been improving.”

If that was the truth, the camp definitely benefitted his daughter.

Yet every single day, every day he felt that boiling hatred hit him like a bag of bricks, whenever he walked in to pick his daughter up. Hell, it would take just a single complaint from her little lips and Alfred would take her out of the program. One little peep. A complaint that Alfred waited for every day.

Yet it never came. Amelia came home with a brighter smile every evening, gushing over the way Mr. K helped them make puppets, or how Mr. K had taught them a neat poem on how to spell Mississippi. She adored him, worshiped him, and for her happiness, for her education, Alfred would have to keep undergoing the Herculean labor that was walking to pick her up under the piercing gaze of Arthur Kirkland, his very own, personal demon.

Alfred could’ve easily reported his behavior, yet Amelia seemed adamant in her adoration toward her father’s crazy ex-boyfriend, it would break her little heart. 

“Daddy! Daddy!” She would say and Alfred would give her a silent smile in response. "Can Mr. K come over for dinner?”

If you want daddy in the oven as your main course, then sure, honey.

The situation had definitely warranted a visit during the camp’s work hours.

Besides Alfred desperately wanting her to learn something, the reason for enrolling Amelia into the camp was the freedom it would give Alfred to work in peace. Most parents sat at the picnic tables that lined the perimeter of the play area to watch their kids in action, and Alfred decided to do the same that Friday, despite the fact that his boss wasn’t too happy about his “sick leave”.

Alfred simply had to do it.

You see, no one had ever outright hated him this intensely. Not ever, not to his face, and Alfred was going to get to the bottom of it. No matter what it took.

He watched as Arthur set the kids down to eat their lunch, seeking the shady shelter beneath a tree as he struggled to catch his breath. He was close enough for Alfred to see the red flush in every inch of exposed skin, the sheen of sweat glossing the area beneath that damp blond fringe.

Alfred had quite enjoyed watching the game of tag. Besides having to see Arthur run back and forth, winded, trying to tag little, spirited kids, Amelia was quite the runner and it put a sense of pride in his heart as well. That was all.

It definitely wasn’t from watching Arthur parade around in those shorts that seemed, if possible, shorter than the last time he’d seen them.

No, because Arthur was evil and not attractive in any way whatsoever.

Alfred made his way to the tree. “Would you like some water?”

The omega glanced up to shoot Alfred a glare, gaze dropping down to the bottle being thrust in his direction.

“No.”

“You need water, your bottle is clear and it’s obviously empty.”

“Oh, you’d know exactly what’s best for me, wouldn’t you, then.” Arthur snapped before crossing his arms, marking the first ever string of words he’d said to Alfred that weren’t professionally motivated.

It was progress.

“What is your problem, dude?”

“You, if I haven’t made that obvious.”

And Arthur had stomped away, leaving a smattering of other parents throwing curious glances at Alfred as any people wanting in on a drama would.

He gave them a dismissive, if not embarrassed, smile.

Take two. He’d cornered Arthur after the hours ended, deciding on a different approach. “Hey, I’m sorry if I did anything to hurt you, but-”

“Nice try, Jones. I can tell when you’re actually sorry.” Arthur said. “You get all trembly and you can barely form sentences, so quit the act.”

Alfred suppressed a growl and Amelia clung to his legs yet again, sensing her father’s anger.

“Listen, I don’t even know why you’re mad at me in the first place.”

“So you’d apologize without knowing?” Arthur sneered before turning his back, tossing a look over his shoulder as he headed toward the door, to possibly leave, start up his car and lock up behind him, “It’s nice to know you don’t remember me. Really rubs the salt right in the wound.”

“Wait- I remember you, I just-”

“Yeah, you’ve chosen to forget how you ripped my heart out of my chest and stomped all over it for three years of my life.”

Alfred definitely did not remember that.

Arthur must’ve read the open-mouthed expression on Alfred’s face because he scoffed, turning to face him, “Your daughter is tired, just take her home and get her some rest.”

“Arthur, what did I do?”

Amelia’s groggy tug to the leg of his trouser didn’t go unnoticed. He hoisted his daughter up to sit at his hip, tucking her soft blond head into the crook of his neck and Arthur’s stony green eyes seemed to soften. Just for a bit.

