#just when i was working in a kitchen i was making chocolate chip walnut cookie dough like a 200 batch

[adamparrishdyke]

Oh 😔

learning alot about myself rn

[1d1195]

Time Extra I

Read Time here

This was one of the first stories I wrote when I came back from my hiatus a couple years ago. I thought about it every day for years when I was really not feeling my best and finally put it on paper. There are, what I think, some pretty intense trigger warnings on the other parts of the series--it's pretty different than my other happy fluffy writing. This is not going to be too sad though--there is a vague mention of the previous parts so read with caution but it won't be anything vivid. It's fluffy stuff based on this ask.

~2.6k words

I hope you like it :)

Everything was completely perfect. After so many years of feeling distraught and lost, Harry thought it was a miracle—no, that she was a miracle—that he could feel so happy, so complete.

Which was why it was terrifying to imagine that he could ruin it all.

Over the two years since they reunited, they didn’t talk much about the actual day once they moved past it. She would hear from her ex-fiancé’s family now and again. She would run into them at the store or something. Most were pretty kind to her overall, but she could feel the contempt in their voices. It didn’t bother her completely—it was just frustrating that she knew they would neverunderstand.

Harry still went to his regularly scheduled therapy appointment. She did as well. They both worked, they both lived together, everything was easy. They danced in the kitchen and watched Niall play his guitar at open mic nights.

Everything was completely perfect. After so many years of feeling distraught and lost, Harry thought it was a miracle—no, that she was a miracle—that he could feel so happy, so complete.

Which was why it was terrifying to imagine that he could ruin it all.

There was a plan. A big to do. He was going to have her family, his family, their friends all in the same place. He was going to tell her how much he loved her and that he never wanted to be away from her ever. The way time had separated them only to bring them back together had to mean something.

Harry was terrified.

Maybe it was just some sort of savior’s complex. She always said he saved her that day. He didn’t see how it was possible. There was no saving he did. He did the drowning, he ruined her day, he made her pass out, he made her scared and feel sick to her stomach.

Sometimes, when Harry was having a bad day, he would think about what her life would be like if he hadn’t called her. He imagined it would be very much the same as it was with him, but she would maybe have a baby to take care of by then. She would make dinner for her husband. There would be a pile of laundry to fold on the sofa and a new episode of her show playing on the TV. It would be normal.

But it was normal in their lives as well.

There were days they argued—nothing major, but the world didn’t end the way Harry thought it would. She slept soundly beside him and reached blindly for him if they separated at night. Her baking skills never ceased to amaze him. On days that he didn’t even realize he was struggling a little more than others, he arrived home to his favorite chocolate chip cookies (the ones that she put walnuts in because she knew Harry loved them) or those fudgy brownies that he could only eat one or he would get a stomachache. But they made him feel whole. Cared for.

She was there.

So of course, when he asked her to marry him it had to be perfect. It had to be special. It needed to be the most perfect moment of her life. The people who loved and adored her needed to be there and see how much Harry adored her. Very few people knew what happened that day. Most only knew that she found Harry again. They fell in love again—or as she liked to point out—they remembered they were in love.

Harry had stayed home unbeknownst to her. The final details of the plan needed to be taken care of and he was nothing if not thorough. As far as she knew, they were having a date night when she got home from work. Nothing out of the ordinary. Nothing that would set off some kind of alarm or spoil the surprise.

Harry was reading the speech he had on his phone—it had been memorized for over a year. He just needed to get the details in order. When she moved in, it felt so right. Part of him wished he had asked her right then.

You wanted red roses or pink ones? Niall texted.

Both.

Aren’t you a regular Casanova.

Proposing in front of everyone they knew seemed a little crazy now. Harry had left the restaurant after seeing the set-up, the little private table that would keep them out of sight of those waiting for her response. Now it was waiting. Waiting for her to get home, they would get ready, they would drive to the restaurant as boyfriend and girlfriend and hopefully return as an engaged couple.

Harry felt dizzy. If he messed up and it was less than perfect, less than what she deserved, he would lose his mind. She was his angel. Every single day. Each day he saw her and spoke to her. There was nothing, no one, more important than her. For a few moments he sat on the couch, his head tilted toward the ceiling, and he took those deep breaths that his therapist instructed him to take when he was feeling overwhelmed.

He thought about the first time he did them and she looked at him curiously when he turned his attention back to the show they were watching. “Are you alright?” She asked.

He felt embarrassed. “When m’feeling overwhelmed, m’therapist told me how t’breathe—”

She blinked. “Oh,” she interrupted. “Are you feeling overwhelmed about something I can help with?” She asked.

Of course she asked. The kindness that emanated from her was overwhelming in itself. “No, sometimes m’jus’ a little...” he shrugged.

She nodded understandingly. “I get that way too. Can you teach me?” She asked.

“Kitten,” he chuckled with a shake of his head. “M’sure y’know how t’do the deep breathing exercises.”

“Every doctor is different,” she shrugged. “Tell me,” she encouraged.

He knew she was trying to help bond with him over something she didn’t need to. Another way she could help take care of his addled brain. It was so sweet. He talked her through the steps, feeling awkward that he was explaining how to breathe to a professional that did this with her own patients every day.

“It’s supposed t’feel like a balloon is being inflated in your ribs,” he explained the metaphor his own doctor used with him.

“Oh, I like that,” she mumbled adding it to the back of her mind as she followed his instructions. “I’m sorry you’re feeling overwhelmed, baby,” she cooed softly, stroking his hair behind his ear. “Do you want tea or something?”

Harry smiled at the memory, eyes closed, face toward the ceiling. He heard the door open and in walked the angel. Her phone pressed to her ear, while she tilted her head to the side. Once she set her bag down, held the phone in her hand, she shook her head.

But when she made eye contact, she smiled at Harry, mouthing hi, and blowing a kiss with her free hand. Harry thought his heart would explode. “Mom, I just got home, and I’ve had a really long day,” she explained. “Can I call you tomorrow?” She asked. “Great. Love you too, bye.”

She put her phone on the counter and sighed deeply. “Every time I leave this apartment, I’m reminded why I never want to leave,” she grumbled.

Harry chuckled. “Everything okay with your mum?”

She nodded. “Fine, just going on and on about nonsense,” she rolled her eyes. “She’s meeting my sister for dinner and my sister did not offer to drive. It makes me immensely angry.”

“I see,” he frowned. “Where are they going?” He asked, wondering how much of the surprise her mum may have let slip.

“She didn’t say. I don’t care. It’s not like I can go drive her and pick her up myself,” she rubbed her forehead. “I’m sorry. I had a tough day with some tough patients and I’m letting it dip into our date night,” the frustration on her face disappeared at the word date and a smile replaced it. “I’m looking forward to dinner and especially dessert. They have lava cake,” she said knowingly.

Harry already knew that of course. He was sure to tell the hostess that she would want one. “I know, kitten,” he smiled. It pained him to say the next sentence, but he had to. It wasn’t fair to her frustrated. “Y’know... if you’re not feeling well, we could stay in and—”

“Absolutely not,” she shook her head fiercely. “I just need to change and touch up my makeup. I need a nice date night,” she leaned over the couch, kissed him squarely on the mouth and then headed toward the bedroom.

Harry smirked, feeling at ease for a moment and listening to the sound of her hum as she fixed herself up for the night. His heart started pounding as the minutes ticked by. In less than three hours he would have a fiancée.

Or so he hoped.

The thought of her saying no hadn’t really occurred to him. They lived together, they loved each other, it seemed like a natural step in the relationship.

Right?

Suddenly the thoughts of inadequacy rushed through him and stuck to every crevice of his brain. Every thought was plagued with the notion of shortcomings. He wasn’t good enough for her. There were all the thoughts of her being trapped with him for nothing but ruining her original wedding day.

Maybe she didn’t even want to be married again. Maybe reliving the memory of the first time she tried getting married was something she never wanted to experience again. The idea that he would bring it up and make her sad made him nauseous.

“What time is our reservation?” She called.

“Six,” he cleared his throat trying to push the emotion out of his voice and mind, but it was next to impossible.

They would leave in twenty minutes.

She would say yes. Save him embarrassment. Wait to talk with him in private. They wouldn’t get married. She would move out. There wouldn't be a them anymore. Harry would—

“Do you think they’ll have bread?” Her voice was closer, Harry could hear her heels on the floor of the apartment echoing closer to him. “Or should I have a snack?” Her fingers were fiddling with the earring on her left ear then she opened the fridge to look inside, scanning the contents of leftovers, and cheese bites that she kept for emergencies such as the current one. “Are you hungry at all?” Harry’s stomach hurt so much but it wasn’t from hunger. She didn’t look at him to ask the question, focusing on the snacks too much to notice that he had left the couch. “I’m honestly starving—”

“Will you marry me?”

The room seemed to freeze. The moment of time suspended for who knew how long. Slowly, she half-closed the fridge door to get a visual of her boyfriend in front of her. Her dress was unzipped—she intended for Harry to zip her up once she found a suitable snack. Only one earring was in her ear. The bobby pin she had pinched between her teeth muffled her voice just a bit.

Harry was on the floor. Knelt all but two feet away from her, a little velvet box held out to her in his shaky hands, making the sparkling diamond twinkle in the kitchen light. The bobby pin fell from her lips and sounded like a bookshelf had fallen on the floor in contrast to the quietness of the moment.

“Harry,” she whispered.

“I’m sorry,” he croaked, closing his eyes tightly to try and will the tears away. “I have this huge thing planned. All our friends and family are going t’be at the restaurant. It was supposed t’be a surprise because y’deserve everyone y’know and love t’be there but m’realizing y’might say no. Y’might—”

“Harry,” she repeated, her voice so gentle, but there was the sound of disapproval evident in just the tone of her voice.

“—not want t’get married. Not after last time. Maybe not t’me. M’sorry. I wanted it t’be perfect,” he whispered. “I had a whole speech planned ‘bout how much I love and adore you. How you’re m’favorite person on this earth and how I feel so completely safe and cared for and I want t’do that for you for the rest of our lives,” he paraphrased the monologue that he had memorized ages ago but suddenly couldn’t remember a word of it. “But you’ve had a long day and m’not going t’make it any easier asking in front of all of them if y’want t’say no. So, I have t’do it now. Will you marry me?” He repeated.

Her lips were parted just slightly. Her eyes shiny and beautiful. God, she never looked so beautiful. “Harry,” her voice was soft.

“If s’a no,” his voice cracked. “M’gonna say you’re sick. That I can’t in good conscience let y’go out when y’don’t feel well.”

“Harry Styles,” she whispered, a shake of her head. “Yes, isn’t an adequate enough word for what I want to say to you,” she promised.

His head snapped up again, he hadn’t realized he wasn’t looking at her while he rambled, terrified to see the rejection on her face. But that wasn’t rejection. Yes, he realized, wasn’t a word that meant rejection.

“You said yes,” he murmured.

“Did you honestly think I would say no?”

It was silent again. Like time suspended once more, he tried to remember if time was necessary to breathe. If there was something he was supposed to do or say. It took him that moment to realize he was memorizing every detail. Every skin cell on her pretty face, the way the air smelled, how the chill from the fridge was giving him goosebumps.

Without noticing it happened, he was standing. Harry’s face was in her neck, his arms around her waist and his nose inhaling her sweet scent. His eyes watered and he swallowed hard as he shook his head against her skin. “I love you,” he whispered.

“I love you, Harry,” she giggled, teary as well. Her arms around him just as tightly and she kissed the side of his head buried in her neck.

He wasn’t sure how long he stayed in her embrace, but she didn’t rush him. Eventually he pulled away from her. He grabbed the ring out of its cushion, dropping the little box to the floor beside her bobby pin, and slipped it on her fourth finger. She looked at it briefly. She had seen a diamond on that finger before but looking at this one now, the other one looked terrible in comparison. It wasn’t right.

This was right.

“I have t’take it back,” he whispered.

She smiled and nodded. “I know.”

“I’m sorry. I’ll never do it again.”

“Can’t believe you thought I would say no,” she giggled.

He rolled his eyes. “You are so perfect, kitten. M’so in love with you. If something isn’t perfect for you...” he shook his head. “You deserve perfect.”

“I hope you know,” she wiggled her ring finger in front of his eyes. “That means you,” she promised.

This relieved, happy expression crossed his face and he felt so overwhelmed with happiness that he thought he would cry. “How much time do we have before we need t'leave?” He murmured to himself looking at the stove clock.

“Forever,” she shook her head with a smile. Cupped his face and leaned in for his sweet, pink lips. “We have all the time in the world.”

--

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If you like this, check out my masterlist for more of my writing.

[topguncortez]

Made With Love- T. Kazansky

word count: 700 genre: fluff:) requested: yes

Note: my requests for full fics are NOT open, HOWEVER, I will always accept asks/requests for blurbs, moodboards, fake social media posts, etc :) I also don't have a general tag list anymore but HIGHLY recommend you follow my library page @cortezslibrary and turn on post notifications

Iceman would never admit it out loud, and if he knew that you were telling people, he would blow a gasket. But Iceman’s third favorite thing in the world (behind you, of course, and flying) was baking. He learned to back as a young boy, sitting on the counter and watching his mom bake anything from cookies, to brownies, to pies. Whenever Ice was having a bad day, he knew that when he got home there would be some sort of baked goods on the counter with his name on it. When his mother passed, Iceman inherited all of her cookbooks, and recipe cards. 

That was one of the ways you knew that Ice had a bad day at work, was when you came home to the smell of vanilla and warm bread. You sighed and kicked off your shoes, wondering what kind of baking mess you were going to be met with. Tom wasn’t always the cleanest baker, tending to throw flour and egg everywhere. 

“Bad day?” You asked as you walked into the kitchen. Tom looked up from the loaf of bread he was kneading and nodded, “New brownie recipe?” 

“Yeah, black walnuts and white chocolate,” Ice said, pointing to the pan of brownies that sat by the window sill, “Slider asked me to try them, saying his mom used to make them like that all the time.” 

“And these?” You asked, picking up the tin of cookies. You were surprised your cabinets weren’t bursting at the seams with how much tupperware was stored in them. 

“Rhubarb bars!” Ice smiled, “Viper’s wife sent him with fresh rhubarb for me to use.” 

You shook your head, smiling at your husband. You walked over to him, and wrapped your arms around his waist, and laid your head between his shoulder blades. Ice sighed and put his hands on yours. He looked around the kitchen that was covered in baked goods. One thing he loved about you was that you never pried. You always let him talk to you when he was ready. 

“It was Mav,” Ice said. You removed your arms from around his waist as he reached for a raspberry cheesecake cookie. 

“What happened?” You asked, and took a cookie from the same tin. 

“He’s just out of control again. I think it’s got something to do with Bradley’s birthday coming up. . .” Ice looked down at his hands. You nodded, it was coming up on Bradley’s first birthday since Goose’s death. Carole had even asked Ice if he would make a birthday cake for the little boy. Ice quickly agreed and had gone out to buy a bunch of dinosaur themed cake toppers. 

“And how do you feel?” 

“I feel. . . overwhelmed. I don’t really know what to think about it. I try not to let my mind drift there but I can’t help it,” Ice had shared after Goose’s death the guilt that he felt about it. That first night you held Ice as he woke up in a cold sweat. Ice didn’t go back to bed that night, but spent nearly three days baking everything under the sun. You knew that he needed to seek help when you woke up at 3AM to the fire alarm going off, and Tom Kazansky in tears. 

“Well,” You pushed off the counter and walked over to him, “You can always talk to me. As much as I love your baking,” Tom smiled, “I am always here for you to talk to.” 

“I know, and I love you for it,” Ice said, and ran his hands down your sides. You smiled and leaned up on your tiptoes to kiss his forehead. Ice chuckled, and grabbed your face gently, bringing you in for a real kiss. 

“Mm, you taste like chocolate chip cookies,” You said against his lips. 

“In the green tupperware on the table.” 

You smiled and pecked his lips before going over to where he said. The tupperware was still warm as you opened the top and grabbed a cookie. You moaned as you took a bite of the soft gooey cookie. 

“God, I am so glad our child is going to have a parent who can bake.” 

Ice chuckled, as he went back to kneading the bread he was working on earlier, “Yeah, we’re gonna win all the- wait, what did you just say?” He looked up at you, and you gave him a tight lipped smile. 

“Surprise?”

[cowboy-turtle]

For February fluff can I request #1 with the pilot of my heart Frankie Morales please?

AHH HI GERRI! Tysm for requesting! We started off February Fluff with Frankie and now we’re ending it with him ❤️

(even tho we blew past the original end date of Valentine’s Day, this ending on my birthday feels just as good)

Inspo credit for this one goes to the Frankie tummy fiend @letterfromvienna and this post

February Fluff Prompt #1: “You’re beautiful, you know that?”

