#had to make my own brown sugar and hand cream it with cold butter using a fork as well which went uh. poorly

[macroglossus]

had to use hard apple cider instead of apple juice in this apple crumble. will update later to see how that went

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

An imagine for adeuce please! They hang out someplace in their hometown during vacation but awkwardly run into crewel. I think treys family bakery would be a nice location but the setting is your choice in case you want to limit the dialogue and number of characters

Ps. I personally feel like the game needs more interactions between the students and teachers. Hopefully we can get more in the new event

Teacher-student interactions are so much fun! We definitely got more from Vargas Camp (which I’m really thankful for), and I hope we keep getting more!

So far, my favorite teacher-student dynamic has been Vargas and Azul. I’d feel bad for octoboi if I wasn’t laughing so hard at his flying fails--

I really liked this prompt, so I wrote more than my usual ~1000 word imagine; please enjoy!

***Mild spoilers for chapter 4!***

Imagine this...

The Rose Kingdom was aptly named for the flowers that bloomed in nearly every corner of its land. In the summer time, they blossomed magnificently, perfuming the warm air with their heady aroma—but in the winter, those delicate rosebuds were banished by a spell of frost. Without fail, a great cold would wash over the region every year, casting their famous red flowers in a thick layer of white.

It was a pattern that the kingdom’s residents had long since grown accustomed to. This was, after all, their beloved home—amid the roses, frozen as they were.

“Oi, Deuce! Hurry it up, will you?!” Ace called, tossing an annoyed glance over his shoulder.

His friend—wearing so many layers that he resembled a moving blueberry more than a human—lagged several paces behind.

Deuce attempted to return the sass, but his words caught in the scarf bound tightly around his mouth, coming out muffled instead. The puffball on his winter hat furiously bobbed up and down, as though communicating his frustration for him.

“If we don’t pick up the pace, they’re gonna sell out of hot chocolate and fresh pastries!” Ace rushed back, grabbed Deuce by the arm, and tugged. “C’mon!! I thought you were in Track and Field Club or something—so let’s get moving!”

Deuce loosened his scarf with his free hand and, glaring at Ace, declared, “No way am I running with the roads this icy. That’s a recipe for disaster.”

“Hah? You serious? I already got wasted enough time waiting for you to dress in your 101 layers of coats,” Ace grumped, gesturing to Deuce’s ridiculous outfit. “It can’t hurt to be a little quicker about it.”

“Mom wanted me to stay warm,” Deuce countered stiffly. “I’m gonna respect that, no matter what.”

Ace rolled his eyes and waves dismissively. “Yeah, yeah, whatever—enough talk, we really gotta get going...!! I’ll be damned if I freeze out here.”

“The Clover Bakery isn’t that far from here, so we don’t need to rush.” Deuce indicated a warm building at the end of the block, which gave off delicious fumes—spun sugar, baked bread, and spices. “Slow and steady wins the race.”

Ace groaned loudly. At this rate, it would take all day for them to waddle on over. He was about to bury his head in his hands when an idea dawned on him.

A mean, but clever, idea.

“Betcha I could make it there faster than you,” Ace chirped, his voice casual.

“It’s not a competition,” Deuce reminded him sternly.

“No one said it was, dummy! I’m just saying I could definitely beat you at your own game.”

“Tough words for someone shaking like a leaf in the cold.”

“Oh yeah?” Ace’s grin was wicked. “Prove me wrong, then.”

“I don’’t have to prove anything. It’d be dangerous to run in this weather, anyway.”

“I bet it’s way more snowy in Pyroxene—and Jack’s probably totally fine with running through it!”

“That’s Jack, and this is me. I said I wasn’t going to rush things, and I meant it.”

“Yeah? Too bad~” The redhead gave an exaggerated sigh and a shrug. “Backing out, huh...? Oh well. Guess if you snooze, you lose...!!”

“Hey, I never said...” Deuce’s voice trailed off, for Ace had shoved by him, darting off in the direction of the bakery. “H-Hey...!! Ace...!! ACE!! GET BACK HERE!!”

He tore after his friend, shouting at him all the while—and Ace, with his (cheating) head start, only laughed in return. Deuce soon caught up (no thanks to his club conditioning), and they were neck-and-neck for first place.

Windchill, knives upon their faces. The biting cold seeped into their lungs, making it hurt to breathe as they hurtled toward their destination. Yet they sailed on, determined to outdo the other.

Both boys launched themselves at the bakery entrance, grasping the handle at the same time.

“EXCUSE US!!” Ace and Deuce yelled in unison, yanking open the door (struggling to cram through the doorway at the same time) and stumbling in.

They were greeted by a blast of warmth and the smells of sweet cakes and toasted breads. The employee manning the counter glanced up, startled at the duo’s sudden appearance. When he saw who it was that had barged in, he sighed and calmly readjusted his glasses.

He looked a little different than usual, wearing a white shirt with green plaid that showed off his broad shoulders. The sleeves were rolled up to reveal thick forearms forged from years of lifting flour sacks and kneading dough. A brown apron was slung over his attire, four-leafed clovers sewn on the pockets.

“If it isn’t Ace and Deuce. How are the two troublemakers of Heartslabyul doing?” Trey asked, his smile lopsided as his underclassmen approached.

“A-Are we really troublemakers in your eyes, Clover-senpai?!”

“I’m just kidding,” he reassured Deuce. “Well, you are troublemakers, but more for Riddle than for me.”

“Geez... thanks for the vote of confidence...” Ace grumbled, casting the third year a cheeky look. “Some senpai you are, huh?”

“Now, now... I’m allowed to have some fun, aren’t I? We’re all ‘off-duty’, so to speak.” Trey said light heartedly. “Anyway, what brings you guys to the Clover Bakery? I’m assuming you’re not dropping by just to say hello.”

“Hehe. Obviously we’re hungry, so we came by for some grub!” Ace held up his index finger. “One large hot chocolate, and a plate of assorted butter cookies for me!”

