#I THOUGHT IT WAS SOME TYPE OF BRITISH BAKE OFF REFERENCE??? | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

440mxs-wife · 4 years

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Lost and Found

"You want me to work this case with who?" Arthur Ketch asked.

"Relax, Ketch, she's had field experience before, she just hasn't been in the field much lately. Trust me, she'll be perfect for this," Dean assured him.

"This is not a training op, a learn-as-you-go thing, this is a serious case, Dean. I need an experienced hunter to carry off the cover story and perform her duty. I don't think she fits the part, and she's not my type anyway," Ketch complained.

As if on cue, you walked through the War Room on your way to the main living area. You had a book in one hand, which you were reading as you walked. A cup of cocoa occupied your other hand. You reached the living room and settled into a corner of the couch with your favorite quilt.

Dean cleared his throat behind you. Without looking up from your book, you asked, "What do you need, Dean?"

"So, we have a case right now that requires your unique....talents," he started.

You closed your book in annoyance and narrowly gazed at Dean. "To what 'unique talents' are you referring? What exactly do you want me to do?" you asked.

Dean rubbed the back of his neck, something he tended to do when he was nervous or about to do something he didn't want to do. "This is Arthur Ketch, former British Man of Letters. There's a case involving a vampire, named Simon Foster. He's hosting a formal party by invitation only. Your cover would involve you posing as a couple with Ketch," he explained.

You knew this wasn't the whole story, so you waited for Dean to finish. "And....you have to dress up, like evening-gown type dressing up," he added.

You took a few moments to assess your potential hunting partner's attributes. You knew that in the past, he had been a ruthless killer for the British Men of Letters. However, you also remembered how he rescued Gabriel from Asmodeus, at great risk to his own safety. He was working with the Winchesters from time to time as a free-lance operative.

Aside from the professional evaluation, you had to admire his broad chest and tall, confident stature. He had sparkling blue-green eyes that you knew had to hold a certain amount of mischief every now and then. He had just enough of a beard to be considered ruggedly handsome and sexy. And that accent made you a little weak in the knees, if you were being truly honest with yourself.

Ketch interpreted your silence to mean that you were refusing to work with him on the case. "As I told you, Dean, she's not right for this mission," he retorted.

"Mr. Ketch, you don't know me very well. And I only know of you what I've heard in the tales of your exploits from Sam and Dean. Maybe it's time we got our assumptions about each other out of the way, and work this case? Hmm?" you replied as you rose from the couch.

Ketch walked over to where you were standing and said, "Well, my dear, since you have dropped the gauntlet, I accept your challenge. Oh, by the way, I do hope you have something appropriate to wear. Flannel and jeans won't fly in this instance, darling," he smirked.

You took one step towards Ketch, close enough so that you could detect the scent of his aftershave. With more calm in your voice than you currently felt, you looked deep into his eyes. "There's more to me than flannel and jeans. Buckle up, Mr. Ketch. It's going to be a fun ride," you replied, making a show of adjusting his tie before walking out of the room.

Ketch looked over at Dean, who was alternating between shock at your actions and outright laughter at Ketch's expense. He turned on his heel and went to his room, which was fortunately in the opposite direction of yours.

You spent the next week and a half preparing for the upcoming hunt with Ketch. Most of the time was occupied doing research, looking through books and poking around on the internet. Otherwise, you could easily be found at the firing range. You felt you were a little rusty, and the extra range time would help increase your accuracy. You also didn't want to give Ketch one single reason to regret partnering with you.

"Research days" were long ones. You made sure to take plenty of breaks to stretch your legs. If you made yourself a snack, you brought one back for Ketch also. Where you had hot cocoa or coffee, you made tea for Ketch. He never asked you for anything, but for you, it was almost automatic to share in your hospitality. It was in these little ways that you were trying to show Mr. Ketch that his assumptions about you may not be accurate.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Ketch stared at the glass of milk you brought to him, along with three chocolate chip cookies you had baked the day before. Today, it was muffins at breakfast, cookies in the afternoon and pie with dinner. The woman certainly has her talents, he thought. Maybe she can pull this off after all.

As you nibbled on your cookie, Ketch took a moment to study you. You had greenish-hazel eyes, one of which had a small dark mark in the iris. Your medium length chestnut locks couldn't keep themselves from falling in your face. On more than one occasion, Ketch found himself wanting to reach over and tuck the wayward curls behind your ear. As you searched through the reference books, he could see the look of deep concentration on your face. He had to admit, you may just have the determination to get the job done.

He had followed you one day to the shooting range to see how you handled a firearm. He watched as you carefully loaded the rounds into the clip for your .380 pistol, and inserted the clip. When the weapon was ready, you raised it into position, took aim and systematically emptied the clip. You left the target hanging on the range, so as soon as you left, Ketch went over to check your results. He was amazed to find that all rounds except one hit center mass, just like they were supposed to do. The only one that didn't hit center mass was a head shot.

From what he'd seen, you were more than capable of performing your part in this case. You had already demonstrated to him that you could handle a firearm. This skill likely translated to other weapons as well, so Ketch wasn't worried about that.

You'd also shown him your sensitive side. It was in the way you took care of everyone in the bunker, including him, despite his initial dismissive attitude towards you. It occurred to him that it was partially because of you that the Winchesters' hunting operation was so successful. You made sure everyone was fed well, had clean clothes and injuries were patched. Not just the physical injuries either, but the emotional ones as well that can take their toll on a hunter.

One night, he had a nightmare that left him calling out in his sleep. In his nightmare, he was put on trial by the British Men of Letters. All of the people he had killed were brought in as witnesses against him, and of course, he was found guilty. His punishment was that each victim got a chance to kill him, causing him to experience his own death several times over.

He jerked awake to find you had crept into his room and were sitting on the edge of his bed. You gently laid a hand on his arm to assure him that he was safe and that it was only a nightmare, not real. He tried to be the tough guy, rather than let you see how upset the nightmare had made him. He didn't want you to think he was soft or didn't have the guts to carry out the mission.

You never asked what his nightmare was about, probably figuring that he wouldn't want to tell you. You simply stated that all hunters had nightmares from what they've seen and done, so he was no different, that even you had them. In fact, you'd had one that night as well, and were having trouble getting back to sleep from it.

Ketch couldn't believe that someone so kind and compassionate as you would have anything to fear or regret about what you'd done in the course of hunting. You told him that some of your nightmares were about loved ones being tortured or killed while you were forced to watch. Most of them, though, were about the people you couldn't save, in addition to all of the guilt and helplessness you felt about the outcomes.

When it appeared to you that Ketch was uninterested in the comfort you came to offer, you awkwardly stood up from the bed. You mumbled that if he needed anything, you were down at the end of the hall, then you made your way to the door. As your hand was on the doorknob, ready to leave, he asked you to stay so that he could comfort you. He assured you he meant no funny business, that he was only offering a way for you both to get back to sleep. You looked at him, a little skeptical at first, then relented with a shy smile.

Ketch held up the blanket for you to slip into bed beside him. You started out at the far edge of the bed, your back to him as you laid your head on the pillow. He reached over to drape an arm around your midsection and pulled you closer to him. He accidentally nuzzled your neck with his stubbly chin and breathed in the scent of strawberries from your shampoo. When he exhaled, his breath was warm against your skin, but you seemed to shiver a bit in response. In a shaky voice, you whispered, "Goodnight, Arthur," took his hand in yours and closed your eyes. He whispered "goodnight" and also closed his eyes, a smile etched on his face.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Ketch was putting the last minute touches on his tux while he waited for you to get ready. He made sure he had the invitation listing both of your names. He also made sure he had his sharpest machete ready, along with some dead man's blood. He was about ready to call out to you to see how much longer you'd be, when he heard the unmistakable sound of high-heeled shoes on the tile floor.

You were dressed in a midnight blue, floor-length gown, with a slit halfway up your left thigh. The A-line gown had a criss-cross bodice that hugged your curves, and featured wide straps that crossed in the back. Embedded in the fabric were tiny crystals that sparkled as they hit the light, reminding Ketch of the stars in the night sky. You wore your silver sparkly pumps to finish your wardrobe.

You chose to sweep your hair up in a French twist. You kept your makeup simple, mostly earth tones, with pink lipstick. You chose white crystal stud earrings and a velvet cameo choker to complete your jewelry selection.

When he saw you, his mouth ran dry, and for a moment, he had lost the ability to form a coherent thought. You noticed that his bow tie needed a little work, so you set your small handbag on the table and proceeded to fix his tie. "There," you said. "Now it's perfect. You look very dashing this evening, Mr. Ketch," you remarked.

"I must say, you look absolutely stunning, my dear," Ketch finally said. "This dress certainly suits you and definitely brings out your eyes," he murmured, so softly that only you could hear him.

"Thank you," you said quietly, a blush rising on your cheeks. At that moment, Dean walked in on the two of you and whistled. "Whoa! Lookin' good, you two!" he declared. "'Specially you in the dress," he said as he winked at you. You looked at Ketch, rolled your eyes and jerked your head in Dean's direction. He chuckled softly at your dismissal of Dean's compliment.

You looked at the delicate watch on your wrist and noticed the time. "We should get to the party, so that we don't miss our chance to take out the host," you remarked.

"Agreed. Shall we, my dear?" Ketch asked as he held out his arm to you. You slipped your hand through his arm, and he tucked it close to his side as you ascended the spiral staircase together. As you left, Dean sent up a silent plea for a successful hunt, with everything going according to plan.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

You and Ketch walked into the party, hand in hand. Ketch let go of your hand long enough to retrieve your invitation and hand it to the bouncer at the door. You felt Ketch's hand on the small of your back, guiding you through the room. When you reached the dance floor, Ketch skillfully turned you around so that you were in his arms, ready to dance.

"We don't have time for this," you hissed.

"We have to blend in, Love. If we don't, we'll be in some deep trouble before we've had a chance to ID our objective," Ketch firmly but softly stated. "Now, let's dance," he commanded.

You settled into the waltz, allowing Ketch to lead you all around the dance floor. He was an amazing dancer, probably part of his training with the British Men of Letters. Fortunately for him, you had also taken dancing lessons, so you weren't completely clumsy. As you moved across the floor, you kept trying to find your host, the vampire.

"Relax, darling, I've already spotted him," Ketch assured you. "When this song is over, you are going to slap me as if we've just had an argument. After that, go to the bar for a drink. Don't worry, our host the vampire will seek you out. He'll see a beautiful but heartbroken woman. Let him convince you to go somewhere private where he can 'console' you. I'll keep my eye on you both and wait for the opportunity to take him out."

"You want me to slap you, then walk away as if we've had a fight about something? Okay," you shrugged, doing as you were ordered. "JERK!!" you spat out as you turned on your heel and went towards the bar. Ketch stood there, staring after you and holding his cheek. He was left wondering if maybe you enjoyed your part a little too much.

You perched yourself on a barstool and ordered a drink. As you sipped it, you felt a powerful presence approach you on your left side. It's him, you thought. Where the hell is Ketch? you wondered as a slight panic set in. You didn't dare turn around, though, as that may blow your cover story.

"A little trouble in love, hmm?" a deep voice rumbled.

You turned towards the source. "Pardon me?" you asked.

"Oh, where are my manners? My name is Simon Foster, and I'm the host of this soirée. But I'm sure you already knew that, didn't you?" he purred, his hand lightly brushing your arm.

You fought the instinct to pull your arm away in disgust. "Of course I know you. Simon Foster: CEO of Foster Industries, head of the second largest shipping company in the world. Desperately clawing his way to being the first largest shipping company in the world. Offices spread out all over the globe, such as in New York, Liverpool, Rio de Janeiro, Sydney, Marseille," you finished.

"Well, I'm impressed. You've certainly done your homework, my dear. But enough business talk. Let's get a little more personal," he suggested.

"I really should be getting back to---" Simon put a finger to your lips. "Let him suffer a bit first. Besides, my sister Cynthia seems to be occupying him," he snickered.

You turned your attention towards where you'd left Ketch. You were shocked to see him with his arms around a gorgeous, leggy blonde woman in a red sequined dress. Simon turned your face back to him, so that you were looking into his eyes. "Come, my darling, let's go somewhere a little more private, and get to know each other better," he coaxed.

You gave him a quick smile and slid down from the barstool. You had only had the one drink and sipped it at that. However, you felt a bit unsteady on your feet, as if you'd had more like four drinks. Simon offered you his arm to support you as he led you away from the bar area to one of the private rooms. Ketch, you silently pleaded. Don't leave me, please.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

No sooner had you left to go to the bar, that a blonde-haired woman in a red sequined dress came up to Ketch and asked him to dance. Ever the gentleman, he obliged, but did not lose sight of you. The blonde woman introduced herself as Cynthia Foster, sister of your host, Simon Foster. He engaged Cynthia in conversation, maintaining his cover, while trying to learn anything he could about her brother. The next time he turned his attention towards the bar, you were gone and so was Simon.

You and Simon stumbled into his private study area, where he closed the door and locked it behind him. In one swift move, he backed you up against his desk and started kissing you. As you stuck out your hand behind you to keep from falling over, you cut your finger on a letter opener.

When you examined the cut and the blood dripping from it, you could see the pupils in Simon's eyes grow wide. He took your finger in his mouth and tasted the blood. "Oh, darling. You taste so sweet, just like I knew you would," he growled as his fangs came into view. He pushed your head to the side and sank his fangs into your neck.

You knew you had to do something before you fell unconscious from losing too much blood. You carefully slid your hand down your thigh under your dress to release one of the syringes of dead man's blood you had hidden. Unfortunately, Simon caught on to what you were doing and wrenched it from your hand. "YOU!! You're a hunter!!" he screeched, throwing you to the floor and causing you to hit your head on a table in the process.

From the blood loss and possible concussion, you were finding it hard to remain conscious, let alone fight back. Fortunately, Ketch had burst through the door, wielding his machete. He took two long strides towards the vampire and skillfully sliced off Simon's head. With the mission objective met, Ketch turned his attention towards you. He noticed the bite marks on your neck and placed his handkerchief over it. He told you to hold it there to try and stop the blood loss.

"Ketch....Ketch....Arthur...." you whispered. He turned to look into your eyes. "I'm sorry. I should've....should....should've paid better attention," you remarked softly.

"Shh, try not to talk now, Love. Let's get you back to the bunker and patched up, good as new. I just hope to bloody hell Dean doesn't kill me for this," Ketch muttered. He placed you in the front seat of the car, buckled you in and then he ran around to the driver's side. He turned the key in the ignition and the engine roared to life. Ketch threw the car into gear and sped off into the night, headed back to the bunker.

"I'm so tired, Arthur," you replied as you drifted in and out of consciousness.

"Hold on, Love, hold on. We'll be there soon, just stay with me. Keep holding that kerchief up to your neck, darling," he soothed. When he didn't hear you respond, he looked over to see that you had fallen unconscious. He mashed down the accelerator in response, and soon the bunker was in his sights.

Once in the garage, he parked the car and ran around to the passenger side to get you. He scooped you up into his arms and pounded on the bunker door. Sam answered and quickly ushered you both in, then called out for Dean to help.

"What the hell happened, Ketch?!? You were supposed to look out for her. Is that what this looks like??" Dean thundered.

Ketch didn't say anything as he carried you to the infirmary to care for your wounds. You had bite marks on your neck from Simon, and a gash on your forehead where you'd hit the table. He placed you gently on the bed and went to the cabinet for what he would need to clean you up. Dean snatched the suture kit out of Ketch's hands and pushed him aside.

"Now see here, mate--" Ketch started angrily. "No, you see here. I'll take care of her. Been patching her up long before you came along, and I'll be doing it long after you leave," Dean retorted.

"Dean," you mumbled, opening your eyes. "Knock it off. It wasn't his fault," you muttered, sitting up a little. "He took out the vamp and his sister, mission accomplished," you said as you fell back onto the bed. "Arthur?" you called softly.

"Right here, Love," he said as he sat beside the bed and took your hand in his.

"Can you please stitch this up?" you asked, pointing at your neck and forehead.

Dean reluctantly handed him the suture kit and then stepped aside. "As you wish, darling," said Ketch. "Can someone please bring me a basin of warm water and a washcloth? I'll need to clean up some of this blood to see where I need to stitch," he explained. Sam left to go get the basin and washcloth.

Ketch looked at you with guilt in his eyes. You could tell that he felt responsible for what happened to you after having lost sight of you at the party. "Arthur, stop it. This wasn't your fault. I know how to take care of myself. It's just that this damn dress is so confining, which is why I'm a jeans-and-flannel kind of girl," you joked. He chuckled and you could see the relief in his eyes to know you would be all right.

"Well then, once we clean you up, we'll let you slip into something, shall we say, less confining and more comfortable?" he teased. By this time, Sam had returned with the basin and washcloth, as requested.

Ketch gently cleaned and dried your wounds. Turns out, the one on your forehead just needed those sterile tape strips to hold it closed, no stitches needed. Your neck was another story, though. Ketch took great care in making the stitches small to minimize the scar you were inevitably going to have. Dean brought back your pajamas so you would have something comfortable to change into. The guys then left the infirmary to give you some privacy as you changed.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Weeks went by with no new cases or missions, which gave you time for your wounds to heal. You also felt yourself getting a little closer to Ketch, but you weren't sure if he felt the same way. He would always call you "Love" or "Darling". While not necessarily meant in a romantic way, it made you feel special each time he said it.

One afternoon, you were reading your book when you heard an argument in the hallway between Dean and Ketch. You heard sharp tones in the voices of both men, so you went to investigate.

"So you're just going to leave? Without even saying 'goodbye' to anyone, especially her?" Dean snapped. "After everything that's happened?"

"Dean, you know as well as I do, relationships and hunting don't pair well together. As far as any relationship I may have with her, it would be foolish to entertain such an idea. So you see--" he stopped.

"What's going on here? Arthur, what are you talking about?" you asked.

"He says he's found a case and after he's finished, he won't be coming back to live here," Dean retorted.

You felt the blood drain from your face. "Arthur, is this true? I thought....never mind what I thought," you muttered.

"Oh, let me guess. You thought that there were 'special feelings' between us? Darling, trust me, you don't want to get mixed up with someone like me. Not after the things that I've done," he finished.

"You still don't get it, do you?" you snapped in a rare flash of anger. "I don't care what you've done in the past! That isn't the man you are today, and he's the man that I....I love. There, I've said it. I love you, Arthur Ketch. And if you can't see that love is a gift and that it's worth fighting for....then maybe you should go," you choked out.

Ketch picked up his bag. "Well, I guess that's it then. Nothing more to say, I suppose, except goodbye," he said.

Tears in your eyes, you watched him walk up the spiral staircase and out to the garage. You jumped when the bunker door slammed shut, then you ran to your room and closed the door.

"Damn you, Ketch," Dean muttered.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Soon after Ketch left, Sam and Dean started finding some new cases to work. You mostly stayed behind to do much-needed research for them. You were still heartbroken that Ketch decided to leave even after you declared your love for him. However, you tried to keep up a brave face for Sam and Dean. You smiled even when you didn't feel like it, just to keep them from asking if you were okay.

One night after a particularly dicey werewolf hunt, you were relieved when the boys finally came through the bunker door. Only this time, they weren't alone, they had someone with them. The man was injured and seemed to be drifting in and out of consciousness. You told them to bring him to the infirmary while you went to get the water basin and a washcloth.

"Okay, fellas, tell me what happened," you said. As you started to assess your patient, you gasped to see that it was none other than Arthur Ketch. The man to whom you had given your heart, but who didn't seem to want it.

"We found him locked in battle with that werewolf. He was holding his own until the werewolf slashed him across his stomach with its claws," Sam explained.

"A-all right. Let's get him cleaned up then I can see where he needs stitches. Dean, hand me a few suture kits, Sam help me get his jacket and shirt off," you ordered.

"Are you going to be okay with this? I mean, after what happened the last time he was here?" Dean asked.

"Dean, I'll be fine. Strictly professional, just the way he likes things. The sooner he gets well, the sooner he'll be free to leave me again," you said, your vision a little blurry from unshed tears. Dean squeezed your shoulder in support, and you gave him a small smile. Then you dipped the washcloth in warm water and started to clean Ketch's wounds.

After you had stitched him up, you dressed him in a clean T-shirt you had found in his bag. You left briefly to get your book so that you had something to do while you kept an eye on him.

Little did you know, Ketch was aware of what was going on the entire time. He heard the pain in your voice when you mentioned how he'd be free to leave you again once he was healed. Right then, he made up his mind that he wasn't going to make the same mistake twice. He just had to figure out how to show you that.