Pairing: Frankie Morales x gn!Reader

Word Count: 685

Tags: established relationship, food mention, saccharine sweet fluff because what’s Frankie’s shirt made out of? Husband material

ct’s february fluff masterlist | main masterlist

Sundays were for baking. A time honored tradition where Frankie yielded full reign to you over the kitchen, countertops messy with family cookbooks and overfilled cooling racks and flour patches of rolling stations. It’s a peaceful little bubble you create every week, heart warmed by the patient love in each recipe and the pleased sounds your taste tester always provided.

Frankie was always more than happy reaping the rewards of your efforts, and you can’t help but have a little selfish honor that you’ve contributed to the soft tummy he’s developed over the years. He brings your leftover treats into work, pride coloring his smile when he gets to tell his colleagues that his wonderful partner handmade these.

He knows where to find you today, face streaked with flour and what you hope is only egg drying on your apron. You’re deep in focus measuring out powdered sugar, a rack of cookies cooling on the kitchen island that Frankie reaches for.

“Don’t have too many,” you say over your shoulder, “they’re for the neighbors.”

His mouth flounders like a fish to blow out the steam of the still-hot cookie, his voice muffled while he tries to chew quickly. “We have new neighbors?”

“No, the ones across the street,” you sigh. “Their kid’s in the hospital, poor thing. I’m hoping these will help a little.”

“Are they getting this banana bread too?”

You watch him inspect the walnuts and chocolate chips peeking out of the golden brown loaf, his eager hand skimming the edge of the countertop in wait for your answer.

You shake your head with a smile. “That’s for your grandma when we visit her this week.”

He nods, satisfied though disappointed at the untouchable reason, and glances over at the cake you still need to decorate, the cream cheese frosting still coming together in the mixer before you now. The whir of the mixing blades is almost silent, a top-of-the-line model Frankie gifted you last Christmas that made you squeal in delight. It was even better than the one you had your eye on, and he must have done incredible research to find it.

“And before you cut a slice of that, I’m bringing that to work with me tomorrow.” You watch the look on his face change. “It’s my coworker’s birthday and red velvet is her favorite.”

He doesn’t respond right away, still looking at all the desserts with a funny expression.

“Babe?” you call, and he slowly stares up at you.

You smile at him apologetically. “I’m sorry I didn’t make anything for us. When this next batch is in the oven I’ll make whatever you want, okay?” You wag the plastic spatula in your hand enticingly. “I’ll even let you lick the batter.”

He blinks, then shakes his head like he’s brushing off the faraway look he was just carrying.

“No, it’s not that,” he laughs.

He walks to your current station set up by the window, arms sliding around to hug your middle, his chin resting on your shoulder.

“You’re beautiful, you know that?”

You laugh. “I’m pretty sure I have frosting in my hair.”

His face shifts for him to plant a kiss on your cheek, stubble brushing along on your skin.

“You’re making all these things for other people to make their days better, and you’re worried I want something for myself?” He bites at your jaw playfully. “The only thing I want in here is you.”

You snort. “And maybe another cookie.”

“And maybe that,” he concedes. He rubs your hip affectionately. “Seriously, how did I get so lucky marrying you?”

Your heart melts at that, placing your spatula down to turn in his arms. You’re careful not to get your batter-dirtied fingers on him when your palms rest upon his neck, a slow kiss enveloping the two of you in a gentle embrace. You hum in contentment.

“Will you still feel lucky if I ask for your help cleaning up?”

His hands leave your waist as he steps away, an eager glint in his eye at the opportunity of being useful.

“Where do I start?”

--

taglist: @1800-fight-me @iamskyereads @microsoftcraint @thisgirl-knm @dobbyjen @arahxdjarin @triggerhappyflygirl @athalien @phandoz @queen0fchaos @c4psicle @sunnshineeexoxo @mrsudontknowme @rosethornxs @wyofabdoms @mandosmistress @thirddeadlysin @kissasith @cmc1014 @morenhoe @mssbridgerton

[vanderlindemangofarm]

John Marston/Josiah Trelawny/Hosea Matthews - Baking headcanons (Modern AU)

I had a couple of lovely messages asking me to add to the Modern AU baking headcanons I wrote last week, so I’m writing them now! 

John

John keeps pestering you to bake your famous chocolate chip cookies. It’s incessant. 

One day you snap and tell him to learn how to bake his own damn cookies. 

Cue the sad puppy look. 

Of course you take pity on him and teach him how to bake. He sulks around the kitchen as you mix the ingredients and tries to sneak chocolate chips when he thinks you’re not looking (you always are). 

Absolutely horrendous with eggs and gets far too excited trying to whisk them. 

“Hey darlin’, got egg on your face?”

Gets very handsy when you’re trying to concentrate. 

Presses you against the kitchen counter and sinks to his knees when the cookies are in the oven. You’ve got 10-15 minutes to kill, after all. 

Josiah

What else would Josiah offer to make you other than a lemon meringue pie? 

He bumbles and bustles around the kitchen, opening cupboards with a flourish and laying out all his ingredients on the table in perfect formation. 

Probably cracks open a bottle of champagne, just because. Y’know, for the French theme. 

To be honest, you don’t end up doing much. But Josiah still makes you feel like you’re helping. 

“Now, we must whisk the egg whites until they resemble stiff peaks...dear oh dear.”

He feeds you the first bite with a silver teaspoon. 

He’s as theatrical as you’d expect when he eats his slice. 

“Divine...heavenly...celestial...”

Most of the pie has mysteriously disappeared by tea time. 

Hosea

Hosea’s favourite cake is coffee and walnut and he’s very particular about it. 

Funnily enough, he’s extremely laid back in the kitchen, yet also at his most dominating. 

Which suits you just fine. 

He mixes the ingredients together with his usual, casual ease. His hands move effortlessly.

When you offer to help he smiles warmly, extending an arm to guide you to the work station. 

He stands behind you, his chin on your shoulder, his hands on yours. 

“Steady now, we can’t have you making a mess.” 

All his words are charming and sweeter than honey. 

But he’s fun, too. He turns up the radio to full volume and waltzes you around the kitchen. 

He brews a pot of his favourite fancy coffee to have with the finished cake. 

You’ll need the energy, after all. 

[onyxiana-is-obsessed]

Sweet Like Chocolates | Shouta Aizawa x Reader

AN: Hello! This is another sever collab I did, I’m late to this one, however. My apologies. May’s prompt was desserts, so here’s my take on it. Length: 3k Warnings: Some suggestive themes, no detail.

Main Master list - Go check out what everyone else did!

Summary: You’ve been craving sweets recently but you don’t want to just buy them. So, why not make some with your husband?

Tags: @peachy-yabbay​ @shiggi-trash​ @boku-no-dumbass​ @happynoodle​ @neon-tries-writing​

Full Name: (f/n) Aizawa Quirk: (y/q) Age: 28 Hero Name: (h/n)

“NO!” Shouta’s tired eyes shot open and he abruptly sat up. He was positive he heard a loud scream and his head snapped to the door. Within seconds, he threw his blanket off and bolted out of the door and down the stairs where he’d heard the cry.

“(f/n)?!” He froze as his eyes widened at the sight. You were on the floor with a bunch of ingredients such as flour, baking powder, sugar, and candy strew about the floor.

“O-Oh! Hey, Sho!” You greeted him with a smile as he sighed in relief and came to help you up.

“What are you doing, kitty?” He inquired quietly, looking at the dining table which was filled with all sorts of ingredients. You smiled up at him as you stood up. Wrapping your arms around his waist, you gave him a tight hug, which he returned before you both pulled away to pick up the ingredients off the floor.

“Well! I was craving sweets and I wanted to bake some stuff!”

“Some?” He repeated, raising a brow, making you sheepishly giggle. You placed the items you’d picked up on the table and looked at him, sheepishly.

“Ok, so I went a little overboard! But! Why don’t we bake this stuff together?” You asked, with a hopeful smile. Shouta sighed as a small smile made its way up to his lips. It was really hard to deny you when you looked the way you did. Damn you.

“Yeah, sure. Sounds fun.” You let out a little squeal and ran at your husband, jumping up and wrapping your legs around his waist. He let out a little laugh and caught you, letting you repeatedly press kisses onto his face. “O-ok calm down, kitty!”

You pulled away with a big smile before jumping down and giving him a wide smile. He couldn’t help but feel a little sad at the warmth that you took away with you, however, it was soon replaced by the warmth in his heart. That look on your face made him so happy, so proud, and so good about himself. Knowing he was the reason for that giant smile on your face was the best feeling in the world.

“Yay! I love you so much!” He laughed and walked past you to the ingredients.

“I love you too. Now, what are we starting with? What do you have?”

“Well! I was thinking of baking some stuff!”

“Like cupcakes?” You shook your head with a giggle as you stood next to him.

“We’re going a little bit further than that. We’re gonna make more complicated desserts.”

“More complicated? I’m not sure we’re qualified to do that. I don’t know the first thing about baking.” Shouta explained as he leaned on the table, looking at you.

“Don’t worry, I don’t either! We’ll be using recipes! It’ll be fun, come on!” You chirped, taking his hands. Again, he just couldn’t deny or refuse you, so he only nodded.

“If it makes you happy, kitty.” He leaned in, pressing his lips against yours in a soft kiss. You giggled and tugged on his arms a little, leading him to the kitchen where your laptop was already prepared with the first recipe. Tiramisu.

“I bought everything for all the desserts I want to make. Hence the extra ingredients.” Shouta chuckled when he looked over at the dining table, which had a lot of ingredients already. He nodded and read the ingredients needed for this dessert.

“Let’s see… we need strong espresso, Grand Marnier, ladyfingers, mascarpone, rum, eggs, sugar, heavy cream, vanilla extract, salt, and unsweetened cocoa powder… th-that’s a lot.” He murmured at the end, while you’d started gathering the required ingredients.

“The cooking process is worse,” you scrolled down and pointed at the section, “see? This is it.”

“What the hell is a ladyfinger?” His tone made you giggle and you pat his arm.

“It’s like a finger-shaped cookie/cake thingie. Let’s see, it’s four layers each component is layered twice.” You both grabbed the ingredients and started to put them together, following every last step.

As Shouta was mixing up the whipped cream, he smirked a little as he saw your unsuspecting figure grabbing the rum. You wanted to make sure you wouldn’t go overboard, however, you should’ve been paying attention.

Your husband came up behind you, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you into him. You giggled and turned, only to have some whipped cream be smeared on your cheek and lips.

“Oops.” He said, making your eyes widen. After a moment you giggled, placing the bottle of rum down and grabbing some flour and throwing it at Shouta.

“Two can play at that game, Sho!” You giggled as the two of you started tossing ingredients at each other. You squealed as he smeared some frosting on your lips and pulled you in close, pressing his lips against yours and stealing it back.

“I knew you were delicious.” Your cheeks turned a bright red and you immediately shied away. Even after almost three years of being married, you two would still get overly flustered at certain comments. You only leaned up and kissed him again before the two of you finished up making the first dessert.

***

“It looks-”

“Awful.” Shouta finished as the two of you stared at the small plate with the tiramisu on it. It looked fine, not exactly how it looked in any of the pictures, but you were hoping it would taste great. “Let’s let it chill while we make the others.” You put the tiramisu into the large fridge as you two moved onto the next dessert.

“Umm, how about the fudge? Another no-bake treat. It doesn’t look like we need much for it either,” you suggest, pointing to your computer screen. Shouta nodded and started gathering the ingredients you needed. “We need chocolate chips, butter, chopped walnuts, and sweetened condensed milk.”

You found the saucepan while Shouta turned on the stove and helped you add in all the ingredients. You stirred it with a rubber spatula until everything had melted and was evenly mixed in. While you were doing that, Shouta found another baking dish and lined it up with parchment paper. Once you were sure everything was good, you picked up the saucepan and walked over to the counter and carefully poured the fudge into it. Shouta used the rubber spatula to smooth it out while you placed the saucepan in the sink.

Once it was smoothed out, he walked back to the fridge and carefully placed the dish inside. This would be ready in three hours while the tiramisu needed an entire night. You still had plenty on the list so even though you were excited to taste the treat, you’d probably long forget it until it was ready.

“What’s next, kitty?” Shouta asked, leaning on the counter as you looked through the numerous recipe tabs you had open. “Just bookmark these, why do you have so many open?”

“Well, that’s too much work.”

“Well, that bothers me.” He huffed, placing his chin on the top of your head as he looked down at your screen. You two looked through the tabs before he made you stop and pointed to one of them. “What about that?  Cheesecake.”

“Oh, that sounds fun!” With that, you two started to gather the ingredients first. “We’ll need cream cheese, eggs, sugar, sour cream, vanilla, and salt. Apparently, we’re skipping the water bath in this recipe.”

“Oh great, it’s such an annoying process.” You smiled and looked at him.

“You know what that is? What is it?” He shook his head.

“I don’t, any extra work is an annoying process.” You giggled, shaking your head as you read out the small recipe. “Oh, you bought crusts too?” You nodded, without looking at him, scrolling down on your screen.

“Yeah, I thought we could use it for pies and stuff. If these turn out good, we can give them to our friends.”

“If.”

“Ye have little faith.”

“We’re heroes, not bakers, kitty. I have no faith.” You scoffed with a wide smile and tried to hold back your laughter.

“Ok, be like that.” You read out a couple of lines of the recipe as your husband listened intently. “Keep the cream cheese at room temperature. Be easy with the eggs, it says to scramble the eggs before adding it to the batter.

Shouta cracked the eggs in another bowl and gently scrambled them and put them to the side as you two began to work on the rest of the batter. You carefully mixed everything together then added in the eggs, being mindful of not over-beating the batter. While Shouta was working on the batter, you got the crust ready for him, helping him pour it in too.

Once that was done, you two placed it into the oven and put the timer on. Meanwhile, you two took a small break, already feeling tired from making the three desserts. You sat on the counter while Shouta stood in between your legs as you two talked about dinner.

“We’ll have plenty to eat after we’re done with all of these.” You said, gesturing to the ingredients sitting around you.

“Yeah, but we’re not only going to be eating desserts for the next week, do you know how unhealthy these are?” You pouted and pushed his hair back, putting your arms on his shoulders. You gently grabbed a lock of his hair, twisting it around your fingers.

“Sho.”

“(f/n).”

“Come on!”

“Absolutely not. You’ll eat too much dessert, then you’ll get sick and throw up, then you’ll never want to eat the desserts again. Let’s save ourselves all the trouble. Desserts are for after dinner.” You stuck out your bottom lip, which made him chuckle as he leaned in and pressed a kiss to your lips.

You closed your eyes and responded immediately, tightening your arms around him. He tugged you closer, his large, warm hands wandering around your waist and hips, before dragging down your thigh.

You sighed in content at the sensation and the kiss quickly became a bit more heated. His hands slid under your shirt, quickly moving around and caressing your soft skin. Your mind went blank as the butterflies filled your stomach. Kisses like these were almost dizzying, good thing you were sitting down. However, you two were interrupted when your alarm went off, making you pull away and giggle sheepishly. Had it been that long already? You really did end up losing track of time while kissing your husband. 

“Perfect timing,” Shouta said, rolling his eyes as he grabbed the oven mitts. He opened the oven door and carefully took out the cheesecake and placed it on the stove.

“Ok, so while that cools, why don’t we start making the chocolate?”

“Sure, but why are we making chocolates when we have those chocolate melts?” You shrugged as you hopped off the counter and reached for your laptop, finding the recipe.

“Why not?” Shouta shook his head and took his hair down from the ponytail before readjusting it. Your (e/c) eyes watched him with a smile.

“You look so good like that.” Your words made him smirk as he looked towards you.

“Thank you, kitty.” Your heart skipped a few beats as you shied away, looking back at the screen in front of you. Shouta had other ideas while you were distracted grabbing the ingredients to make the chocolate.

You mumbled the names of the ingredients as you pulled them to the sides, noting down the amounts you’d need. Meanwhile, Shouta came up behind you, leaning on the counter with his arms on either side. He bent forward a little to read what was on your screen and it didn’t really bother you at first. You’d been married for a while, so you were used to stuff like this to an extent. However, Shouta was a tease… so he chose to tease you and it always worked.

“Whatcha reading?” He asked, whispering into your ear, sending shivers down your spine.

“The recipe?” You said, with a light giggle. He leaned further onto you, pressing your chest against the counter. One of his hands came down to massage your thigh, while his lips trailed from your cheek to your shoulder. For a moment, you closed your eyes and leaned back into him as his lips moved to your neck. His warmth seeped into you, making you crave more of it.