“I’m okay with a small spiced apple cider,” Deuce chimed in, “please and thank you.”

“Gotcha. I’ll get you your drinks in a bit,” Trey nodded, “but as for the butter cookies, I’m afraid I won’t be able to sell those to you.”

“Huh?” Ace’s face collapsed. “Why not?”

“We’ve only got a few dozen left, and they’re reserved for a client that preordered them. Sorry.” Trey pointed to a neatly wrapped box already set upon the counter, done up in a bright green bow.

Through the plastic window in the box, Ace could see that the cookies had been converted into little sandwiches. Each pair housed a generous dollop of cream, caramelized raisins threaded throughout it.

“What? Who needs that many butter cookies? And why are there gross raisins in them--“

The door to the bakery flung open, summoning a gale of cold once more. A bell suspended above jingled, ringing in a new customer.

“Ah, speak of deville the devil,” Trey said—while his underclassmen balked in terror.

There, in the doorway, was a tall man in black faux leather gloves and a voluminous fur coat—striped, black and white. Beneath that, he boasted a crimson turtle neck and a blazer, half solid white, the other half a black , checkerboard pattern. This, paired with his slicked back hair, steely eyes, and regal face, made him appear as though he had just strutted off the runway, were it not for the leashes he gripped.

Two Dalmatians—one in a blue coat, the other in a red one—stood alert by his feet. They caught Ace and Deuce’s eyes and barked in greeting, but the two boys were far too fixated on the Dalmatians’ owner to gush over dogs.

“Crewel...”

“... Sensei?”

Ace and Deuce glanced to one another, then back at their Alchemy teacher.

“C-CREWEL-SENSEI?!”

“Wh-What’re you doing here?!” Ace demanded, pointing an accusatory finger. “School’s out for winter break...!! You... You didn’t hunt us down to make us do our homework, did you?!”

Crewel snorted. “Spare me your theatrics, Trappola. Your instructors are granted a vacation for the duration of winter break as well. Were you not aware?”

“I-I knew that! I just didn’t know you lived in the Rose Kingdom, too!”

“I thought teachers lived at school...”

“... Seriously, Deuce?!”

“The more you know.” Crewel narrowed his eyes at Ace. “But speaking of homework, I trust you pups are keeping on top of your assignments? Being on break is no excuse to slack on your studies.”

“D-Duh! Of course I haven’t been slacking!” A lie, Ace grimaced, thinking to the piles of homework he had abandoned in his bedroom in favor of hanging out with friends. Whatever, he could just pester his brother for help later. “Right, Deuce? Back me up here!”

“I’ve been diligently studying and working on my homework bit by bit every day, Crewel-sensei!”

“... But have you done it accurately?” Crewel asked, raising an eyebrow. “Simply writing down an answer does not guarantee full marks, Spade.”

“... Errrrrr, okay, maybe I need to work on it a little more.”

“You’ve got your notes and a reliable Science Club member to count on for assistance,” Crewel quipped, gesturing to Trey with a gloved hand. “There is no excuse for why you should not do well. That goes for you as well, Trappola.”

“Y-Yessir!”

“Crewel-sensei, I think that’s enough interrogation,” Trey called, waving for him to come to the counter. Outwardly, he wore a smile, but inwardly, he sighed. For the love of the Great Seven, don’t offer my help for me. “Here, I have your order prepared--oh, but be sure to keep your dogs at the doorway. No pets allowed beyond a certain threshold for health and safety reasons.”

“I am aware, yes.” Crewel’s eyes passed over to the two scared stiff underclassmen. “... Trappola, Spade--come here. Do your professor a favor and tend to my Dalmatians for me.”

“What? You want us to watch your dogs?”

“I’ll do my best, Sensei!!”

“Don’t just blindly agree to it, Deuce!”

“It will only be for a moment,” Crewel insisted, shoving his leashes into Ace and Deuce’s hands. The boys fumbled, but held firm--the Dalmatians eagerly staring up at them.

“... Oi, don’t give me those looks,” Ace grumbled. “You’re... You’re too cute looking and innocent to be Crewel-sensei’s pets.”

The dog in the red coat gave a happy bark, as if pleased with the compliment. Its partner, in the blue coat, panted with delight as Deuce gave it a firm head pat.

Crewel received the box of raisin butter cookies--but allowed his eyes to quickly a scan the glass display case as he strode up. “Do you have dog treats in stock as well?”

“We do.”

“Then add two to my total, please--peanut butter flavor.”

“Alright, you’ve got it.” Trey ducked, retrieved a pair of tongs, and fished out two bone-shaped biscuits. He dropped them into a paper bag and handed them over to his teacher. “That’ll be--”

He was cut off by several bills being fanned out on the counter.

“I’ve ordered enough from your bakery to know the general prices,” Crewel smirked, tucking his wallet away into his massive fur coat. “If there is a discrepancy, you may keep the change.”

“Ah, thanks for that. Hope you and the dogs enjoy--” Trey paused, cut off this time by the sound of several small footsteps from the back room of the bakery. He groaned, already knowing what was coming. “Oh no...”

“Trey-nii!!” A chorus of high-pitched voices piped up, startling Ace and Deuce. “We heard bark-barks!! Did Mr. Fluffy Coat bring back his doggies?”

Three heads of green hair poked above the counter--just barely. One girl and two boys, probably elementary school age, all of them sharing Trey’s mustard yellow eyes.

“Guys, not now. Big bro’s busy with the customers,” Trey warned. He passed an apologetic look to his underclassmen and teacher. “Sorry, my siblings are excitable sometimes.”

“I wanna pet the doggies!”

“I wanna feed’m snackies!”

“I wanna dress them up!”

To the boys’ surprise, Crewel merely chuckled. “No worries. Fellow canine lovers are always welcome.”