As you kept watch over your patient, you noticed that he had started mumbling in his sleep again. You drew your chair next to his bed and took his hand in yours. "I must be out of my damn mind, going down this path again," you muttered to yourself.

All of a sudden, you heard him say your name, and how he was sorry he'd hurt you. Then he said the words you longed to hear, "I love you, and I'm not leaving you again". He's asleep, he doesn't know what he's saying, you told yourself. You looked down and saw that he had opened his blue-green eyes and was searching your face for some sign of your feelings for him.

"Arthur? How are you feeling?" you asked gently.

He reached up with his free hand and cupped your cheek. "I've been better. The werewolf tore up my stomach, but I'm also hurting in my heart. You see, there was this wonderful woman I got to work with a while back.

“She's kind, considerate of others and is the most beautiful creature I've ever met. She sort of wiggled her way into my heart, and well, she never really left. But I left. Like a coward, I left her, which I never should've done," he confessed.

"What are you saying, Arthur?" you whispered.

"I'm saying that I was a fool to ever have left you, my love. I'm hoping that someday you can forgive me. You've helped me to see that love is a gift and it's definitely worth fighting for. I love you," he replied, pulling your face down to mesh his lips with yours. They were as soft as you'd imagined they would be, but firm, as he took charge of the kiss like he did with everything else in his life.

"I'm so glad you came back. I love you, Arthur Ketch," you said softly.

#ketch #arthur ketch #arthur ketch x reader #ketch x reader #spn imagine #spn fluff #supernatural

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pocket-luv101 · 4 years

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Summary: Kuro is a mangaka and Mahiru is his editor. They visit London to do research for Kuro’s new shoujo manga. (KuroMahi, Modern AU)

“I’m back, Kuro! The meeting with the marketing department took me longer than I thought so I expect you to have your storyboards finished!” Mahiru called into the condo as he bent down to take off his shoes. The heavy bag he carried was lifted off his shoulder and he turned around to see Kuro. He hanged the bag on the wall for him. “Since you’re being so considerate right now, am I right to assume that you didn’t finish the chapter yet?”

“Ran out of inspiration.” Kuro said and tapped his finger against Mahiru’s lips. While Mahiru tried to feign annoyance, his faint blush betrayed his true emotions. He placed his hands on his strong shoulders and lifted himself onto his toes until he could kiss him softly. He thought a brief kiss would be enough for him but Kuro cupped his cheeks to steal a longer one. He whispered. “Welcome home, Mahiru.”

“Trying to put me in a good mood won’t get you out of trouble.” He nipped at Kuro’s lower lips before he let go of himself. Mahiru walked into the apartment they shared and threw himself onto the couch. He was tired after the meeting he had and he wanted to rest. “How far along are you in the storyboards? I’ll look them over for possible corrections.”

“I only need to finish the last two pages. Since it’s a two-page spread, it should only count as one page, right? That’s not much so don’t be mad.” Kuro collected a few sketchbooks from his work desk and then joined him on the couch. Mahiru sat up so there would be enough room for both of them. “You can look over what I have so far.”

Mahiru placed the sketchbook on his knee and flipped through the pages. He worked as Kuro’s editor for years and he enjoyed his manga series. Eventually, Mahiru fell in love with the man. They started dating but they had to keep their relationship a secret. It was unprofessional for an editor to date their manga artist and he would be fired if they were discovered.

When they decided to live together, they told others that it was so he could keep track of Kuro’s work better. He had an infamous reputation of missing deadlines and then sending the chapter around midnight. Kuro was talented but people found his work schedule impossible to manage. His past editors often asked to be assigned to another mangaka after a few missed deadlines.

Mahiru never gave up on him though. He would visit him every night to see his progress on the chapters and help him coordinate his schedule with the publishing company. It was clear that he loved helping mangaka publish their work. He was the best editor he had in his career and the effort Mahiru put into his job pushed Kuro to work harder as well.

“A talk show requested an interview with Sleepy Ash for the release of the new volume. You were finally able to surpass the sales of the former bestseller. I told them that you were too busy to give a public interview but you’ll send them a statement.” Mahiru told him.

“Thanks.” Since Kuro wanted to keep his privacy, he published his manga under a pseudonym. He leaned against Mahiru and showed him a sketch. “What do you think of this European cottage for the hideout?”

“This is beautiful but you should make the cottage more rustic. Thinking simply, they wouldn’t hide in something that stands out. Maybe have more trees around it too.” Mahiru suggested and Kuro nodded. He flipped to a new page and he started a new design for the cottage. In the corner of his eyes, he noticed Mahiru pull out a few magazines from his bag. “I picked up some travel magazines while I was out.”

Instead of handing them to Kuro, he sat on his lap and opened the magazine. “You said that you wanted to have the two leads go to Europe in a future chapter but you were having trouble choosing where. These might help you find one that suits the main couple. There are pictures in here that you can use for reference as well.”

“I was trying to choose between London or Paris. People say that Paris is the most romantic place to have a honeymoon. On the other hand, I grew up in London so I won’t have to do as much research for the chapter.” Kuro rested his cheek on Mahiru’s head and watched him flip to a different page. “Do you think I’ll be able to fly to London and do a little research? It’ll only be for a few days.”

“I can discuss the idea with the chief editor but it might be difficult to arrange the trip. The boss shouldn’t mind as long as you submit next month’s installment well before your deadline.” Mahiru started to rearrange their schedule in his mind. “If you add in travel time, you’ll be gone for a week. I’ll miss you while you’re in London. Make sure that you call every night so I know you’re eating properly.”

“You don’t have to worry about that. I was actually hoping that you would come to London with me. The university that I went to has a flower nursery that I know you’ll love. We can visit those tourist traps for couples too.” Kuro suggested. “You deserve a break.”

Last month was December and the publishing company wanted each of the mangaka to contribute special chapters and illustrations for the holiday. Mahiru worked late into the night to manage so many projects at once and review their work for publication. Now that the holiday rush was over and their job had slowed down, Kuro thought they could relax.

“I’ve never travelled outside of Japan before.” While he didn’t tell him directly, Mahiru knew that he suggested the vacation for his sake. Kuro was the type to show his feelings through his actions rather than direct words. Mahiru could feel his love in how he held him and supported him. A warmth fluttered in his stomach and then spread throughout his body. “I’ll ask for Misono’s approval tomorrow.”

“We can tell him that you’re going to supervise me while I’m in London. That’s the same thing we told everyone when you moved in and they believed it.” Kuro wished that he could tell more people about their relationship but he would never ask Mahiru to give up the job he loved. A vacation in London would allow them to go on a date like a normal couple. He buried his face into the nape of his neck and savoured his warmth. “I know a place we can stay that’s cheap but it’s still comfortable.”

“Honestly, I’m a little curious about your childhood in London.” Mahiru stared at the rose garden featured in the magazine and he imagined Kuro standing among the flowers like a scene from a shoujo. He turned the page and read the description of a statue. “The Mask of Truth? Maybe we can take a detour and go to Rome. I want to ask the mask whether a stray cat truly stole the last slice of pie like he said.”

“You should’ve seen the cat scale the wall to reach our window and steal your pie. He must’ve heard the legend of your wonderful baking.” Kuro’s silly story caused Mahiru to laugh. They both knew he wasn’t truly upset at him for eating the pie and he was only teasing him. Mahiru leaned back into his chest and reached up to stroke his hair.

“We can have as much cake as we want in London.” Kuro was wealthy with his job as a popular mangaka but Mahiru rarely asked him for anything. He respected how independent Mahiru was but he wanted to give him an easy life. “I should finish that new chapter so we can go on our vacation.”

“If only you can be this motivated all the time, Kuro.” Mahiru said but he knew how hard Kuro worked. He remembered the nights he found him asleep on his desk. In the past, Kuro ate instant noodles rather than a proper meal because it was quicker to make. He was able to see a side of him that others didn’t. Mahiru kissed his cheek lightly before he stood. “I’ll start making dinner.”

The plane ride from Tokyo to London took twelve hours and Kuro’s body was stiff after sitting for so long. He slept through most of the trip with his head on Mahiru’s shoulder and his presence made the cramp chair a little more comfortable. “If they make plane seats any smaller, they’ll be the size of baby chairs. I don’t know how you were able to work on the plane.”

“Those seats would be uncomfortable for a tall person like you.” Since Kuro was half British, he was taller than him. His strong features were appealing to Mahiru. He reached out to him and took his hand. “Misono said that it would be difficult for me to join you on this trip. We made a compromise that I can go as long as I work on the proposal for Tetsu’s new poetry collection during the trip. I wanted to finish the report on the plane so I could have more time with you in London.”

Kuro forgot how tired he was after he felt Mahiru’s warmth and he squeezed his hand slightly. He brought their interlocked fingers to his lips so he could kiss his hand. They both worked hard to be able to go on the trip and there were dark circles under Mahiru’s eyes. “Are you hungry? Airport food isn’t that great but it’s better than nothing. I’ll order us breakfast while you find us a table.”

“Okay. We have a lot of time before we need to sign into the hotel so there’s no rush.” Kuro handed Mahiru his suitcase and walked to the food stands nearby. They lived together and they knew each other well so he could guess what Mahiru would want for breakfast. He was glad that the line was short and he wouldn’t have to wait.

Mahiru found an empty booth and he set the suitcases next to each other. They were only staying for a few days so they didn’t pack a lot. Still, he had looked forward to the trip for the past week. A smile appeared on his lips as he imagined the different places they would visit. In the corner of his eyes, he noticed a stall that sold maps.

He kept the suitcases close to him as he walked to the stall. Kuro grew up in London but Mahiru thought they should have a map in case they become lost. A lot could change in a city, even in ten years. He chose a thick booklet that included pictures of different attractions. His English wasn’t the best but he tried to start a conversation with the cashier. “Hello. I am a tourist. I want to go on a date in London. Do you know a place that is very romantic?”

He and Kuro already had a list of attractions they planned to visit. He thought he should ask a local about other places they go. Mahiru held out the map to the cashier with the expectation that he would point to a spot. He was surprised when the man grabbed his wrist and pulled him closer. The desk was between them and Mahiru winced as his knee struck the wood.

“I thought Japanese men were more reserved but you asked me on a date before you even knew my name. You’re cute so I’ll accept. My shift ends in a few hours so wait for me in front of the airport.” He said and Mahiru realized that he misunderstood him.

“I did not mean that, Sir. I already have a boyfriend and I was asking about a date with him.” He tried to pull his hand out of the man’s grip. English had always been his worst subject and he wished he knew the language better. “Let go, Sir!”

“What are you doing to my boyfriend?” Relief washed over Mahiru the moment he heard Kuro’s voice. He placed himself between the two and the glare he aimed at the man was enough to make him let go of Mahiru. Kuro wrapped his arm around his waist and he naturally leaned into him. It didn’t seem the man had hurt him but he asked, “Are you okay, Mahiru?”

“He was the one who asked me out so shouldn’t you be mad at your boyfriend instead of me?” The cashier retorted and his words caused Kuro’s eyes to draw together. They began to speak in quick English and Mahiru couldn’t understand their discussion. “He asked me out.”

“I know Mahiru and he wouldn’t do something like that. You obviously misunderstood or something. Do you often try to grab tourists like this? I wasn’t going to report you to your boss because it would be troublesome. I don’t like people who lie about my boyfriend though.” Mahiru didn’t know what he told the cashier but it seemed to silence the cashier.

Kuro picked up the luggage next to them but he kept one arm around Mahiru’s waist. He led him away from the cashier. Beside him, Mahiru said: “Thank you, Kuro. I heard that other countries are more forward than Japan. Should I be more careful? You grew up in London so you act more casual with people but you never grabbed me like that.”

“That guy was just a creep.” Kuro said. He pulled Mahiru closer to him and kissed his forehead. He was glad that he could finally be affectionate with Mahiru in public. They both wanted to keep their relationship private but it was difficult since he was a popular mangaka. “When I moved to Tokyo, I was surprised by how different it was to London. But I’m not the type to be this affectionate with others. You’re the only one I would hold close like this.”

“How many pictures do you need to take of me for ‘references’, Kuro?” Mahiru sat on the ledge of a fence. They walked along the River Thames and Kuro would occasionally ask him to stand in front of an attraction for a picture. He claimed that he needed someone in the photo so he would have a reference for perspective and proportions. “I’m fine with posing for you but don’t put me in your manga as a character or anything like that. It’ll be embarrassing.”

“I won’t.” Kuro promised after he took another photo. He didn’t include Mahiru as a character in his shoujo series but he was the muse behind most of his work. His work had become more hopeful and warmer after they started dating. “I’m pretty sure if I put you into the series, the villain would be defeated by you easily. You’re the only person who can be both scary and cute when you glare.”

“Oh please, Kuro.” He rolled his eyes but there was a blush on his cheeks. He put the camera into his bag and then walked forward to help Mahiru off the fence. When he stepped in front of him, Mahiru shook his head and gently placed a hand on his shoulder. Kuro didn’t know what he intended to do but he stood still. Mahiru leaned on his shoulder for balance as he took out his phone. “This photo is for just us.”

“I’ll take it for you. Do you want the bridge in the background?” Kuro asked as he handed the phone to him. He held the phone at armlength and pulled Mahiru closer against his side so they could both fit into the photo. As he pressed the button, Kuro kissed his cheek lightly. He couldn’t help but grin as he pulled away and saw how flustered he was. “Do you like the photo? I can take another one if you want.”

“I like this one already.” Mahiru smiled at the image briefly before he put his phone back into pocket. He slid off the fence and into his arms. He stumbled slightly and he instinctively reached out to Kuro to catch himself. They didn’t have to worry about people discovering their relationship while they were in London so he wanted to savour the opportunity to hold him close. “Thanks, Kuro. You’re saving me a lot today.”

“I’m just glad you didn’t fall backwards into the lake. This cat is terrible at swimming.” They both knew that he would try to rescue him if he did fall into the water so Mahiru only laughed at his words. He stepped back from him and brushed the dirt from his pants. He took his hand and they continued to walk along the water. “The rose garden should be a few blocks from here.”

“London is tightly packed and we can easily walk places.” Mahiru said and squeezed his hand. They had already planned most of their trip but he would also have fun simply walking with him through the streets. “I know you find walking troublesome. How about we try one of those carriage rides? It might inspire a scene where the characters escape the villains with a horse and buggy.”

“I don’t mind walking like this.” Kuro shrugged but his words made Mahiru happy. “While we’re walking, we should try to find a local bookstore. Hyde made me promise to buy him some books as souvenirs. First edition Shakespeare collections.”

“Don’t get me started on the list of things Licht wants us to bring back.” Mahiru laughed. He rested his head against Kuro’s strong shoulder and smiled up at him. He tried to remember the English phases Misono taught him while they prepared for their trip. “Is there something you fancy, Kuro?”

“I fancy you.” He replied and his alluring voice created flutters in Mahiru’s stomach.

“You’ll have to wait until we get back to the hotel for that. Remember, we came here to do research on possible settings and locations for your next shoujo.” He reaches into Kuro’s pocket for his camera. Mahiru started to scroll through the photos. He paused on the image of Kuro eating fish and chips. It was a simple image but he thought he looked handsome and relaxed. “Maybe I should buy a cook book and try some new recipes.”

Before they met, Kuro would only eat instant ramen. He remembered the long lecture Mahiru gave him when he found his kitchen overflowing with ramen cups. He cooked him a proper meal after he finished yelling at him. They would eat together since that day and Kuro was certain he couldn’t go back to eating junk food. Mahiru had always supported him as more than an editor.

Kuro didn’t know when he fell in love with him but couldn’t see a future without Mahiru next to him.

#servamp #kuromahi #sloth pair #servamp kuro #mahiru shirota #fanfiction

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samwisethebitch · 4 years

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The Bizarre World of “Feel Good” Murder Mysteries

When I think of murder, I don’t typically think of warm, fuzzy feelings. If you’ve been following my blog, you know I’m a fan of all things gritty and gory, so a lot of the books I read fall into the thriller/suspense subgenre. But not everyone likes their mystery novels with an extra helping of blood and guts — in fact, there’s an entire subgenre of mysteries designed to make readers feel good.

According to Wikipedia, “Cozy mysteries, also referred to as ‘cozies’, are a subgenre of crime fiction in which sex and violence occur off stage, the detective is an amateur sleuth, and the crime and detection take place in a small, socially intimate community.” Think Angela Lansbury a la Murder, She Wrote. It’s a very PG approach to a genre that is usually a hard R.

Like romance, the cozy mystery is a subgenre mostly read by women. According to cozy-mystery.com, a website dedicated to this type of book, “Many cozy mystery readers are intelligent women looking for a ‘fun read’ that engages the mind, as well as provides entertainment.”

Any time a genre is marketed to one gender over the other, I automatically wonder why. Is it because women are seen as less likely to enjoy “hardboiled” detective fiction than men? Is it because women “have weaker stomachs” or “can’t handle violence”? Is it because everything made for women needs to be cutesy and fluffy?

To try to answer these questions, I read three different cozies to see if I could determine why they’re so popular and why they’re marketed to women. Here’s what I found.

And Then There Were Crumbs by Eve Calder

Quirky settings seem to be a recurring theme in cozies, with more than a few of the subgenre’s beloved heroines doing double duty as amateur detectives and small business owners. In And Then There Were Crumbs, the small business in question is a bakery nestled in a ridiculously beautiful beachside town.

The mystery is not the main focus of this book. Really, it’s about Kate recovering from a messy breakup and trying to save a small-town bakery from going under. The murder is just icing on the cake, so to speak.

Unfortunately, the mystery was the weakest part for me. It’s not bad, by any means, but it does feel a little too clean. I’m the type of reader who likes to try to figure out the mystery alongside the characters, and this story didn’t really let me do that. There aren’t any compelling suspects to speculate about, and the solution is only possible after Kate stumbles onto a missing clue that brings everything together. This is a device used a lot by shows like Murder, She Wrote, and it’s always been a little bit of a pet peeve of mine.

The rest of the plot is well-written and full of warm fuzzies, but as someone who was mainly interested in the whodunnit I was a little disappointed.

One thing I will say for And Then There Were Crumbs is that it made me crave cookies so badly I had to bake a batch of snickerdoodles after finishing it. That’s gotta count for something.

Final Rating: 💀💀💀 (3 skulls out of 5)

Sinfully Delicious by Amanda M. Lee

Like in And Then There Were Crumbs, the mystery is not the main focus of this book. Sinfully Delicious is, at its heart, a second chance romance about a down-on-her-luck author who moves back to her hometown and reconnects with her high school sweetheart. That she happens to discover a dead body on her first day back, and that the previously mentioned high school sweetheart happens to be the police officer investigating the case, is incidental.

As I was reading this book, I noticed another running theme in the cozy subgenre. Both And Then There Were Crumbs and Sinfully Delicious go out of their way to establish that the murder victims were very, very bad people. Of course no one deserves to be poisoned or stabbed in a back alley, but if anyone did, it would be these guys. In a way, this makes the murders less disturbing since they almost feel justified.

Sinfully Delicious spends even less time on the mystery than And Then There Were Crumbs — at times, it almost doesn’t feel like a mystery novel. The romance really is the main focus here, and I had serious issues with it. Stormy’s ex-boyfriend/love interest has a girlfriend, and there is definitely some emotional infidelity — what Bustle calls “micro-cheating.” To make us feel better about this (and to keep Stormy a sympathetic protagonist), the author makes the girlfriend so unbelievably bitchy and unlikable that we can’t help but hate her. I’m very tired of girl-on-girl hate being used as a plot device in romance novels, and this book is one of the worst offenders I’ve encountered in a while.

The murder subplot was pretty standard. The last minute reveal that pulls the whole mystery together appears once again in this book, followed by a conclusion so outlandish, it actually made up for some of the lackluster buildup.

I did enjoy the fantasy elements in Sinfully Delicious. Stormy discovers that she is a witch and possesses magical powers, but like a lot of other cool things in this story, the witch stuff gets pushed aside to make more room for the romance nobody asked for.

Final Rating: 💀💀 (2 skulls out of 5)

Agatha Raisin and The Quiche of Death by M. C. Beaton

The Agatha Raisin series is a staple of the cozy subgenre. With 30 books and counting, the series has been going strong since the early 1990s. Because this book (the first in the series) is quite a bit older than the other two I read, it isn’t quite as formulaic. It’s definitely heavy on the Agatha Christie inspiration (in case the protagonist’s name didn’t make it obvious), and it’s all very, very British.