It took a few seconds, but you inhaled sharply and gently pushed him away, making him chuckle a little.

“Playing hard to get, kitty?” You scoff and shake your head at his words, looking at him, with slightly red cheeks.

“We’re baking desserts right now, we can do this later.” He leaned in, pressing his lips against yours in a soft kiss.

“Well the only dessert I want is…” His voice trailed off as his eyes moved up and down your form, before he walked away, making your heart almost leap out of your chest. Damn.

***

“Ok, so we can add the whole milk in a second. Do you have the cocoa powder ready?” Shouta asked, making you nod and point to the said ingredient. Shouta was just waiting for the water to simmer while you had made a paste out of the cocoa powder and butter. “Ok, it’s ready.” You added the mixture to the water and Shouta stirred it, waiting for it to simmer again.

You’d already prepared all the molds and the separate bowl that you would’ve needed. Once the heated mixture was transferred, you added in the sugar and salt. After, Shouta stirred the mixture while you slowly added in the milk, so it wouldn’t create any clumps.

“I think it’s good,” Shouta started as he licked the chocolate that had gotten on his fingers. You reached into the bowl and dunked your fingers in, before lickin it off. “Why didn’t you use the whisk? It had plenty of chocolate on it.” You giggled and shrugged.

“It tastes delicious, Sho! Time to add them into the molds!” You’d gotten a few cute shaped molds and you had your strawberries ready too. 

Using a spoon, you poured the chocolate into the molds while Shouta got your strawberries and dunked them into the chocolate. He placed them on a separate pan with parchment paper on it to keep the strawberries from sticking. 

“Those look good!” You said, while looking down at the strawberries. You had quite a bit, more than you thought you would but was that really an issue? Shouta placed them neatly onto the tray and then into the fridge.

“Now that this is all done,” Shouta said, wrapping his arms around you once again and pulling you close. “Time for dinner. We can make more of these later.”

“Or! How about this. You make dinner and I’ll continue making the desserts!” He rolled his eyes and shook his head, he knew full well he couldn’t deny you. Well, as long as the main task was getting completed, he didn’t care. He only nodded and kissed your head.

“Fine. What do you want?”

“Hmm, how about (favorite food)!” Shouta nodded and moved away to gather the required ingredients, while you started on the next dessert item you wanted to make.

***

“You think they’re done yet?” You asked as you finished up the last bite of your dinner. Your husband gathered your dishes and walked into the kitchen with you following behind him with the glasses.

“I’m sure some of them are, check. But please be careful, you don’t want anything to fall out.” You cautiously opened the fridge door and peeked inside to see your desserts chilling well. You reached in and pulled out the tray with the chocolate covered strawberries on it.

“They look so good!” You placed the tray on the counter while Shouta helped pull out the rest of the desserts. Some, however, needed to remain in the fridge, so you were trying those tomorrow.

“They do, but we have so many.”

“We can just give them to our friends!” You suggested as you picked up one of the strawberries and held it out to Shouta. “Bite.”

“Shouldn’t you be eating these first? You’re the one so excited for it.” You shook your head, keeping your hand right where it was.

“You first, babe.” He smiled softly as he leaned in and bit down on the strawberry, leaving half of it for you. You quickly ate the rest and smiled brightly at him. “They’re delicious!”

“They are, I really like these.” He wrapped his arm around you and pulled you close as the two of you started to taste some of the desserts you’d made, which was a lot. You’d made tiramisu, fudge, a cheesecake, chocolate covered strawberries, an ice cream cake, a blueberry pie, a couple of cupcakes, and halo-halo. You really had no choice but to give some to your friends because you two would never be able to finish these.

“This was fun,” you said, looking up at your husband. “We should do it again.”

“Yeah, but not for a while. We still have to get rid of these. Now.” He turned to you, picking you up, making you wrap your legs around his waist. You squealed a little at the action and quickly grabbed onto him to keep yourself from falling. “How about my dessert?” His seductive voice immediately brought a blush to your cheeks as his face got closer to yours. Your lips pressed together in a soft, loving kiss. Your arms tightened around him as your body grew warm.

“Shouta…” You whispered as he walked you both to your bedroom and dropped you on the bed.

“You’re sweet... just like chocolate.” He whispered, kissing your lips once more before they trailed down your cheek and onto your neck. 

“Well that’s because I just had some.” You giggled, making him pull away and glare slightly.

“Stop ruining the mood, (f/n)!”

[perseusjackson-jasongrace]

Also saw you're doing requests so yay!!. Any chance of jercy bakery au? Love your work sm hope you have a great day ☺☺

My Darling Anon how dare you make me fall more in love with Jercy???????? I squealed when i saw this and then promptly started writing even though i should be studying for my (ironically) Greek Mythology test.

i hope you love it because if i fail at least i know it’ll be worth it :) Also this was honestly supposed to be a quick drabble and it somehow ended up as 1,5K+ words so??? #isanyonesurprisedthough

Masterlist

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

Jason Grace smiled as the birds beside his head chirped and then swiped his phone to cut off the amusing sound. His fiery friend, and co-worker thought it was hilarious to steal his phone and change his alarm tone every few weeks. Usually it was something inane and silly like a cartoon laugh track or just a repeating “It’s time to get up BakerBoi” that gets increasingly louder. He had arrived to work with a scowl on his face only to see the shit-eating grin of Leo Valdez waiting at the door.

Now Jason stumbles out of bed, letting his limbs loosen as he pads softly to the bathroom, feeling cool tile and a winter breeze on his exposed skin. He loves mornings like this, when the world isn’t quite awake, and the sky hasn’t decided what colour it wants to be for the day. He knows in is baker’s bones that it’ll be cold and rainy, but he has time for a morning jog before the world starts crying.

“Good morning boss,” A bright eyed, fidgeting Leo greets as he steps into the bakery.

Jason had been there at seven thirty, pulling down the café chairs and cleaning the counters. He already had a fresh batch of chocolate chip cookies and about three different types of muffins in the oven. The bread was waiting for the busy hands of Leo and Hazel who somehow always seemed to make heavenly fluffed, soft rolls and the deliciously crusty baguettes. Hazel jokes that it’s the New Orleans blood that flows through her veins. They’re all half inclined to agree.

“Morning Valdez, I like the alarm this week.” He tosses a grin over his shoulder before going back to his icing ritual. Mix, taste, mix, ice.

“I figured you would old man. Even though i much prefer my ASMR food audio from last week. What’s the specialty today?”

“We need to get beignets out and the pain au chocolats before the breakfast crowd. Also the fruit stuffed pastry twists and the honey bread have to be prepped before we open so we can bring them out hot in time for the brunch crowd. Specialty today is a new thing I’ve been working on. Blue blondie doughnuts with Oreo cream filling and sugar glaze.”

“Gods boss, you tryna give people heart failure?”

“Just trying to insert some sweetness into the world,” He winked.

Before Leo could give an undoubted snarky reply a bubbly head of dark brown curls and glittering eyes popped around the door.

“Goooood morning everyone,”

Jason couldn’t help the smile that graced his face at her cheeriness, “Hello Miss Levesque, glad to see a prettier face around here,”

Leo made a strangled noise of indignation from the other side of the kitchen but didn’t get the chance to voice his offense before the last member of their little group walked in.

“Ah there you are Miss McLean, I do wonder how you arrive with Hazel and still manage to get in after her.”

She gave him an exasperated look, “I have to say goodbye to my girlfriend before I come in Boss. You’re the one who banned couple calls in the bakery.”

“Well maybe if we didn’t have to hear you and Annabeth explicitly planning your night’s activities I wouldn’t have had to do that.”

Piper just rolled her eyes and went to grab her apron and a cloth to wipe down the tables.

"Everyone ready?" He asked, from the door of the kitchen an hour later.

"Ready for the storm boss," They all yelled back, as they did each morning.

"Then let's roll like thunder," He grinned, flinging the doors to Ambrosia Bakery open.

"Oh thank the heavens, I could smell the goodness from here and it was a struggle to keep the drool in," One Reyna Avila Ramirez Arellano breathed in deep.

"Good morning my favourite customer," Leo smirked from behind the counter.

"Jason tell your bread boy to stand down before I make him,"

"Is that an invitation?" Dark eyebrows wiggled in amusement.

"That is a threat," She growled.

"Well mark me down as scared and h—"

"Valdez I swear if you finish that sentence I'm putting you on wash-up duty for the next week."

A faint "you got it boss" followed Jason into the kitchen, where he allowed himself to smile. It was an ongoing amusement that Leo flirted with Reyna and in return she came up with increasingly terrifying threats.

"Jason, your sister is here to see you" Hazel said, gently shoving him out the way so she could take over rolling the pastry.

"Get the doughnuts ready for the fryer I'll be back soon, thank you!"

He maneuvered around a blushing Leo who had icing on his nose and a suspicious lipstick stain on his cheek, finally making his way to the confectioners stand.

"What's up loser?" He said by way of greeting.

"Hey you're only allowed to call me that if you come baring nice things." Thalia Grace frowned.

"I am nice things," He pouted.

"Not even on your best day." She snorted, "I want to know if you're coming to the gala this weekend. I need a date to steal extra bread-sticks for me."

"Why can't I just make you bread-sticks and we can sit in your lounge and watch bad reality TV?" He groaned

"Because I have to show face or the sponsors aren't going to sponsor. Besides you need a night out. You're gonna start smelling like bread if you don't take a break."

"It's insulting that you think I wouldn't want to smell like breadsticks."

She laughed at, that ruffling his hair, "Just be ready by seven. You better be wearing a suit."

And with that his sister had grabbed her daily croissant and cappuccino and vanished into the drizzling day.

Before he could make it back to his safe haven beside the ovens and marbled counter-tops a flash of black hair caught his eye.

Turning around he couldn't contain the grin that tugged at his lips; standing by the counter already staring intently at the newest creation was Jason's favourite customer.

"Hello Percy Jackson,"

"Jason," A dazzling smile revealed pearl white teeth and the tiniest dimple on a cheek the color of rich toffee.

"I see you've already found Neptune's Tridoughnut,"

A bright laugh escaped a wickedly beautiful mouth, "Oh I love that. How'd you come up with that one?"

Jason smiled softly, debating whether to tell the owner of the 5-Oceans Conservation Company that he was the muse behind all of his latest creations, hence the variations of green and blue.

Instead, as he did every time Percy asked, he lied, "My sister went to an opening ceremony for a new exhibit at the Education center all about Mythology so I thought I’d offer my services and well, they were a hit."

Piper who was walking past at that exact moment coughed something that sounded suspiciously like "Liar" but with a pointed glare she disappeared behind the counter.

"That sounds great. Guess I'll have to recruit you for all my functions," He winked, a small smirk playing at his lips.

Jason cursed his pale cheeks and hoped the blush he now sported wasn't too noticeable, "What can I get you besides a specialty doughnut?"

"Can I get one banana and walnut muffin, a dozen chic chips, and I'm gonna go see mom this afternoon so maybe a couple of caramel pastry twists and some blueberry muffins?"

"Sure. I guess Estelle is off her carrot cake faze?" He laughed, remembering how Percy had to stop at the bakery twice a week to grab carrot and pecan mini cakes just for his little sister.

"Ugh she's onto wanting fruit in absolutely everything now so my mom has been frantically buying boxes of peaches, strawberries and apples to cut up and send with her for lunch at school." Green eyes rolled in fake annoyance.

"Well if she likes fruit things maybe she should try the raspberry and orange pastry twists?" He pointed to a display stand piled with various pastries coloured by blackberry jam, apricot pieces, kiwi slices and mango syrup.

"I could kiss you right now!" Percy exclaimed rushing towards the display, unaware that the baker was frozen to the spot.

I could kiss you, could kiss you, kiss you, kiss...

Jason's brain had short-circuited, his neurons too busy having a dance party with his hormones to process the world.

I could kiss you.

A lazy, unconscious smile took over his face as he stood there in the middle of his bakery, arms slack, head lolled, and eyes crinkled.

"Jason?" A faraway voice called.

"Jason? Hello?"

And suddenly a hand was waving in front of his vision trying to get his attention.

He pulled himself out of his reverie, blinking back into existence, "Right yes the pastries"

"Didn’t get enough sleep last night?" Percy teased, slugging him softly in the shoulder.

He snorted at the implication, "Unfortunately I'm a bit of a grandfather. Sleep early, rise early."

"Oh guess you like morning activities then,"

He sputtered, head snapping up to stare into twinkling eyes, "N-no, I just meant—"

"I'm kidding Mr BakerMan," That brilliant, bright laugh again, "I know you're a homebody. Your sister likes to tell me how boring you are."

He huffed at that, "We'll see if she gets her pear tarts this weekend."

"Speaking of this weekend," A sly grin played at Percy's mouth, "Are you coming to the gala?"

"Yea," He sighed, "Thalia says she needs me to steal bread-sticks ."

Sea green eyes widened before Percy burst out laughing. In a matter of moments tears were streaming down his face.

If Jason wasn't so smitten with that gorgeous smile and those mischievous eyes he may have been inclined to laugh too. But Percy Jackson was a vision he half believed only his dreams could conjure.

When the laughter had mostly seized Percy wiped his eyes and managed to gasp, "That sounds exactly like something Thalia would ask. When we worked on the marine life project together she always stole the mints from every CEO’s office because she said they had enough money to buy a mint factory, they could afford to replace a single bowl."

"Yep, her life goal is to end capitalism. I swear if it wasn't for Annabeth, Thalia would be walking into office buildings with a sack like some reverse Santa Claus where she steals the office supplies and fruit bowls."

"Well I can't wait to see you stuffing your pockets with bread-sticks on Saturday so I guess I'll see you then," He gave another dazzling smile.

"Yea, and say hello to little Estelle for me. Tell me how she likes the pastries."

"Don't worry I'm sure I'll be back soon with a long list of request."

"Can't wait." He grinned.

Percy chuckled, "Me neither, see you Friday." And then he was gone.

Oh gods, Jason thought, how am I ever gonna survive Percy in a suit?

***

Spoiler alert past-Jason: you didn't.

[hetalialoverwrites]

Mirror Mirror on the Wall

Part 8

First  -  Previous  -  Next

        Gathering in the kitchen in Auradon, you were all surprised at just how pristine it was for a moment before Mal snapped you all out of it. "Alright, let's get started. Jay, Carlos, you two are in charge of getting the ingredients. (Y/n), you and I will be getting the equipment and the oven turned on. E, you're in charge of the recipe. Got it?" Mal called out, receiving positives on that before everyone got started. Evie was calling out things left and right as everyone rushed around. After about 10 minutes, you were almost done with the recipe. "Okay, it says we need one tear of real human sadness." Evie read. "Well, that leaves us out." You said, looking to Mal. "Huh?" Carlos questioned. You and Mal gave him a look, "We aren't human?" Mal reminded him. "Oh yeah. Forgot about that." Carlos nodded, a look of realization on his face. You and Mal felt a little happy that your friends saw the both of you as normal.

        "Well it can't be me. I've got eyeliner on and we don't know what makeup will do to it," Evie added primly. "A tear is a tear. We can just chop up some onion." Jay practically groaned. "That's not true Jay, they both have antibodies and enzymes, but an emotional tear has more protein-based hormones than a reflex tear." Evie schooled him, looking a little smugly. Mal smiled, "Listen to you." She teased playful. Jay grinned, "Yeah I knew that." "Did not." Carlos lightly hit his arm. "Yeah, I did." Jay joked. The door opened and Lonnie peaked her head out, "There you are Mal, (Y/n)! I was looking for you." Evie hid her mirror in her skirt. "You know, all the girls want you two to do their hair." Lonnie sighed out happily before looking down, "What are you guys doing?" "Just making cookies," Mal replied, stirring with the whisk. Lonnie leaned forward and reached in, taking some of the batter and tasting it, setting everyone on edge.

        "What? I'm not gonna double dip," Lonnie said, holding up her hands. "Do you... Feel anything?" You asked. Jay smirked and walked forward, leaning on the counter, "Hey." He tried with a deep voice. Lonnie stared at him weirdly before faking a small smile and turning her attention back to you three girls, "Well it could use some chips." She chirped. "Chips?" Jay asked, confused as Lonnie went over to the fridge. You and Mal sighed in relief and Evie and Carlos relaxed, "And those are?" Mal asked. "Chocolate chips. Just the most important food group." Lonnie joked, pulling out a small glass bowl of them and walking back to the table you were working on. "Wait, didn't your moms ever make you guys, like, chocolate chip cookies?" Lonnie asked, taking a handful and scattering them in the batter. You, Mal, and Evie looked at her with slight confusion. Lonnie continued, "Like, when you're feeling sad and they're fresh from the oven with a big old glass of milk and she just makes you laugh and puts everything into perspective." Lonnie breathed out a laugh, feeling warm as remembered times with her mother.