“Are you married?” Arthur eyed Amelia’s weary, bouncing leg and Alfred chuckled.

“No, my boyfriend, her birth father, left us a few years ago. Not many omegas would want second-hand merch like me.”

Arthur clasped his hands, averting his eyes to stare at the reflection of the ceiling light on the polished tile floor. “That sucks.”

It seemed genuine enough. Still tinged with that lemony, tart scent of hatred, but a more watered-down version of it. Alfred was used to this type of reaction from anyone that asked about Amelia’s father.

But he had more important things in mind.

“Just tell me what I did.”

And Arthur chewed his lip, looking smaller than the hissy act had made him appear to be. In that large, camp logo-adorned jacket, belted khaki shorts, socks rolled up his shins, frown tugging at his brows- he didn’t look so crazy.

He just looked sad. “Nevermind, it’s childish.” 

Alfred just looked at him and Arthur heaved a sigh, “You told me you fell out of love with me a few months into our relationship.”

“Things like that happen, Arthur.” Alfred reasoned, to which Arthur glanced up, eyes fiery yet again.

“You told me over text.”

Oh.

“I saw you making out with your new boyfriend the same day, one or two hours later.”

Oh.

“And despite the fact that I had never stopped loving you for the rest of high school, you never once attempted to give me closure. I had to see you shift from lover to lover, casting not one glance at me, as if you’d never known me.”

Alfred could imagine it. Having to see someone you loved with someone else, having to see them pretend you didn’t exist, for three whole years until different choices of university drove them apart, and now here they were.

“Arthur I’m… I had no idea. I was an asshole, I- God, I-”

“You were young, it was wrong of me to hold a grudge until now,” Arthur muttered, the slight scowl on his lips a pleasant contrast from the rest of the expressions Arthur had served him for the last few weeks. “We’re all adults here.”

It was true. The prospect of having someone hate every fiber of his being had put a bit of stress on Alfred’s shoulders. He’d never expected to have faced such a situation in this day and age, but it happened, and if Alfred was being honest, he deserved every second of it.

He would be kept awake at night by the things he did in back then. A dumb, beefcake alpha who thought he ruled the school, terrorizing his poor teachers, mind clouded in the delusion that he owned every single person that walked the halls.

How many others had he trampled on?

“I’m sorry, Arthur, but don’t forgive me so easily.” Alfred found himself saying, voice hushed as his daughter snored softly by his ear. “What I did to you was not okay.”

The furrow between Arthur’s brows softened and he crossed his arms, tossing his head to the side with a gentler defiance. “You’ll regret giving me that kind of power.”

Alfred smiled. Just a little. “Make me work for it, Kirkland, do your worst.”

Of course, Alfred meant it as a joke, yet he found that he didn’t complain when Arthur quite literally printed a weekend work agenda for him the very next Monday. A long list of chores to help out at the camp, and Alfred got right to it, working until his forehead beaded with sweat and Arthur sat cackling at him from under a tree, trading bits of Amelia’s peanut butter and jelly sandwich for his own packed salad lunch.

At the very least, it wasn’t a scowl.

And when weekend work became sharing meals in local coffee shops to bitch about the camp managers, watching animated movies after work, with Amelia nestled in between- exchanging sweaters because Alfred’s were definitely warmer, then candle-lit dinners-

Alfred told Arthur that falling out of love was no longer an option.

[prismofwords]

Candy Apple

Umimaki Month Day 9: Challenge Festival AU

“Um...! Please take one!”

The little blue-haired girl gaped at the bright red treat suddenly held out in front of her. It looked like food, but it wasn’t anything she had ever seen before. Wonder gave way to puzzlement. “What...is it?” she asked, large, curious amber eyes turning to the purple eyes of the girl holding it up to her.

“It’s a candy apple!” she said.

“Is it good?”

The girl frowned. “I don’t know. This is my first time helping with the stall, and you’re my first ever customer.”