Once again, the mystery isn’t the only thing going on here. This book is about Agatha, a fifty-something-year-old business woman who sells her PR firm, goes into an early retirement, and buys a cottage in the Cotswolds, only to realize that village life will be a harder adjustment than she thought. She feels torn between her new village, which isn’t at all like she imagined, and her old life in London, which is quickly moving on without her. Oh, and one of her new neighbors dies of poisoning after eating a quiche Agatha entered in a local baking competition.

I really liked Agatha as a character. It’s nice to see a single, middle aged woman who enjoys being single, and it’s interesting to read a story that deals with themes of getting older and planning for retirement. Agatha is also kind of a bad bitch, and I enjoyed reading about her aggressive, take-no-prisoners attitude.

The story really reminded me of Agatha Christie’s Miss Marple series, which I’m sure is intentional. I can just imagine the author thinking, “But what if sweet Miss Marple was replaced by a London businesswoman?” and then writing this book. The supporting characters are all quirky and eccentric in some way, and some moments are genuinely humorous.

The murder mystery plays a more central role in this book than the first two I read, with Agatha doing lots of good, old fashioned snooping, breaking and entering, and harassing suspects. The conclusion was a little bit of a letdown for me — I think the author could have gone in a lot of different directions, but chose the most boring one.

Final Rating: 💀💀💀 (3 skulls out of 5)

Conclusion

I really can see the appeal of this type of mystery. These books are perfect for readers, both men and women, who want a fun mystery that they can try to solve alongside the protagonist, but who don’t want to read graphic descriptions of violence. I really do think there’s a place in the larger mystery genre for stories like this.

These books are also great for when you aren’t sure what genre you want to read. There’s a little bit of murder, a little bit of women’s fiction, a little bit of humor, and sometimes even a little bit of romance. It’s a grab bag of some of the most popular genres of fiction, and it speaks to readers with eclectic tastes.

Since I discovered the existence of the “cozy mystery” label, I’ve been using it to find books to read when I’m not feeling anything super intense. I read a lot of horror and thrillers, but sometimes I can get burned out on that type of intensely emotional (and often disturbing) story. When I want just a taste of intrigue without the blood and guts, cozies are a good option.

If you’re an avid reader of more intense mysteries, I recommend checking out this more lighthearted side to the genre. Who says a book about murder can’t be uplifting?

#cozy mystery #agatha raisin #book #book review #bookblr #bookish #bookworm #thriller #suspense #murder she wrote #agatha christie #romance #feminism #women's fiction #mystery #my reviews #mine #light academia #dark academia

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drnightstone · 5 years

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I was tagged by @tsulean ! Take a break from COVID-19 blues and get to know each other. Fill out the below & tag some of your followers ❤

Who are you named after? My name can be traced back to my great grandpa on my mother’s side, I believe. But my mother would have you know that she merely enjoyed the sound of the name itself and its French meaning of “handsome”, upon choosing it for me. I personally enjoy the original Bretnic meaning of “the Moon.” I’m sure those are enough clues to solve what my true nymic is!

Last time you cried? Back in the days, I would be a flowing river at the drop of a hat, but alas, life has a way of hardening flesh to stone. I recall exactly it being last November-December, after my biggest (and hopefully last) great fight with my mother. It was something that needed to happen. We are much closer now.

Do you like handwriting? Overall, I do enjoy typing upon a keyboard. However, I find that getting my thoughts across on paper are much easier, because I can doodle alongside and have a bunch of arrows pointing to other stuff. It must be said that my handwriting is only legible to me and only me.

Favorite meal? SUSHI!!! Sushi all day, everyday... if mercury poisoning and cash wasn’t too much of an issue. I like all shapes, sizes, and flavours of sushi. It is just simply the best. Favourite fish? It would have to be Toro or Fatty Tuna in English. The flavour and just simply putting it on your tongue and having it melt and...okay we need to move on.

Longest relationship? 3 Months. High School fling. Not the longest, I know, but I have come to realize that a well bonded and loving friendship(s) in my life is what I need more and find more important.

Do you still have tonsils? I sadly do. I would love to rid of them but at this point, it is of no great issue (and I am scared of the idea of an operation, lol).

Would you bungee jump? I might. With every waking hour of my mortal coil, I grow to be only a better poster child of Nietzsche.

What’s your favorite breakfast? Eggs Benedict. Breakfast of queens, and none can say otherwise. However, not the normal sausage version as I do not eat meat (Pescatarian here!). I prefer the “scandi” version with cream cheese, smoked salmon, onions, and green capers.

Do you untie your laces when taking shoes off? I am way too lazy to actually tie and untie my shoes. Just treat them as tight lil’ slippers.

Favorite ice cream? Hmm, I would say, that is has to be Cookie Dough. I love me some Cookie Dough. Every time my grandma would bake, I would scrap the raw dough from the spoons and bowl, and worry not, it was a small amount thus safe (Europeans, do not @ me - raw egg and flour is bad).

What’s the first thing you notice about a person? Eyes and teeth and then hair. Perhaps smile as well. It makes sense, as we tend to notices faces first.

Football/softball? I’m not a fan of any sports, ‘fraid to say. But my best friend plays football (soccer) and I gladly watch to support him.

What color pants are you wearing? Navy blue? If you are referring to American pants. If the British pants, then black.

Last thing you ate? Seared Salmon with roasted potatoes and a nice lettuce salad with a glass of German Riesling.

What are you listening to? Currently, nothing, but the last thing as been the Outer Wilds soundtrack. A+ Game. Highly recommend.

If you were a crayon what color would you be? It has to be a whimsy and cool Crayola colour name right? Maybe Maximum Yellow or Cosmic Cobalt of White With Confetti Glitter. Tagging @gayowulf , @tea-the-khajiit , and anyone else reading this and would like to give it a go!

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catalinda04 · 5 years

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Carried Away Chapter 62: A Can of Biscuit Dough

Masterlist

Henry had five precious days with Lucy after the dress fitting, before the time came for him to leave for the Batman V Superman press tour. After spending all morning in bed with Lucy, the time came for him to leave. Though she was trying valiantly to hold them back, Henry could see the tears in her eyes.

“Darling, it’s ok. I’ll call you every night, and I’ll see you in five short weeks in New York.”

“We’ve only been married five weeks, by the time I see you again, we’ll have been apart longer than we’ve been together since our wedding,” she said, a tear slipping from her eye.

Henry gathered her in his arms. “Darling, don’t cry. You know I’m not leaving because I want to, but because I have to. I love you, and I’ll miss you too. You’ll at least have Kal, I’m the one that’s going to be alone every night.”

“You better be,” Lucy laughed through her tears. Henry gave a short laugh as well.

Kal watched the goodbye with plaintive eyes. He could sense something was happening. He saw Henry’s suitcases, but hadn’t been harnessed to go with. He was confused. Henry knelt down to his level. He grabbed the dog behind the ears and rubbed. “Now, listen here Kal. I want you to watch out for our girl. Keep her safe for me,” he told the dog seriously. Kal nodded his head solemnly, looking from Henry to Lucy and back to Henry. Then he smiled his doggy smile, and gave Henry’s face one long slobbery lick. “Thank you bear,” Henry laughed, standing to turn back to Lucy, wiping his face with his hand.

He wiped the slobber onto his jeans, before cupping Lucy’s face in his hands and giving her one final deep goodbye kiss. “Goodbye my Darling. I love you.”

“Love you too,” Lucy replied with a sniff as she watched Henry walk to his truck.

“Well, Kal, what should we do now?” Lucy asked the dog as they walked back inside the house. “What’s that? You want to sit at my feet while I correct papers? That’s such a good idea,” she exclaimed, scratching his head. He turned to her with an expression that said, “I am not amused,” and he walked up the stairs to lay in his fluffy dog bed. “Fine, just abandon me, see if I care,” Lucy said to herself.

Three weeks later, Henry and Lucy were having their nightly phone call.

“Do you know, journalists are not the most original bunch ever? I was asked no less than nine times today about my “newest role” as husband. Seriously, they referred to our marriage as my newest role.”

“And what did you tell them?” Lucy asked.

“Only what we discussed. We got married on New Year’s Eve, we’re very happy, and planning to split our time between Minnesota and London,” Henry recited, ticking off the points on his fingers.

“Other than boredom from answering the same questions all day, How are you doing?” Lucy asked, concerned by the dark circles under his eyes.

“I’m fine, darling, a little tired, between the press and the workouts, my days are pretty full. I think a better question is how are you doing? I miss you so much Cupcake.”

“I miss you too, but I’m fine. Kal gave me some attitude for the first week or so, but he’s back to his normal self. I think he blamed me for you not taking him with on this press tour.”

“They’ve also asked me about him. Several of the reporters were quite disappointed to find he wasn’t with me,” Henry laughed.

“Where are you off to next?” Lucy asked, though his schedule had been synced to her phone.

“London. I’m anxious to get to sleep in a bed I recognize, even if you aren’t with me.”

“I miss you so bad. The bed is just too big without you hogging 80% of the space,” Lucy commented.

“Me?” Henry retorted. “The only reason I’m so close to you, is I’m trying to get the covers that you hoard on your side of the bed.”

“I like the weight,” she responded innocently. He didn’t reply, but she could hear his smile through the line. “How long until I get to see you again?” She asked, as she had everyday since he’d left.

“Too long darling,” he replied as he had every time she asked.

“I have an early morning tomorrow so I have to go. I love you, Darcy.” Lucy said.

“I love you more, Cupcake,” Henry replied, disconnecting the call. He sat back against the headboard of the bed in his hotel room in Mexico City. “Lucy would love it here,” he thought to himself. “She would probably drag me all over seeing this site and that. And I’d enjoy every second of it.” He smiled at the idea. Suddenly he had an idea. He did a quick google search to find just what he was looking for. He wouldn’t be able to take care of it anymore tonight, but tomorrow after his training session, and before his press commitments, he planned a trip he needed to take.

One evening, later that week, Lucy sat in her classroom correcting a stack of tests. She found herself staying later in the evening, since she had gotten approval from the school to bring Kal with her, in his capacity as a therapy dog. He had instantly charmed almost everyone at the school with his infectious grin and loving presence.

Her classroom phone rang. It being after school hours she answered with her less formal, “Hello?” as opposed to “Mrs. Cavill.” It was Gretchen, the office secretary. “A package just arrived for you. It’s in the front office if you want to come pick it up.”

“Thanks Gretchen. I’ll be right down,” Lucy replied, wracking her brain trying to think if she’d ordered anything lately. She entered the office and saw a cardboard box, about a foot and a half square, sitting on the floor, where the deliveries were usually kept. She saw her name on the address label, and looked for a return address. She saw Henry’s name along with the name of the hotel he’d been staying in in Mexico City.

She hefted the box into her arms, it was heavier than she had anticipated. Kal lifted his head from his front paw when she returned to her classroom. “Kal, daddy sent a care package,” she told the dog.She opened the box, and the first thing she saw was a note written in Henry’s confident scrawl.

Cupcake -

Being here in Mexico City reminds me of you. I keep thinking how much you would love being here, and all of the of different things you would drag me to. By the time you get this, I will no doubt be in London already, but my beautiful señora, enjoy these delights from Mexico.

Full discretion, I had Dany translate for me so the shop owners would get exactly what I was thinking. I hope you enjoy everything, and I hope your students enjoy them also, since I know you’ll be sharing with them.

I love you more than words can say, and I’m counting the hours until I get to hold you in my arms again.

Love for always,

- Darcy

Under the note from Henry Lucy found that the box was full of Mexican candies, both traditional things like turron and not so traditional like various suckers coated with chili powder, and gummies shaped like sombreros.

She laughed to herself as she pulled bag after bag of sweet delights from the box. She sorted the goodies into three piles; a pile to share with her students (the fruit suckers and gummy candies), a pile to share with her colleagues (the turrones and other baked goods), and a pile to keep for herself (most of the chocolates). At the very bottom of the box, she even found a treat for Kal.

“Kal, daddy sent you something,” Lucy said, waving the treat in his direction. Kal jumped up from his laying down position, his tail wagging fiercely as his tongue lolled out the side of his mouth. She threw him the treat, which he caught neatly in is mouth, then proceeded to lay down and chew on it.

Lucy snapped several pictures, one of the pile of goodies, one of Kal enjoying his treat, and one of herself giving him an incredulous face. She sent him all three pictures along with a short message. “I got a huge box of goodies today. This is too much! But thank you. Kal loves his treat, and I’m sure the kids will love theirs as well. Love you!”

Finally the day before Spring break arrived. The day dragged like no other day in her history had. Lucy had dropped Kal with her parents for the weekend, and had her suitcase in her car. She had managed to talk one of her colleagues into taking her last hour class, so, combined with her prep period, she could cut out two hours early, and make her early evening flight without having to speed too much to get to the airport.

It was after 10:30 by the time Lucy got to the hotel near Central Park. The lobby was almost empty, except for a few people making their way into or out of the hotel bar. Lucy approached the reception desk.

“Good evening madam, how may I help you?” The smartly dressed man behind the desk asked, with just the slightest hint of a British accent.

“Lucy Cavill, checking in, My husband is already checked in, I just need a key.”

“Certainly madam, I just need to see an ID before I can accommodate you.” Lucy handed over her driver’s license and watched as the man typed on the computer. He placed her license and a key card on the desk in front of her. “Thank you for waiting Mrs. Cavill. Your room is going to be number 2101, take the left bank of elevators, insert your key card into the slot, and it will take you to your floor. Enjoy your stay.”

Lucy thanked the man, and made her way to the elevators. As the elevator ascended, Lucy could feel a calm settling over her the closer she got to Henry. The elevator slowly glided to a stop, as the doors whispered open Lucy took hold of the handle of her suitcase, preparing to step out. She double checked the room number and looked up to see which way she should turn, when she saw him. Henry, leaning against the wall opposite the elevator, waiting for her. She smiled as tears filled her eyes.

She stepped out of the elevator as he pushed off from the wall grinning at her. “Excuse me miss, do you need help finding your room?” He asked, offering her his arm.

“Why thank you, I do get hopelessly lost without help,” she said playing along, taking his proffered arm.

He led her to the room, and waited as she unlocked the door.

She put a hand to his chest as he tried to follow her in, “excuse me sir, I am a married woman, my husband could be here at any moment.”

Henry stepped toward her, slowly gliding his hand around her waist to the small of her back. “That’s ok, I can be quick,” he said, dropping his mouth to hers while backing her into the room.

“You better not be,” Lucy said, stripping off her coat, before falling on him again.

Their hands made quick work of divesting each other of their clothing, leaving a trail of clothes from the door to the bedroom, while their mouths dueled passionately, trying to make up for lost time.

Henry gently lowered them to the bed, slowing his kisses to a more leisurely pace. He pressed slow kisses down her neck, his lips mapping her lines and curves, while his hands explored their way further south. His fingers worked their way to her core, tangling in her curls, finding her hot and ready for him. His fingers played over her folds, while his mouth sought her breast. He sucked one nipple deep into his mouth, his tongue playing over the tip. Lucy groaned in response.

“Henry, please, I need you,” she begged, her system feeling overloaded with sensation.

“No, no, darling. I want to savor this,” he teased, kissing his way to her other breast.

She grabbed his head in her hands, bringing his face back up to hers, looking him in the eye. “You can go slow next time. I need you now,” she said, taking his mouth in a possessive kiss.

“Whatever you want, darling,” Henry replied, sliding his fingers from her core. Lucy whimpered at the sudden loss of sensation, only to release a long groan of satisfaction as he thrust into her in one long smooth stroke, joining them completely. Neither of them moved for a long moment, staring into each other’s eyes, relishing the feeling of being together after so long. Lucy gasped as he slowly retreated, only to thrust home again, her every nerve ending tingling in anticipation.

He continued his torturously slow pace, teasing them both, until he couldn’t control himself anymore. His hips took on a frantic pace, pushing them both to climax, the whole time, their eyes remained locked together. Lucy screamed his name as she came apart in his arms, and he followed her, his body stiffening with the power of his climax.

Henry touched his forehead to Lucy’s, both of them breathing heavily. Lucy took his face between her palms, and kissed him deep, but sweetly. “I’ve missed you.” Henry rolled to the side, bringing Lucy with him. She lay sprawled across his chest as he lay on his back with his arms around her.

“Welcome to New York,” he quipped, once his breathing had returned to normal.

Lucy burrowed her nose into his chest, inhaling his masculine scent. “Mmmm, you smell good,” she commented, then stiffened, her head popping up off his chest. “That’s right, I’m mad at you,” she said, propping herself up on her elbow to look down at him.

“Me? What did I do?” He asked, genuinely confused.

“You, sir, have been doing copious amounts of interviews wearing these damned button down shirts, and you leave the top three buttons undone. That is just plain mean, and unnecessarily sexy. Do you know what it’s like for me to watch all these interviews of my husband, looking like god’s gift to women, then have to go to bed alone? So like I said, I’m mad at you.”

“Oh, my darling, I’m so sorry,” he said dramatically.

“Well, you’ve got about six weeks of sexual frustration to help me work off, so you better get to it,” she commanded.

He smiled while rolling her back onto her back, “yes ma’am,” he said, slowly kissing his way down her body.

Saturday morning, after an intense round of lovemaking, Lucy and Henry were eating breakfast in bed. “So, darling, what are your plans for the morning?”

“Apparently Dany has me booked into a bunch of spa treatments here, before it’s time to get ready for the premiere. So really I should ask you, what your plans are,” she said ripping off a piece of croissant.

“I will be at the spa as well. Apparently I’m in desperate need of a moisturizing treatment, or some such thing. Later I have a thing to do, so Dany will take you to the premiere, and I will meet you there,” Henry explained, munching on a strawberry.

“Is this that charity thing?” She asked, and Henry nodded in answer.

Lucy and Henry, dressed very casually in sweatpants and T-shirts, made their way to the spa several floors below their room. They stepped off the elevator and followed the signage to the spa. A tall man with dark hair was several paces ahead of them, walking in the same direction.

Henry called out to the man, “Ben!” The man slowed his pace and turned at Henry’s voice. “Ben, I’d like to introduce you to my wife, Lucy. Lucy this is Ben.”

Lucy stood frozen, staring up at the incredibly tall man standing next to her husband. He extended his hand toward her, “Lucy, it’s so great to finally meet you.”

Lucy took the hand, and shook it weakly, “It’s nice to meet you, Ben...Affleck…” she greeted, and giggled nervously.

“Are you enjoying New York?” Ben asked, trying to put her at ease, as the three continued on their way to the spa.

“I got in late last night, I had to work yesterday,” Lucy explained.

“Well, I, for one, am glad you could come, because I don’t know if I could take anymore of this one moping around like a love sick puppy,” Ben laughed, slapping Henry on the shoulder.

“Hey, be nice,” Lucy said in her teacher voice, “we haven’t even been married for three months. We’re literally in the honeymoon stage,” Lucy laughed.

“Well, Lucy, it was lovely to meet you, and I will see you later at the premiere. Bye Henry, see you later,” Ben said, walking off with the spa attendant.

Lucy and Henry were separated to go to their individual treatments. Lucy’s day started in the steam room. She was shown to a changing room and told to disrobe, wrap herself in a towel, and someone would collect her from the steam room when it was time. When Lucy entered the hot, moist tiled room, there were already two women in there, chatting. Lucy sat on one of the benches they weren’t occupying and leaned her head against the tiles. The women continued their conversation. Lucy tried not to eavesdrop, but the room wasn’t very big, and she was positive she recognized one of the voices.

“Excuse me,” she said butting into the conversation, “sorry to interrupt, but you’re Amy Adams aren’t you?” Lucy asked the red-headed woman.

“I am,” she answered warily.

Lucy stuck out her hand toward the woman. “Lucy Cavill, you’re my husband’s girlfriend.”

Instantly the woman’s face changed from a mask of uncertainty, to a full smile. “Lucy it’s so great to meet you finally. Henry’s told us so much about you,” she said, taking Lucy’s hand. “Congratulations on the wedding, by the way.”

“Thank you. It still doesn’t quite seem real, but the name plate outside my door says Mrs. Cavill, so, I guess it’s true!” Lucy joked.

“When did you two get married?” The other woman asked, with a slight accent that Lucy couldn’t place.

“New Year’s Eve, it was a great time, and a great party. I’m sorry, I don’t know you,” Lucy said extending her hand to the stunning brunette.