        She opened her eyes and looked around the now somber room. No... That never happened on the Isle... "Why are you all looking at me like that?" Lonnie asked, still not understanding. Mal shook herself from her thoughts and went back to stirring, "It's just different from where we are from." Lonnie looked around and laughed a bit nervously, "Well I mean, yeah, I get that. But I figured even villains... love their kids..." Her voice lost its confidence as she ended her sentence with a small, "Oh..." She looked down and took in a breath before looking at Jay and Carlos, who looked uncomfortable and sad. "How awful..." Lonnie reached out and held Mal's hand as a tear rolled down her face. You reached out and wiped it away gently, secretly flicking it into the batter and Mal stored quickly. "It's okay Lonnie, don't worry about us. See you later." You gently removed her from the room before entering again to see Mal ordering everyone around. "(Y/n), parchment paper!" Mal called. "On it!" You called back, jogging to the sheet box and grabbing some as the boys grabbed the cookie sheets. 

         The next day, you and Mal were swarmed with girls wanting their hair done so just to get it over with, you and Mal separated the girls by who wanted it long and who wanted it short and worked your magic after that. Luckily it wasn't too much and you were able to go to classes without being late. After Remedial Goodness, your last class of the day because of the Tourney competition, you went to your locker to put your books away. "It's (Y/n)!" You heard a girl yell excitedly. You turned to see a table of the girls you and Mal cast magic on earlier. They all waved happily at you and gave various thanks as you waved to them and opened your locker. "Hey, are you feeling kind of weird about this?" Jay asked from next to you, making you jump and turn around, slapping him in the face with your wings. He groaned in pain and you gasped, "I am so sorry Jay! Are you okay!?" You exclaimed, your hands hovering over his face. He rubbed his jaw and grinned, "Nice one. I'm fine, just hurts is all." He replied. You gave him a pout and waved your hand, "Heal." You commanded the magic.

        Jay was shocked to find the pain went away before switching topics, "Are you feeling kind of weird about this?" He asked, "I mean, it's not so bad here, you know." He smirked. You looked at him shocked, "Are you... What...? Jay, what about our parents?" You asked, pulling back as if you had been struck. Jay's eyes widened, "(Y/n)-" "Our parents have been rotting on that island for much longer than we have and for some of it, we were too young to remember. This is our chance to get them out of there." Your voice was almost pleading with him to understand. "Snap out of it!" Jay blinked at you before smirking, "Thanks, I needed that." Jay nodded happily before going to greet the girls at that table, who were all excited to see him as he flirted with them. You were taking out the magic cookie in a little plastic bag from your locker when you heard a prissy voice complaining, "It's gateway magic! Sure, it starts with the hair. Next thing you know it’s the lips and the clothes and then everyone looks good! And then where will I be?" Audrey whined. "Listen, Audrey-" Ben sighed before he was cut off by his girlfriend. "I will see you at the game after my dress fitting for the coronation, okay?" She told him with a slightly stressed voice.

        "Okay." Ben agreed easily. "Bye Benny boo!" Audrey air-kissed him before leaving. "Bye..." Ben drawled dully. You grabbed the bag and shut your locker, "Oh Benny boo." You called cheerfully, teasing him with a small chuckle as he turned around. Ben paused around, looking for who called him like that before smiling and walking closer, "Hey." You met him in the middle, "I just made a batch of cookies last night. Double chocolate chip." You said, holding up the Ziplock bag with the cookie, "Want one?" You asked, eyes shining happily. "Oh, uh, I, I got a big game. I don't eat before a big game. But thank you so, so much. Thank you, next time, next time." Ben patted you on the arm, trying to leave quickly. You laughed a little bitterly, catching his attention immediately, "Yeah, okay. I get it." He turned around to look at you confused as you continued with a slightly hurt smile. "Don't take treats offered by kids of villains. I understand." You shook your head, looking down at the bag. Ben shook his head, "No, no, no-" You continued on, "It's smart, really. I totally get it, you're cautious." You nodded along with your words. "No, no, no, it's not that. No, I-I really have a-" Ben looked back in the direction of the field as it to emphasize his point.

        You took out the cookie and looked at it, knowing it was spelled. You made it with Mal, the first time you two had ever made any sweets before. You held it up, "It's probably not even good, it was the first time I've ever made cookies anyway... I'll just go throw it away-" "No, no, hey-!" Ben snatched the cookie in one fell swoop and bit into it, "See that?" He asked while he chewed. "Totally trust you. This is your first-time making cookies. It's actually pretty good. Great first try." Ben praised. "How are they?" You asked, not noticing your friends creeping up behind you to watch. "They're good! They're great! They're amazing!" Ben emphasized his praise while chuckling. He swallowed a bit as he continued, "I mean, they're chewy which everyone loves. Is that walnuts?" He asked, smiling as you nodded. "I love walnuts. I uh, I mean. You know the... Uh... The chocolate..." Ben cleared his throat, his mind foggy. "The chocolate chips are... I'm sorry, um... They're..." Ben drifted off, looking down at the cookie before slowly looking up into your eyes. "They're warm and soft... They're sweet..." Ben complimented, his voice drifting into a warm and gentle tone.

        "(Y/n)... Have you always had those little red flakes in your eyes?" Ben asked, moving to take another bite of the cookie. You grabbed ahold of it and pulled it out of his grasp, putting it back in the Ziplock. Mal took it and spelled it away as Jay held Ben's shoulder and arm. "How you feeling... Bro?" He asked, a smirk on his face. "I feel... I feel... I feel like... Like singing your name! (Y/n)! (Y/-" You reached out quickly and put your hands over Ben's mouth, embarrassed. Ben put an arm around your waist and looked down at you. You laughed a bit, "Don't you have a game to go to?" You asked. Ben blinked for a moment and had to get pulled away by Jay to get to the game. Once you were out of sight, he found it easier to think about the game. Lonnie jogged up to you, Mal, and Evie, "Ready for the game?" She asked excitedly. Without waiting for a response, she took your hand and started pulling you to the stands, knowing Mal and Evie would follow.

[easyfoodnetwork]

Eater Staffers Pick Their Favorite Ina Garten Recipes

Skillet-roasted lemon chicken | The Barefoot Contessa

Our editors know that if you can’t figure out what to cook or how, you can always turn to Ina

These days, Eater editors are eating out less and less, due to widespread restrictions on dining in and mandates nationwide to stay at home. That means we’re cooking a whole lot more, in addition to ordering delivery and takeout from places we love — and we’re also talking about cooking more than ever before.

Last week, we revealed the favorite recipes we all have from Deb Perelman from Smitten Kitchen, whose website and cookbooks have inspired devotion from all of us for years. This week, we turn towards another true source of inspiration, one we’re no less loyal to: Ina Garten. The Barefoot Contessa is not only a source for stunningly reliable, expertly-tested recipes; she’s also a beloved cult figure in her own right. She’s been a particular source of calm and humor over the past few weeks, such as when her charming video demonstrating how to make gargantuan cosmos during a crisis went viral. We love Ina for her catchphrases, her devotion to Jeffery, her disarming nature, her nonchalance as she casually asks us to shell out for three pounds of prepared lobster meat. But most of all, we love her for her (to use one of her own favorite adjectives) foolproof recipes. Read on to learn which ones have captured Eater’s attention over the years.

Skillet roasted lemon chicken: The oil-spattered pages in my copy of Cooking For Jeffrey tell how much I love this recipe better than words can. The chicken is always juicy and the tart pan sauce requires no extra effort beyond arranging your aromatics and pouring in some wine halfway through the roasting process. Ina’s headnote on the recipe begins “I can’t tell you how many times I’ve made this!” and honestly, same. — Adam Moussa, senior social media manager

Panzanella: I love to entertain and have my fabulous guests over with my effortless panzanella with tomatoes that are picked by my friends who own a giant acre of fresh tomatoes during summer. Crispy croutons, made with good bread, are tossed with juicy tomatoes with a generous drizzle of good olive oil. How easy is that? — James Park, social media manager

Tomato feta salad: I’m not a seasoned (sorry!) home cook. In fact, in the three years that I’ve lived with my boyfriend, he’s done all the cooking. I just pick up a pie and say I “made” dessert. That said, I’ve been getting into the habit of preparing better lunches — now more than ever. Ina’s tomato feta salad is great because it combines a lot of my favorite things, it’s easy to make, and it yields enough for breakfast the next morning. It also adds a pop of color to my plate, and that simple pleasure helps me through the day. — Esra Erol, senior social media manager

Roasted butternut squash salad with warm cider vinaigrette: Mostly on account of its sweetness, butternut squash has never been one of those ingredients that I get all that excited about, but as someone who has flirted with CSAs and vegetable delivery services over the years, I always end up finding myself in possession of one. This Ina recipe is the one that helped me find a way for squash to shine. The combination of flavors like maple, apple cider, and walnuts make it particularly appropriate for fall weather and the accompanying coziness; sometimes I go Extra Ina and pair it with her Indonesian swordfish (this marinade also works on chicken and kebabs). It’s also not a bad choice for a pretty Thanksgiving side — save yourself the labor and get pre-cut squash if you go this route. — Missy Frederick, Cities Director

The Barefoot Contessa [official site]

Ina’s roasted squash salad

Lemon capellini: This recipe is a great gateway into doing other things with pasta besides dumping jars of marinara onto it. It’s both satisfying and incredibly easy. Once you feel comfortable with building your own basic lemon-butter sauce, you can use the recipe as a base for any lemony pasta creation. For your first twist, I strongly recommend starting the pan with garlic and crushed red pepper for some heat. — Hillary Dixler Canavan, restaurant editor

Rack of lamb: Ina doesn’t have a blindspot, but in my opinion her true brilliance is in her weeknight meat recipes. She’s the master of simple roasts and stovetop braises that take the guesswork out of everything. I used to look at those Costco racks of lamb with fear, but Ina’s tight four-step recipe — from the “ don’t need to plan that far ahead” marinade to the somehow foolproof temperature guide — makes fancy rack of lamb easy enough to pull off any old Tuesday. — Lesley Suter, travel editor

Mulled wine: At some point over the holiday season, I have a big open-house style gathering — and Ina’s mulled wine is always the centerpiece. I make a big batch of it in the morning, which serves the dual purpose of setting up the booze situation and making my house smell amazing (as opposed to like unshowered writer and dog). Then I toss the wine in a crock pot and serve it all day, dumping in more Cab when it gets low. After 5 p.m. we usually toss a couple shots of brandy into the pot, too, which I guess kind of makes it into hot sangria? But then, no one’s quibbling about details like that. — Eve Batey, Eater SF senior editor

Raspberry baked french toast: Hosting large brunches — or breakfasts for dinner — is my favorite way to get people together. It’s fun and low-key, and I especially love that there are plenty of dishes that can be prepped in advance instead of needing fussy last-minute touches or more time in the kitchen instead of with guests. Baked French toast is an incredibly easy and always delicious staple, whether its on the table as an entree (with syrup) or as dessert (with syrup and ice cream). I love Ina’s raspberry baked version, which calls for fresh berries and diced day-old bread, and her French toast bread pudding, which needs slices of challah. These dishes are infinitely riffable, and both of these Ina recipes are great on their own or as a jumping off point. — Sonia Chopra, director of editorial strategy

Flag cake: I love to make Gartner’s flag cake from Barefoot Contessa Family Style, which could be especially fun if you have kids at home right now to help place blueberries on the stars background and raspberries on the stripes. Seriously, decorating this cake can take up an entire afternoon and should count as a credit for the long lost school subject of home economics. — Susan Stapleton, Eater Vegas editor

Ina Garten [Photo: Facebook]

Ina Garten’s flag cake

Perfect pie crust: Ina’s Perfect Pie Crust is my absolute go-to, holy grail pie crust. I’ve experimented with different crusts but this one takes the — ahem — pie. Five staple ingredients come together quickly in the food processor and can be used for any pie that requires a buttery, flaky blanket of perfection. Which is all the pies, duh. — Stefania Orrù, coordinating producer for Eater Video

Outrageous brownies: There could not be a better descriptor than outrageous for this brownie recipe — after all, it has a pound of butter and nearly two pounds of chocolate! But it’s all for good measure because you’ll be enjoying this massive portion of brownies for days to come. They keep really well, and Ina’s right when she says the instant coffee in here makes all the difference — it’s a tiny amount that gives a zippy balance to the decadent chocolate. — Tanay Warerkar, Eater NY reporter

Mocha Chocolate Icebox Cake: As someone who is not remotely talented at baking, this recipe is so easy to follow and the end result is a showstopper. I’ve made this recipe for multiple parties and everyone raves about it. It is boozy, full of chocolate and semi-homemade so it’s a win/win in my book. Added bonus: layers of Tate’s Chocolate Chip cookies! — Stephen Pelletteri, executive producer

Honorable mentions:

Herb-marinated pork tenderloin

Crispy mustard-roasted chicken

Buttermilk cheddar biscuits

Warm French lentils

Frozen key lime pie

Chipotle and rosemary roasted nuts

Palmiers

Rugelach

Scallops provencal

Roasted shrimp cocktail

Italian wedding soup

from Eater - All https://ift.tt/2JSWSDq https://ift.tt/2Xil0HE

Skillet-roasted lemon chicken | The Barefoot Contessa

Our editors know that if you can’t figure out what to cook or how, you can always turn to Ina

These days, Eater editors are eating out less and less, due to widespread restrictions on dining in and mandates nationwide to stay at home. That means we’re cooking a whole lot more, in addition to ordering delivery and takeout from places we love — and we’re also talking about cooking more than ever before.

Last week, we revealed the favorite recipes we all have from Deb Perelman from Smitten Kitchen, whose website and cookbooks have inspired devotion from all of us for years. This week, we turn towards another true source of inspiration, one we’re no less loyal to: Ina Garten. The Barefoot Contessa is not only a source for stunningly reliable, expertly-tested recipes; she’s also a beloved cult figure in her own right. She’s been a particular source of calm and humor over the past few weeks, such as when her charming video demonstrating how to make gargantuan cosmos during a crisis went viral. We love Ina for her catchphrases, her devotion to Jeffery, her disarming nature, her nonchalance as she casually asks us to shell out for three pounds of prepared lobster meat. But most of all, we love her for her (to use one of her own favorite adjectives) foolproof recipes. Read on to learn which ones have captured Eater’s attention over the years.