“Maki!” The woman beside her bent down, chuckling. “Be more confident than that! You’ve had candy apples before, haven’t you? Didn’t you like them?” She paused, making an ‘o’ with her mouth as if realizing something. “Oh, wait, or were those candy tomatoes?”

The girl flushed, turning almost as red as the apple in her hand. “Mama! You said you wouldn’t talk about that!”

“Don’t yell in front of your customer! You’ll scare her off.”

Umi didn’t mind though, corners of her mouth turning up with delight. “You’re funny.” She turned to the woman who had been standing patiently behind her, coinpurse already in hand. “Can I take one, mama?”

“Of course you can! Go ahead and take it. Don’t forget to say thank you!”

Leaving the adults to figure out their confusing money business, Umi turned back to the girl in front of her and carefully took hold of the stick, clumsily mumbling her thanks. Sizing up her newly acquired treasure, Umi stuck out her tongue and licked it. She frowned, finding no purchase in the hardened syrup. “You’re supposed to bite it, silly.”

“Oh.” She did as suggested, and squealed in delight at the explosion of flavour in her mouth. The hard, sugary crystal she was expecting, but underneath was the familiar crunch and subtle tartness of the apple. “This is so good!” she gasped. The other girl beamed with pride. Umi looked hard at her, gave a cautious smile, and took the leap. “Hey, your name’s Maki, right?”

Apparently not prepared for any more talking after her first sale, the tiny apple merchant barely stammered out a response. “Um, yeah.”

“I’m Umi.” She stepped forward, relieved to see that Maki didn’t take a step back. “Wanna be friends?”

Umi strolled through the brightly lit festival streets, taking in all the sights. It was a little intimidating being alone in the maze of stalls and festival goers, especially since her bright blue yukata made her stand out more than she’d like, but there was no helping it. Over the years, she’d learned that festivals like these offered a unique glimpse into the spirit of a city. She especially didn’t want to miss the chance to reacquaint herself with the city of her early childhood, even if she didn’t have anyone to go with. Her mother was busy with work, and since they’d moved in the middle of summer vacation, she hadn’t had a chance to make any new friends, and she definitely didn’t remember any of her old ones. Umi had told herself she’d try and at least meet people she’d be going to school with, but so far she was having little success.

As she walked along, a small, lonesome stall caught her eye, drawing her closer. Behind the counter slouched a somewhat bored-looking girl that looked to be about Umi’s age. If Umi was looking to make friends, there were probably better places to start. In front of her, however, a wide array of colourful treats--Umi recognized them as candy apples--was on display, lined up in neat little rows. Some looked like Christmas ornaments, some were coated in gummis or sprinkles or bits of chocolate, some were even decorated to look like cartoonish faces. It would fulfill her other goal in coming here. She’d always made it a point to buy a candy apple at every festival she went to. It was Umi’s unofficial mission to find the nation’s best, driven by a vague memory of one she’d had long ago. “Excuse me, miss, how much for one?”

Surprise flashed on the young merchant’s face, perhaps at actually having a customer, but it quickly faded as she forced on a more professional look. “300 yen.”

Umi fumbled for her coinpurse. “I’ll take one.”

The girl spread her arms to indicate the spectrum of sweetened fruit. “Which one would you like?”

Amidst all the creative, novelty designs, Umi spotted a plain one, coated in a uniform shade of red almost as bright as the merchant’s yukata. It seemed to call her, compelled her to reach for it. “I’ll take that one.”

As she was handed her prize, Umi couldn’t miss the scowl on the merchant’s otherwise beautiful face. “Is there something wrong, miss?”

“Ah, sorry, no, it’s just...you look familiar.” She bit her lip, obviously contemplating whether she should say anything further. “Do you go to Otonokizaka?”

Now that she mentioned it, the more Umi looked at the woman across from her, the more she felt like she knew her. Still, how could she possibly recognize her? “Well, that’s where I’ll be transferring, but I just moved here. I’m starting there after the vacation.”

The merchant frowned. “Ah, I must have been mistaken then. Sorry to bother you, miss.”