Amy jumped in, “Oh, Lucy, this is Gal. She’s in the movie too. She plays Wonder Woman.”

A light of recognition turned on in Lucy’s brain as the woman took her hand. “It’s very nice to meet you Lucy.”

“Likewise, Gal.”

The three women chatted like old friends until they were collected one by one, by the spa staff. Lucy spent the rest of the morning being rubbed and smeared and exfoliated. When she was deemed done, she was directed back to her room, where she found the suite much changed from that morning.

When she and Henry had left, the living room area of the suite held two couches and a coffee table. Now a full makeup station, complete with lighted vanity, and been set-up, and what appeared to be a small hair salon. Dany was also there, looking gorgeous in a black jumpsuit with a wide gold belt.

Dany greeted Lucy with a quick hug, before directing her to the chair set-up in the middle of the room. The hair stylist consulted with her about what she would like to do. “I was thinking, like old Hollywood glam curls, like Blake Lively is fond of,” she said.

The stylist got to work as Dany outlined everything that would happen that afternoon. Her hair was still in rollers, when Henry entered wearing a charcoal suit, and looking dashing as ever. “Darling, I have to leave now, but before I go, I wanted to give you this,” he said, producing a long flat rectangular jewelry box. “I love the dress you chose for tonight, but we just thought it could use some color,” he explained handing her the box.

She opened the box to find a bracelet in the velvet lined space. Blue teardrop opals were arranged around sapphires to create a grouping of flowers that gathered into a silver branch encircling her wrist. She raised her gaze to Henry, “Henry, this is too much, you shouldn’t have,” she protested.

He silenced her protests with a kiss, “I should have, and I did. I have to be going, I will see you on the red carpet. Dany, take care of my girl.”

“She can take care of herself, I’ll just make sure she looks fabulous. Now go, you don’t want to be late,” Dany shooed him out the door.

Over an hour later, Lucy was primped and painted and squeezed into the dress she chose. It was as beautiful as she remembered, and the silver nail polish she’d chosen at the salon earlier that week in Minnesota went perfectly.

She and Dany rode the elevator down to the parking garage where a limo was waiting to take them to the premiere. Once they were safely ensconced in the car, Dany reminded her, “now that you and Henry are married, the press will probably be more interested in you. Feel free to answer whatever questions you want, if you don’t want to answer the question, say that’s something you and Henry need to discuss. Make sure to always be smiling, even or especially when you’re not in the picture grouping. We don’t want rumors starting that there’s already trouble in your marriage.”

Lucy’s head was spinning trying to remember everything, but once she got to the waiting area and saw Henry, she just did what came naturally. Lucy stood nervously but proudly next to Henry for each photo session. When she wasn’t needed, Dany was there to talk to. She saw Henry gesture in her direction several times while talking to different media outlets, but he never waved her over to join him in the interview.

Finally the time came for them to sit down in the theater for the movie. When he appeared wearing his Clark Kent clothes, she leaned over and whispered, “you should wear glasses more often.”

“Just wait,” he whispered back, as Clark sat on the edge of the bathtub talking to Lois. Lucy gripped his thigh when Clark climbed into the tub.

“That was hot,” Lucy whispered, when the scene ended.

“That’s the short version, we filmed so much more than that,” he replied.

“There was more?” She asked, fanning herself.

As the movie came to a close, and they were exiting the theater, Lucy turned to Henry. “So, you’re just dead? Superman can’t die. Just give him some sunlight! How can they film a Justice League movie without Superman? I don’t understand.”

“I’m dead, but not dead,” he said before lowering his voice so only she could hear. “When I get home, I’ll let you read the script.”

“You better. You could have warned me that you were going to die. I really didn’t appreciate that!”

“I’m so sorry, darling, what can I do to make it up to you?” He asked suggestively.

“Well, that thing you did this morning, that would help,” she smiled at him.

“Consider it done, Cupcake,” he promised, pressing a kiss to her temple. “But until then, let’s party.”

They put in their time at the party. Lucy stuck with Henry for the most of the night. They received many congratulations on their marriage, and answered questions about the wedding all night. Lucy had a great conversation with Amy about life, and she gave Lucy some tips to remember about being married to an actor. Lucy found out later that someone had taken a picture of the two of them talking and posted it on one of the celebrity gossip sites, with the caption “Mrs. Cavill, and Mrs. Superman”.

Henry and Lucy said their goodbyes and took their leave of the party around midnight. Lucy laid her head on his shoulder as they rode the elevator up to their floor. They were both tired and more than a little tipsy. Once they were alone in their room, Henry’s hands began to roam, while his lips took nibbling bites of Lucy’s lips.

“You’re going to have to help me out of this dress,” Lucy said, “and what’s underneath it.”

Henry began to slowly lower the zipper of the dress, while kissing the back of her neck, “oh, I intend to.”

“No, I’m serious, I’m wearing a double layer of Spanx under this, I haven’t taken a full breath since you gave me the bracelet.”

“Well, then let’s get you out of them,” he insisted. She stepped out of the dress, and hung it up, before turning back to Henry in her decidedly unsexy compression underwear.

Henry walked toward her, he tried to work his fingers into the top of the band that stopped just under her breasts. His fingers wouldn’t fit. “Darling, how are you supposed to get out of that? It’s so tight,” he said, laughter in his voice.

“I think my best bet with this one is rolling,” she laughed, as she pressed her palms to the top of the band. It slowly started to roll over on itself. “You may want to step back, this could be a can biscuit dough situation,” she laughed holding her hand up toward him. Finally the support band rolled itself until it stopped at her thighs. She heaved a huge breath, pulling it off the rest of the way, before flopping on the bed on her back.

Henry himself had collapsed in a fit of giggles, from her expressions and comments. He managed to crawl over to the bed, and lever himself up next to Lucy. He propped himself up on his elbow and caressed her face with his hand. “My darling, life with you will never be boring,” he said, pressing a kiss to her lips.

Chapter 61 Chapter 63

#Henry Cavill #Henry Cavill fanfic #Henry Cavill fan fic #Henry Cavill fanfiction #Henry Cavill fan fiction #Carried Away #Kal Cavill

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aion-rsa · 3 years

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Jupiter’s Legacy: Mark Millar on the Genesis of His Superhero Story

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Superheroes have a long history. After flying onto the scene more than eight decades ago, led by Superman, along with fellow octogenarians Batman, Wonder Woman, and Captain America, the pantheon of capes-and-tights characters has expanded to include countless more. And as legendary creators made their mark across decades, the origins and powers of these icons transformed almost as frequently as their costumes.

Meanwhile, the superhero team The Union, from the comic book saga Jupiter’s Legacy, have 90 years of consistent fictional history, with a singular overarching story, envisioned by one man: Mark Millar.

After discovering both Superman and Spider-Man comics the same day, at the age of four in Scotland (where he grew up), the now 51-year-old writer would go on to make a significant impact on the superpowered set. But he wanted his own pantheon.

And with Jupiter’s Legacy, Mark Millar has created a long history of superheroes of his own—now set to be adapted as a Netflix series.

“I wanted to do an epic,” he says. “Like The Lord of the Rings, or Star Wars… the ultimate superhero story.”

Co-created with artist Frank Quitely and published by Image Comics in 2013, Millar calls Jupiter’s Legacy his love letter to superheroes—and part of his own legacy.

The story begins in 1932 with a mysterious island that grants powers to a group of friends who then adopt the costumed monikers The Utopian, Lady Liberty, Brainwave, Skyfox, The Flare, and Blue Bolt. Told on a grand scale with cross-genre influences, the story spans three arcs: the prequel Jupiter’s Circle (with art by Wilfredo Torres), Jupiter’s Legacy, and the upcoming June 16, 2021 release Jupiter’s Legacy: Requiem (featuring art by Tommy Lee Edwards). With the May 7 debut of the Jupiter’s Legacy series on Netflix, the story will now also be told in live action.

Millar established himself in the comics industry in 1993 and crafted successful stories including Superman: Red Son, Wolverine: Old Man Logan, The Ultimates, and Marvel Comics’ Civil War—all of which have inspired adaptations and films, and led to him becoming a creative consultant at Fox Studios on its Marvel projects. His creator-owned titles Kingsman: The Secret Service, Kick-Ass, and Wanted, have likewise spawned hit movies.

But compared to Jupiter’s Legacy, none of those possessed such massive scope and aspiration as the story that explores the evolving ideologies of superpowered individuals, and how involved they should be when it comes to solving the world’s problems. Relationships are forged—and shattered by betrayal—with startling violence and titanic action sequences (both part of Millar’s signature style).

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“From Superman and the Justice League to Marvel to British comics—inspired by guys like Alan Moore, and so on, I’ve thrown it in there… it’s got a bit of everything,” he says.

That “everything” extends beyond comic books. Millar drew inspiration from King Kong’s Skull Island, and references the cosmic aesthetic of 2001: A Space Odyssey, which informed the “sci-fi stuff.” The writings of horror author H.P. Lovecraft “were a big thing for me,” when it came to The Island, created by aliens, “that existed before humanity, and that these people are drawn out towards where they get their superpowers.” The character Sheldon Sampson/The Utopian is a Clark Kent/Superman type, but his cohort George Hutchence/Skyfox is more than a millionaire playboy stand-in for Bruce Wayne. Rather, Millar based him on British actors from the 1960s—Peter O’Toole, Oliver Reed, Richard Burton, Richard Harris—who were suave rascals.

“I loved the idea of a superhero having a good time, getting on with girls, drinking whisky, smoking lots of cigarettes,” Millar said.

At the risk of sounding “so pretentious,” Millar jokes, he also pulled from Shakespeare. Indeed, the comics are as much a family saga as a superhero one (and written by the much younger brother of six whose parents died before he was 20). Utopian is a father to his own disappointing children, and a father of sorts to all heroes. He is Lear as much as he is Jupiter, the Roman god of gods. The end of his reign approaches, and various factions have their own appetite for power—such as his self-righteous brother who thinks he should be a leader, or Utopian’s son, born into the family business of being a hero, but who could never live up to his father’s expectations, or his daughter who is more interested in fame than heroism.

He views Jupiter’s Legacy as more thoughtful than Kick-Ass, Kingsman, or Wanted. The plot’s driving action hinges on a debate about the superheroes’ philosophies and moral imperatives. It seeks to address a question Millar asked when he was a kid reading comics.

“Why doesn’t Superman solve the world’s problems?” he recalls thinking. “Why didn’t he interfere and stop wars from even existing?… Is it ethically wrong to stand aside and just maintain the status quo, especially when the status quo creates so many problems for a lot of people?”

On one side of the debate, Utopian believes interfering too much with society’s trajectory is a bad move. It’s not that he is cynical; quite the opposite. He thinks things are actually improving in the world. His viewpoint is there are less people hungry across the globe than ever before, and less people with disease. Millar describes Utopian as a “Truth, Justice, and the American Way” kind of hero, to borrow a phrase associated with Superman, and believes capitalism works. As his hero name suggests, Utopian thinks a better world is within reach, even if it takes generations, and encourages even the heroes to be patient and trust people to do the right thing because they are innately good.

“He says, if you look at the difference somebody like Bill Gates has made in Africa—just one guy—if you look at capitalism taken to the Nth degree, then it pulls everybody up, and poverty in places like India, is massively better just compared to a generation ago.”

Besides, as Utopian says to his impatient brother Walter/Brainwave, in Jupiter’s Legacy #1, being a caped hero doesn’t make them economists and, “Just because you can fly doesn’t mean you know how to balance a budget.” Plus, the notion of using psychic powers or brute force to simply make the world “better” is out of the question. Or is it?

The mainstream awareness of superheroes baked in from more than 80 years of stories, and the shorthand that especially comes with 13 years of the Marvel Cinematic Universe commercial juggernaut, has provided Millar with a set of archetypes to lean into. It was true of the hero proxies in the Jupiter’s Legacy books, and he says it’s true of the show. In fact, he says audiences are so sophisticated with regards to these types of characters they’ll be able to immediately slip into his universe, and that “a lot of the hard work has been done for us.” He adds that audience literacy with superhero tropes also provided him something to push against.

“The Marvel characters lock these guys up in prison at the end of these movies,” Millar says. “Everything’s tied up neatly with a bow, the rich are still the rich, the poor are still starving, and the superheroes aren’t really doing anything for the common man in any very global sense. These guys have just had enough of that.”

Millar’s comics technically kick off in 1932, when Sheldon first brings his friends on a journey to The Island, but his story goes back to 1929 when the stock market crashed, and the Great Depression began. This is likewise when the Netflix series will begin, and Millar says it’s because of the historic parallels between then and 2021.

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“We’ve been in a similar situation as we are now: there’s impending financial collapse coming out of a global pandemic,” he says. “The idea is that history continues and repeats itself, and people make the same mistakes over and over again, and the superheroes are saying, ‘Let’s actually fix everything.’”

Continuing the theme of parallels, when discussing the inception of Jupiter’s Legacy with Millar, The Godfather Part II comes up more than once because of the film’s dual storylines following Vito Corleone and son Michael, separated by decades. However, while the comics contain some flashbacks, the plot doesn’t unfold across different time periods simultaneously. But the Netflix series will shift between eras, with half of the show during the season taking place in 1929, for which Millar credits Steven S. DeKnight, who developed the series.

“The way Steven structured it was really brilliant, because I saw these taking place over two [different] years,” Millar says. “[But] The Godfather Part II track shows you the father and the son at the same age and juxtaposes their two lives.”

As a result, he says the series is a visual mash-up of genres that’s both classical and futuristic.

“It just feels like a beautiful period movie, then when it gets cosmic, and it gets to the superhero stuff, it’s a double wow… it’s like seeing Once Upon a Time in America suddenly directed by Stanley Kubrick doing 2001.”

This is a notable advantage to bringing the story to television, as opposed to making Jupiter’s Legacy three two-hour films as he originally planned with producer Lorenzo di Bonaventura in 2015. Millar says that to tell the Jupiter’s Legacy story properly on screen would require 40 hours, and with a series, what would have been a one-minute flashback in a movie can now be revealed in two hours of its own.

It was another director who has since made a name adapting ambitious comic book properties that extolled to Millar the benefits of television: James Gunn. When Gunn (Guardians of the Galaxy, The Suicide Squad) had a chat with Millar about the project, Gunn said it could never be done as a movie. “The smartest guy in the world is James Gunn,” Millar says.

An exciting challenge of adapting his work for television is that the series will expand on the backstories and concepts of the books. For example when Sheldon Sampson and his friends head to The Island in the first issue, it takes up six pages. Within the series, half of the first season is that journey, and what happens when they arrive.

“Six issues of a graphic novel are roughly about an hour and 10 minutes of a movie; for something like an eight-part drama on TV, you really have to flesh it out,” he says. “It just goes a little deeper than what I had maybe two panels do.”

He emphasizes, however, that these flourishes won’t contradict the comics. Though he sold Millarworld to Netflix, he remains president so he can maintain control of his creations.

Overall the series has made the writer realize the value of television, and while a second season has not yet been confirmed, he’s already thinking about a third and fourth, and how it will dovetail with the upcoming Requiem. The story that began in 1929 continued through 2021, and collected in four volumes, will soon continue far into the future in the concluding two volumes.

“We saw the parents, then we have the present, and then we see their children in the next storyline,” he says. “That storyline goes way off into the future where we discover everything about humanity, superheroes, all these things. It’s a big, grand, high-concept, sci-fi thing beyond that.”

Listening to the jovial Millar discuss the scope of his Jupiter universe, which is imbued with optimism, one might not think this is the same person known for employing graphic violence in his works.

He thinks his films especially are violent yet hopeful, and fun. Kingsman is a rags-to-riches story, and “you feel great at the end of Kick-Ass, even though you’ve seen 200 people knifed in the face.” But he doesn’t consider his writing to fit under the dark-and-gritty label, and he’s not interested in angst, which he finds dull. With Jupiter’s Legacy, the comic and the show, he views the tone as complex but not “overtly dark.”

Additionally, Millar says he thinks society needs hopeful characters such as Captain America, Superman, and yes, The Utopian in 2021—as opposed to an ongoing genre trend of heroes drowning in pathos.

“The Superman-type characters are just now something from a pop culture, societal point of view, we need more than ever,” he says. “The last thing you want is seeing the world as dark, as something that makes you feel bad. Never forget Superman was created just before World War II in the midst of the economic depression by two Jewish kids who were just scraping a living together… I just think it’s so important when things are tough to have a character like that that makes you feel good.”

Even though Utopian suffers for his idealism in the comic, Millar says his ideas are passed on. This is The Utopian’s legacy.

“Ultimately, he wins if you think about it,” ponders Millar.

After a successful career spent creating characters and re-shaping superheroes with 80 years of history, the new pantheon of Jupiter’s Legacy may become one of the defining and lasting features of Mark Millar’s own legacy.

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Jupiter’s Legacy premieres on Netflix on May 7. Read more about the series in our special edition magazine!

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purplesurveys · 4 years

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1108

[created by: vyvyan86]

What did you think you were good at, until you saw someone else do it? Probably at being detail-oriented. I’ve always held secretarial positions so I knew I was somewhat good at it, but my manager is far more capable than me to a ridiculous extent; she’s great at catching mistakes or knowing the right questions to ask.

What's a fun fact you tell in social situations? About me? The go-to fact that has never failed me before is that I don’t like fruits. Alllllllways riles up an entire crowd, and it’s such an easy way to break the ice hahaha.

What's something you're positive that only you do? I don’t enjoy chicken meat too much, so when I eat fried chicken I usually tear off the chicken skin (the only part I like) and give the rest of the meat to whoever wants it - usually my parents, or my dogs if they’re around.

What is something nice going on in your life right now? I’ve been feeling more free than lonely, which is a crucial mindset shift I needed in order to start healing.

What was the pinnacle of wealth to you as a child? Probably Lisa Frank merchandise, or a Speed Stack set.

What's something that you hate, but can't live without? Delayed flights are extremely inconvenient especially when I’m already itching to be back home, and they’re bound to happen every now and then, so.

What skill do you not talk about, because you feel it sounds like bragging? I’m not sure if I can say anything in the field of skills, but there are topics outside of talents that I do shy away from talking about because I don’t want to sound like I’m showing off. One of them is certain relatives I have.

What is an absolute 100% fact? I have work tomorrow and I’m dreading it as always because Monday. I already have 11 items lined up on my to-do list and it’s making my stomach turn.

What's the most useless thing you've memorized? Multiple episodes of Friends in their entirety.

What is your personal curse? My...what?

Who's the worst person you've encountered on the Internet? The trolls/bots employed to praise the government.

Do you ever stop and think, “what the hell am I doing with my life?” Just every once in a while. I don’t run into this crisis too often, and most of the time I always have a reason to be satisfied with where I happen to be in life.

What are some of the small things in life you enjoy? Feeling fresh after a shower; the scent that wafts from the kitchen when my parents have started cooking or baking something; lightning-speed internet; and driving at night.

What happened recently that made you really happy? I took myself out on a self-date for the first time last night. I’ve taken myself out before, but it was always at some coffee shop where I can stay for a few hours and take a survey or two – and people are usually alone there, anyway. I’ve never eaten out on my own, or went beyond getting coffee, before. I feel like last night was such an important mark for my newfound independence, and I let myself be emotional while I was downing my ramen. I can’t believe I’m getting better; I never thought I’d see the day. :)

If death wasn't a consequence, what would you try? Probably touching stuff that aren’t meant to be touched to know how they’d feel like, like lava.

What's the dumbest thing you've heard someone say? Superlatives are always hard to determine...but I’ll be happy to refer you to most of the quotes Duterte has said over the last five years of his presidency.

What is the worst smell you can remember? The sour stench of rotten food always gets me. Other than that, my stomach is a bit of a trooper when it comes to smells so I haven’t smelled a lot of stuff I’ve found to be terrible.

What's something you want that doesn't exist yet? Some kind of invention that lets you Control+F in real life. I can’t even begin to imagine how infinitely convenient this would make things.

Where is your happy place? In my car, driving at night with the right mix of songs to accompany me.

What song gets better the louder it gets? Born For This by Paramore or New Day by The Bouncing Souls.

What's the most deceptive advertising you've seen? Menu items, mostly. Like the one time a local pancake joint promoted their limited edition red velvet pancakes; I was big on red velvet at the time so I hurriedly ordered it, excited to see how they applied it to pancakes; but was disappointed to see that they were only about the size of my palm.