“Mr. Fluffy Coat!! Can we feed your doggies?”

“Pretty please with candied violets on top!”

“Please, please, please!!”

Crewel barked with laughter. “Perhaps I can allow it, little ones--permitted that your brother grants his permission.”

All three Clover siblings looked expectantly at their eldest sibling.

Trey heaved a sigh. “... I guess I’ve got no choice. Go ahead.”

Excited squeals filled the interior of the bakery. The Clover siblings nearly tripped over themselves racing over to Crewel’s dogs (they nearly trampled Ace and Deuce’s feet, too).

“Hey, watch it! We’re the ones babysitting these dogs, not you!” Ace cried as the kids descended on the Dalmatians. I’ve only had these dogs for five minutes but if anything happened to them, I’d kill everyone here and then--

“We can share, Ace!”

“Spade is correct. There is plenty of the pups to go around,” Crewel interjected. He produced two dog treats and broke them into smaller pieces, offering them to Ace, Deuce, and the Clover siblings. “Go on, then. One for each of you to feed them.”

The Clovers cheered and eagerly claimed their pieces, holding them out and allowing each Dalmatian to sniff and lick the treats straight out of their palms. As soon as the food was slurped up, the Clovers proceeded to vigorously pet the pups. But the first years hesitated.

“You’re... being awfully nice,” Ace noted, eying him suspiciously. “Are you gonna spring a pop quiz on us as soon as I take the treat?”

“Keep biting the hand that feeds you, and I just might consider it,” Crewel warned with a dark smirk.

“W-We’ll take the treats!” Deuce snatched up two pieces, shoving one into Ace’s hands. “Come on, let’s not worry too much. We’re on winter break, after all. Let’s just relax while we still can.”

“You’re right, you’re right! Let’s not sweat it!”

They exchanged a brief laugh before kneeling and offering up their own dog treat pieces to the Dalmatians. Just as the dogs’ sloppy, wet tongues connected with the boys’ hands, their cell phones went off.

“... Huh? Did you just get a text, Deuce?”

“I think I did. I heard your phone ping too, though. Did you get a text too?”

“I can check. One sec...” With his free hand, Ace fished his phone out of his coat pocket and consulted it. He immediately paled. “Oh, shit.”

(“Hey, language!” Trey shouted--but his protest seemingly went ignored.)

“What’s wrong?” Deuce asked, frowning.

“Check your phone. Check it right now.”

“Is it something seri...” Deuce’s face dropped as soon as he looked at his messages. “Fuck.”

(“I said, language!” Trey tried again, only to be snubbed a second time.)

The distressing text they had received?

SOS SEND HE LP STRAND ED D IN SCAR ABIA CANT GET OUT - Yuu, Grim

Ace and Deuce abruptly stood and bolted toward the exit, much to everyone’s surprise. They paid no mind to the concerned shouts of Trey, nor Crewel, or to the excited barks of Dalmatians no longer held by leashes.

All that remained of where the duo once stood were soggy, half-finished peanut butter dog treats.

[tedturneriscrazy]

You thought there wasn't gonna be a Taco Dragon this week, but here I come to save the day!

This week I make another foray into the sweet side with:

Kabocha Five Spice and Red Bean Empanadas!

@nikkydash

Kabocha squash is also known as Japanese pumpkin, so this one technically counts as a Halloween special! Well, maybe not, but read on anyways!

Also, with feedback from the Discord server, I'll be trying to include amounts more so that these can be more easily replicated!

Split the kabocha, remove the seeds, and roast in the oven on a greased baking sheet at 450°F for 45 minutes

Scoop out the flesh (yields approx 2 cups of puree), allow it to cool, and add the following:

Egg

½ c sugar

½ tsp kosher salt

1 ½ tsp Chinese five spice powder

Set in the fridge until ready to use.

For the red bean paste, soak a cup of azuki beans in four cups of water overnight.

Drain, return to the pot, cover with water, bring to a boil, reduce the heat, cover, and simmer until the beans mash easily between your fingers. Drain, return to the pot on medium high, and add the following:

1 ½ c sugar

Pat of butter

Pinch of salt

Stir over the heat until a paste-like consistency, mashing with a potato masher. Transfer to a container to cool.

For the empanada dough:

3 c all purpose flour

⅓ c sugar

1 ½ tsp salt

¼ tsp baking powder

1 stick butter, softened and cut into chunks

½ c shortening

½ c warm water (I ended up using ⅔ c and the dough was very wet, so ½ should be enough. Your mileage may vary)

Note: you could easily use all butter or all shortening. I just went half and half because of supply reasons (aka I only set out the one stick of butter). If you want to be real old school, use lard!

Whisk together the dry ingredients. Cut in the fats with a pastry blender or forks or your own damn hands. Add the water 2-3 tbsp at a time just until a dough forms. Knead in the bowl, turn out onto a floured surface, and divide into 12 equal pieces.

Let rest while either making one of the other fillings or putting away dishes.

Now for final assembly! Roll each dough ball out into about a six inch circle. Place ~⅓ cup of filling in the center.

Fold dough over, press shut, and crimp with a fork. Carefully place on a baking sheet lined with parchment paper or silicone mat.

Brush each empanada with egg wash (beaten egg + 1 tsp cold water). Top with sugar, if desired.

(Kabocha on the left topped with brown sugar, red bean on the right topped with white sugar)

Bake in a 400°F oven until browned and cooked through. (The recipe called for 350°F and 20 minutes, but that wasn't nearly enough. I think my oven just sucks lol)

Let cool completely. I did this late last night, so I had to go to bed before I could sample them.

Here are the obligatory cross sections:

Now the real question: how did these turn out?

The answer: amazingly, especially the kabocha!

Kabocha is essentially Pumpkin 2.0, and the five spice works beautifully here. Now I kinda want to make a pie with this flavor profile!

The red bean also turned out quite nicely. I always love a good red bean paste. However, if I do this again, I might include a cream cheese filling alongside the red bean paste.