Umi started to walk away, taking a bite of her candy apple as she did so. Her eyes widened as her mouth filled with a delicious fusion of sweet crystal and tart apple, the contrast in texture and taste lighting up her taste buds. There was no doubt in her mind. She’d been to all different kinds of festivals as she and her family moved across the country, searching for this Holy Grail, this perfect blend of flavour that she’d once found long ago in a previous life. She turned back to the merchant, old memories resurfacing in the sea of her mind. Staring deep into the purple eyes of the woman before her, Umi began to remember that chance encounter so many years ago, the best friend she’d left behind when she moved away. The adventures they had together, the letters they wrote to each other to keep in touch. The promise they made to find each other again someday, a promise she’d since given up on. It all started in that crystallized moment, that one summer night--

Umi looked hard at the girl, gave a cautious smile, and took the leap. “Hey, your name’s Maki, right?”

Confusion appeared on the young apple merchant’s face, then turned to disbelief. She barely stammered out a response. “Y-yeah, and you’re--”

Umi nodded, feeling tears well up in her eyes. “I’m Umi.” She stepped forward, relieved to see Maki didn’t take a step back. “Would you...like to be friends?”

[donaldflower00-blog]

austrian torn, fluffy pancake

A month ago, I made kaiserschmarrn, a shredded pancake, for my kids for a weekend breakfast at the suggestion of my neighbor (coincidentally the partner of the neighbor who challenged me to make dutch apple pie, and thus definitely someone with good taste). It was, as predicted, delicious, and as it’s the year 2019, I posted a photo of it on Instagram Stories in the moments before my children demolished it. It was only then, through an avalanche of DMs, that I learned how deeply beloved it is.

Here’s a small sampling of responses: “You made Kaiserschmarrn!!!” “This is Austrian!” “This is German!” “This is Czech!” “We make this in Hungary!” “Looks spot on, just like the ones I had in Salzburg many years ago!” “We eat this for dessert!” “This is Christmas breakfast every year with tart jam and pureed plums!” “We call this Emporer’s Mess.” [Apparently Franz Joseph I was very fond of it.] “Besides apple strudel, traditional Kaiserschmarrn is one of the most famous and iconic Austrian dishes.” “If you order it at any Austrian restaurant, it’s almost guaranteed to come with stewed plums (zwetschkenröster) and/or applesauce.” “It’s best when cooked in butterschmalz [clarified butter or ghee].” “I hope you skipped the rum soaked raisins — yuck.” But also: “You forgot the rum-soaked raisins!” [I didn’t but found them distracting.] “Tip: Kaiserschmarrn is perfect when it’s still a bit creamy inside.”

To try it is to understand why. The batter is simple, close to that of a crepe or dutch baby, but you whip the egg whites separately and fold them in at the end, resulting in a puffy butter-fried mega-pancake. But wait, there’s more! You then shred, tear, or chop it into bite-sized pieces and continue to fry it until each is a glorious golden-edged, custardy-centered nugget. It’s finished with a drift of powdered sugar and served with tart fruit compote (I tried my hand at plum below) or applesauce and is a dream of a weekend breakfast. It could also be dessert. It could also be lunch, which is how my neighbor has been enjoying it. Mostly, I love the way it seems simple but feels a bit festive, just like I hope all of our weekends ahead are.

Previously

One year ago: Chilaquiles Brunch Casserole Two years ago: Rhubarb Upside-Down Spice Cake Three years ago: Perfect Garlic Bread, Shaved Asparagus Frittata and Palm Springs Date Shake Four years ago: Potato Scallion and Kale Cakes, Salted Chocolate Chunk Cookies, and Crispy Broccoli with Lemon and Garlic Five years ago: Blue Sky Bran Muffins and Fresh Spinach Pasta Six years ago: Spring Vegetable Potstickers and Essential Raised Waffles Seven years ago: Bacon, Egg and Leek Risotto Eight years ago: Sour Cream Cornbread with Aleppo and Ribboned Asparagus Salad with Lemon Nine years ago: Radicchio, Apple, and Pear Salad, New York Cheesecake and Shakshuka Ten years ago: Black Bread and Ranch Rugelach Eleven years ago: Chocolate Walnut Cookies + More Flourless Dessert, Almond Cake with Strawberry-Rhubarb Compote Twelve years ago: Corniest Corn Muffins and Pineapple Upside-Down Cake