I honestly don’t mind deceptive advertising for fast food since people should really expect to get what they pay for - so for the most part I don’t find myself feeling betrayed by sloppy-looking Big Macs hahaha - but the pancake place I was referring to was a sit-down restaurant so I did feel a bit upset seeing how sad and tiny my pancakes looked.

What's a joke you always tell people you meet for the first time? Back when I still went to school and we were required to introduce ourselves on the first day of classes, my go-to line was a joke in itself. I liked saying, “Hi, my name is Robyn. You can call me Robyn,” because for some reason it was the quickest way to get chuckles out of my classmates. I guess it’s in the way I deliver the line, but yeah that’s my way of breaking the ice.

What's the biggest inconvenience that does NOT ruin your day? When my dogs do their business somewhere they’re not supposed to. My dogs are my babies haha, so it’s easy to forgive them.

What's your best wrong number story? I don’t know if I have one. I usually ignore/block wrong numbers lol.

What's something everybody should know how to do? Approach intersections slowly, whether they’re walking or driving.

What is a great movie no one knows about? I suppose it’s quite known given the cast is has and the awards it got to have or be nominated for, but no one in my circle knows about it - Revolutionary Road.

What type of person could the world use less of? People who spit in public.

What makes you think, 'Oh dear, I'm old...'? Erm, maybe the fact that you can ask some kids if they know who Hannah Montana or Drake and Josh are, and it’s very likely that they would say no. Also, the fact that current college students were born in the 2000s.

What is one food that you hated as a kid, but love now? Vegetables and my grandma’s chicken curry.

What makes you tingle? Whispering in my ear.

What was your travel nightmare? Any time our flight would get delayed 2-3 times and we have to wait an extra hour per announcement. Even worse if the plane itself takes foreverrrrrrrrr to get clearance to take off.

What’s the best Wi-Fi name you’ve seen? Nacho’s wifi was “Yell ‘Bayani si Marcos’ for password,” which is “Yell “Marcos is a hero” for password.” It’s in reference to Ferdinand Marcos, a former president who doubled as a murderous dictator and thief and is of course not a hero, but for some weird reason is still revered like a god by people from his hometown, including my mom and grandmother. I’ve kept his wifi name on file on my laptop and have no plans to delete it.

What weird thing turns you on? Haha I don’t think anything I’m into can fall under ‘weird.’ I’m not into anything much in the first place.

What's easy to learn, but hard to master? Any sport.

What's something you've changed your opinion on? Certain politicians I used to look up to, but have since learned that they have unfavorable tendencies or traits as well.

Describe your favorite movie as obscurely as possible: A couple drives for the entire movie.

What's the most satisfying thing you've ever felt? So at work I have to use this extension called YAMM and it’s basically a way to be able to mass-send emails to hundreds and even thousands of recipients. I use it regularly to send press releases to media, and it makes me anxious every single time because one mistake can fuck up the spelling of names or the order of email addresses. Every time I accomplish a YAMM send-out without any mistakes I exhale a giant ass sigh of relief.

If you had a refilling bowl, what would you want it to contain? Money or macarons.

Where do you mostly live? In the past, the present or the future? Up until recently, I used to think a lot about the future; in the latest ~chapter of my life I had been finishing up college, figuring out what job.I wanted, and was in a long-term relationship, so it was inevitable for me to think about next steps. Now that I’ve gone/am going through all these massive changes, I’ve found that this time around it’s a lot healthier for me to stay in the present and be happy with what and who I have.

What is more important to you, the way you look or the ideas you present? The ideas and thoughts I have to offer, of course. The current generation doesn’t care as much for physical looks anymore, which I’d say is a great improvement from before.

What don't people get about what it's like to be you? I’m not that rare a snowflake lol, but I guess when it comes to certain things, like my breakup, I’ve since preferred to be insanely private about them (except on here, of course) so that I don’t have to take the whole neighborhood along in my healing process.

If your bedroom had three portals to anywhere, where would they lead? Another country, a coffee shop, and a beach.

How is parallel universe you doing? I hope she’s happier when it comes to love.

Which historical event should be the next huge television series? I’ve always wanted a fictionalized take on the British royal family, so The Crown already works out pretty well for me, actually.

What country should fictional villains be from? Any answer to this would be offensive lmao, so pass.

What is your imaginary Eden? Living conveniently in the condo of my dreams, making enough money to live comfortably and having easy access to whatever food I’m craving at any given moment.

Which Disney princess would make the best villain? I haven’t seen all the princess movies, so I’m not so sure if I can judge well on this.

You can ask any author one question about their story. What do you ask? I’d probably just ask Angie Sage if movie adaptations for Septimus Heap will still push through because I’ve been waiting on them since I was a lot younger.

Would you want a rewind or a pause button for your life? Why that one? Pause. So that if I’m feeling happy, I have the option to stay there longer if I want.

Are you worth your weight in gold? Idk.

#survey #surveys

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worryinglyinnocent · 7 years

Text

Fic: Love is a Layered Cake (7/10)

Summary: Summer has come, and with it, the Great British Bake-Off. Sheep farmer and spinner Rum Gold is one of twelve contestants competing for the crown in the latest show. In addition to navigating the perils of televised baking, ridiculous challenges and his fellow bakers, he also has to contend with his undeniable crush on one of the judges, the beautiful and talented Belle French…

Rated: G

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[Week One: Cake] [Week Two: Biscuits] [Week Three: Bread] [Week Four: Pies and Tarts] [Week Five: Desserts] [Week Six: Pastry] [AO3]

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Week Seven: European-Inspired Cakes

In which Gold gets into Ella’s good books and seriously considers chloroforming Aunt Elvira, and Belle has a night on the tiles.

Also, Jefferson performs edifying feats of edible architecture.

[For reference, savarins are made in ring moulds and kugelhopfs are made in moulds similar to US bundt moulds.]

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Belle was feeling distinctly positive as she pulled up outside the filming venue and entered the building. She was one of the first to arrive and availed herself of the fresh coffee that had been put out in the break room before anyone else could get to it. Things seemed to be looking up in all respects. She and Gold were moving along quite nicely, she felt, and their friendship, well, a little bit more than a friendship now, was definitely cemented. She knew that he was available, and that he was definitely looking for something more than what they already had. That was a good sign. She was very much looking forward to seeing him again today and she hoped that the future would hold something spectacular. Even if he did end up going home this week, she knew that she could ask him for his number without any kind of guilt or unease creeping up on her, and she was certain that they could keep in touch.

“Morning Belle,” Leroy said as he entered the break room. Belle could see Astrid rushing hither and thither outside the open door, and she wondered what on earth it was that had to be done so early that required such speed, but she didn’t ask. Astrid had already proven herself to be an incredibly invaluable member of the crew and it wouldn’t do to question her tasks. If she was doing it then it was important, whereas all Belle had to do was turn up on the day and talk to the camera. She remembered when she had first started doing baking shows on the TV; she had been so nervous and would never look at the camera properly, always addressing the person who was standing off to one side with the boom mic. Over the years she had shed her fears considerably and the camera was now just another thing in the room, another observer. Seeing the bakers’ reactions to the camera was always fun, and it was great to see the ways that they relaxed over the course of the show as they became used to its presence - and in some cases befriended the camera operators. Jefferson had been a natural in front of the camera from the first day, and Emma had not been bad either. Gold, Aurora and Regina had taken a little bit more coaxing out of their shells, but they too were now talking through the steps of their recipes with the camera operators with ease. At least one of them - probably Jefferson - would go on to other television appearances, even if it was just being invited back to one of the bake-off Christmas specials, wherein they asked a few previous contestants to return to the tent for one more weekend of baking and camaraderie. There were still a few more months before they had to think about that though. Best to get through the current competition first. Belle thought back to the filming work that she had done during the week with Granny - alongside the bake-off, the production company also filmed a series of how-to segments that would be aired after the series finished showing how all the various technical challenges ought to be made and giving people ideas for their own signature bakes. This week, Granny had been making kouign-amann and Belle had been perfecting puff pastry. It was always an enjoyable experience filming the segments with Granny, and even now, years after she had learned to bake and begun her career in the professional patisserie world, Belle was still learning new things.

She stopped to chat to Leroy for a bit as the other bakers began to arrive in the room, then with some reluctance she moved away into the little ante-room that she shared with Granny. Passing the open front doors on her way, she could see a taxi pulling up at the gates, and a familiar figure with greying hair and a cane getting out of it, and Belle smiled.

Bonjour tout le monde!” Jefferson exclaimed as he came into the break room. Gold raised an eyebrow and took a sip of tea. His enthusiasm was laudable, but it was too early in the morning for it to be reasonably applauded. For his part, the tailor just rolled his eyes at the lack of response to his greeting and came over to get some coffee.

“Honestly, all I’m trying to do is inject a little bit of European verve into the day to get us all ready for the challenge.”

“Jeff, I have not had any coffee yet, therefore my brain can barely understand English let alone a language I’ve never learned,” Emma muttered. “Although I am looking forward to this week’s challenges. Maybe not the technical, I don’t think anyone ever looks forward to the technical.” She narrowed her eyes at Jeff. “Well, except perhaps you, because you’re weird.”

“I look forward to the challenge, not necessarily to the recipe,” Jefferson said. “These are the things that you have to embrace in the competition. We can’t change it so there’s no use in dreading it. Jump in with both feet I say, and grab the bull by the balls.”

“I think you’re mixing metaphors there, Jeff,” Lance said. “I certainly wouldn’t want to grab anything by the balls, least of all a bull.”

“Don’t try it with a ram, either,” Gold said dryly. “I can speak from personal experience on that one.”

The other gathered bakers looked at him with expressions ranging from the startled to the disgusted to the faintly admiring, and he gave a snort of laughter. “Perhaps I won’t start the lecture on animal husbandry before we’ve even started with food today, it might put us off. But if you ever do want any tips on healthy sheep breeding, I’m right here.”

“I trust your own appendages are intact following the incident with the ram?” Jefferson inquired politely. Gold just looked at him. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

The subject was thankfully dropped as Astrid came in to fit their mic packs and Ursula rushed in, grabbing a pastry from the breakfast basket.

“Morning all,” she said. “Slightly held up in make-up. Ella drew her eyebrows on wonky this morning and neither of us noticed. I’m not sure what’s worrying, the fact I didn’t realise or that I thought she was just giving me a permanently surprised look for no apparent reason and didn’t question it. Still, good luck for today and I’m sure you’ll all do well. I’ll see you down in the tent in a minute.”

Soon enough they were being herded down into the tent ready for filming to begin. Whatever Ella had done to her eyebrows had evidently been fixed, as Gold could see no difference to their usual starkness. Still, enough of the presenters’ eyebrows, it was time to bake.

“Good morning bakers,” Ursula began. “Welcome to the first day of a weekend inspired by European cakes. Considering our rather tenuous position within the EU at the moment, we decided that it was probably a good idea to get this week out of the way in case it causes anything politically catastrophic down the line.”

“For your signature challenge this week, Granny and Belle would like you to make a cake inspired by a traditional European bake - a savarin or a kugelhopf, or something along those lines. This cake must be leavened with yeast instead of a raising agent such as baking powder. You have three hours to complete your cakes, so on your marks.”

“Get set.”

“Bake!”

The usual flurry of activity in the tent began, and Gold got to work. Up until being selected for the bake-off, he had never heard of using yeast in a cake before, and he’d had to do some research into the types of cakes that used it. The baking cupboard in his kitchen did play host to a beautiful kugelhopf mould that he had never used and had never had cause to question. It had belonged to his Aunt Miriam and had been passed down the generations ever since her grandmother had brought it over with her from Germany, but according to his Aunt Elvira she’d never used it in all the years she’d been living in the farmhouse, and since all the old recipes that he could have used from Miriam’s stash were in German and coming up for one hundred years old, he didn’t really have a lot to go on in terms of tried and tested recipes. In the end he’d resorted to scouring the Internet, and was going with a rich chocolate and hazelnut cake, drizzled with syrup.

With fewer bakers to get around now, Belle and Granny seemed to be taking their time in talking to each of the contestants, spending a little more time with each one instead of rushing away to the next person, and as a result when they came to Gold, his mixture was already in the proving drawer, waiting until it rose to the top of the tin. That was a problem that Gold had discovered during the practice bakes he had made - because the kugelhopf tin was patterned all the way to the very top, if the mixture did not rise enough then it would lose definition and not look even. He’d tried to make the dough as quickly as he could it order to give it maximum rising time, but it would still need about an hour in the oven to make sure that it was well cooked all the way through. He was busying himself measuring out the ingredients that would form his syrup when the camera crew arrived.

“Good morning Mr Gold,” said Ella. “I can already tell that whatever you’re making I am very much going to enjoy it.” She indicated the large bottle of chocolate liqueur that was standing on his workbench and that would form the basis of his syrup. “In fact, I don’t really care all that much about the cake, just give me the syrup.”

“Well, I care about the cake,” Granny said. “What kind of a cake are you making, Raymond?”

“This will be a chocolate and hazelnut marbled kugelhopf, with a chocolate liqueur syrup, drizzled with white and dark chocolate.”

“It sounds lovely,” Belle said. “How have your practice attempts turned out?”

“Not too bad, considering I made up the recipe from about three different ones and I’m using a mould that’s almost a century old. I’m just hoping that I get a really good marbled swirl throughout the cake, as the last thing we want are lumps of colour. I was reading that the traditional kugelhopfs were marbled cakes, so that was what I went with today.”

“Well, the best of luck to you,” Granny said. “Just make sure that your syrup doesn’t crystalise on the top of the cake, make sure it soaks in nicely.”

“Yes, no pressure there at all, Granny,” Ella said sagely. “Whatever happens, I am very much looking forward to tasting it.”

Belle raised an eyebrow. “I would never have guessed.”

Given the size and comparative density of the cakes, they required a long bake, and by necessity towards the end of the bake they ended up spending a long period sitting around watching their ovens. Gold had managed to get the necessary rise on his dough before it went into the oven so he just hoped that it would hold its shape and not sag. It was a good opportunity to find out what everyone else was making and track down the delicious smell of cinnamon that was pervading the tent. It turned out to be coming from Regina’s bench, where she was caramelising apple slices to top her kugelhopf with.

“I cook a lot with apples,” she said. “I just hope that people don’t start to associate me with them too much. I know we all made fun of Zelena for making everything green, but in all seriousness I don’t want it to become my trademark. I just have a huge apple tree at home and I can’t use them quick enough.”

Lance had gone with an orange savarin that Ella was also looking forward to sampling given the large quantities of Cointreau in the glaze, and Leroy was lamenting the fact that his almond and raspberry savarin seemed to be shrinking in the oven before his eyes. All too soon it was time for the cakes to come out of the oven and glazes and various other decorations to be applied in the hope that the syrup would permeate well through the warm cake and would make it moist and delicious. Perhaps now more than ever before, Gold wished that he could cut into his bake before the judges sampled it so that he could see what it looked like on the inside. It didn’t look amazing on the outside since it was so dark from the cocoa in the cake itself and the dark syrup soaking into it, but hopefully some artistic chocolate drizzling could make it look slightly more appetising.

Ursula called time on the challenge and Gold looked at his bake critically. It didn’t look the neatest thing that he had ever made, but he knew that it was cooked through and it didn’t appear to be over or underproved. It looked like all his practice attempts had looked, and they had come out rather well, all things considered. Well, Bae and Aunt Elvira had said that they tasted all right, which was as good as he was going to get before he faced the judges. The clean-up began around them. That was one thing that was noticeable as the number of contestants dwindled - the clean-up time was faster and faster with now only six people to wash up after. One of the things that had amused Gold the most when he had first come into the tent was seeing all the little hidden cubby holes that the production crew used to store all the equipment and cleaning products that were invisible to the viewers at home. No matter what kind of mess might have been generated during the baking time, whenever it came to the judging, the tent always looked pristine. Watching at home, no-one really got to appreciate just how long the filming process took, and all the waiting around that was involved between the baking time finishing and the judging time beginning. Clever editing made it all look so seamless.

The judges began to make their way around the tent. Leroy’s shrunken savarin was put down to it being underproved, but the taste was good. Emma had also had shrinkage problems, but hers came from a different source - she’d added too much syrup to her cake and it had become so saturated that it had started to dip and sag with the weight of the liquid on it. Regina’s apple and cinnamon cake was well-praised, as were Lance and Jefferson’s bakes. Then it was the moment of truth for Gold, and he crossed his fingers under the table as Granny cut into the cake. Thankfully, it was marbled properly and he let out a sigh of relief. That was one less thing to worry about.

“It tastes very good,” Granny said. “The dough is quite sweet but the bitterness of the dark chocolate sets it off nicely. You could have used a bit more syrup, there are some places at the bottom here where you can see that it’s quite dry, but it’s been well proved and well baked, your timing is excellent.”

Gold smiled. “Thank you.”

“I agree,” Belle said. “Don’t be stingy with the syrup. Don’t flood it, but you do need to make sure that it gets right down inside the cake. And I love the marbled effect, you’ve done that really well.”

“If there’s any syrup leftover…” Ella began, but Gold shook his head with a smile and she gave in with good grace. It had been a good start to the day. He wasn’t on shaky ground going into the afternoon’s technical, so there was room for error, he felt. Of course, there was still another day to get through, one that would prove very tricky for various reasons, but that was something to worry about tomorrow. For now, it was time to forget baking and have lunch.

Well, if sampling everyone else’s cakes counted as lunch. Astrid kept trying to push them all back up to the house so that they could reset the tent for the technical, and eventually all the cakes had been tasted by everyone and they returned to the break room.

“I seem to have a penchant for sogginess,” Emma was musing as they ate. “First the tiramisu, then the savarin. It’s all very strange. I wonder if the cake universe is trying to tell me something.”

“That’s probably something best left unexplored,” Jefferson said. “We’ve already caused enough of a stir with Gold’s remarks on rams’ unmentionables. At least we’re not on camera. That would certainly draw us a few complaints from the viewers.”

“What with all the trouble Zelena caused I don’t think we’ll have a lot to worry about on that score. She’s upped the scandal count enough on her own. To think, bake-off always used to be so calm and placid and now we’ve got proper drama!”

“Let’s not think about it,” Gold pleaded. “We’ve only just managed to exorcise her from the tent, can we not drag up her memory?”

“Yes, she might be like one of those b-movie monsters where you say their name three times and they appear and cause havoc,” Emma said.

“Oh god, can you imagine her crawling out of the freezer?” Jefferson sounded morbidly fascinated by the prospect and Gold buried his face in his hands.

“Please Jeff, just stop.”

“All right.” There was one thing to be said for Jefferson and it was that nothing ever really phased him. “We’ll move onto much more palatable topics. What do you think that they’re going to get us to make this afternoon? I mean, the last time they did a European-themed week they had them making a classic Savarin so I don’t think that it’s going to be that. And they did Sachertorte last year. I can’t think of any other classic European cakes that they could choose, and I don’t really think that we’ve got enough time for a croquembouche.”

“Baumkuchen?” Lance suggested. “I can’t think of anything more technically complicated than that.”

“Isn’t that the one that’s cooked on a spit?” Jefferson said. “I mean, we had enough trouble with fire scares when Mal was here with her blowtorch, I dread to think what would happen if we had to start spit roasting cakes.”

“I don’t know, they do like to test all our different techniques.”

“Cannoli,” Regina suggested. “They’re Italian, that would fit. Mmm. I love cannoli, I hope it’s that. Mind you I might end up eating them before they can be judged.”

“What about you, Gold?” Emma asked. “What do you think it could be? You’re the one with German ancestry somewhere along the line.”

“I really need to point out that the Germans are on my Aunt Miriam’s side and she’s not technically a blood relation. I’m just as in the dark as you are.”

“Macaroons,” Jefferson suggested. “Or maybe they’ve gone to the other end of the scale and it’s going to be something completely different like a traditional bread or something. Maybe brioches. Or pizza. Did they specify that it’s cakes, or just bakes?”

“Cakes,” Gold said.

“Well, at least that narrows down the possibilities.” Jefferson’s optimism was unfailing, even as they went back down towards the tent.

“Good afternoon bakers,” Ursula began. “I hope that you’re all well rested and refreshed and ready for today’s technical challenge. As always, this will be judged blind so Granny and Belle will be leaving us to do mysterious things over in their little pagoda. This recipe is one of Granny’s, any sage words of advice for our contestants?”

“Read the recipe,” Granny said. “Read it very carefully.”

“Right. And with that rather ominous warning, I think it’s time that you left us.” Ursula shooed the judges out of the tent and the presenters turned back to the bakers.