And there you have it! A resounding success! If you can find kabocha, I highly recommend trying it out!

Have a safe and happy Halloween everybody!

[retvenkos]

sugar and icing | r.b.

HSMTMTS - Ricky Bowen x reader, fluff

tw: mentions of divorce

word count: 2.5k

A/N: @ my followers - thank you for reminding me that ricky bowen is a sweetheart who deserves the world.

prompt: we’re making cookies in the middle of the night while drinking hot chocolate, and wow your hair is messy but it looks so cute

Festive music drifted from the kitchen and dispersed throughout the house, almost covering the sounds of bumping cupboards and shuffling feet as (Y/n) rooted through the cupboards, looking for ingredients. (Y/n) had found their grandparents’ recipe for sugar cookies and, wanting to try their hand at baking, decided to ignore the mountain homework that mocked their holiday spirit, make a mug of hot chocolate, and get to work making cookies from scratch.

Wham!’s Last Christmas was finishing off it’s second to last chorus when there was a knock at the door. A text vibrated in the pocket of (Y/n)’s jeans immediately after, and they figured it was another relative or another, stopping by to drop off food and gifts.

“Be there in a minute!” (Y/n) called from their place in the pantry, still trying to grab the sugar that was trapped behind stacks of canned vegetables.

A muffled “okay” greeted them, and (Y/n) managed to slide the sugar out of its hiding place. When they finally opened the door, they were pleasantly shocked by who was waiting for them.

“Hey, Ricky.” Their tone was softer than they expected, revealing some of the tenderness beneath. If Ricky noticed, he made no mention of it, only smiled in greeting, shifting the backpack on his shoulder.  “What are you doing here?”

Ricky raised an eyebrow, the smile on his lips faltering just a bit. “You’re joking right?”

From inside, the oven beeped, announcing that it had been preheated. Ricky looked past (Y/n), peering into their home, expression turning into something akin to confusion. (Y/n) opened their mouth to make some response but faltered. Had they missed something?

(Y/n) slapped the pocket that had their phone in it. Suddenly, the text that they received seemed a bit important.

“I’m here for our English project.” Ricky supplied, the end of his statement sounding like a question. Realization dawned on (Y/n), a wave of relief that ended with a sour feeling in their stomach.

“Right,” (Y/n) let out a mix between a nervous chuckle and sigh. “I completely forgot about that, sorry.”

Ricky shrugged off their apology, seemingly more amused than anything else, and (Y/n) let him inside, already starting to complain about their English teacher. After all, who gives a lengthy project during a break?

(Y/n) led Ricky into the kitchen, where they had abandoned their school supplies on the dining table. They gestured to a seat where Ricky could set down his backpack and started rifling through their own, trying to find the folder where they had placed the instructions. (Y/n) continued to ramble, but when Ricky made no sound of response, they turned to him.

Ricky was paused by the kitchen counter, his eyes locked onto the mess that was strewn across the counter - ingredients, baking sheets, measuring cups and cookies cutters. (Y/n) rolled their eyes, walking to the oven to turn it off. “I was going to do some baking. I should have been preparing for this project, though.”

Ricky closed his mouth, making all the gestures to hum, but failing to make a sound. There was something sad in Ricky’s demeanor, a shift that made (Y/n) stand still, for a moment, letting their hand rest on the handle of the oven. The festive music was still playing  and the house was much more warm with the oven having been on, but for a moment (Y/n) felt frozen. Their thoughts came to rest on the boy in front of them, sobering their mood. 

He’d had a rough year, hadn’t he?

“You bake?” and his voice was distant, with a tinge of melancholy.

“Not much, no. I just found an old recipe and thought I’d try my hand,” they replied. Ricky blinked and nodded his head, bringing himself out of his stupor. He caught (Y/n)’s eye and they smiled gently. “Why do you ask?”

He averted his eyes. “My mom and I used to bake.... every year.” A ghost of a smile made its way onto his face. “Sugar cookies, too.”

(Y/n) hummed in acknowledgement, messing with the hem of their shirt. “The holidays must be rough.”

“Yeah,” Ricky sighed, “It’s just going to be me and my dad, this year - and he’s not much of a baker.” (Y/n) scoffed, and it was just enough to bring Ricky’s gaze back to them. “I don’t think I’ll ever get used to it.”

“Maybe, one day.”

He nodded, again. His curls bounced with the movement.

“Until then—” (Y/n) leaned back over the stove to restart the oven “—do you want to bake with me?”

Ricky’s eyes opened wide in shock, and for a moment, he was quiet. (Y/n) smiled at him and he eventually shrugged, pushing back the sleeves of his sweater. “Sure,” he breathed, “Why not?”

“You’re in charge of the most important parts, then.” (Y/n) walked over to turn up the music and Ricky washed his hands in the kitchen sink, still smiling softly to himself. “You’re making my family very happy, deciding to help out.”

“Oh yeah?” Ricky tossed the towel he used to dry his hands over his shoulder and (Y/n) passed him the butter. He put it in the mixing bowl and then took a glance at the recipe card, asking (Y/n) to measure out the sugar so he could cream the two together.

(Y/n) bumped shoulders with him when they poured it in. “I’m pretty sure they were worried I was going to light the house of fire. They went to visit relatives for the weekend, and they made a point of double checking the smoke alarm before they left.”

Ricky chuckled and (Yn) committed the sound to memory. “I can see why.”

(Y/n) gasped, just barely containing a laugh. “What do you mean?”

“The oven doesn’t need to be on until after the dough has chilled for three hours.”

(Y/n) could feel their cheeks get hot in embarrassment, and Ricky raised his eyebrows playfully.

“You’re terrible, you know that?” (Y/n) mumbled, turning off the oven once again.

“Oh, I know—” (Y/n) scoffed “—Pass me the egg?”