Skillet roasted lemon chicken: The oil-spattered pages in my copy of Cooking For Jeffrey tell how much I love this recipe better than words can. The chicken is always juicy and the tart pan sauce requires no extra effort beyond arranging your aromatics and pouring in some wine halfway through the roasting process. Ina’s headnote on the recipe begins “I can’t tell you how many times I’ve made this!” and honestly, same. — Adam Moussa, senior social media manager

Panzanella: I love to entertain and have my fabulous guests over with my effortless panzanella with tomatoes that are picked by my friends who own a giant acre of fresh tomatoes during summer. Crispy croutons, made with good bread, are tossed with juicy tomatoes with a generous drizzle of good olive oil. How easy is that? — James Park, social media manager

Tomato feta salad: I’m not a seasoned (sorry!) home cook. In fact, in the three years that I’ve lived with my boyfriend, he’s done all the cooking. I just pick up a pie and say I “made” dessert. That said, I’ve been getting into the habit of preparing better lunches — now more than ever. Ina’s tomato feta salad is great because it combines a lot of my favorite things, it’s easy to make, and it yields enough for breakfast the next morning. It also adds a pop of color to my plate, and that simple pleasure helps me through the day. — Esra Erol, senior social media manager

Roasted butternut squash salad with warm cider vinaigrette: Mostly on account of its sweetness, butternut squash has never been one of those ingredients that I get all that excited about, but as someone who has flirted with CSAs and vegetable delivery services over the years, I always end up finding myself in possession of one. This Ina recipe is the one that helped me find a way for squash to shine. The combination of flavors like maple, apple cider, and walnuts make it particularly appropriate for fall weather and the accompanying coziness; sometimes I go Extra Ina and pair it with her Indonesian swordfish (this marinade also works on chicken and kebabs). It’s also not a bad choice for a pretty Thanksgiving side — save yourself the labor and get pre-cut squash if you go this route. — Missy Frederick, Cities Director

The Barefoot Contessa [official site]

Ina’s roasted squash salad

Lemon capellini: This recipe is a great gateway into doing other things with pasta besides dumping jars of marinara onto it. It’s both satisfying and incredibly easy. Once you feel comfortable with building your own basic lemon-butter sauce, you can use the recipe as a base for any lemony pasta creation. For your first twist, I strongly recommend starting the pan with garlic and crushed red pepper for some heat. — Hillary Dixler Canavan, restaurant editor

Rack of lamb: Ina doesn’t have a blindspot, but in my opinion her true brilliance is in her weeknight meat recipes. She’s the master of simple roasts and stovetop braises that take the guesswork out of everything. I used to look at those Costco racks of lamb with fear, but Ina’s tight four-step recipe — from the “ don’t need to plan that far ahead” marinade to the somehow foolproof temperature guide — makes fancy rack of lamb easy enough to pull off any old Tuesday. — Lesley Suter, travel editor

Mulled wine: At some point over the holiday season, I have a big open-house style gathering — and Ina’s mulled wine is always the centerpiece. I make a big batch of it in the morning, which serves the dual purpose of setting up the booze situation and making my house smell amazing (as opposed to like unshowered writer and dog). Then I toss the wine in a crock pot and serve it all day, dumping in more Cab when it gets low. After 5 p.m. we usually toss a couple shots of brandy into the pot, too, which I guess kind of makes it into hot sangria? But then, no one’s quibbling about details like that. — Eve Batey, Eater SF senior editor

Raspberry baked french toast: Hosting large brunches — or breakfasts for dinner — is my favorite way to get people together. It’s fun and low-key, and I especially love that there are plenty of dishes that can be prepped in advance instead of needing fussy last-minute touches or more time in the kitchen instead of with guests. Baked French toast is an incredibly easy and always delicious staple, whether its on the table as an entree (with syrup) or as dessert (with syrup and ice cream). I love Ina’s raspberry baked version, which calls for fresh berries and diced day-old bread, and her French toast bread pudding, which needs slices of challah. These dishes are infinitely riffable, and both of these Ina recipes are great on their own or as a jumping off point. — Sonia Chopra, director of editorial strategy

Flag cake: I love to make Gartner’s flag cake from Barefoot Contessa Family Style, which could be especially fun if you have kids at home right now to help place blueberries on the stars background and raspberries on the stripes. Seriously, decorating this cake can take up an entire afternoon and should count as a credit for the long lost school subject of home economics. — Susan Stapleton, Eater Vegas editor

Ina Garten [Photo: Facebook]

Ina Garten’s flag cake

Perfect pie crust: Ina’s Perfect Pie Crust is my absolute go-to, holy grail pie crust. I’ve experimented with different crusts but this one takes the — ahem — pie. Five staple ingredients come together quickly in the food processor and can be used for any pie that requires a buttery, flaky blanket of perfection. Which is all the pies, duh. — Stefania Orrù, coordinating producer for Eater Video

Outrageous brownies: There could not be a better descriptor than outrageous for this brownie recipe — after all, it has a pound of butter and nearly two pounds of chocolate! But it’s all for good measure because you’ll be enjoying this massive portion of brownies for days to come. They keep really well, and Ina’s right when she says the instant coffee in here makes all the difference — it’s a tiny amount that gives a zippy balance to the decadent chocolate. — Tanay Warerkar, Eater NY reporter

Mocha Chocolate Icebox Cake: As someone who is not remotely talented at baking, this recipe is so easy to follow and the end result is a showstopper. I’ve made this recipe for multiple parties and everyone raves about it. It is boozy, full of chocolate and semi-homemade so it’s a win/win in my book. Added bonus: layers of Tate’s Chocolate Chip cookies! — Stephen Pelletteri, executive producer

Honorable mentions:

Herb-marinated pork tenderloin

Crispy mustard-roasted chicken

Buttermilk cheddar biscuits

Warm French lentils

Frozen key lime pie

Chipotle and rosemary roasted nuts

Palmiers

Rugelach

Scallops provencal

Roasted shrimp cocktail

Italian wedding soup

from Eater - All https://ift.tt/2JSWSDq via Blogger https://ift.tt/2yNxrky

[foodpilgrim]

Appalachian Anomaly

At the annual Table Rock Writers Workshop last week, our special guest was Emily Nunn, a native of southwest Virginia and author of The Comfort Food Diaries, published in 2017 by Simon & Schuster. Emily read from the memoir in which she discovers that comfort food is less about the dish and more about its preparation. Food can be a way to express the deepest care without saying a word. Cooking for others can be more comforting than eating itself.

After her presentation, Emily, who also created the “Table for Two” column in the New Yorker magazine when she worked there, revealed a recent discovery—a wood-fired pizza joint in an unlikely place—Roan Mountain, Tennessee, the little village at the base of the high peak that divides North Carolina and Tennessee. Back in the 19th century, the winding road to the top, then very narrow and precarious, allowed traffic in one direction (toward Tennessee) in the mornings and then became one way toward North Carolina in the afternoons. Hardscrabble mountain people made the passage on foot, by hack, and on horseback as they could.

Eventually, in 1894, a resort hotel called The Cloudland was built right on the state line near the peak at 6,286 feet. Travelers could rent rooms with spring mattresses, copper tubs, and steam heat for two dollars a night, a fee which also included three meals. The state line was painted on the dining room floor at the Cloudland, because those seated in Tennessee could order an alcoholic beverage to go with their meals, but those who were on the North Carolina side could not. The Mitchell County (NC) sheriff reportedly came often at dinnertime to patrol the border, hoping some of those imbibing in Tennessee might accidentally stumble across the state line into North Carolina, presumably then being forced to pay a fine as steep as the slopes of the Roan.

Anyway, I digress.

Emily’s report of the Roan Mountain pizza was so evocative that Donna Campbell and I set out at week’s end to sample it. I have reported here on Pie on the Mountain in Lansing, NC, and Big Ed’s Pizza in Oak Ridge, TN. Both restaurants feature righteously fresh ingredients, including the now-ubiquitous Benton’s Tennessee Bacon. However, the pinnacle of pizzas for me is in Carrboro, NC, where Gabe Barker--the son of James Beard Award-winning chefs Karen and Ben Barker--makes ten-inch Neapolitan miracles at his Pizzeria Mercato. 

Gabe has developed a handcrafted thin yeast dough that blisters to perfection in his gas-fired oven. The Mercato toppings vary with the season--organic vegetables and meats from the Carrboro Farmer’s Market across the street and the finest imports of Castelvetrano olives, Italian cheeses, and dried Calabrian chiles. Gabe’s most sublime creation to date is a grilled sweet corn and Gorgonzola pizza topped with razor thin slices of Serrano pepper scattered sparsely enough to open the sinuses without numbing the tongue. But I digress again.

On the way to Tennessee Donna and I studied the Smoky Mountain Bakery’s online menu and agreed on the Gourmet Veggie and the Hiker’s Surprise.  All of their pizzas are more-or-less 12 inches and range in price from ten to twelve dollars with a maximum of twelve toppings.  When we arrived on Cloudland Drive, we couldn’t see the restaurant from the road, only a bank of sunflowers just beginning to bend toward autumn.

The sign out front

Ten years ago, Tim and Crystal Decker, both northern Californians and seasoned chefs, set up shop in a renovated barn to create this Appalachian anomaly.  He is a European-style artisanal bread maker and she is a pastry expert. Their son Anton, a musician, also takes a turn in the kitchen.

If Gabe Barker’s place in Carrboro is urban chic—concrete floors and recycled timber tables and benches—this place is shabby seventies. No frills, no fuss. A throwback to hippiedom.

Breakfast is still under way when we walk in, served until 10:45—omelets, biscuits and gravy, pancakes, Belgian waffles, and pastries. The pizza oven is blazing by 11:00. The line soon runs out the door, and inside you find yourself waiting amid stock storage—cardboard boxes piled high and to-go pizzas already stacked in boxes on a low bench for pick-up beside the cashier’s station. A glass cabinet holds cherry pinwheels, lemon crinkles, coconut macaroons, snicker doodles, blueberry scones, red velvet sandwich cookies filled with cream cheese, banana bran muffins, and little loaves of pumpkin bread laced with walnuts and cranberries. A sign above these treats reads: “Stressed is desserts spelled backwards.”  On the opposite wall, a metal baker’s rack on wheels is heaped with chocolate chip cookies and sweet rolls in plastic bags to go.

Eight young people are navigating around the flour-covered worktable in the kitchen. Two are rolling out dough, another is chopping toppings. Another slathers on tomato sauce while the young man closest to the hot maw of the oven wields the pizza shovel with grace. The rest take turns taking orders and swiping credit cards through nothing more than an iPhone.

Down the line, salads of frisee, mesclun mix, luscious cherry tomatoes, and random red beans sit in closed clam shells on refrigerator shelves for the taking. Three bucks per salad or two for five, DIY. Commercial dressings, however, come sealed in packets at the ordering window—the only disappointment, as it turns out. On down the line, self-serve fountain drinks with free refills are two dollars. There are a few tables inside; many more outside on the wrap around deck.

We place our order, take a number, and find communal benches at a long picnic table out back in sunlight dappled by a half-dozen black walnut trees towering over two sides of the deck. There is a vegetable garden, now waning, in the sideyard. Trees up the hill beyond are rounded sculptures of kudzu. Tendrils trail down and wave in the breeze. A sudden waft of woodsmoke heightens my appetite. We prepare with paper plates, napkins, plastic cutlery, and condiments, including red chile flakes and a shaker of parmesan that doesn’t taste like sawdust. All of these acoutrements are anchored against the wind in plastic bins on each table.  The service is surprisingly quick.

Gourmet Veggie and Hiker’s Surprise. All photos by Donna Campbell

The Gourmet Veggie pie comes first--backroad-Italian rustic—chunky onions, generous bites of artichoke, a heavy hand of cheese.  Yet, the dominant taste is salty black Kalamata olives and sweet sundried tomatoes—both flavors intensified by the oven’s heat.  I suspect the tomatoes are local and dried on the premises. Fantastic.

Next out, the Hiker’s Surprise lives up to its name immediately. What is that crunch?  Besides the saltine-like crust, there are deliciously browned chunks of walnut. Wow. The walnut pieces have been laid down on a light brush of pesto and then slyly covered by slabs of mushroom, more sun-dried tomatoes and caramelized onions, and the silky melt of Gorgonzola. The only thing I can imagine that might add to this magic is a handful of sliced red grapes spread and roasted over the top. (I mention this addition only to work in another  pizza joint recommendation in Fayetteville, West Virginia, near the New River Gorge. Pies and Pints is the name—Gorgonzola and Grape is the pizza’s appelation.)

So, Miss Emily Nunn, you do not disappoint. These pizzas are a rare find, an unusual amalgam of flavors in an even more unlikely place. But as you told us last week at the writing workshop, the comfort often comes in the odd mix at the table. Or as she put it near the end of her book: 

“Luckily, I had figured out that life was not a banquet at all but a potluck. A party celebrating nothing but the desire to be together, where everyone brings what they have, what they are able to at any given time, and it is accepted with equal love and equanimity.”  

That’s how it was for us at the writing workshop--sharing what we had brought unvarnished, both our manuscripts and our personal stories, mostly told at table when we stopped long enough to eat. And so it was at this Appalachian anomaly—Californians making pizzas and pastries on the side of an ancient mountain. We declared our gratitude in the moment, delighting in the many tastes unfolding, bite after bite, on a not-exactly-round but satisfying crust.

[benbarnesescape]

For Old Time’s Sake - Part 2

Logan x Reader

Warnings: M for Mature (18+ SMUT, Language)

A/N: For @thesandbeneathmytoes I love you so much and know you have had a tough week so I hope this makes up for it! Lots of fluffy Logan with a splash of angst. Well lots of angst because you gotta be angsty if you dealing with Logan, lets be real. Also for @binbonsadoration who is always bringing me back to my man ;)

It was his soft morning kisses. The way his soft beard would tickle against your skin, a trail of butterfly kisses along your shoulders, up your neck, as his arms wrapped around you, drawing you closer. It had been four weeks since you guys had started up again, doing whatever it was you were doing and you know you were both in trouble. Logan and you were compatible in a lot of ways, sex drive included, but these soft sweet kisses were different. They were stemming from appreciation – admiration and you could feel the care in each one.

You’d always turn in his arms, looking up at him as you blinked the sleep out of your eyes, your face shifting to a smile as he looked down at you.

“Morning sleepyhead.” He whispered, looking down at you as he drew you closer in his arms, a soft smile on his face.

“Morning handsome.”

You’d both end up blinking at each other, watching each other with compassion laced in your eyes. That familiarity and knowledge that can only stem from sleeping with your ex. Sometimes it would result in a brief make out session, heating up quickly because neither of you could ever keep your hands off each other. But most of the time it would just be this, him talking softly to you, telling you about the past couple of days, the challenges he continues to have with his father. You admit to him how you’re tired of the assholes you work with trying to bully you to lose weight or claim that the data analysis you’ve provided was in accurate though you always provide it was and your debate about leaving the company for good to go off and do your own thing.

It was too intimate, too soon. When you had tipsily texted Logan, you had wanted to have quick sex and move on. You couldn’t rely on your feelings with him. Every time you had – you had been disappointed. Every goddamn time. You know that Logan didn’t know how to love you properly. You know that he tried every time. But every time he got too close, to vulnerable, he would pull away.

And you didn’t want to fall into the eight letters of lies that your past had been with him.

Not with him. Not again.

“What are you doing tonight?”

You were walking down the blistery streets of Manhattan, trying to balance your work bag, phone and cup of coffee as you slowly made your way back to your office.

“Was going to curl up on my couch and watch Netflix and eat takeout.”

Logan scoffs before he says,

“Two things its Friday.” 

“So. I don’t go out and poaching on young wall street hounds every Friday night.” 

He chuckles as he finishes, 

“Secondly, you don’t eat takeout.”

“I used to not eat takeout with you because you could afford better. I eat takeout all the time and I’m too lazy to cook.”

Logan snorts as he asks,

“Well I was going to ask if you wanted to come over.”

“Ohh…my comfortable couch or your top of the line entertainment system….pretty sure you know what I’m going to choose.”

You can hear the smile on the other end as he says,

“Perfect.”

“I’ll come over but I have some demands…”

Another chuckle.

“I wouldn’t expect anything less. Go on.”

“I want sushi. I want wine. I want to watch Queer Eye.”

“Deal.”

“I want to negotiate for the Yale sweatshirt. You know which one.”

He chuckles because you knew he did. It was his lacrosse Yale sweatshirt, it was made from the best comfortable material – soft and plush and smelled like him. You know he still wore it around one of the very rare times he lounged around his home.

“Done and done.”

“Perfect. I’ll see you then.” 

You don’t give him a chance to respond. Instead you hang up, trying to feel proud of yourself. 

Knowing good and damn well you were falling again.

You were surprised when you knocked on the door, a tuber ware container of your chocolate chip walnut cookies in hand, to have Logan open it so suddenly. He was wearing jeans and a T-shirt, one of the few times he went casual and smiled at you as his eyes raked over your simple t-shirt and leggings.

“You look beautiful.” He pulls you in for a kiss, the intimate action familiar  and you return it, pulling away with a large smile on your face.

“You look handsome.”

He grins as he shuts the door behind you, locking it as you pad into the kitchen.

“You already ordered?” you ask surprised and he shrugs as he comes behind you, easily wrapping an arm around your waist as he places a chaste kiss on your neck.

“I already know what you like,” he grabs the tuber ware container, following your lead as he walked with you to the kitchen counter, his arm still wrapped around your waist. “Did you bake me your favorite, prized chocolate chip walnut cookies.”

“You AND Jules and your mom.” You say, turning your head a bit and he raises a brow.

“I know tomorrow is Saturday and you do family brunch together. And Jules and your mom love those cookies.”

He grins as he places a kiss on your shoulder as you turn back to the island. This was all too familiar. All to comfortable.

You didn’t want to fight it despite every logical thought in your head saying otherwise.

“You remembered.”

“You remembered my sushi order. Sue us.”

You both watch each other, calculated, trying to read the other. Logan breaks it the only way that is going to make him comfortable.

He kisses you, hands pulling your waist back into him as his other draws your face closer. It’s a different kiss. It’s not the rushed, passionate kind that leads its way into his bedroom. No, this kiss was different. This kiss was languid, soft, and familiar. The kind of kiss that led to those delicate three words.

You pull away first, your breathe hitched, lips swollen as your eyes flutter up to his own. He’s watching you but now in a lust filled haze. No, with that endearing glint that takes you down a memory lane. Late Sunday mornings filled with coffee in bed, tickle fights that you start in Central Park on fall afternoons when you both should have been studying, fucking in custodial closets at his dad’s gala’s instead of listening to wave after wave of boring speakers.