“All right, now that we’ve sent Granny and Belle off to their extreme knitting class, or whatever it is that they get up to whilst you’re all sweating away in here trying to make their ridiculous confections, we can tell you what you will be making,” Ella said. “This is a traditional and complex recipe from Sweden.”

“Granny and Belle would like you to make a princesstarta, a celebration cake with layers of sponge, crème patissière, and jam, covered with a dome of green marzipan.”

Behind him, Gold heard Emma give a little gasp, and he glanced at her over his shoulder.

“It’s nothing,” she said quickly on realising that everyone’s attention was on her. “Carry on.”

“Ok. Well, you have two and a quarter hours to make this Scandinavian delight, so on your marks.”

“Get set.”

“Bake!”

Gold lifted the cloth off the ingredients that were stacked on the table, and turned over the recipe card. It was definitely one of the more demanding technical challenges that they’d faced over the course of the bake-off, and he read through the many instructions and looked over all the separate elements that had to be made, in such a short space of time. It was going to be down to the wire, and he had no idea what he was meant to be doing. Well, putting the oven on and beginning to make the sponge would probably be a good idea.

He glanced over his shoulder at Emma, who was working quite happily with a secret little smile on her face, and he wondered what she knew that he didn’t.

“For the record, Granny, I think you’re evil.” Belle and Granny were sitting in their little pavilion, eating slices of Granny’s ‘here’s one I made earlier’ princesstarta and enjoying a little respite before they had to go back into the main tent and judge the technical. “First the kouign-amann last week and now this. You’re on a role for giving them things to make that they’ve never heard of.”

“You can talk.” Granny gave her a sly look. “You’ve set them a povitica next week. How many of them are going to have heard of that?”

“They might not know what it’s called, but I bet that once they get reading the recipe they’ll know what it’s supposed to look like,” Belle said.

“Well, that’s not so different to a princesstarta. I gave them fairly specific instructions, so it’ll be interesting to see how differently they interpret them.”

“Last week certainly saw a lot of variation,” Belle agreed. “But then the recipe was a lot vaguer. I think it will probably be closer than last week. I don’t think cake is as easy to get dramatically wrong as pastry is, especially laminated pastries. I think it’ll be a question of timing for most of them, getting everything done in the time.”

“And making sure that nothing starts going wrong in the time it’s sitting waiting to be assembled,” Granny added. Belle knew that they were both thinking of Elsa’s mishap with the crème patissière during the eclair challenge the previous week, and since crème was one of the key elements holding the princesstarta together, she hoped that none of the bakers would have a similar catastrophe this afternoon.

“They’ll be fine. I’m looking forward to seeing the vast variations in colour on the marzipan coating though.” Granny looked positively mephistophelean. “In a way I’m sad that Zelena’s no longer here. She’d have been in her element with all that green.”

“Don’t remind me,” Belle muttered. All the same, she did have to wonder what the bakers who had already eliminated would have made in the previous few weeks if they had made it this far.

“Yes, you’re right. Let’s leave Zelena well out of it for the moment and focus on happier things. How’s our little tent romance going?”

“Well, Mal hasn’t been here for the last two weeks but as far as I can make out, she and Regina are still in touch and everything’s progressing very nicely,” Belle said blithely. She knew that wasn’t what Granny meant, and the older woman also knew that she knew, and just gave her a look over the top of her glasses.

“You know what I mean,” she said, and Belle looked down at her cup of tea to avoid meeting Granny’s gaze.

“It’s going all right. Slow and steady.”

“You seemed to be getting on well last weekend. Can we hope that something along the same lines might happen again?”

Belle didn’t reply, thinking back to the little proto-date that she and Gold had shared one week ago now. It had been a lovely evening, just the two of them talking and drinking tea, and as much as she wanted it to happen again, the very fact that Granny had commented on it put her off in some respects. It had reminded her forcibly that this relationship was beginning in the public eye. Not necessarily in front of the cameras per se, although there were the odd little flirtatious moments that she instigated whilst the baking was going on, that Gold never really quite knew how to handle. It was nice to see him blush, but she didn’t want to make him uncomfortable. No, it was the idea that there were no secrets in the tent, and that everyone knew everything that was going on in the small, open space. This thing that was developing with Gold, she wanted it to be private, not conducted out here under everyone’s noses where anyone and everyone could pass comment on it. It was true that the people who were best placed to notice it all seemed to be encouraging it, but that wasn’t what she needed. She didn’t want the scrutiny and she didn’t want people asking her how it was going all the time. Belle wouldn’t class her previous break-ups as failed relationships, but they were still break-ups and there were quite a few of them, and she was trying to look for something that lasted. And Gold too, as she had learned from talking to him the previous week, had not had the happiest time of it when it came to love. They were both looking for something real and solid, and she didn’t want outside pressure from Granny, Ella and Ursula to cause this fledgling little spark to buckle under the strain of trying to be the perfect storybook romance that they all seemed to be pinning their hopes on.

“Ok, I’ll leave it alone.” Granny reached across and patted her hand. “It’s unfair for me to take such an interest when I wouldn’t ordinarily. I think because it’s here on the show, we all feel more invested in it. We’re spectators just like the viewers at home, and we’re all cheering you on. The difference is, of course, that we’re here and we can actually talk to you and cheer you on, rather than being separated by a TV screen and thousands of miles.”

“Yeah,” Belle said. “It doesn’t matter when you’re rooting for two people on the TV to get together because you can yell and shout and tell them they’re idiots and throw popcorn at the screen whilst you wait for them to get their acts together, but it won’t make the blindest bit of difference and that’s absolutely fine. You can’t do that in real life.”

“I know. I won’t push it. But I’m glad that things seem to be going in the right direction, certainly. You deserve that happiness. I don’t claim to know Gold as well as you do, but I get the impression that it certainly wouldn’t hurt for him to have some love in his life.”

Belle smiled. “No, I think you’re right there.” She sighed. “It’s hard to strike a balance, I think. I don’t want to get too close too quickly, not only for fear of frightening him off but also for fear that someone’s going to get suspicious and raise it with the producers. I mean, the only person who I really fear doing that has gone now, but even so, it’s something that we’ve got to consider. And at the same time, I know just how changeable things can be on this show and he might go home tomorrow, and then I’m not quite sure where we stand.”

“They do always say that absence makes the heart grow fonder,” Granny pointed out. “I think that where there’s a will, there’s a way. You’ll make it work, no matter what happens. But I don’t think he’s in too much danger this week. His signature cake wasn’t the best in the tent but it was still pretty good. He’s coasting along in the middle at the moment.”

“Yes.” Belle said nothing more, contemplating everything that was happening. She hoped that Gold would have a better technical than the previous week, when he had come last. That had really hammered home the possibility of him not coming back, and Belle wondered if perhaps another date was in order this evening to make the moment of parting a little sweeter - if it came at all. Or maybe Granny was right, and absence would make the heart grow fonder. Whatever happened, she knew that she wasn’t going to let him go home without giving him her number. She’d never felt this way about a contestant before. Certainly there were the odd couple whom she’d rooted for a little more than the others, but generally those were the ones who really showed an innate and exceptional talent for baking, or the younger ones who showed such passion and determination for it in the middle of studying to become something else entirely. She’d never had a favourite for personal reasons. If Gold won the competition then that would be great, but she wasn’t really hoping that he would stay in so that he would win, more so that she could keep on getting to know him better.

The first few spots of rain were pattering down on the roof of the tent as Astrid hurried over with an umbrella to bring them back in for the judging. The table, now down to just six bakes on it, looked very large, and the six princesstarta were showing great variation in shape, size, and colour. Belle’s eye was immediately drawn to the cake on the far end and she glanced over at Granny, because they both knew that one was likely to be the winner even without sampling it. From the outside, it looked absolutely perfect, as if it had been bought in a shop and brought out. The marzipan was a nice pale green, no telltale streaks or sugar marks on it, and it covered the cake evenly without patching, like some of the other cakes had. It was nicely domed and not flat, and the sugar and chocolate decorations, although a little rough around the edges, looked exactly like they should. Still, even though it looked like there was a clear victor, all the cakes had to be sampled, and looks weren’t everything - once they got inside it, it might not be up to snuff.

Most of the bakers had done a fairly decent job on the inside of the cakes but it was presentation that let them down - patchy marzipan or sunken cakes. A couple had crème patissière that was very obviously too runny, as if they’d run out of time on the bake and they were making the best of what they had. Lance’s cake was the messiest and came in last place, with Leroy’s sunken cake just above it, followed by Jefferson, Gold, and Regina, who could always be relied on to produce something with excellent finish, be it in a signature or a technical. Emma’s was the near-perfect cake, and as she received the congratulations of the judges, presenters and her fellow contestants, she looked a bit sheepish.

“I’m not sure whether I really deserve the accolade to be honest,” she said. “Because I know that this technical was probably chosen because it’s something fairly obscure that not everyone will have heard of or know what it looks like, but I’ve made a few of these when I was younger.”

“Really?” Jefferson was looking completely incredulous. “How on earth have you had such specific confectionary exposure?”

Emma shrugged. “I had a foster mum who was Swedish. Well, half-Swedish, half-Danish. She used to make these cakes for birthdays and stuff. I love them. They’re a reminder of one of the best parts of my childhood. As soon as you said it was a princesstarta I immediately remembered making them with Ingrid.”

Belle smiled. “Don’t worry, we’re not going to disqualify you based on your knowledge of non-mainstream cakes. I’m just glad that this challenge turned out not to be so much of a challenge for you.”

“Yes, and as the winner of the technical, you can stand us all drinks at the hotel bar,” Jefferson said with a wink. Emma rolled her eyes.

“You know, I really think that you ought to be the ones standing me drinks, but sure, I’ll get the first round in.”

“Bearing in mind, of course,” Jefferson added, “that it will probably be the only round because we need to make sure we’re all level headed tomorrow for the showstopper. We can’t have anyone turning up sozzled to make their cakes or else we could be in for some spectacular collapses. And I’m not just talking about the cakes.”

“You know, Jefferson, I do get the distinct impression that you were talking about me then,” Ella said. “I would be heavily offended if it wasn’t true.”

“Ella, my dear, you know I would never say anything that would slander your good name.” He bowed low, and the contestants left the tent, all of them moving up towards the driveway and the various forms of transportation waiting for them there. It was good to see these remaining few getting on so well together, and continuing that sense of community by going out after the day’s filming had finished instead of all going their separate ways. Belle and the others who remained knew better than to join them. They needed to maintain some distance, which was why Granny and Belle were always ensconced away in the little ante-room whilst the others were all relaxing in the breakroom. And even though Ella and Ursula had much more contact with the bakers and were on much friendlier terms with them, it would still be a little strange for them to socialise with them as a group outside of the context of filming. It was a bit like going on a school trip and having the teachers socialising with the kids - it would be awkward to say the least.

“Still,” Ella said brightly. “We can have our own girls’ night out. What do you say, ladies?”

“Well, I think I’m about fifty years too late to qualify as a girl,” Granny said, “but I wouldn’t say no to a gin and tonic if you’re offering one.”

“I am indeed. Belle?”

“Sure.”

They took a taxi into the town centre; the security team would keep their cars safe in the carpark overnight, although Belle wasn’t sure who would want to steal either Ella’s ridiculously large black and white Panther or her own nondescript Vauxhall. Ella was responsible for finding a suitable watering hole. The bake-off had moved location a couple of times during its run and every time, Ella always managed to find a new favourite bar. This particular one was on the less classy end of the spectrum, but the drinks were well made and reasonably priced, and no-one paid them all that much attention as they sat at a table in the corner with their cocktails. There was usually at least one night out like this during filming, a spontaneous trip with no real reason behind it, just because they felt like letting their hair down. Their tongues would be loosened by the alcohol and outside of the tent and the cameras, they could share what they really thought about the bakers and the progress of the show so far. It was never malicious; the nearest they really got to badmouthing a contestant was lamenting a bad run of bakes, or consistent mistakes like time management that weeks in the tent never seemed to put right.

This time, though, Belle knew that there would be more than a few disparaging comments about bakers not so dearly departed, and she hoped beyond hope that the conversation would not turn in the direction of her and Gold’s… What was it, exactly? It was more than a friendship, as mutual attraction had been admitted and acknowledged, but it wasn’t really anywhere near a relationship yet. It was just a kind of nebulous, undefined thing.

“So, here we are. We’re over halfway through the competition and we’ve got half the number of bakers that we started with,” Ella said. “The tent really does look horribly empty with only the six of them in it. I feel that we ought to start scaling it down, so that as we lose contestants, the tent gets smaller and cosier so it doesn’t feel so cavernous.”

“I don’t know,” Granny pondered. “I think that when it gets into the final few weeks they’re always glad of the extra space and the spare workbenches. You know what they say. However large your kitchen is, it’s never large enough, and we only give them the one, comparatively small, bench to work on. I know that when I’m baking on a large scale at home, every surface gets covered in ingredients and utensils and things that are cooling.”

“Considering your kitchen is the size of our entire apartment, that’s saying something,” Ursula said dryly. Belle just laughed. She was well aware of the problem of running out of space. When she’d been studying, she’d been living in a tiny bedsit with an equally tiny kitchenette that had practically no work surface space, so she’d often ended up covering her bed with a dust sheet and doing all her cooking and baking there instead of in the kitchen.

“Still we can’t deny that there are a few that we’re glad to see the back of, but we won’t dwell on those. Let’s focus on the ones that are left.” Ella said. “You know, I can never tell what Jefferson’s thinking. I keep expecting him to do something incredibly outrageous during filming because when you first meet him, you think of him as the attention-seeking sort. He’s always wearing the waistcoat and pocket watch combination, all he needs is a top hat.”

“Maybe he’s saving that for if he gets to the final,” Granny said. “Perhaps his final showstopper piece will be a giant sponge cake top hat.”

“Yes, but he couldn’t wear it then. Although, considering some of the mishaps we’ve had with messy bakers in this and previous years, I’m not sure that wearing it wouldn’t make it better.”

“So, it has to be asked at some point, I may as well ask it now.” Ella turned her attention to Belle and grinned conspiratorially. Belle rolled her eyes.

“No,” she said before her friend had even had chance to open her mouth. “We’re not talking about my lovelife. I mean, it can’t even be called a lovelife yet.”

“I don’t know, you were getting very close over a cup of tea last week.”

“I’m serious, Ella.”

“So am I. Come on, we’re already hearing wedding bells in the distance. It’s plain to see when you look at the two of you together that you’re absolutely made for each other and marriage is on the horizon once the show finishes.”

“Ella, I know hardly anything about him, we’ve been on one date that can barely be called a date. It’s bad enough that Granny’s already thinking about designing the wedding cake. Perhaps not adding too much pressure too soon?”

“Oh, but it’s so much fun!” Ella exclaimed. “You’ve always been so sensible about everything related to the competition and I’ve never had the chance to tease you about something, and now I do. It’s all part and parcel of the experience.”

“It’s the bakers that you’re meant to be bantering with, not the judges,” Granny pointed out.

“Yes, but the bakers are not here, so I have to make do with what I’ve got. Anyway, do you think that he can go the distance and make it to the final?”

Belle nodded. “Yes, I like to think so. The trouble is at this stage that they’re all so good that it’s hard to pick between them, but I think the finalists will end up being Regina, Jefferson and Rum.”

“Oh, so he’s called Rum now?” Ursula said, smirking, and Belle let out a long sigh, resting her forehead against the edge of the table.

“You know what, I’m just going to stop talking altogether and then see how you all get on for entertainment,” she muttered.

“Oh, you don’t have to talk, watching your reactions is just as good as listening to them,” Ella said airily. “But perhaps we ought to stop; we’re attracting attention to ourselves and it really wouldn’t be doing to be giving out any spoilers before the show airs. There was that time two years ago when the bookies stopped taking bets on who was going to win because I’d accidentally let slip who’d got through to the final when we went out for Ursula’s birthday that night. I was nearly fired for that and despite the inevitable yearly weight gain from so much sampling I do enjoy this gig.”

Thankfully the others agreed that it would be best to move on from the topic of the contestants and who they thought was going to win, and by necessity they moved on from talking about Belle and Gold’s developing relationship as well. They chatted about the renovations that Ursula and Ella were making to their home, and about Granny’s various relations up and down the country, and if anyone had come into the bar at that moment and overheard their conversation, none of them would suspect that they were television personalities unless they were recognised. All told it was an enjoyable evening; they usually went out as a small group at least once per season and Belle always looked forward to the event. Today’s impromptu outing was no exception. She could even take the ribbing she’d got about Gold, because she knew that it was all good-natured and that she had the complete support of the other three women around the table. It was a good feeling, and one that she couldn’t wait to act on when the time was right.

The second day of the baking weekend dawned grey and overcast, with the threat of rain hanging over them throughout the setup. Gold hoped that it would not actually rain. It was not that he feared the tent leaking, as Ella seemed to constantly threaten, but the sound of the raindrops on the waterproof canvas was maddeningly distracting and in the past, the downpours seemed to come just when he was trying to concentrate on something fiddly. Yesterday’s soirée in the bar with the rest of the bakers had been a good evening, and it had been nice to spend time with everyone all together for a change. Since there were only six of them left and they would soon only be five, it was good to have done something in which everyone had been included.

Ella stepped forward and cleared her throat. “Good morning bakers, and welcome to your showstopper challenge. Today, Granny and Belle would like you to make a dobos torte. This is a traditional Hungarian cake made with several layers and lots of caramel. The dobos torte must have two tiers and it can be decorated in any way you wish, but Granny and Belle are looking for a focus on sugarwork skills - whatever you can show off, use it and create the best caramel confections that you can. You have five hours to complete the challenge.”

“On your marks!”

“Get set!”

“Bake!”

The challenge began, and Gold set about making the sponge mixture. As soon as that was out of the way he could then start focussing on his caramel. Since the dobos torte was made up of so many thin layers of cake, it was essential to get them baking as soon as possible as he would have to make several batches. Each tier of his cake required six layers of sponge and he could only fit three in the oven at a time, so he would need to get a production line going. Sponges first, then the caramel buttercream that would coat the entire cake and sandwich all the layers together. Then the final caramel work that would be the pièce de résistance. Hopefully. If he got it done in time and without any mishaps, which was perhaps easier said than done. He’d already decided that caramel was going to be his nemesis throughout the competition, what with the florentines and then the crème brulées, and now he was having to face it again - and be judged on it no less. He couldn’t believe quite how much caramel he was willingly making, but if he wanted to impress Belle and Granny then he had to go all out, and no half measures or shortcuts would be accepted. They would notice if he had tried to shy away from making too much caramel, so he’d decided to just jump in with both feet and go for it. He glanced around the tent at some of the other creations that were going up. Some of the bakers were adding other flavours to their dobos tortes - chocolate and coffee being the predominant ones, and Gold wondered if perhaps the judges would think that his own was too plain. Still there was no time to be wasted worrying about that now; he couldn’t change anything. He just had to focus on making sure that what he was doing was absolutely top notch.

Over on the other side of the tent, Jefferson was talking to Ella and Ursula and outlining his plans for a massive three-tiered cake in chequerboard chocolate and caramel topped with squares of millionaire’s shortbread that Gold really didn’t think he would be able to get done in the time, but then again, if anyone could pull it off then Jefferson probably could. Behind him, Emma was counting sponge circles, hands on her hips.

“I’m just wondering,” she was saying to Walter, who was standing by patiently with his camera, “if it might be easier to bake all the layers of sponge in the same cake tin. That way I know that they’re all going to be exactly the same size and they won’t get thin at the edges. On the other hand, if they’re all packed in so tightly then they won’t cook as quickly. On another hand, they shouldn’t theoretically take longer to cook than a normal cake. Argh, decisions, decisions, and none of them right.”

Gold did not find out what Emma ended up deciding with regard to how to bake her sponges, because it was time for his first batch to come out and his second batch to go in, and at the same time the judges were coming over to speak to him. They did kindly wait until he was vertical and not holding delicate trays of sponge before they spoke.

“Good morning, Mr Gold!” Ella said brightly. “So, what can we expect from you today? Great things, I hope.”

“I hope so too.”

“What kind of caramel work are you going to be using?” Granny asked. “Spun sugar, moulded sugar?”

“I’m making caramel buttercream which is going to coat the whole cake,” Gold said. “I’m making about three kilos of the stuff. Then the sides are going to be decorated with hazelnut brittle and caramelised nuts, and I want to do shards of caramel to stick on the top.”