A new song blasted from the speakers and the two got to work, knocking elbows as they continued to go through the recipe. (Y/n) tried to sneak in an extra teaspoon of vanilla but Ricky had caught them red handed, and in retaliation threw a bit of flour their way. (Y/n) couldn’t be bested, and after the ensuing war, (Y/n)’s jeans were smeared with flour and Ricky’s cheeks and hair were powdered white.

When they popped the dough in the freezer to chill, (Y/n) made Ricky a hot chocolate, claiming that it would be the best he had ever tasted. Maybe they didn’t know how to bake, but (Y/n) made a mean mug of chocolaty goodness. When they passed him the mug, (Y/n) couldn’t stop themselves from smiling. It had been a while since they had seen him this carefree - with mussed hair, a dopey smile on his face, and his sweater rolled up to his elbows.

“You’re right.” Ricky inclined his head in mock reverence, laughter still burning in his eyes. “This is truly the best cup of hot chocolate I’ve ever had.”

“Told you. It’s all in the milk.” (Y/n) leaned against the counter with a contented sigh, allowing themself a moment of peace before diving into the English project that still lay on the dining table, woefully unfinished. They could complete a good deal of it in the three hours the dough needed to chill, and since Ricky’s dad was working all day and (Y/n)’s family wouldn’t be back until Monday, they had all the time in the world.

Ricky, ever observant, caught their gaze and appraised the weight of their sudden bout of pensivity. Deciding it wasn’t anything too severe, he took another sip of his hot chocolate, allowing Baby, It’s Cold Outside to take precedence. For a moment, the two just basked in the other’s presence.

“Thanks, for this.” Ricky eventually spoke, his hand tracing the rim of his mug. “The baking, I mean. It was fun and... it made me forget for a while.”

“Of course,” and there was no denying the sweetness in (Y/n)’s voice, the softness that was only meant for the two of them. Ricky must have noticed it this time, because his brown eyes sparkled with a particular type of fondness that made the room brighten.

(Y/n) looked down their mug, and the dark liquid that sat within. “And Ricky,” they took in a breath, “I know things are changing, but I’ll always have a place for you, if you ever need one.”

A silence followed their words, and (Y/n) didn’t dare move, wondering if they had somehow overstepped, or pushed him over the edge.

Then, Ricky’s had closed over theirs, warm and tight. (Y/n) looked up and Ricky had grateful tears in his eyes, pooling but not quite spilling. Even still, he was beautiful in a way that few managed.

“And,” (Y/n) all but whispered, “if these cookies are half as good as I hope they are, I’ll be calling you at all odd hours of the day to have you make them for me. You won’t be able to get rid of me, even if you tried.”

Ricky laughed lamely, pulling his hand away to wipe at his wet eyelashes.

“I don’t think I want to get rid of you.”

(Y/n) didn’t dare breathe for the few seconds that his words still bounced in their mind. “That’s good.” (Y/n) smiled and crossed the room, grabbing the things needed for their project, not not missing the way Ricky’s eyes followed them, but trying to force the butterflies in their stomach to focus on anything else.

“So,” (Y/n) slid Ricky’s bag over to him and sat their own supplies down on the freshly wiped counter. “Wuthering Heights, huh? Ready to slave over it for the next three hours?”

Ricky made a noncommittal shrug, but he slaved anyway; between mugs of hot chocolate, dollops of royal icing, and the occasional wayward glance at the other, the two worked on their English project semi-effectively. By the time they were done, the sky had darkened outside, stars just peeking out of the inky black sky. Despite their hot drinks, the cold was creeping in and when it was time to preheat the oven, both were grateful.

After three hours, (Y/n) didn’t want to write about any Catherine’s ever again, their brain completely fried by the moor metaphors and the cousin relationships. Ricky didn’t seem to be faring any better, still reeling from the idea that Heathcliff was both a romantic hero and the antihero of the story.

Suffice to say, when they had finished for the night, both (Y/n) and Ricky were immensely grateful. Rolling out the dough and cutting out star shaped cookies was a welcome distraction from their homework, and when the smell of baked sugar cookies filled the air, (Y/n) agreed with the singer on the radio that it was, indeed, the most wonderful time of the year.

Decorating the cookies had been harder than it looked, (Y/n) quickly learning that piping bags were surprisingly difficult to work with. Despite getting more icing on their hands than the cookie, Ricky has said they did a great job - much better than he did, the first time he baked sugar cookies. Both of them had rummaged through the cabinets and when they found red sprinkles, (Y/n) had covered their cookies in them, hiding the imperfections.

(Y/n) was licking the icing off of their fingers when it was finally Ricky’s time to impress with his decorating prowess.

“Are you ready to be amazed?” Ricky held a piping bag with canary yellow icing, a grin on his face and a laugh on the tip of his tongue.

“So ready.”

Grabbing a sugar cookie with a more complicated edge, Ricky iced it experty, with a perfect border. In his concentration, his tongue stuck out just a little bit, making (Y/n) laugh, a sound that was infectious. Ricky tried to scold them for making him laugh, claiming it was endangering the process, but at the end of his craftsmanship, the cookie was perfectly iced, by all accounts.

“For you,” Ricky gave them the cookie with an exaggerated flourish and (Y/n) hated the way they giggled - like a lovestruck teenager who couldn’t handle their crush on their best friend.

“Well, I’d offer you one of mine, but…” (Y/n) gestured to their failed attempts at icing, their lines wobbly and the center not evenly smoothed. Ricky chuckled at their embarrassment, and picked up the worst looking cookie there was.

“I think this one’s perfect.”

(Y/n) scoffed.

“I mean it!” Ricky sounded genuine enough, but (Y/n) looked at him, deeply unimpressed. “I’ll prove it”—and he pulled his phone out of his back pocket—“by taking a photo for Instagram. I hope you know I only post the best content.”

(Y/n) washed their hands in the sink, calling over their shoulder. “Including that blurry video of you and Big Red hiding from Miss Jen?”