“Unagi better be in this order or I’m taking all the sushi and I’m going home. And taking the Yale sweatshirt hostage.”

You weren’t giving into that. That was too delicate. Too complicated. And at this point, you could only blame yourself for the whirl of feelings you were experiencing.

You were the one who had texted him first.

“I wouldn’t be a good friend if it wasn’t in there.”

His voice is disappointed but he tries to not let you on to it, you know, as he takes a chipper approach. He pulls away to grab the bottle of wine and you grab the containers, finding comfort by his side on the couch. You watch the whole season of Queer Eye before he convinces you to watch the new Earth documentary, because you forgot how nerdy Logan could be behind all his flare, and you fall asleep in his arms lying on the couch.

It’s not until after you leave for breakfast with him the next morning, wandering into your apartment looking just as put together as you left that you realize it’s the first time since the start of this rekindled friendship that you guys haven’t had sex and just hung out.

You don’t talk to him for a week. It’s the longest you can go before you miss him smile, itch for his skin and you try to swallow your pride as you walk into his office, smiling at his secretary.

“Is Logan busy?”

It’s Friday on a non-committal week and you know, outside of meetings he might have, he probably isn’t. You don’t text him to ask though. He only tried reaching out to you twice during the week and was probably livid with you and would have found an excuse to not see you if he knew you had planned it.

His secretary is a cute little blonde thing, giving you a lazy smile as she slowly taps at her laptop noting his schedule is clear.

You give her a grateful smile, looking away from your phone as you throw it in your large coach bag before you move toward the front door.

“Wait! You can’t just –“she stands quickly before your fast as you push open the doors to Logan’s lavish office.

You had always wondered what the home to someone like Logan, a young CEO who constantly had something to prove, would look like. As you walk into the large space, you take in the dark mahogany furniture, the modern steel and glass architect and you give a subtle smile. Old world meets new – the old to the modern. Everything that defined who Logan was. The patterns are deep navy blue and silver – the colors of Delos and it’s graceful as Logan’s eyes flicker away from his Mac monitor over to you.

Logan always looked impeccable. He took precise care of his appearance, from his beard to his suit. His long hair was jelled back perfectly, not a strand out of place. His jacket was hanging off to the side and he was in a perfectly fitted shirt, the sleeves rolled up as his hands clicked away at the monitor. The things you wanted to do to him.

You stand in the middle of the room, your pea coat tied around you tightly as your large bag hands limply off your arm. Your wearing your favorite pair of heels, 4 inch black stilettos that highlight your legs in all the right ways and your hair is swooped up on top of your hair in a ponytail, curls running free in a freeing way. You had been light with your makeup minus the deep shade of red lipstick you donned – you knew how much he loved the deep red hue that made the rest of your face pop.

Mad or not, he wouldn’t be able to look away from you.

Which is what his eyes were betraying as they ran over your body, drinking every inch of you in as his secretary runs in disgruntled.

“She just walked in – I’m so sorry Mr. Deveraux.”

She has fear laced in her voice as her eyes flicker from you to him and Logan gives a knowing smirk, shaking his head as he falls back in his seat.

“It’s ok Leah.” Of course her name was Leah. “This is Ms. Y/L/N – the executive marketing chief at one of our firms. I forgot she said she was going to drop by for a meeting today. Put it on my calendar for the next hours – we have a situation we need to strategize and I don’t want to be interrupted”

Leah gives a grateful, exhausted sigh before she turns on her heels easily scurrying out of the office.

“You made that sound cordial.”  You say with light-heartedly and his eyes harden, turning in his chair as he returns to his screen. Ignoring you. You smirk.

“The silent treatment eh? You’re not too mad, your letting me stay in here for an hour of your time. Even came up with an elaborate ruse.”

More silence, the sound of the keys of his keyboard clacking away and you roll your head to the side, exposing your neck with the motion. His hand hesitates, if just for a moment, and you fight the grin that wants to creep on your face.

“I’m sorry okay. I’m sorry I’m a pissy brat and I ignored you for a week. Forgive me.”

He gives a smirk but he doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t look at you. You give a frustrated sigh knowing he wasn’t about to let up, knowing that you probably hurt his feelings and you fiddle with the buttons on your pea coat, taking your time to pull of the jacket.

“Fine,” you take the jacket off, letting it fall to the floor to reveal the $600 lingerie you had charged to his account hours earlier. You were surprised that didn’t get his attention, knowing that he had told you to go into the super eloquent French bouquet weeks earlier to pick out any fine piece of lingerie you desired. So you opted to today, working from home to plan this elaborate distraction. For today’s occasion you had opted on a plum matching lingerie set – a push up bra that did wonders for you cleavage and panties that hugged your ass, letting your cheeks out in a teasing way.

Logan’s fingers hover over the keyboard and he closes his eyes, taking slow breaths as you walk over to the leather couch in the space, falling easily on the cool fabric as you rest your hand on your hip. The other props your head up as you watch him under your lashes.

“I came over to give you a proper apology. I know I can be a bitch. I know I probably drive you insane. But I care about you so much and….I learned from the best when it comes to pushing people away.”

He turns to you, pushing slightly away from his desk and placing both his hands on his thighs as he watches you under hooded eyes.

“Come over to daddy princess.”

You give a coy smile as you sit up from the couch, taking your time to walk over to him, making sure to add an extra sway to your step. He watches you carefully, eyes predatory as you move slowly around his desk and he follows your movement with his eyes, swiveling in his chair to meet you halfway. You stop inches away from him, your eyes taking him in as his hands move to grab your hips, moving you closer to him. You place a hand on either side of his shoulder, feeling the heat radiate from under his shirt as he face moves to your torso, peppering soft kisses against your skin. His hands move around your waist, taking a handful of your ass before he pulls away and smacks it. Hard.

You give a gleeful yelp as your hands tighten around his shoulders and he growls as his nips at you, pulling away to look up at you.

“Get on your knees princess.”

You mewl but comply, quickly falling on your knees between his legs as you place your hand firmly on his thighs as he starts to unbutton his pants, pulling down his pants and briefs to reveal his erection and your mouth waters, taking him in. Like everything else on Logan, his cock was a thing of beauty. And he had a talent to make your pussy and mouth sing for it. He gives a knowing smirk as he pumps his cock, watching you as you look back up at him, biting your lips.

“You wanna taste this cock princess?”

You nod your head vigorously and he smirks as he juts his hips outs, circling the taut muscle around your mouth and your tongue flickers out, licking his tip as he groans out,

“Yea, you want this cock.”

You moan as you move your mouth into his cock, your tongue brushing against the vein over his girthy length as you slowly pull him to the back of your throat. Logan was big, always so deliciously thick but it fit you in the perfect way and you give a grateful moan, fighting back your gag reflex as he throws his head back and gives a low moan, his hand threading in your hair.

“That’s right princess, you take me hard.”

He pulls out before he reinserts himself back into you, sliding into your mouth smoothly as he looks down at you with lust as he watches you eagerly take him in.

“God baby you look good down there, staining my dick with your lips.”

Your eyes are closed, humming contently as you take him faster, fighting your gag reflex while you squeezed his cock tighter and his mouth pops open as he speeds up, looking down at you.

“Oh fuck princess, you look so good while I fuck your mouth.”

You purr in his mouth and his grip around your ponytail tightens as his hips buck faster, and you move quicker, your tongue flicking over his tip, swirling around his hole and he gasps before your throat is bombarded with his cum, pumping into you faster and faster.

You swallow him easily, taking him with ease until he tapers off and you slowly pull off of him, releasing him with a pop as you lap at the leftover residue of cum around his softening penis.

“You’re going to be the end of me.” He whispers, a throaty response as he throws his head back on his chair, eyes close. You smile as you straddle him, sitting on his lap as you wrap your arms around his neck tenderly.

“You like that about me.” You say teasingly as he holds you in his lap and he quirks an eye open, taking you in.

“Maybe I do.”

“I know you do,” You place a soft kiss on his lips and he obliges, kissing you back tenderly as you whisper against his mouth, “Come over tonight.”

Even he can’t stop the smirk from forming on his lips as he pulls away, looking at you incredulously,

“You don’t bring men over to your place.”

“You’re not just any man Logan. You’re you.”

He looks at you incredulously but you already know what he’s going to say. Even behind that amused grin you can see the relief in his eyes, knowing that this was a big step for you.

“Dinner?”

“Yea. You can feel free to bring it for me.”

You kiss him one more time, getting up from your spot and he snorts as he moves to put himself back in his briefs, zipping himself back up.

“What makes you think I’m going to bring you dinner when you were the one ignoring me in the first place.”

He looks over at you right when you bend over, picking up your pea coat before you slowly raise, looking over your shoulder. He lets  out a sinful moan as you smile, re-buttoning the thick jacket.

“Something tells me you’ll find a reason to get motivation to treat me right.”

You tie your jacket, before grabbing your purse and walking to a mirror to adjust your makeup.

“I don’t get the game you’re playing at Y/N. I really don’t.”

You look at him through the mirror, watching him as he watches you with hooded dark eyes and you give a coy smile.

“I’m not playing a game. Just owning up to where I fucked up. See you at let’s say 7? I’ll text you my address.”

You move from the mirror and walk toward the door, pausing at the handle.

“I look forward to continuing our conversation, Mr. Deveraux.”

And then you exit it, ignoring his groan as you leave through the door.

“Are you up?”

His voice is like silk, pulling you from the sleep that you want to give in to. It’s been six weeks since that day in Logan’s office and you both were inseparable. Going to court side Knicks games together, the met, movies. Walking down the street hand in hand and fucking in bathrooms. Logan was different – still a cocky, condescending asshole sure. But more gentle. Compassionate. Doting.

“Hmmm.” You hum, giving his hand a squeeze. You’re cuddling, little spoon to his big in the comfort of your bed. He slept the best here, with you, in your space. He kisses your shoulder, nuzzling his face into your warmth as he whispers,

“What are we doing?”

You give a slight smile and shrug as you whisper,

“Well, we just fucked. Earlier we had dinner with my friends. I think the term for it is ‘friends with benefits’.”

He chuckles as he nips at you, his other hands moving to your breast and cupping it. It wasn’t sexual, this small act of affection. It was intimate as he pulled you closer to him, skin on skin as he responds,

“You’re such a snarky little shit you know that.”

“You love that I keep you on your toes.”

“I do. It’s one of the many things I love about you.”

You feel it again. Eight letters, three words coming to haunt you again. You turn in his embrace, enough to look at him. The moon is piercing through a crack in your curtains, strong enough to see the outline of his face, the darkness in his eyes. The tenderness in them

“What are you trying to say Logan?”

You said it first last time. You couldn’t say it again. The last time you had been vulnerable like this, he had broken you. It had taken you years to build yourself up again.

Not this time.

“You know what.”

He can’t either – he’s built like you. Too afraid to break that fragile fascade you both have built up for yourselves. You’ve both said it to the other in moments of passion, when you’re deep in the other but that was different.

At least you thought it was.

“Enlighten me.”

He sighs, falling between your neck before he chuckles,

“I probably deserve this - being forced to be vulnerable. But fuck it I’ve always known this. I love you Y/N. I love you so damn much and it scares the shit out of me.”

The levee breaks, your heart a volcano of emotion. He can feel it, the way your heart increases as you watch him, your eyes blinking as you try to hold back the tears.

“You hurt me Logan. You hurt me and I….” you can’t say it because if you follow through he’ll know and he nods as he kisses your forehead.

“I know princess. This time is different. It’s different because I love you and I’m not afraid to lean into it.”

You were. You were fucking terrified.

“I want to tell you too Logan but….” Your whisper is scratchy and he smiles as he leans down and kisses you.

“Don’t rush it. I know. I know.”

You turn back away from him as the tears take over, falling into your pillow. He holds you in silence, comforts you in the dark because he knows that he broke you all those years ago. Like a wild stallion, he had taken all the best parts of you and threw them in the inferno, not caring to see how you scraped your way back to safety.

He could wait.

He would wait forever.

Because he loved you.

And deep down he knew you loved him too.

Tag list: @just-nikkii, @ladyblablabla, @drinix, @youveseen–thebutcher, @marauderskeeper

[vcg73]

Hummel Holidays 2017: It’s a Date

Hummel Holidays Prompt #2: Baking

Rare Pair: Kurt and Elliott

~*~*~*~*~

“Oh m’Gaw! Dese’r amaving!  Wemom?”

 Kurt rolled his eyes and passed his friend the glass of cold milk he had been sipping from as he worked. Elliott had walked in and made a beeline for the array of fluffy golden cookies sitting on the cooling racks, promptly popping one into his mouth with no regard for the fact that it had come out of the oven only ten seconds earlier. He was currently attempting to chew the hot cookie without touching it to his tongue or the tender roof of his mouth, but still taste it and talk at the same time.

 “Lemon, yes, and you might want to give this next batch a minute to cool before you try one,” Kurt advised, placing a second pan full of generously chocolate chipped dough balls into the oven.

 Chugging the remainder of the milk down along with a second sample from the racks, Elliott licked his lips and grinned as he handed back the empty glass. “You didn’t tell me we were baking today.”

 He snorted. “We, huh? I’m pretty sure baking involves more than just scarfing down the end result. And stop eating all my cookies! I’m making these for the homeless shelter.”

 Elliott’s greedy fingers paused halfway to grabbing another, cheeks flushing a little. “Oh, yeah, sorry. Guess I should’ve figured that since One Three Hill is providing the entertainment for tonight’s party. Uh, well then, pass me an apron and point me toward the supplies. I’ll mix up a batch of snickerdoodles while you pour us some more milk.”

 Unable to resist the winsome smile that came along with this offer, Kurt nodded and rummaged through the plastic packing crate that held his glassware. Picking one with tiny flowers frosted into the glass that Rachel had picked up at a flea market, he opened the fridge to pour their drinks and said, “I didn’t even know you knew how to make snickerdoodles. I haven’t had those in years.”

 “Oh, man, they’re the best! They’re my mom’s specialty. She taught me the recipe when I turned ten. Her family has lived in New England since, like, the Mayflower and this recipe has been handed down through generations. Today only a handful of people in the entire world know it!”

 Kurt grinned, strongly suspecting that his leg was being pulled. “Well, then!” he said, handing over a fresh glass of milk. “Should I leave the room? Put on a blindfold? Pinch my nose shut so I don’t accidentally guess the secret ingredient?”

 “I think I can trust you. But just to make sure…”  Elliott’s face went solemn, but his eyes continued to sparkle with fun as he held up his right hand and offered Kurt’s recipe book with the other, waiting until Kurt obligingly placing his own right hand on the book and raised his left. “Kurt Hummel, do you solemnly swear upon pain of burnt cookies and fallen layer cakes never to divulge this secret to The Food Network, or any other for-profit entity?”

 Struggling not to laugh, Kurt forced his features into an equally solemn set and nodded. “I so swear.”

 “Great!  Okay then, we’ll need a cup of butter, a cup of sugar, half a cup of brown sugar, two eggs, three cups of flour, baking soda, salt, cream of tartar, and cinnamon. I’ll also need a saucepan and a couple of mixing bowls.”

 With a nod, Kurt gathered the requested items. Most were already on hand since he had been baking for the past hour. Since his favorite mixing bowl already had chocolate chip dough in it, he quickly washed up the bowl he’d used for the lemon cookies and dug out a large but slightly worn out spare one that he’d brought from Ohio. “Pan’s over the stove. What do you need it for?”

 “Because that is the secret ingredient,” he explained, wriggling out of his leather jacket, leaving himself clad in an artistically ragged gray sleeveless t-shirt, and throwing on Kurt’s borrowed apron, which bore the words ‘Sit back and relax.  You must be exhausted from watching me do everything!’ Glancing down at the words, he laughed. “Feeling a little passive aggressive, were we?”

 Kurt blushed. “Just a little. It made me feel better, but the others didn’t even get the joke.”

 “Figures,” he grunted. “Okay, so we start with the butter.”

He measured out a cup of butter and transferred it into the saucepan. While Kurt watched with interested eyes, he turned the stove on to medium heat and began whisking the butter with slow even strokes. He continued this patiently for three or four minutes until the butter was melted and slightly frothy, emitting a pleasant almost nutty aroma as it browned. Then he poured the butter into the larger bowl to cool and began mixing in the sugars, cream of tartar, and eggs together with it. In the second bowl, he blended his dry ingredients together, then gradually blended the two.

 “You’re good at that,” Kurt commented, not even bothering to pretend that he was not admiring the play of strong muscles in Elliott’s exposed shoulder as he beat the dough together with firm pressure, preferring to stir the ingredients by hand rather than borrow Kurt’s hand mixer.