“It sounds ambitious,” Belle said. “I’m looking forward to seeing how it turns out.”

“Well, it’s not as ambitious as some people’s.” Gold glanced across at Jefferson, who appeared to be juggling trays of sponge circles in one hand and making a biscuit base for the millionaire’s shortbread with the other.

“Maybe not, but there is such a thing as being overambitious, and for all this is a showstopper, you do need to be able to work within your limits,” Granny said. “We’ll let you get on. Those sponges are so thin and light that they won’t need long and I’d hate for anything to get burned because we were distracting you.”

The bake continued, with various exclamations and the odd torrent of profanity going up from various workbenches as the cakes were created to different levels of success. Gold’s sponges were not burned and his first batch of caramel for the buttercream came out well, but trying to make a second batch of caramel that he could use for brittle at the same time as trying to assemble and sandwich the layers together was never going to be an easy task and he ended up binning that lot of caramel. In hindsight he realised that throwing burning hot caramel into the bin was probably not a good idea and he’d likely melted the bin bag, but that was something that he would just have to chalk up to experience. He gave the caramel his full attention this time; luckily the brittle was easy to make and could just be left to cool once it was made and he could get back to the trickier task of icing. This, he thought, was where the challenge ended up being so time-consuming. With so few of them left in the competition, Belle and Granny would be looking for the slightest discrepancies that they could pick up on and anything less than perfectly precise icing would be marked down. The trouble was, as it always was with these things, that his hands were shaking with the pressure and it was going to be very hard to pipe perfect buttercream rosettes when the piping bag was going all over the place. At least he’d made the executive decision to assemble his second tier on top of his first tier rather than making the two tiers separately and then having to manouver one on top of the other like Jefferson was doing. The other man was calling out for a stepladder so as to have maximum leverage, and he ended up getting Ella and Ursula to help him hold the tiers in place as he assembled. Time was counting down and all of the dobos tortes were in various stages of disarray. Behind him, Emma was muttering under her breath as she made a spun sugar nest to sit on the top of her cake. She was already on her third attempt to make it and the muffled cursing was only getting worse until he finally heard a quiet hiss of eureka and he risked a glance over his shoulder to see her placing the nest - complete with sugar bird and chocolate eggs - on top of her cake.

He finally managed to get the rosettes piped cleanly and topped each one with a caramelised hazelnut before spreading out crushed shards of leftover caramel over the top of the cake. Overall, he didn’t think it looked too bad. It might not be as complex as some of the other bakers’ creations, but it was neat and well-presented, and that should hopefully account for something at this late stage.

Ella called time on the challenge and Gold sat back with a sigh of relief, looking around the tent. Jefferson’s gigantic masterpiece was looking magnificent, although Gold noted that it had only ended up with just the two tiers in the end. The clean-up began, and it was clear that everyone was checking out the competition and trying to work out who had done enough to make it through and who had fallen short. To be honest, Gold thought that it would be pretty close between all of them, he couldn’t see one cake that really stood out as being worse than all the rest. Finally, it was time for the moment of truth. Jefferson was up first, and Belle and Granny praised his ambition and creativity, although they criticised the texture of his caramel work.

“It’s a bit grainy,” Belle said. “Caramel in a millionaire’s shortbread should be smooth and creamy; I can feel that there are still unmelted grains of sugar in there, which probably came about because you were running out of time.”

Jefferson nodded. “Guilty as charged. I did rather misjudge how long it would take to get that many cakes in and out of the oven.”

The other bakers were all praised for some aspects and not for others; Gold’s presentation was good, Granny would have liked to have seen a bit more pizazz to it but the things he had done had been executed well. Emma’s bake overall looked a bit messy, but she’d used a wide range of sugarwork techniques to create her nest cake and when it was cut open, the sponge layers inside were striped with vanilla, caramel and chocolate. It was going to be very close, and during the judges’ deliberation time whilst the tent was reset, no-one could think of anything to say to each other, all of them too nervous about what was to come next. True, they were all friends in the tent and the conversation had flowed easily enough last night, but now things were different. Now they were baking and the competition was all too real.

The judges and presenters returned to the tent for the moment of reckoning.

“Well, bakers, the decision has been made. It’s been an incredibly close week, one of the closest we’ve had on the bake-off in a long time. We almost had to break out the boxing gloves again and have Granny and Belle go ten rounds to see who would come out on top. But at long last I can reveal that this week’s star baker, after giving us a show-stopping array of caramel and an almost perfect princesstarta, is Emma.”

There was a spontaneous round of applause and Emma went distinctly pink.

“We’d dearly love to take all of you with us,” Ursula said. “I even offered to smuggle one of you back into the tent in a huge cake. But sadly, Belle vetoed that idea as being against health and safety regulations. The baker who will not be joining us next time is Leroy.”

Leroy shrugged. He hadn’t had a terrible week, he just hadn’t had as good a week as the rest of them had had, and going into the quarter final next week, that was all it took to be sent home at this late stage. The bakers all gathered around in a little huddle, exchanging words of celebration and commiseration, and it was only once people started to disperse that Gold was able to talk to Belle properly.

“We didn’t get a chance to chat yesterday,” he said. “I just wanted to say hello, you know.”

Belle smiled. “Hello yourself. Well done for this week. You really pulled it off and held your own in all three challenges. I’m sure you’ll be able to keep it up to the end if you stay at this standard.”

“Well, I can hope. Fingers crossed.” It was annoying that it was the end of the weekend and there was no room for quiet, casual conversation like they had shared after the technical the previous week, but that was all right. There was always next week, and they could make the effort to make sure that they got more than a few minutes together.

Belle was worrying her bottom lip between her teeth, and Gold very much wanted to kiss her in that moment. He wondered where that thought had suddenly come from, but he didn’t act upon it and he just smiled at her instead.

“Well, I’ll see you next week, Belle.”

“I’m looking forward to it, Rum.”

“Rum! Rum!”

It was very irregular for Aunt Elvira to come running out of the house to greet him when he got in from filming on a Sunday evening, and Gold had the distinct urge to run in the opposite direction away from whatever catastrophe might have occurred in his absence. He knew, of course, that no tragedy had occurred in his absence because he would have heard about it much sooner via the medium of mobile phone. The fact that Aunt Elvira was waving a sheaf of papers at him and was grinning from ear to ear in an utterly terrifying manner served only to increase his desire to run away.

“Rum, you’ll never guess what turned up today!”

Gold could guess, and he really didn’t want to think about the prospect, but he duly stood his ground and let Elvira bound up to him as the taxi rolled away down the drive. She thrust the papers at his chest and waited for him to read them, bouncing up and down on her heels excitedly. Considering that his aunt was pushing eighty and constantly complaining about her bones feeling old whenever she got the chance to, she was remarkably sprightly today. Gold looked down at the papers, immediately recognising the letterhead of the bake-off production company that had graced so much of his correspondence over the past couple of months.

“Can’t I read them when I’m inside?” he asked, trying to put off the inevitable for as long as possible. Aunt Elvira rolled her eyes but dutifully conceded, and dragged him into the house by the hand. Bae was in the kitchen looking bemused but with a distinct excitement of his own, and he started making cups of tea without any prompting. Gold sank onto a seat at the kitchen table and spread the papers around in front of him. The first was a letter inviting Elvira and Bae (and himself, should he be knocked out of the competition within the next two weeks), to the grand finale party held in the grounds of the filming site outside the tent. All the bakers from the series and their extended family and friends would be there to see the winner crowned on the final day, and there was generally a celebratory atmosphere all around. If he was being perfectly honest then Gold thought that this was the part of the proceedings that Aunt Elvira had been most excited about ever since he learned he would be one of the twelve contestants. The other letter was addressed to him, and he looked up at his aunt with a raised eyebrow.

“You’ve been opening my mail.”

“Well, I could see that it was from the production company and I thought I knew what it was and I was just so excited. I didn’t really read it. Just skimmed it a bit.”

“And was it what you thought it was?”

“Yes.”

“Right.” Gold read the letter, which was informing him that the production crew planned to come to the farm to film in two weeks’ time, during the week between the semi-final and the final, and they had suggested a few dates, asking Gold to confirm which would be the most convenient. Every year the bakers were always filmed for a small segment at home - ‘baking in their natural environment’ as Elvira called it, and Gold knew that he would be no different. They would come and film a little of the farm and his day job, and his kitchen, and it would all be over within an afternoon or so. Except if he made it to the final, because then Belle would be coming to the farm and there would be a slightly more in depth mini-movie made about him, and the crew would likely want to talk to Bae and Aunt Elvira about his baking skills. Bae wasn’t going to be a problem, but Gold already felt a distinct sense of panic about the possibility of Elvira and Belle interacting. Was it bad to hope that he failed at the last hurdle just so that this possibility never came to fruition? No, ultimately he had grown to be too competitive to do that and considering that he was doing this for Bae, sabotaging his own chances because he was embarrassed of his aunt wasn’t fair. And he really wanted to do as well as he could for his own sake. Having had a couple of bad weeks but managing to claw it back to some degree of success today, he wanted to see if he could continue the streak. Next week was back to dough and bread, and he really wanted to prove himself again and show that his triumph in the third week could be repeated.

“You know, you’ve got to get through to the final now,” Aunt Elvira said sagely. “So that we can meet Belle.”

“You’ll probably meet her at the party anyway,” Gold pointed out. “You’ll meet everyone.”

“I know that, but I want to meet her here, where it’s a nice cosy environment rather than at a big party where there’s a hundred other people who’ll she’ll have to go forth and greet. It’s so exciting when it’s more personal!”

Gold shook his head. “I really think that you’re looking forward to this more than I am,” he muttered. “But fear not, for I am not intending to fail this late in the game.”

“You should get on fine next week, it’s one of your specialities.”

Gold raised an eyebrow.

“Anything that involves a deep fat fryer is not one of my specialities,” he said darkly, but Elvira just gave him the indulgent smile that showed she didn’t agree with him at all but wasn’t going to argue. He’d had a long couple of days after all, and he just wanted to be able to relax. All the same, he did have to consider what he was going to do with Aunt Elvira once the film crews arrived. He liked to think that he was above drugging her and shoving her in a cupboard somewhere so that she couldn’t embarrass him, but at the same time, it was worryingly tempting.

Still, before he had to worry about Aunt Elvira meeting Belle, he still had six more challenges to get through, ones that would only get progressively harder as time went on. If he was going to stand a chance of Belle coming to his home then he was going to have to really pull all the stops out over the next couple of weekends.

He stayed sitting at the table long after Aunt Elvira had left him to start pottering around the kitchen and Bae had excused himself to bed ready for school in the morning, thinking about the possibility of Belle coming to the farm. He wanted her to see it, he was proud of his home, and he liked to think that if their little proto-relationship continued to grow organically as it was doing, then there would be no reason why she shouldn’t see it anyway, with or without a film crew in tow.

Gold smiled at the thought.

=====

Next time - The bakers face advanced dough, try not to give the judges food poisoning, and discover new and innovative uses for doughnuts.

=====

Princesstarta recipe here

Dobos Torte recipe here

#rumbelle fic #rumbelle #Belle French #Mr Gold #Fic: Love is a Layered Cake

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extemporaneousmusings · 7 years

Text

There’s this page from a manuscript that’s in LACMA’s collections I’ve been thinking about for a good year. I discovered it when watching a GettyTalks livestream last summer by the GoT costume designer. I kind of forget the context in which she discussed it, but it totally captivated me and isn’t really relevant to the rest of her talk, as she moved on to discuss the more psychological and emotional underpinnings of costuming, rather than original source materials. I was so intrigued that I messaged the Getty tumblr that day to ask for the citation when I couldn’t find the image myself, and it’s just been floating around on my computer for the past year.

15th century Islamic manuscripts are worlds away from my wheelhouse, obviously, but there was something here that clung to the edges of an already fringe concept I had been toying with, that over the past year has become more and more relevant and pervasive.

The idea is hinged upon two major foci. The first is the development of the attribute through time, which is much more central to what I do...The basic synopsis of what I’d like to ultimately accomplish with my PhD is to try and connect grounded, known archaeological assemblages to contextualize and examine them within a more robust and experimental theoretical framework. The discussion of images is often divorced from their context, especially when it comes to more ephemeral objects like vases. (Note, this is the first time I’ve ever really used the word ephemeral in connection with vases, I need to think about this more!) The second is of the extended lifespan of Alexander the Great, both in images and texts, which persisted for thousands of years after his death, and was incorporated into many different cultural narratives.

An attribute, within iconography (which is at its very simplest, the study/interpretation of images and symbols) is an object or a shorthand that gives further information linked to the central character. Dionysos is one of the most attribute-laden lads in Greek art. To name a few, he has a kantharos, which is a specific type of drinking cup, leaves, wine, satyrs, maenads, which all in and of themselves, have nested attributes.

Attic black-figure vase depicting Dionysos and a few of his typical attributes. (Musée de Louvre, MNE 938)

Athena has her owl, and gorgon head on her shield. Zeus has thunderbolts. All of these are small visually represented objects, yet convey a great amount of culturally loaded information. I’m just speaking from the Greek tradition at the moment, but iconography and attributes exist across time and space. Thor has his hammer, which is an extremely potent symbol that conveys a lot more than just his favorite accessory. The Statue of Liberty has a torch and books. You get the point.

Attributes have not remained the same, in terms of what they represent or how they are interpreted, throughout history. Narrowing back down to the Greek world, the Hellenistic period brought about enormous cultural shifts in nearly every arena, and art was one of them. It hasn’t really been explored through such a lens yet, to my knowledge, but the very power and intent behind attributes shifted dramatically. I am super intrigued in trying to find a way to trace the development of the attribute, and see how and when its use began to change.

Here we get to the point of contact between the two ideas. The Hellenistic period is a broad, uneven, inelegant term to discuss a period of time directly impacted by the death of Alexander the Great and the aftermath of his political and military campaigns, but before the Roman Empire became the main cultural and political power. This is, of course, impossible to define, but in reductive academic short-hand refers to the years 323 BC- 31 AD. The Hellenistic period also considers a much broader geographic scope than is usually incorporated into classical scholarship in earlier periods, because Alexander conquered so much land, and Greek ideas were then transmitted in very different ways to a broader swath of people and cultures.

I’ve now reached the point where this gets beyond me, for the moment. I’m not an Hellenistic historian, and the political and military narrative of history during these years is a fucking quagmire. The art produced during this time-period in many ways reflects this time of upheaval and constant change, because it’s experimental, bizarre, and all over the place.

Alexander was a brilliant commander and political thinker. He curated his image and controlled its dissemination. The dude had a whole host of personally commissioned artists at his command who produced sculptures/coins/jewels depicting him that were somehow regulated and presented a unified front, despite the geographical breadth across which they worked and he travelled. (This is precisely why you can always identify sculptures of him, even hundreds of years after his death, because they were all produced using cookie-cutter templates.) He used attributes and his own image to influence politics in a way that hadn’t been done before, and this continues long after his death.* This is picked up and totally incorporated into Roman imperial politics and art further down the road.

At the moment, this is my (utterly unsubstantiated) half-baked axis: I think that the attribute had been developing and shifting in use somewhat, but that Alexander radicalized what it was, and how it was used. THEREFORE, not only can one continue to trace how the attribute continues through and beyond Alexander in Greek&Roman art, but Alexander himself through time and cultures makes a fascinating case study of the attribute. (Maybe??? Or maybe this is just two separate things just barely linked??? I’m gonna try to explain the second branch more.)

Alexander was, obviously, a big fucking deal. He went a bunch of places and did a bunch of shit. As such, he was remembered and mythologized broadly, for many different reasons, in many different ways. His actions were incorporated into the narrative fabric of many cultures and societies. Before I watched this Getty talk I had NO IDEA that Alexander appears in the Quran. Fascinating!!

He appears in the Quran as Dhul-Qarnayn which means “The Two-Horned One” in English. Scholars don’t know exactly why, but have tentatively suggested that perhaps it is because Alexander was sometimes depicted on coins as having curling rams horns. This is super dope, and I totally wanna buy it and argue for it BECAUSE, his use of the rams horns on coinage was a direct attempt to assimilate himself within a blended Eastern/Egyptian mythology. The rams horns were an attribute of Ammon, an Egyptian deity who is often considered alongside/culturally synonymous to Zeus. So, it is possible that his name in the Quran and further Islamic tradition is a direct reference to the way he, and then his followers, manipulated attributes to accomplish political goals.

Tetradrachm of Lysimachus depicting Alexander with the horns of Ammon. British Museum 1919,0820.1

Along with being incorporated into the textual history of these diffuse cultures, he is also depicted visually in a whole host of new and evolving forms. I haven’t looked into the artistic depictions of Alexander once he becomes Dhul-Qarnayn, or Iskander (his Persian name), but I think that’s probably what I should do next. By the time it gets to the way-aforementioned manuscript page he is completely transformed iconographically speaking. In this illumination Alexander/Iskander is depicted (the solo figure on the right) as an official from the Chinese court, visiting the Kaaba. He is, therefore, culturally reborn, depicted as someone from China, interacting with one of the most sacred monuments of Islam. This is so far removed from his original context, and yet one can trace the path of his transmission through time and media to this point.

Iskander at the Kaaba. LACMA M.73.5.462

As I’ve said. I’m not sure how these two concepts (the attribute and ~Alexander through time~) necessarily link up, or if they even productively can. It’s possible they should both be pursued as separate, though theoretically related trains of thought. I was hoping, through the course of writing this, try and figure out some more/gain further clarity, but unfortunately I don’t think any of the resources I’ll need to really dig down on this are readily available online, as I have discovered a rather scanty digital trail, even about Alexander in his extended legendary life.

*27/4/19 this is pretty bold and I'm not sure I'm currently equipped to defend the statement against a critical attack but it still feels right.

If you read all of this, hey thanks! This was an attempt to try and mitigate the fact that I’ve just been crawling up the walls of my own mind and it’s been getting pretty bad the past couple of days. Injuries are really difficult for everyone, but coming directly from a summer of mobility and hiking and freedom in the place I love most, despite the fact that I wasn’t even in the field very much, and being utterly and completely grounded has been a devastating and crippling (pun intended) adjustment. Sitting in one place has never been something I’ve been good at, and I am really only just coming back into my own mind as I ease off the pain meds. SO, this was an attempt, inspired muchly by @post--grad’s fucking brilliant and captivating newsletter to just try and muse and think without any pressure or connected to anything that has any current relevance to my scholarly production.

Let me know what you think, really! Even if you’re someone for whom this is all totally new, bc let’s be real, most people don’t spend their lives thinking about objects and images and The Past. I wanna know what you think! Does it make sense? Is it weird? What was the most interesting thing about this, if at all?

#mine #writing #iconography #some musingsofmaura #if you will

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hetaliareaderfanfic · 7 years

Text

The Name Game

Notes: Reader x 2P!America vs. 2P!Canada (Y/N) = Your Name Human AU Part 3/13

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 11, Part 12, Part 13

First ten parts before Another Ending

It was the third Wednesday since Y/N’s last visit to Cafétea. She was not surprised, but still a little disappointed, to see her usual corner seat by the window taken by someone familiar. She decided to take the available table beside it. Where did I see him? Why does he look familiar? Was he a classmate before? I hope not. And then it struck her. The not so neatly tied blonde hair with some loose strands that rest on the man’s broad shoulders, the facial hair that suited him very well, the intimidating sunglasses that were very common to celebrities in disguise, the one-size-larger-than-his-actual-size red plaid button shirt, and the large plate on the table – a mountain of pancakes in the middle of a sea of maple syrup –, there was no doubt it was the same man who was always sitting on the seat she was now sitting on. Perhaps he was a rival who also wanted that corner spot by the window, but she was not there for two weeks, and the man finally had his moment.

She was too busy trying to remember who the man was that she did not see him slightly glanced at her. She was, at least, relieved to realize that she did not know the man; fearing the possible embarrassment of bumping into someone she knew but ignored that person’s presence, simply because she forgot the person’s name.

Seeing that she pulled out a pen and the same notebook she always had with her and started writing, he was quite relieved. He needed not to give up his new seat after all.

Oliver arrived with a tray on his hand to her table. He was so happy to see a regular customer back again. He should know the regulars, for it would be good for business. He gladly set down on the table Y/N’s usual order with an extra cupcake – that flavor Allen praised the most. Readying his rehearsed cute smiling pouty face, he asked Y/N, “Poppet, where were you these past two weeks, if you don’t mind me asking?”