“That was tech week and Miss Jen was so close to killing us.” Ricky was laughing through his story, the strength of it shaking his whole body and turning his photos blurry. (Y/n) dried their hands and picked up the cookie Ricky made for them gingerly. They smiled at him a bit before nibbling at the edge of the cookie, wanting to savor it for a reason that wasn’t apparent to their conscious mind, but felt right. “We hid in the costume department and she never managed to find us.”

“I’m glad she didn’t.”

Ricky turned to (Y/n) and held their gaze for a moment, laughter dying on his lips, but his happiness omnipresent. He blinked and set down the cookie.

“See?” Ricky took a step closer to (Y/n) and angled his phone at them. On the screen was a picture of the cookie he chose, still awkward looking - even with a filter - and in the background was (Y/n), smiling at Ricky like he hung the moon and stars. “Perfect.”

It took a moment for (Y/n) to register that he wasn’t looking at the picture, anymore.

(Y/n) turned to look at Ricky, staring into his dark brown eyes as though searching for something, and found him returning their gaze. They were inches apart, close enough that it wouldn’t take much to close the gap…

“You’re perfect.” The words slipped out of their mouth before (Y/n) could stop themself. Maybe they had found what they were looking for.

Ricky’s eyes flicked down to (Y/n)’s lips, but he was quick to level them again. (Y/n) noticed some flour on his cheek and had the urge to touch his cheek and wipe it off. Ricky wet his lips before speaking. “I’m not misreading this, am I?”

“No,” (Y/n) gave their head the slightest shake and kissed Ricky, allowing their free hand to do what it desired. His cheek was hot beneath their touch and he tasted sweet - like sugar and icing.

-- taglist: @theletterhart​, @brokenandheadoverheels​, @neelia-thedaughtherof-athena​ // message me if you want to be added!

[horrorslashergirl]

Kinky December Day 4: Fireplace Sex with Chromeskull

Authors Note: We spend the fourth day of this event with Chromeskull and it seems this Florida guy hates the cold. Let’s see how Jesse deals with it. I decided to introduce my home country in this piece and share a little of my country with you all. Greetings from Romania! I hope you all have a warm winter.

Chromeskull x Reader- Not the usual Florida heat

Winter was all about the coldness, the pure white snow that fell from the sky, fluffy coats that hugged your body and drinking hot beverages, but that wasn't the case in Florida. You weren't looking forward to decorating a palm tree for Christmas, so you suggested your lover spending this year Christmas in your home country, which he agreed, all for you.

You had to stifle the laugh the first time you got off the plane in Romania and the first cold air that hit your bodies; Jesse was a shivering mess, pulling the black coat closer to his body, the mist of cold air that escaped his mouth with each breath he took.

The whole ride to the cabin you rented for the holiday was spent with Jesse searching for warmness, his body flush against yours in the backseat and the constant signing about how cold it was and something about him freezing his balls.

After five hours of driving, you reached the cabin, Jesse entering the cabin first and setting your and his luggage on the wood floorboards. The cabin was still cold and he had a constant frown on his scarred face, half of which was covered by a scarf.

'It's freezing cold inside.' Jesse signed with shaky fingers and you rolled your eyes at his bickering.

"Of course it's cold. We have to start making the fire, big baby." You told him as you waltzed into the living room, pulling your scarf off and coat, stretching your arms above your head. The cabin was very cozy and it was so good to be finally back in Romania, Jesse on the other hand? Not that much.

There was also another problem, the lack of firewood and you knew that the next words that will leave your mouth will make Jesse want to go back to Florida with the next plane.

"You will have to go outside and get wood for the fire." you told him and he gave you a simple look that said 'Are you kidding me?'.

"The ax is outside on the front porch. Good luck, stud." You told him, hiding the smirk that formed on your face as you heard the front door open and shut with a bang.

Jesse was a southern guy in all ways possible, spending all his life in the Floridian heat, so being dragged into your country when the winter was in full blast wasn't exactly something he enjoyed, but you knew he was doing all this for you and that made you happy. Looking around you decided that you should start decorating the cabin and make it homely.

You were grinning in victory when you found the Christmas decorations in a closet; as you were putting the shiny globes on the empty Christmas tree in the living room you heard the front door open, something being dropped on the floor and the door closed with a bang. Peeking your head in the hallway, you saw some wood by the front entrance.

It was a silent request: Start making the fire while I get more wood so my dick won't be transformed into a popsicle.

You quickly started to make the fire in the living room by the fireplace, your eyes shining as the bright flames came alive, the warmness kissing your cold hands. 

After one more hour, you looked around the now Christmas decorated living-room; Christmas tree beautifully shining with lights and all kinds of decorations, the flames dancing in the fireplace. Next, it was the food; you skipped into the kitchen and mentally thanked your friend for taking their time to come and bring the food, the fridge full of all you needed to cook.

You decided to make something homely, something traditional. One of the Romanian dishes that best represent the Balkan influence is the popular sarmale, stuffed cabbage or vine leaves with a mix of rice, minced meat, onion, tomatoes, and herbs. A favorite for most Romanians, this dish is usually served with cream and polenta and is a sure presence on all Christmas tables across the country. You also grinned wickedly when you found a certain bottle in one of the cabinets in the kitchen. Traditional spirit with approx. 40% alcohol, made from the distillation of plums. Its stronger alternative is Palinca or Țuică, usually prepared in Northern Romania (Ardeal county), distilled twice and made from different sorts of fruits.

Jesse loved fine liquor, so the thought of him taking a sip of this would be interesting; it was a strong drink and the note on the bottle made you giggle.

'A little treat before having fun.'

Back on cooking, next, it was Cozonac, a kind of Stollen made from leavened dough, into which milk, eggs, sugar, butter, and other ingredients are mixed together before baking. You decided to make it with almonds. After putting it in the oven, you decided that the last on the list would be a traditional warm soup, knowing Jesse will need something to put the coldness away.