 “Thanks.” Preening a little, he deliberately flexed his arm a little more. He and Kurt had never dated, but a little flirting between friends was always welcome. “Could you sprinkle some white sugar and cinnamon onto a sheet of waxed paper for me?”

 Kurt nodded, pausing a moment to take his baking batch out of the oven as the timer dinged and transferring them to the racks. He quickly shifted the lemon cookies into a waiting tin lined with a paper towel, leaving the lid off to allow them to finish cooling. Once that was done, he quickly cleared a space and laid out the requested waxed paper, covering it with a small amount of cinnamon sugar. While this was done, Elliott had been molding the cookie dough into little walnut sized globes. He took each dough ball and rolled it through the sugar, setting the finished ones in a neat row until they could be baked, since Kurt still had another two pans of chocolate chip ready to go and there would be no more baking sheets available until one of them had hands free to wash the newly emptied one.

 An hour later, the two-man baking team had finished their creations and sampled at least one of each variety of cookie, leaving dozens for the enjoyment of those attending tonight’s party.

 “Dani will be so sorry she decided to meet us at the shelter instead of coming by early,” Kurt said, dipping a snicker-doodle in his milk, frowning a bit at the resultant spice decorating his drink, then shrugging and simply belting back what was left to wash down the last of the treat.

 “I know, man. She missed out,” Elliott agreed, licking his lips happily.

 Kurt held out a hand for Elliott’s empty glass, taking them to the sink to finishing washing up the last of the dishes. Kurt was a ‘clean as you go’ baker and his kitchen was far from the disaster area Elliott’s would have been had they done this project at his place.  The application of a wet sponge and a little scrubbing, and the counters were also immaculately clean. Only the waiting tins of warm, neatly arranged cookies gave proof of the afternoon’s activity.

 Elliott shook his head, admiring the almost military precision of his friend’s baking style. “You know, we should do this again,” he said. “Maybe cook something next time. I mean, I don’t really know how to make anything except stews and curries, but I’ll bet you could teach me. If you were okay with that.”

 A big smile met this suggestion. Kurt looked like he’d just been given a wonderful present, clasping his hands and bouncing up on his toes with sudden excitement. “Of course! I have loads of cook books with recipes we could try. Some of them I’ve wanted to make for ages, but there never seemed much point in going to all that effort just for myself.”

 “What about your roommates?”

 He shrugged. “I’ve offered, but Santana isn’t a very adventurous eater, and I never know from week to week whether Rachel will be vegetarian, or vegan, or protein only, or all carbs. One week she decided out of the blue that she was going to do a liquid-only cleanse that she had read about in a magazine. It was supposed to last for a month, but three days into it, I was awakened in the middle of the night by the sounds of her going to town on leftover Chinese food, three different kinds of chips, and my newly purchased pint of strawberry-cheesecake ice cream.”

 Elliott laughed. He could picture that easily. For such a tiny woman, Rachel could really pack it away when she was in the mood. “Well, I’ll try anything once. Let’s make a pact to get together once a week and try out a brand new recipe. Something neither of us has tried before.”

 Kurt beamed. “How about Fridays?  Friday Night Dinner was a staple in my house growing up. We would always make the time to get together, no matter what, to have a sit down meal together on that night. I tried to bring the tradition back with my friends, but it only lasted a few meals before everyone started begging off for various reasons. Do you want to try it?”

 Pleased that Kurt was willing to share a special tradition with him, perhaps in return for sharing his own family recipe, Elliott said, “It’s a date.”

 Unexpectedly, Kurt blushed and turned away. “It’s getting late. Maybe we’d better get all these cookies packed up. I was planning to call for a ride instead of trying to get all these safely to the shelter on the subway.”

 “Good idea,” he said, wondering at that sudden mood shift. Kurt’s reaction to his flippant use of the word ‘date’ had given him pause. He considered just letting it go, but . . . somehow he did not want to let it go. “Kurt?”

 “Yeah?”

 Elliott took a deep breath, hoping he was not about to make a mistake and cause the rest of the night to become horribly awkward. “I had a really good time today.”

 “Me too,” he agreed with a smile.

 “Uh, yeah, so I was thinking. That is . . . I mean, I always have a good time when I’m with you.”

 Kurt’s expression softened, becoming almost wistful. “So do I.”

 “Right, so . . . do you think it’s weird for best friends to . . .”

 “To . . .” Kurt repeated, brows raising as he encouraged Elliott to finish the thought.

 Elliott paused. It was now or never. He wasn’t seeing anyone, and Kurt had been single for a decent enough span of time not to seem like he was pouncing on a vulnerable heart. He had always told himself that Kurt wasn’t his type, but Elliott knew that the sheer number of times he had given himself that reminder pretty much proved it a false claim.

 “Would you be willing to go out with me some time?” he blurted. “Not as friends. Or, I mean, of course we’re still friends, but . . . as more than friends?”

 Kurt blinked, looking as though he was not quite sure he was hearing correctly. Then he smiled a little shyly and said, “You mean, you and me; like a, go out together, do something fun, kiss at the end of the evening . . . type of thing?”

 Elliott grinned, liking the idea a lot now that he was hearing it out loud. “Exactly. Maybe not Friday, because I’m already having recipe night with my best bud on Friday, but how about Saturday?”

 Laughing at his words, but clearly touched that Elliott did not want to chance losing their friendship by throwing dating into the mix, Kurt ducked his head and said, “That sounds great. You told me you’d been wanting to visit the Museum of Modern Art, right? Maybe we could go together. Or, is that a dumb idea?”

 “I think it’s a great idea,” he said, already picturing the two of them strolling slowly hand in hand through the halls of the great structure. “And maybe get some coffee and take a snowy walk through Central Park afterward.”

 Kurt’s eyes shone at the mere mention of something so unabashedly romantic. “I’d love to.”

 “Then we definitely have a date.” Wondering how he was going to contain his sudden giddy joy all evening, Elliott reached out and took Kurt’s hand, giving it a little squeeze before letting go and returning to the task of packing up the goodies for tonight’s party.

 Stepping next to him, so that they stood side by side at the counter, Kurt accepted the cookie tin he was offered and settled it into a bag he’d brought out earlier for transporting. One by one, they packed the bag in this way, taking their time.  They did not say anything more about their sudden change in status from best friends to possibly-more-than-friends, but the silence that stretched between them felt comfortable. Every so often, their arms would bump and they would exchange a smile that somehow felt both feel warmer and closer than it ever had before.

 “I won’t do it until Saturday night,” Elliott remarked as the last tin was packed and the bag was closed up for travel. He pulled his jacket back on and accepted the warm blue scarf that Kurt held out with a scolding little cluck of his tongue, tucking it into place around his neck and down the front of his coat as he zipped the leather securely. He then lifted the strap of the cookie bag and settled it on his shoulder without asking, giving Kurt a chance to don his own coat and scarf and lock the door behind them.

 “Do what?” Kurt asked as they started down the stairs together. His building had an elevator, but it was a risky proposition at the best of times.

 Shifting the bag from one shoulder to the other, Elliott reached over and threaded his fingers through Kurt’s. “I was just thinking back there that I’d really like to kiss you, and that I felt kind of stupid for not realizing before today how much I wanted to do that.”

 Kurt smiled and ducked his head. “Oh, that.”

 “Yeah, that, and then I thought that I can’t do it. Not until Saturday night when I take you home. Or you take me home, whichever way it ends up. Because I’ve never been very good at the whole dating thing, but I want to do it right with you.”

 He tipped his head, looking up at Elliott’s face with a fond smile. “That’s really sweet. I don’t really have a lot of experience at dating either. I have a weird habit of pining, then sort of falling in love without thinking it through, then moving in with people.”

 Elliott laughed a little. “Sounds like we both have some catching up to do.”

 “Agreed. So no kisses until Saturday,” Kurt said, still smiling as he checked his phone for the status of the car service driver he’d called. “How do you feel about hugging?”

 “Friends hug,” he said, swinging an arm around Kurt’s shoulders in demonstration. “I could get into some serious post non-date hugging with you tonight. By Friday, we may be all the way up to snuggling.”

 He laughed and squeezed Elliott’s waist. “I could be okay with that.”

 Turning his head, Elliott looked down into Kurt’s eyes, noticing how pretty they looked in the light of the setting sun, shining blue with little flecks of green and gold.  Before he could be tempted to break his own promise to himself, he planted his lips on Kurt’s hairline, pressing the soft skin fondly.

 “Me too.”

 THE END

[frogsandfries]

Eating is stupid

But also, I accidentally used all the eggs. I used four eggs to make two batches and three loaves of walnut and chocolate chip banana bread, one of which went directly in the freezer for later and one of which will probably be baked tomorrow.

Yesterday before work, I marinated some chicken. Today, I breaded and froze the nuggets/bites we made, and slow cooked the two whole breasts I set aside. I think it took another four eggs to coat all the chicken bites.

I also made five more cured egg yolks and reserved six whites for the next time I make macarons. I think my first batch of macarons had too many whites, because I kept losing my yolks and lost count of how many whites I set aside. Next time I feel like trying to make macarons, I have precisely six whites.

I need to remember to get the chicken bites off the cookie sheet in the freezer. I'm trying my best to be respectful while still living my life, making and eating food I want.

Other than that, I've spent my afternoon working on that mermaid I really wanted to work on. I finally finished the torso, and I'm on to the tail. But I also didn't get a whole lot of sleep and I haven't been sleeping that well for a while. I tend to be slightly more nocturnal than not, but also, I can't really sleep when sunlight is pouring into the room. I love that this space is basically windows, but so many windows is a mixed experience.

If I could wave a magic wand and improve this space I would:

Change the shower entirely. I hate the directly overhead showerhead. There isn't enough space in the shower to leave the water on and comfortably get a good suds on.

Get a normal toilet lever. Pull plungers are...... annoying.

Close off the shower space. The whole point of a bathroom is to hold in the warmth of the shower steam while a body gets dressed.

I would maybe get some kind of curtain for the sleeping space, to keep too much light out of the sleeping space.

Install a kitchen/ette so this space is pretty much properly separate from downstairs.

Move the door in front of the stairs for additional privacy against anyone leaving the house via the garage.

I realize these are not small or cheap renovations and the guy who holds the mortgage wants to offload this house anyway. I guess personally, I'm thinking toward starting a family, although we won't be doing so this month. I can't really see having a family in this house as it is. Unless you either work from home or.......I dunno, maybe have older kids, which I understand most parents eventually end up having, you have a whole chunk of the house that barely gets used. Personally, I'm the type that if something needs to get stored, I'm probably going to just get rid of it, so I wouldn't be using this space that way.

Honestly, renting it out is the best method I see, at least periodically. I dunno, good thing this isn't my house and I have little inclination of staying here.

[theuprisingbakery]

Preface

There are entire genres dedicated to first loves. First moments, first kisses, first touches. The first for many people to connect with another human is a time of irrevocable innocence. I’ve had three ‘Great Loves’ in my life, two of which were for people that taught me things about myself, the other was for baking.

Like most girls bred out of Italian ancestry, I was never formally taught how to bake. It evolved out of a multitude of moments for me. A series of holidays and Christmas memories, or between school years watching my grandmother in her kitchen while the summer sun glistened on the marble. Flour sifted and sprinkled onto the countertop with an air of nonchalant love. I spent years watching my mother mix and knead dough into homemade bread. Weekends passed me by as I observed my brother shape and line pie after pie with delicate lattice work, brushing a thin layer of melted butter as a necessary afterthought. It seemed like each person in my family had a particular specialty established well before I was born. Biscotti, gnocchi, and rum cake for one, bread for another, pies for all. The things my family baked felt like small connections into who they were at their core; with each bite I could feel a piece of themselves being given away for the benefit of another’s happiness.

But life is messy and unyielding at times, and the things that now bring us joy sometimes start with pain. I spent my formidable childhood at the center of a particularly malicious family joke. As a four-year-old, it can be hard to find the words to express daily ongoings, and when I was handed a cookie with almonds and chocolate chips, after a few bites I burst into tears. How could I explain that the cookie made me feel weird? That my tongue felt itchy, and my throat didn’t feel “right” when I tried to swallow. The only thing I could do was cry.

Another year passed, and again, a freshly baked biscotti with walnuts led to a fitful burst of tears. My family would start to laugh and joke that I was “just a picky eater.” If I was troubled or upset in a non-cookie related incident, the comeback would simply be, “Don’t cry! It’s not like there are nuts in the cookies.” It was a hurtful idiom; the cookie was life, and the nuts were my sensitive disposition. How did they not understand it wasn’t the nuts in the cookies that made me upset, but how the nuts in cookies made me feel? I started to resent all cookies, careful to not choose one to eat off the counter in fear of inciting someone to whisper the malicious phrase to me. It would be years before I gave the simple pleasure of eating a cookie another chance. 

Sitting on an oversized couch at twenty-one, I held a hot, gooey, chocolate chip cookie in my hand. The background noise was a favorite movie of mine, Stranger Than Fiction, and the heroine of the film, Ana Pascal, was having her bakery audited. I felt her own pent up aggression and anger towards the IRS mirrored in my own disposition of baked goods, specifically this one melty cookie. Why was I so angry? A chocolate chip cookie should release endorphins and fulfill a false happiness for my brain. I hear Ana Pascal say, “If I was gonna make the world a better place I’d do it with cookies.” My brain clicks, I take the bite. As the endorphins rushed ahead, I rose from the crumbs like a phoenix to its ashes. It reminded me how much good a single thing could bring someone, even if just for a fleeting moment. I wanted to take back the baked goods I’d lost. Make them my own to create memories through baking cookies. 

In this multi-genre inquiry, I will examine how cookies can transform crumbling inhibitions into opportunities. Through connecting, selling, learning, creating, and inspiring others, we gain moments that lead to self-discovery. I want to find myself in the ingredients. To discover future happiness and joy at 350 degrees. To shed my own inhibitions and fears, and never let another nut make me cry. 

[halsteadproperty]

Small Business Spotlight Series: Best Bakeries in NYC

If there is one place no one can find the self-discipline to turn down, it’s a NYC bakery. With the bakery boom in full force in NYC, there are a number of mom and pop shops, unique to each neighborhood, that people gravitate towards. From the fresh aroma of buttery goodness to the oddly soothing site of constructed confections, our agents know where to bring their clients; and even indulge themselves. Below are bakeries from all over NYC ready to make your next dessert one-of-a-kind.

CHOCnyc Inwood  4996 Broadway, New York, NY 10034

At CHOCnyc, watch the pastries being made from scratch while enveloped in the aroma of chocolate and butter. “A few of the many options are Choc’s croissants, which put all others to shame, apple strudel as authentic as any café in Vienna, and their Jubilation Cake, sold by the slice and extremely similar to what we used to call blackout cake, a NYC classic,” agent RoseAnn Herman says. “Friends have designated me the official ‘bringer of dessert’ to any get-together now that they know what we know, that CHOCnyc is the gold standard of bakeries.”  

(Recommended by RoseAnn Herman of our Riverdale office)

The Chocolate Room Park Slope 269 Court St., Brooklyn, NY 11231

Agent Joanna Mayfield Marks believes The Chocolate Room, right near Barclays Center, is a great night time dessert bar. “Friendly, adorable atmosphere with antique display cabinets and the best banana split you have ever tried,” says Marks. With brûléed bananas and brandied cherries on top, I don’t think anyone would disagree with her.

(Recommended by Joanna Mayfield Marks of our North Slope office)

Levain Bakery Upper West Side  167 W 74th St., New York, NY 10023

“Home of the best darned chocolate chip cookie in the universe,” says agent Keith Marder. Levain Bakery keeps it simple, but delectable. The most classic, yet delicious cookie lives at Levain Bakery, and every cookie on the menu is freshly baked daily. Levain is also known for other amazing items such as a baguette with butter and jam.

(Recommended by Keith Marder of our West Side office)

By the Way Bakery Upper West Side  2442 Broadway, New York, NY 10024

Gluten-free people! The best gluten free bakery, according to agent Amelia Gewirtz, is By the Way Bakery. So, just how good is it? “When I was selling a large home in the Cornwall across the street we had multiple offers - some were from buyers who were emotional (tears in eyes) saying they had to live there not just because it was a beautiful home but because it was across the street from By the Way Bakery,” says Gewirtz. She thought it was a bit dramatic, but after trying the cranberry orange baked goods and macaroons, she understood their obsession. For those in Connecticut, there is even a Greenwich location!