It could not be ignored, the handsome Brit’s successful cute pouty face, and so Y/N smiled to not offend the worried Oliver and just answered with apologetic tone and expression, “I’m sorry, Oliver. I was just really busy with something. I could not leave the house.”

“Oh, Poppet! I’m glad you’re back! I have a new cupcake, and will you please taste it now? I really want to know if you’ll like it. You see, Poppet, I thought you no longer like my cupcakes, so…” As if the inquiring gentleman saw through the sunglasses of the man sitting on the next table, Oliver decided to talk to him as well after his conversation with Y/N.

“Oh, Oliver! That’s sweet of you!” And then she took a bite. Oliver could see the gleam on her eyes. “Oliver, this is amazing! You’re amazing! Thank you. I wish I could bake like you.”

“Oh, Poppet, if that happened, then you’d no longer come here.” He giggled. “I’m glad you like it. Enjoy your meal!” He then gave Y/N an even happier smile, and turned around to face the man on the next table. “Hello, dear M-hmmsir!” Oliver managed to improvise upon receiving a slight frown from the man. “Enjoy your meal!” He continued with a smile before leaving the dining area.

After serving all the customers at the moment, Oliver went to Francis and pouted, not rehearsed. “I think Mattie is angry at me.”

“I told you not to bother him while he’s eating his pancakes,” Francis reminded him while looking around to check the surroundings, “and he doesn’t want to be talked to here.” He added.

“I know, but… alright.” Oliver’s pout was instantly turned into a welcoming smile when a group of three women approached the counter. “Lovely day, ladies!” And he went back to business.

Sitting across an irritated Y/N, the three women seemed so carefree of their loud conversation. Y/N could not focus on her writing. Just a while ago, she was inspired to write a short story about an enchanted pancake island, no, not exactly that, but she had been looking quite attentively at the plate on the table next to hers.

One of the women who was wearing a chic floral dress sat facing Y/N’s and the man’s direction, and so she noticed the lonesome man. She whispered – but with a loud voice one might not be sure if it was truly a whisper – to her two friends, “Oh my god, he’s hot!”

And looking directly at the direction of the ‘hot’ man, they smiled and bet who would go first. One of them was wearing tight jeans and a lacy white tank top; the other one wore a short skirts and long sleeved shirt.

Tank Top Lady decided to go first. She gracefully stood up and casually walked to the other table and sat opposite the man. “Hello there, handsome. Lonely? Want some company?”

Y/N was not a fan of this kind of scene, and she did not want to be thought of as a gossiper by her frequent glances at the now just a hill of pancakes.

Tank Top Lady was just about to bend down slightly to reveal some more attractions she could display, but was stopped by the hot man’s reply: “No.” She frowned, and dismay was too obvious on her expression. She was not used of her beauty being rejected. Tank Top Lady was not just gorgeous; she was also persistent, brave, and confident, and so she tried again. She crossed her legs, and moved her right foot to touch the ‘hot’ man’s jeans-covered leg. “You’re lonely. I’m lonely. Why don’t we…” but she could not continue as the frown of annoyance on the ‘hot’ man’s face became too intimidating. Tank Top Lady stood up and rushed to her friends.

Despite of not wanting to witness a flirting scene, Y/N did and was impressed of the outcome. She continued writing. The great giant living in the enchanted pancake island would not allow anyone to trade goods with him, and so he spread more maple syrup into the sea to… “Wait, this does not seem so right, but, uh well this is just a draft.” Y/N told herself as she silently giggled and questioned her sanity. “It’s just a plot draft.” She was still trying to convince herself.

Thinking it was her she was giggling about, Tank Top Lady sat on the chair in front of the surprised Y/N. “Bitch. Why are you laughing at me?”

Y/N did not go back to Cafétea to be called ‘bitch’ again. She was asking herself and the universe why she had to deal with this kind of humans, despite of her trying to avoid not just them, but any other kinds of humans as much as possible. She found humans very complex, and usually negative type of complex. “I’m not a bitch.” She replied with her usual straight face.

“You are. And you laughed at me.” Tank Top Lady replied.

“Were you being funny?” Y/N wanted to just keep silent, but she could not control herself.

“BITCH!” Tank Top Lady could had had grabbed Y/N’s mug of espresso to splash on Y/N, but Y/N was quick enough to point her pen at Tank Top Lady’s face.

“Not. My. Coffee. Bitch.” Y/N’s cold stare could not be ignored. Her voice might not be as loud as the three female friends, but the warning was audible enough for the two other friends to hear. Seeing that Tank Top Lady’s hand carefully crept away from her mug, Y/N lowered her pen and smiled. It was not the same smile she gave to Francis and Oliver. “Evaporate.” Y/N, with unconscious glare, said in a whisper, but anyone looking at her could read it from her half-smiling lips.

Tank Top Lady invited her friends to go. Now, Skirt Lady had noticed earlier that Y/N was writing something and it was when she giggled. Skirt Lady looked afraid but polite and fair enough; she walked to Y/N and apologized for her friend’s behavior. Relief was evident on her face when Y/N replied, “Take care of her, of each other properly. Don’t spoil her or anyone on something bad. I’m glad you seem smart to analyze the situation. Don’t waste your orders, though. They’re great. At least have it take-out.” Skirt Lady did not expect to be answered like that, and so were the other interested customers, and she was not aware of her blush. She murmured a ‘Thank you’ to Y/N and was surprised to see the French and British ‘waiters’ at their table with their orders already in a take-out bag. And with that, the three friends left Cafétea without receiving an ‘Until next week’ from the French man, and not even a smile from the jolly Brit.

Y/N took time to breathe in some calmness and exhaled her exhaustion. She then looked at the two owners of the shop, and then around, and realized that some other customers were looking at her direction. She suddenly felt embarrassed, and no more was her ‘pissed off’ aura. She looked down and apologized to them sheepishly for “any possible inconvenience she might have caused both to the owners and the customers.”

As if they were very close, Oliver walked to Y/N and hugged her. “No, Poppet, you should not apologize.” He was really concerned and amazed at the same time; and later thought that Y/N would be a great guard, er, ally.

And Francis, to show his concern and support, turned to the customers. “Is any of you troubled by this?”

Some of the customers who were also audience of the previous scene shook their heads. And as if some clarification were needed, the ‘hot’ man replied, “Not by her”, referring to Y/N. And just like that, they all agreed and everyone minded their own business.

Perhaps he understood Y/N’s feelings. If it was his plate of pancakes and maple syrup that was threatened to be wasted in a very disapproving way, he might have done the same as that customer did. That customer who he also always saw in Cafétea every Wednesday or Thursday for the past seven months except for the past two weeks because of his stupid brother; that customer who usually ordered the same coffee and cupcakes yet sometimes might change, who always continuously wrote something undecipherable until she remembered her then cold coffee, but nevertheless would drink it; that customer who always seemed interested in his pancakes and maple syrup but never ordered them for herself; yes, that customer Francis and Oliver knew. He would not ask them, though, for he already knew her name.

#2P!Canada #2P!England #2P!France #Hetalia Fanfiction #Hetalia x Reader #The Name Game #zanier fanfic

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austinpanda · 5 years

Text

Dad Letter 120119

1 December, 2019

Dear Dad--

Happy Thanksgiving and welcome to December! I got a couple of gifts from you, and I want to thank you for them! It looks like one is a paracord bracelet (which I’m going to keep in my car in case of emergencies) and the other looks like a big scary knife! That’s a really good-looking knife! I am ready to be the heavy in a Steven Segall movie. Thank you thank you! I may keep the knife in my car too, just because I don’t have anything for self defense in the car, other than a viciously-thrown handful of sugar-free Werthers. Being here in Yankeeland, I’m supposed to have an emergency survival kit in my car, in case I go off the road and get stuck in snow. I believe it’s supposed to contain warm clothing, and a snow shovel, and food. (What I really need in that situation is a tow truck, so I’m going to have to be better about taking my phone with me wherever I go.

Job hunt! I have an interview tomorrow at a temp agency called Bangor Area Staffing Solutions (BASS!) where they will take my references, review the results of four assessment tests I will have taken by then, and hook me up with a job. I’ve taken the first two assessments, which were a typing test and a clerical skills test (math, grammar, punctuation). I have to take another assessment on my abilities with Microsoft Word, a word processor program, and a final assessment to gauge my abilities with Microsoft Excel, which means spreadsheets. I’ve worked with spreadsheets before, but never created one, or did anything really complicated in Excel, so I’m watching tutorials on YouTube. They not only have Excel tutorials, but they have tutorials specifically geared to help you through an Excel assessment as part of a job application, so I’m getting that knowledge packed into the ol’ brain in preparation.

I believe I’ve made a new friend! Found him on a website that specializes in, not to put too fine a point on it, fat gay guys, and their admirers. It’s a bit silly in concept, but it’s also how I met Zach. Now most of the guys who go on this website are trying to find love, or, more likely, trying to get laid. I am the rare exception to this rule. I’m one of the few who use the site because they just want to make a new friend, and specifically NOT do any fornicating. And I got lucky! I found a big friendly fellow named Josh, and he even lives in Old Town (and not Bangor) like me, so he’s quite close. I’ve been chatting with him online. I’ve learned a few things.

I thought I liked decorating for Christmas. Nope, I’m an amateur with no hopes of ever going pro. Josh is a pro. While I was chatting with him, he sent me a pic of his Christmas tree, which he had decorated. It was gorgeous. It had red and white lights on it, with blue accent lights nearby, just like the tree in my living room! Then he mentioned that he was decorating another tree. This made me stop and think, because how many single people have multiple Christmas trees, much less the stuff to decorate them? Turns out, Josh does! I asked him how many trees he had, and he wasn’t sure (!), but he thinks 7 to 10. He mentioned getting 15 totes full of Christmas shit at a yard sale once.

So that’s my new friend Josh’s big secret; He has a vicious Christmas addiction. It’s cunning and baffling and powerful, and the first step is admitting that he has a problem. I saw snowshoes in one of the photos, and mentioned that he owned snowshoes. He had to correct me; he doesn’t own snowshoes that he can use to walk in the snow, those are antique snowshoes he borrowed from a friend for purposes of a Christmas display near the entryway in his apartment. They’re decorative holiday snowshoes.

So now I’m fascinated by this guy. You don’t meet too many people in life who are so committed to Christmas. I don’t have many friends who are that committed to anything. And he’s allergic to beef, and nuts, so we’re going to cook his ass a lasagna with pork Italian sausage in it. I think he’s earned a lasagna for his holiday efforts.

So...exercise. Fucking exercise, bane of my existence. I figured I would get more outdoor time and more long walks once I moved north, and so far I’ve been right. It’s a lot more fun to go walking through an empty park covered with snow when it’s 30 degrees (for me) than it is to walk through a park full of hip, young, pretty people when it’s 100 degrees. Yesterday, before going on our walk, I checked my cell phone to see if it had a built-in fitness app that would track how far we walked, and lo, it did! Once I turned that shit on, my phone became a pedometer, and it turned out we ended up walking 1.46 miles. It was about 22 degrees. We really froze our nuts off, but it was a beautiful trail we were on (I’ll include a pic or two) and I slept better last night than I’ve slept since we moved here. Fucking exercise, hahaha! And my depression isn’t noticeable today...I hate when everybody except me gets how healthy exercise is, and then my own body proves them right. I shall have to walk again today.

I’ve discovered a new TV show I like, and it’s strange but fascinating: The Great British Bake-Off. Start with ten of the country’s best amateur bakers, have them compete against each other, eliminate the biggest loser, and repeat until they have an ultimate winner. The thing to enjoy about the show is just how British everything is. Everyone is super polite, and so eager to bake something perfect, and disasters happen, but because they’re British, they don’t hurl a coffee mug across the kitchen, they just get kind of quiet while they chastise themselves for their feeble effort. One baker was icing his cake, then turning it slightly, then icing some more, then turning it slightly. Only every time he turned it, he was also shoving it forward just a bit, which he didn’t notice. So he turned it one too many times and gently shoved his whole cake onto the floor. The judges (because, remember, it’s England) came over to help him pick up his cake and encourage him to finish the competition as best he could. I think if it were America, the judges would run up and start yelling at him, and make him do push-ups.

I’m going to get started on my test preparation and take my assessments now! Wish em luck. Thank you again for the paracord and the knife; I’m now much better prepared in case of robbers or grizzly bear. Much love to you both!!

0 notes

almaasi · 8 years

Text

reaction post typed while watching SPN 12x16 “Ladies Drink Free”

HARRY POTTER REFERENCES IN THE COSTUME CHOICES. also Mick is a knockoff Cas and it’s weird

06:29pm

i was halfway through watching dan & phil’s liveshow and cackling out loud at the “clean me daddy” antics when i remembered there was something i was meant to be doing... oh yeah watching supernatural pfff

also my cat wilson has gone to sleep in mY SOCK DRAWER

06:31

i JUST CHECKED WHO WROTE THIS AND IT’S MEREDITH GLYNN

I ACTUALLY GASPED IN EXCITEMENT

what a good

i saw the promos on instagram and i thought ehhh it looks cute, and i’m absolutely here for claire, and dean being pampered, but i was wary because it’s so hard to trust this show from the promos

or trust this show at all

DON’T FAIL ME MEREDITH GLYNN

06:35pm

oh god i love claire so muuuch

i missed herrrr

08:37

the bar is called “lucky badger”

there’s symbolism in there somewhere

i’m thinking of a) mark sheppard in firefly, b) crowley, c) hufflepuffs, d) anyone surly and british in a tux tbh which is probably the point

06:38

always weird when the moon is obviously digitally transplanted into the frame, and the light is coming from a completely different angle

cool blue lighting in the forest though, nice shot

kinda looks like narnia

06:40

this girl is so attractive to me, i’m all gooey inside ‘cause she’s so damn cute

i can’t deal with girls they’re all so beautiful

boys are okay, i’m only attracted to them if they’re hella pretty and display some kind of deep affinity for femininity, or are in some way sexually repressed (don’t judge me idk why) (also sometimes this isn’t true so IDK IDK IDK)

but GIRLS

OH GOD

i’d say maybe i’m attracted to femininity as a concept but ANDROGYNOUS AND MASCULINE GIRLS and NON BINARY PEOPLE also mess me up

everyone is so beautiful

and i’m mostly asexual

i don’t know what sexual people go through bUT IF IT’S ANYTHING LIKE THIS with the addition of lust?? HOW

06:47

ALSO THE COLOURS THESE TWO ARE WEARING

they are absolutely hufflepuffs

thIS IS A HUFFLEPUFF THING RIGHT

BADGERS AND YELLOW

06:49

dear pretty hufflepuff girl: your brother is a dickwad

06:49

deaR PRETTY HUFFLEPUFF GIRL

I THINK YOU’RE A SLYTHERPUFF

06:51

SHE BETTER STILL BE ALIVE :C :C :

06:51

the bisexual colours on the map dean’s looking at tho

THE LIGHT POIINTING LIKE AN ARROW TOWARDS IT AND DEAN

AND SEPARATING IT FROM SAM

or, alternatively, it’s pointing sam at the map

depends on your interpretation i guess

bUT THERE’S SOME HARDCORE QUEER SYMBOLISM THERE EITHER WAY

NEW DIRECTOR: Amyn Kaderali

I THINK THEY GET IT

06:55

OKAY BUT THE BMOL DON’T KNOW HOW TO CLEAN UP A BLOODSTAIN

06:56

dean about mick: “world class repression”

eyyyy dean recognises what repression looks like in other queercoded characters

06:56

oh good pretty girl did live

i missed her name though

...hayden foster? cute

06:58

I HAVE NEVER SEEN SAM SAY “COOL” LIKE THAT

dean’s like (≖︿≖✿)

and sam’s like (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ

07:01

the harry potter references in this are giving me life

now i’m looking at all the colours in every shot and wondering if dean and sam are gonna be sorted by their costume choices

i think sam’s decidedly 50/50 hufflepuff-ravenclaw, and a smash of gryffindor on his shirt

i think dean’s meant to be neutral/unsorted right now, i’m expecting a costume change later

07:04

quietly lowkey friendshipping sam/mick

(mick has a hufflepuff outer jacket with a ravenclaw shirt core)

(i’M REALLY ENJOYING THIS)

07:07

DEAN’S EXCITED ABOUT THE THREE STAR HOTEL

HE’S GONNA HAVE A LONG BATH AND WRAP HIMSELF IN FUZZY TOWELS TONIGHT I CAN GUARANTEE IT

07:08

“wild elk lodge” LIKE HARRY POTTER’S PATRONUS RIGHT. RIGHT??

also dean pinching something , probably edible

oh! mints

07:10

DEAN SWIMMING NAKED IN A HOTEL POOL

where is cas

CAS WOULD’VE DIPPED HIS TOES IN, FROWNED A LOT, THEN BEEN YANKED INTO THE WATER BY DEAN

and he’d paddle like a puppy, frowning and complaining about how he doesn’t understand the point of this exercise, but secretly having fun

AND HE’D COME OUT OF THE WATER ALL SPIKY-HAIRED AND DEAN WOULD FORCEFULLY RUB HIS HEAD WITH A TOWEL AND THEN WHIP HIS ASS WITH IT WHILE GIGGLING

AND CAS WOULD HUFF AND FROWN

07:14

DeAN TRYING TO ACT ALL MACHO “i’ve had better nights sleep in my baby”

on the one hand, sure, sounds feasible, but on the other hand WHAT KINDA BULLSHIT YOU SPOUTING THERE SON

mick just tryna impress the boys

07:19

those injuries are SO badly wrapped

07:20

“she’s a lucky girl”

MICK NO

he’s gonna come back and try to kill her isn’t he

07:21

love how claire is, by extension of cas, also associated with the gas-n-sip sunshine logo

CLAIRE IS SLYTHERIN ACCORDING TO HER JACKET

tell me, if these aren’t hogwarts house sorting clothes, why are they so accurate and symbolic?

07:30

DEAN IS THAT YOUR TERRIBLE ACCENT

GOD HES SUCH A FUN + EMBARASSING DAD

05:21

NOW CLAIRE’S RAVENCLAW WHEN SHE TAKES HER SLYTHERIN OUTER JACKET OFF AND LETS HER GUARD DOWN

AAAAAAH I’M LOVING THIS SO MUCH

IF YOU DIDN’T CATCH THIS HOGWARTS THING YOU’RE HONESTLY MISSING OUT THIS IS SO SATISFYING

THE DEER PATRONUS ON THE WALL ON THE BAR TOO

07:35

DEAN THINKS DOWNTON ABBEY IS BORING???

i mean it’s slow but it’s far from boring

there were two dudes making out in the first episode as well, he definitely saw that

07:36

dean stops claire from taking a beer

dean’s always in dad mode tbh

cas would be squinting right now

CAS IS HERE IN SPIRIT AS FAR AS I’M CONCERNED

07:38

love love love that dean’s alarmed by the word “grabby”

but i love EVEN MORE that claire is a big girl and she handled it

07:39

claire: “your foreign exchange student is totally lame”

dean: “he’s sam’s best friend. nerd soulmates.”

called it

ALSO IF DEAN’S CALLING SAM AND MICK A THING THEN HE’S PROBABLY PROJECTING WHICH MEANS DEAN LIKES MICK???? ???

???????????

07:41

dean: “go nuts. it’s on.. uh... harry potter”

1. DEAN DOING THE DAD THING

2. HARRY POTTER REFERENCE

3. HARRY POTTER REFERENCE BY DEAN

07:43

Oh no

rip hayden foster

07:44

THESE COLOURS THOUGH

all these ravenclaws

also i’m appreciating dean’s ravenlaw tie

heck yeah subtly smart!dean

07:47

“skeezer”

skeeze + geezer i guess

07:48

honestly this guy is just a knockoff cas

i want the real deal thanks

07:51

SHOUTOUT TO “THE GREAT BRITISH BAKE-OFF”

wait is this season still running (i don’t wanna google it in case of spoilers)

man i’m so behind

i’m like three episodes into season 7, candice’s lipstick is my favourite thing besides the cool food (and mary berry)

DOES DEAN WATCH IT THOUGH

HE’D PROBABLY JACK OFF TO ALL THE PRETTY FOOD AND CUTE PEOPLE IMO

oh god i don’t wanna ship mick/dean but i cannot deny dean would have good reasoning to be more attracted to mick than ketch. mick is like the british cas. (WHERE IS CAS. I MISS CAS. SOMEONE BRING ME CAS in his hufflepuff coat and ravenclaw tie)