You started to make meatball soup, a traditional Romanian sour soup with said meatballs consisting of pork and rice. They are seasoned with parsley, lovage, salt, borş, and sour cream.

Whipping your hands you were looking proud at the table filled with the warm Romanian cuisine, and just like the time couldn't be more perfect, you heard the front door open, a gust of cold wind and snow coming into the hallway.

You walked there to see Jesse covered in snow and shaking like a Chihuahua, and you giggled, making your behemoth lover glare at you and you knew if you were a piggy the ax he was holding in his gloved hand would be impaled straight in the center of your forehead.

'I hate winter. I hate the snow. Romania is cruel.' he signed, pulling his snow-covered coat, scarf, and hat off. Your eyes noticed the pile of wood by the door and you smiled warmly at Jesse, walking towards him and resting your hands on his chest, nuzzling into his cold chest, the turtleneck he was sporting didn't help much to keep him warm.

"I cooked for us. It's all warm." you whispered into his chest, rubbing his sides to get the coldness away.

'Finally. I'm starving. Chopping piggies heads off is much funnier, than chopping wood.' he signed, following you into the kitchen and you rolled your eyes.

Typical Jesse.

Brown eye widened as you entered the kitchen with him, the smell of delicious food hitting his nose, it was much warmer here from the oven constantly working up from your cooking.

Filling two small glasses with , you offered him one and he looked at it suspiciously.

"I'm not gonna poison you, idiot." you told him with a smirk making him snort.

You both raised the small glasses in salute and drowned the drink; you were used to the strong alcohol, but Jesse? You laughed as you watched him cough, looking at you like you were crazy.

"Stronger than whiskey, huh?" you asked Jesse all smugly.

'It's very good, but....How do you Romanians live drinking it?' he signed, making you giggle.

'By the way. Drinking isn't supposed after eating?' he asked you and you shake your head.

"Not this one, baby. Normally, Țuică is only consumed before the meal." you explained then offered a seat for him at the table, first serving him the warm soup, which he eats eagerly, probably starved from all the wood chopping and cruel weather outside.

Cruel for him of course.

Next was the second dish, which he looked at with confusion.

"Go ahead, take a bite." you urged him, continuing to eat your own meal.

You were ready to get another portion of sarmale, but your eyes widened when you saw that the big bowl was empty. Looking at Jesse you saw him lean into the chair, a content look on his face, rubbing his stomach.

"You eat all of them." you said, almost dumbfounded.

'It was delicious, doll. How come you haven't cooked these meals for me before?' he asked, filling his glass with the traditional Romanian liquor that he seemed to get accustomed to.

"I didn't think you would like them that much." you whispered and he simply smirked, shrugging.

'So? What else you got for me?' he signed, ready to eat more.

"I didn't think I would have to feed a lion, but we still got some dessert." you told him, offering the plate of cozonac to him.

He took a small bite of the good and his brown eye lit up, getting the plate from your hands and eating all of the pieces. After he was done, he closed his eye and sighed silently, his stomach full and feeling like he was in heaven.

"Geez, all Americans are big gluttons?" you sassily asked with a raised eyebrow, amused to say the last, but also very proud of your cooking.

Jesse opened his eye and gave you a lop-sided smirk.

'Everything that you do is delicious, baby girl....Including your own little self.' he signed, licking his lips as he gave you a not very discreet look that made you blush.

"Well, I'm glad you aren't bickering about the cold anymore, but I have to wash the dishes." you told him, getting from the chair and walking to the sink, only for a pair of strong arms to wrap around your waist, pulling your body flush against Jesse.

"Jesse?" you called on to him, only feeling his lips leaving a trail of kisses down your neck, his face nuzzling into your hair, the embrace you were trapped tightening.

'I want more dessert.' he signed in front of you, turning you around and backing you into the living room, his eyes on the fireplace and he pulled away from you to put more logs to keep the cabin all warm and cozy.

'Come here, doll. Come to daddy.' he signed, beckoning you over to him, which you happily did.

You could never deny him anything, not Jesse. He did so many things for you, treating you like a princess, making sure you had no worries, that you were always smiling. Walking over to him, you pressed your lips against his, your hands moving up and down his chest, while his own were cupping your asscheeks through your black leggings.

Tongues rubbed against each other, loving how you both tasted, how delicious you were. Teeth nipped at his lower lip and he let out a silent growl that vibrated through your mouth. The next thing you knew, you found yourself on your back on the soft, fluffy rug in front of the fireplace with Jesse between your legs.

He looked down at you with a mischievous smirk.

'Since I'm a guest in Romania, I should get the full-on experience, sugartits.' he signed deviously and you chuckled, starting to kiss his neck, your hands moving under his black turtleneck and over his chest, your cold hands making him shiver and jump slightly.

'Fuck....You're so cold.' he signed, resting his forehead against yours as your thumb grazed one of his nipples.

"Mhmm....You know I have bad circulation. You weren't bickering about it back in Florida." you commented, making him snort, one of his hands moving under your leggings to pinch your buttcheek, a squeal leaving your lips.

He didn't waste another moment with signing, tugging on your sweatshirt off along with your leggings and socks, leaving you in only black matching lingerie.

"Hey....You're way too overdressed here." you whined, making Jesse chuckle silently against your collarbone, his hands moving behind you to unclasp your bra, nipples hardening as you felt the tickle of the flames kiss your skin which was so sensitive from all the teasing.

Your hands found the edge of Jesse's turtleneck and tugged it up, exposing inked skin, your fingers running over the intricate designs, admiring every detail that he had to offer.

"You're so handsome." you whispered; God, he loved you so much.

Jesse never thought that he would ever spend Christmas with a beloved one ever again, not with the face he had, but you proved him wrong and he felt like this was all a dream and he was afraid he was going to wake up. he couldn't bear the idea of losing you.