(Recommended by Amelia Gewirtz of our West Side office)

Aux Merveilleux de Fred West Village  37 8th Ave, New York, NY 10014

Once voted #1 bakery in New York on Yelp and BuzzFeed, Agent Kleopatra Phili has a close connection to this elegant spot. “The bakers can be seen through the picture window with their white uniforms and white hats, gingerly placing their baked goods on the shelves that line the window,” Phili says. “The sight of the confections, the aroma of the baked goods, and the bespoke interiors with an oversized chandelier remind me of Beauty & the Beast!” Aux Merveilleux de Fred puts the style and elegance into baked goods, and are known for their brioche, waffles and merveilleux.

(Recommended by Kleopatra Phili of our West Side office)

Orwashers Upper East Side  308 East 78th St., New York, NY 10075

Orwashers is the definition of chic, providing a very European, neighborhood feel. “They have a glassed-off kitchen in the back so you can watch as they make their breads fresh,” says agent Matt Martin. “It’s unlike anything I have ever seen before.” Martin’s absolute favorite is the New York Breakfast, which takes a unique spin on the classic bagel and lox combo, making theirs with dill cream cheese and topping it off with lemon zest. Other favorites include filled donuts and apple turnover.

(Recommended by Matt Martin of our Village office)

Lee Lee’s Rugelach By a Brother Harlem  283 W 118th St, New York, NY 10026

If you are walking down the quiet, tree-lined Harlem street, your nose will go into autopilot and steer you here. Alvin “Lee Lee” Smalls, owner of Lee Lee’s, arranges a mechanical fan to peek outside the door of his bakery, blowing out sweet scents of freshly baked pastries to passerby. “Lee Lee’s has the best Rugelach in town, crowd favorite in his bakery. “I love the chocolate and walnut, but the apricot is a favorite for everyone,” says agent Leanne Stella.  

(Recommended by agents Sandy Wilson, Leanne Stella and Mika R. Jones of our Harlem office)

The Corner Café and Bakery Bronx  3718 Riverdale Ave‎, Bronx, NY 10463

This busy and bustling Kosher Dairy restaurant features many delectable mealtime choices such as crispy fresh salads and tasty omelets, but be sure to leave room for dessert! According to agent Vicki Green, “you’ll find some of the most wonderful cakes and cookies on the planet.” These delectable treats include creamy strawberry shortcakes, light and fluffy chocolate mousse cake, a creamy and gorgeous custard fruit tart and mandelbread “even better than grandma’s.”

(Recommended by Vicki Green of our Riverdale office)

Silk Cakes Forest Hills  98-14 Metropolitan Ave, Forest Hills, NY 11375

Silk Cakes is one of the most unique bakeries in Queens. Owner/chef Judy Lai was inspired to create a perfect refreshing blend of East Asian and traditional Western flavors in a menu that includes everything from cupcakes and rainbow cookies to milk buns, pandan chiffon cake and seasonal lotus blossom cake. “This summer, the bakery received media attention by switching out frosting and replacing it with ice cream on their cupcakes, resulting in delicious combinations like vanilla cake topped with coconut-pandan and chocolate cake with nana chocolate bits,” agent Denise De Maria says. Silk Cakes creates beautiful customized cakes for all occasions.

(Recommended by Denise De Maria of our Forest Hills office)

Sweet Generation East Village  130 1st Ave, New York, NY 10009

Indulge in confections while supporting the social purpose of Sweet Generation. “The staff are at-risk teens and young adults who, through the experience of working at the bakery and through specially designed career workshops, are given the opportunity to learn about customer service and entrepreneurship,” says agent Vivian Ducat. “The storefront has an old-time feel, with a large case at the front, filled with delicious goods.” Sweet Generation also won ‘Best Cupcake’ by the Village Voice, a special distinction in cupcake-saturated NYC.

(Recommended by Vivian Ducat of our Harlem office)

Feel free to reach out to our agents on what exactly to buy. Many of them have meetings in these cozy spots, due to their special atmospheres. When it comes to sweets, our agents don’t mess around!  

[dani-ellie03]

Fic: Wednesday’s Child (4/?)

Title: Wednesday’s Child Summary: The next time Emma Swan wanted magical help, she was on her own. Because now they were stuck with a pint-sized savior who clearly had an attitude problem and a terrified but pretending not to be pre-pirate. Spoilers: If you’re current, we’re good. Rating/Warning: PG-13, mostly for safety. Family angst/fluff, as per usual. Disclaimer: Once Upon a Time and its characters were created by Eddy Kitsis and Adam Horowitz and are owned by ABC. I’m just borrowing them but I’ll put them back when I’m finished!

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{1} {2} {3}

At ff.net and below.

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The chance to talk to the children separately came far more quickly than either Charming or Snow anticipated. Not too long after Emma had eaten every crumb of her Oreos, she began to fidget in the chair. Killian, who was still working on his orange slices, seemed to be getting agitated as well, as if Emma's nervous energy were contagious. "Emma, is everything all right?" Snow asked her gently.

"Yeah. Can I go upstairs and pick out our room?"

Snow met her husband's gaze, her expression equal parts amusement and concern. Their little girl was clearly getting antsy from having to sit in one place and was looking for something to do. Snow's worry, Charming knew, was that her discomfort could also be coming from something else, something other than simple boredom. "I think we should wait until Killian is finished so you can pick out your room together," Charming reminded her softly.

"She can go," Killian broke in, lifting one shoulder up in a shrug. "I liked both the guest rooms so whichever one she picks will be fine."

Emma smiled at Killian, prompting Snow and Charming to glance at each other. This was it; this was their opportunity to get the children alone for a few minutes. Without a single word spoken aloud, the two of them came to the agreement that Snow would go with Emma while Charming stayed downstairs with Killian. "Come on, then, Miss Emma," Snow said, putting on a smile as she pushed herself to her feet and lifted a sleepy Neal from his high chair. "I'll go upstairs with you and settle the baby down for his nap. Then we can decide on a room for the two of you."

Charming sat with Killian, waiting until he heard his wife's and little daughter's footsteps overhead. Even once he heard them, though, he couldn't think of how to bring up the subject of Killian's arrival in this realm. What, exactly, could he tell him? He'd arrived in this world via portal, yes, but that was years ago. From little Killian's perspective, one moment he was with his brother in the Enchanted Forest and the next, he was in Regina's vault. He had no memory of the intervening centuries, no recollection of growing up, of Liam's death, of Milah's, of coming here, of finding Emma, of marrying her, or of working potions with Emma and Regina this morning.

How could he explain to this little boy all the heartache and the wonder that lay ahead of him?

Thankfully, Killian provided him the perfect opportunity to explain without getting bogged down with specifics. The boy had finally finished his orange, pushed the plate aside, and asked somewhat shyly, "May I ask what realm this is?"

A breath of relief escaped Charming's lips. "You're in a realm called the Land Without Magic."

Now the boy looked perplexed. "If I'm in a land without magic, how did magic bring me here?"

"It's kind of a long story," Charming hedged. "The accident that you were involved in with Regina this morning was a magical one and it brought you here."

Killian looked down at the table, considering Charming's words. Then he returned his wide blue eyes to Charming. "What about Liam? Is he all right? He wasn't involved in the accident as well, was he?"

"No, Killian, he wasn't. He didn't come here with you but Liam is all right."

The boy released a heavy breath, relieved yet still sad. "I miss him."

And right then, Charming felt his heart drop into his stomach. What was he supposed to say now? Of course this terrified little boy missed his brother. Charming wanted nothing more than to assure him that they'd return him to Liam in a few days but he couldn't bring himself to say those words. They would be a comfort, of course, but they were a lie.

Charming couldn't tell this little boy the real truth, either, that Liam had moved on to his paradise after a reunion between brothers in the Underworld. He couldn't tell this little boy that his beloved brother had died centuries ago. Doing so would be cruel.

His own words to Regina came back to him then. If adult Emma would understand why Regina had had to lie to her, then surely adult Killian would understand why Charming had to lie to him right now. "I'm sure you do, buddy, and I'm sure he misses you, too."

The tiny smile that lit little Killian's face made the white lie worth it. "Thank you."

"You're very welcome," Charming said softly, swallowing the rest of his guilt. It felt wonderful to see the boy come out of his shell a little bit.

The timer on the stove chose that quiet moment to tone, indicating that it had come up to temperature after preheating. Snow had apparently decided to bake cookies with the children while Neal napped; for the first time, Charming noticed the flour, sugar, baking soda, and bag of chocolate chips sitting on the counter.

The stove timer was a sound Charming was used to but one that startled poor Killian. The poor boy was looking around the kitchen with somewhat frightened eyes. "It's all right," Charming assured him. "It's just the oven. I know things are a lot different here than in the Enchanted Forest."

"Yes indeed," he deadpanned.

Charming chuckled. It was nice to see that the pirate's dry wit still lurked somewhere within the little boy. "Tell you what. How about I take you around the kitchen so I can show you what all these machines do?"

The boy smiled. "I'd like that a lot."

"Then it's decided," Charming smiled back. "There's just one more important thing I want to talk to you about first."

"What's that?"

Now Charming took a deep breath. It was never easy asking a child to keep something from another child. "This realm is called the Land Without Magic but it's a little more complicated than that. Not only is there no magic here, people in this realm don't believe magic is real. They think it's all make-believe, like in stories."

"I think that's sad," Killian said.

"I agree. And the reason I'm telling you think is because Emma has grown up in the Land Without Magic, which means she doesn't think magic is real, either. Now, that puts Mary Margaret and me in a really tough situation because we're trying to make both of you comfortable here–"

"–but you can't talk about magic as if it's real with me without scaring her," Killian finished.

Charming let out a breath of relief. Thank heavens the boy was so astute. "Yes, exactly. I'm not saying we won't talk to you about magic. We'll answer any questions you have as best we can–"

"–I just should ask you in private."

"Right again, buddy. Do you think you can do that?"

Killian smiled. "I think I can. I like Emma. She's nice to me and I don't want to scare her. I do have one more quick question, though."

"Shoot."

"If this is the Land Without Magic, how do you know so much about magic?"

Charming leaned forward and whispered conspiratorially, "Mary Margaret, Regina, and I are all from the Enchanted Forest, too."

Killian's eyes lit up in excitement as a grin spread across his face. For the first time since finding himself in the vault, Charming realized, the boy had found a tiny glimpse of home.

-----

Snow gently lay Neal down in his crib for his nap, keenly aware of the fact that Emma was watching the proceedings from the doorway into the baby's room as if unsure how she fit into the equation. Sighing softly, Snow straightened and turned to her little daughter. "You can come in, if you'd like."

Emma took hesitant steps into the room. Snow's heart ached at how uncomfortable she seemed. The walls Emma had forged around her heart had been dismantled bit by bit over the years but in little Emma, they were still there, still being built. It had been hard enough seeing her adult baby girl with her walls thrown high. Seeing her child so hesitant was another thing altogether.

A sleepy little Neal lifted a hand towards his big sister and babbled at her. A bubble of warmth ran through Snow. Apparently magic couldn't touch the bond between little brother and big sister, either. "Look, he knows you already," Snow said softly, carefully watching her daughter's reaction.

The girl hid a smile as she reached her hand into the crib to grasp her brother's. "Good night, squirt. Have a good sleep."

It was Snow's turn to hide a smile. Her daughter's loving nickname for her baby brother was clearly one more thing that magic couldn't change.

The two of them crept out of the room to leave Neal to his nap. He fussed a bit when they left his line of sight but soon went quiet. Snow eased his bedroom door closed before addressing Emma. "All right, sweetheart, let's decide on a room for you and Killian."

The farmhouse boasted two guest rooms. Snow had furnished the larger one with the furniture from the loft in the apartment, mostly so that Emma – adult Emma, of course – would always feel like she had a place of her own at the new house. The furniture in the smaller room was new and more in keeping with the architecture of the house: two double beds with dark walnut headboards, dressers of the same color with simple knobs, and nightstands to match.

Emma drew to a stop just over the threshold of the smaller room, scrutinizing it with a careful eye. "That was a nice thing you did," Snow said as Emma ran her hand over the smooth wood of the dresser closest to her and then walked over to the beds, "saying that you'd share a room with Killian."

The girl shrugged somewhat uncomfortably. "I know we're not supposed to but he just seemed so scared. It's really not a big deal."

"It's a big deal to him, Emma," Snow told her gently, "and I'm sure it's a big deal to you, too. You've probably never had your own room before. Giving up the chance to have one just so Killian wouldn't be scared was very nice."

Again, Emma shrugged. "You won't tell, will you? I just didn't want him to be alone."

Snow shook her head solemnly. "I won't tell, I promise."

Since there was no one to tell, it wasn't a lie.

Emma nodded before sitting down on one of the beds. She wrinkled her nose slightly and stood up again. Something clearly wasn't to her liking but she didn't say a word. She just wandered out the door and down the hall to the other guest room.

This one, she seemed more comfortable in almost immediately. A tiny smile brightened her eyes as she appraised the space. Snow wondered if she could somehow sense that this room was meant to be hers.

And with Emma's sudden comfort came Snow's bravery. She had to ask her little girl about what had happened in the kitchen and now, with Emma relaxing a bit, seemed like the perfect time. "Emma, may I ask you something?"

"Sure." The girl's attention was mostly on an ornate music box on the dresser that had belonged to Snow in the Enchanted Forest. It had taken up residence in Gold's shop following the Curse and Belle had returned it to her when she and Charming bought the farmhouse. The box played a traditional Enchanted Forest tune, not one that Emma would know, but it mesmerized her regardless.

"Why did you want me to tell Killian that he had come here by magic?"

Emma closed the music box and plopped down on the foot of what had once been her bed. She bounced a little on the mattress to test it. A smile lit her face for a fraction of a second, then dropped off as she looked up at Snow. "He's pretending."

A confused Snow stepped into the room and eased down beside her little daughter. "He's pretending what?"

"What he needs to," Emma shrugged. "I can tell he hasn't been alone very long. It's … I don't remember what it's called, when someone does something to protect themselves?"

"A defense mechanism?" Snow offered.

"Yeah, that's it. That's what pretending is. A lot of kids who were abandoned recently pretend. They pretend that their parents are spies who hid them in a different country. Or they pretend that their parents are a king and a queen who sent them away to keep them safe. Or they pretend that they were taken from their parents and the parents are out there looking for them every day. Pretending helps, at least for a little bit. It's easier than facing the truth. Right now, Killian needs to pretend. He needs to pretend he's from the Enchanted Forest and that he's been magicked away from his family."

Snow's heart had dropped into her stomach as Emma was speaking. Oh, her poor, sweet baby girl. She was almost afraid to ask her next question, knowing that it would be answered through her sweet Emma's own experience. "What happens when kids stop pretending?"

Emma squirmed somewhat uncomfortably. "It hurts because then they know that their parents aren't out there looking for them because their parents gave them away on purpose. It's just … easier to hurt about that when you're not also hurting about being abandoned in the first place."

Oh, how Snow longed to gather this girl in her arms and hold her until all her pain went away. She knew she couldn't, though, not yet. This tenuous trust between her and Emma was still too new, too fragile.

Which was why she was shocked to hear herself ask, "Did you ever pretend?"

It was a question to which she didn't want to know the answer. It was a question she'd never meant to ask. It was too much, too much for her to hear, too much for this little girl to divulge to, from her perspective, a perfect stranger.

Emma appeared thrown by the question, and no wonder! She searched Snow's eyes as if she could find the reason for the question hiding in them. Something she saw must have told her she could answer, though, because after a moment, she admitted, "I was the one with the parents who were royalty. As I got older, though, I realized that was silly."

Not so silly at all, Snow wished she could tell her. Your parents were in fact royalty who sent you away to keep you safe.

She settled for reaching out and brushing an unruly wave out of her little girl's eyes. "I wish you could have pretended a little longer." Hell, she wished her baby had never had to pretend at all.

Emma shrugged. "It's okay. Does that mean you'll help Killian pretend?"

"Of course, sweetheart," Snow assured her. Emma smiled, blushing at the pet name. "We'll help him pretend as long as he needs."

"Thanks." Emma tore her gaze from Snow's and instead ran her eyes over her surroundings. "You know, I have a funny feeling that in this house, he won't need to pretend very long. You and David are really nice."

A touched Snow smiled at her little girl. That was high praise coming from her guarded baby. "Why, thank you, Miss Emma." Then, to take focus off Emma's admission before it could make the girl uncomfortable, she added, "So what do you think? Have you decided on a room?"

"Yeah, this one." She tested the mattress again. "The bed is bouncier."

Snow chuckled. It was nice to know some things didn't change. "All right, sweetheart, that sounds like a plan."

-----

Chapter Five