And for the other side of the world: Six Months Ago: Roberta’s Roasted Garlic Caesar Salad 1.5 Years Ago: Endive Salad with Toasted Breadcrumbs and Walnuts 2.5 Years Ago: Broken Pasta with Pork Ragu and Roasted Cauliflower with Pumpkin Seeds and Brown Butter 3.5 Years Ago: Baked Potatoes with Wild Mushroom Ragu, Twinkie Bundt and Oven Fries 4.5 Years Ago: Cauliflower Cheese, Squash Toasts with Ricotta and Cider Vinegar, and Smoked Whitefish Dip with Horseradish

Austrian Shredded Pancake (Kaiserschmarrn)

1/2 cup (75 grams) raisins (optional)

2 tablespoons (30 ml) fruit juice or rum (only if using raisins)

4 large eggs, separated

2 tablespoons (25 grams) granulated sugar

1/4 teaspoon kosher salt

1 teaspoon baking powder

3/4 cup (100 grams) all-purpose flour

1/2 cup (120 ml) milk, any kind

2 to 3 tablespoons (30 to 40 grams) unsalted butter or ghee (clarified butter)

Powdered sugar

Jam, applesauce or another fruit sauce, or stewed plums/plum compote (recipe below) to serve

If you’re using raisins, soak them in the hot rum or juice and set aside until needed.

Make batter: In a large bowl, whisk together egg yolks, sugar, salt, and baking powder. Whisk in milk, then flour, whisking just until mostly smooth. (A few tiny lumps proved inconsequential.) Let rest for 10 minutes. Meanwhile, in a second (medium-large) bowl or the bowl of an electric stand mixer, beat egg whites until they hold firm peaks. Fold into egg yolk mixture, trying not to deflate the egg whites. Gently fold in raisins, if using.

Cook pancake: Heat a medium-large skillet (10″ to 12″) over medium heat. Add 2 tablespoons butter or ghee and let warm. Pour batter into pan and spread smooth. Cook for 3 to 4 minutes, lifting an edge to peek occasionally, until it’s a deep golden brown underneath; reduce the heat if it’s browning very quickly. If you feel like you can pull off flipping it in one piece, go for it. I cannot and loosen the edges to slide it onto a large plate. With a potholder on each hand, invert empty frying pan over pancake and plate, grab both together tightly, and quickly flip the pancake back into the pan. Continue cooking until deeply golden underneath on the second side, about 3 minutes.

Shred/tear pancake: There are two ways to do this: You can use two forks or the edge of a sharp spatula to tear/chop the pancake into 1″ to 2″ pieces right in the skillet. However, I prefer to slide it back onto the plate I just used to flip the pancake and chop it there. This allows me to melt another tablespoon of butter in the pan for extra-buttery and lightly crisp edges in the final pancake. Return pancake shreds and any batter that has spilled out — it’s supposed to still be very runny in the center at this point — to the skillet and cook, stirring, until pancake shreds are mostly but not fully cooked through. A custardy center in each bite is ideal.

To serve: Scrape pancake shreds onto plate and sprinkle generously — and I mean generously — with powdered sugar. Serve with lemon wedges, jam, a fruit sauce (applesauce is a popular accompaniment), fresh berries or as shown, with stewed plums/plum compote (zwetschgenröster), directions below. Eat right away.

A quick plum compote (zwetschgenröster): Combine 1 pound fresh black or prune plums* (unpeeled, pitted, and cut into quarters or eighths), 1/3 cup granulated sugar, 1/4 cup water, 1 cinnamon stick or 1 teaspoon ground cinnamon and 1/8 teaspoon (or more to taste) ground cloves over medium heat and bring to a simmer. Simmer gently, stirring occasionally, until fruit is saucy and tender enough that you can break a piece in half with the side of you spoon, about 20 minutes (and up to 25 minute for fruit that’s more broken down). Stir in juice of half a lemon and set aside to cool until needed.

Source: https://smittenkitchen.com/2019/05/austrian-torn-fluffy-pancake/