He has pulled away from the dark thoughts when you cupped his scarred cheek, looking up at him with a longing look on your face.

"Jesse.....mae love to me." you whispered, giving him an innocent look from under your eyelashes.

He felt all his restraints leave him; he couldn't control himself when you looked at him like that. Lips crashed into yours in a needy kiss, his hands working on his black cargo pants and socks, pulling every layer of clothing off. Finally, his hands tugged on the waistband of your panties, pulling the last piece of clothing that separated both of you.

You shivered when you felt his intimidating length brush against your inner thigh, his big hands cupping your ass, loving how small you were compared to him, all the power dynamic between you two was making all the blood rush straight to his cock.

"You're everything I've ever wanted," you whispered against his neck, your teeth grazing his Adam apple.

Jesse tightened his grip on your skin, brown gaze looking down at you and when you tightened your legs around his hips, pulling him closer, his cock flush against your already dripping pussy, he felt like he would almost come undone; the effects you were having on him were making him feel like a virgin teenager.

One hand moved between your legs, running his palm over your slit, his face into the crock of your neck inhaling in your sweet scent; you were just so perfect and when he guided his length inside you, he thought he died and went to heaven.

You were such an angel, an angel that decided to sin with the devil.

You were so warm and tight, gripping his length like a hot soft blanket, so wet and ready to be pounded into oblivion. He started with slow and long thrusts, savoring every inch of your walls.

"H-Harder, please...." you moaned out, your hands gripping his biceps, nails dragging over tattooed skin.

'Beg me...Beg me to fuck you, my queen.' he signed with shaky hands.

Your breathing picked up, gulping down, and wetting your lips with your tongue.

"Jesse...Please, fuck me harder. I need you so bad. I’m…so…dam…horny right now." you whined, inner walls clenching on him as he picked up his pace, not wasting any moment to bring you such satisfaction, knowing he was the only one able to make you beg, make you shake under him all helpless.

The sounds your pussy was making around his cock was music to his ears, feeling your juices coating his cock with every pull and push of his hips. He would have liked to tease you more, but he loosed his patience. He will have more time tomorrow to tease the hell out of you, but now? All he wanted was to fill you up until you will be dripping his cum until the next day.

Jesse wished he could have more control around you. Gripping your legs tightly he began to pound into you mercilessly, making your breasts move with each push against you; scarred lips pulled into a snarl as he felt the delicious knot in the pit of his stomach.

Oh so close, just a few more thrusts.

When you came hard on his cock, squirting over the rock-hard length he came undone, following in your climax. Your nails dragged down his back as you felt hot jets of cum coat your inside, milking him for all he was worth.

"Te iubesc atât de mult." you whispered in his ear, making his eye widen, your accent so sweet.

You thought him a few Romanian words so he knew exactly what you said, but it was the way you said it; so sincere and innocent.

'God, I love it when you talk Romanian.' he signed, nuzzling his face into your neck, layers of sweat coating your bodies as you snuggled into each other in front of the fire on the white fluffy rug.

"Mmmm Jesse.....Will you pull out?" you murmured into his chest as he laid you both on your sides.

'Later....You're so warm.' he signed, lips pressing against your forehead.

"You're such a child." you said, rolling your eyes, but your arms tightened around him.

Not even the big blizzard outside bothered Jesse anymore, not when he had your naked form in his arms.

'Will you make more of your traditional food?' Jesse asked, eye shining like a child's with enthusiasm.

"Mhmmm.....if you will take care of the firewood." you replied.

'Crap...'

END

[elvendara]

Sugar and Spice Day 1

July 12th

Ice Cream Date

Yoosung opened the door and stepped into the airconditioned shop. He checked his phone. The profile picture of his date was on the screen. The man had red hair, green eyes, and freckles. He was also wearing eyeliner which made the green of his eyes really stand out. He had been surprised when they matched, but also excited and had said yes when the man, Saeran, had DM’d him and asked him on a date.

Looking around he couldn’t see a single red head. He checked the time. Yoosung was a little early so maybe he had arrived first. He made his way to a table in the front by the window. Watching the people walking outside he wondered again if he’d be stood up. Why would an attractive guy like Saeran even give him a second glance? His attention was inward and he didn’t notice those few people he passed.

“Yoosung?” he heard, and paused, turning slowly to see who had called him. A man with white hair and pink tips was looking at him. Yoosung looked him over, the hair was different, but he recognized the brilliant green eyes, like the ocean depths.

“Saeran?” he asked.

“Yeah.” The man grinned as he stood. “Sorry, I keep forgetting to change my profile pic.” He rubbed his hand on the back of his neck. Yoosung smiled, noting how differently they were dressed. Saeran wore a red shirt with a black leather coat, said coat having metal chains and zippers, most of which didn’t seem to have a specific function. There was a black collar around his neck with metal spikes and a matching cuff on his right wrist, his nails painted black. He wore black jeans and heavy biker boots.

In contrast, Yoosung wore his pink metal hair clips, keeping his blond hair out of his eyes. He had decided to match his hair clips and wore pink eyeliner and gloss. His outfit was an off the shoulder pink crop top with a purple paint splatter pattern, skinny purple jeans and pink platform sneakers. Around his left wrist was wrapped a pink, blue, and purple beaded necklace and his nails were a glittering deep pink. He suddenly felt like an over sprinkled strawberry ice cream cone.

“Well, it’s really nice to meet you.” Yoosung said, holding his hand out to shake.

“You too, you look great.” Saeran said as he took Yoosung’s hand in his. He held it longer than he needed to, but Yoosung didn’t mind. Those green eyes locked onto his own amethyst ones were mesmerizing.

“We should probably order huh?” Saeran said, letting go of his hand. It suddenly felt cold and lonely.

“Sure.” Yoosung strode towards the ice cream display. As he walked past Saeran, he felt the man put his right hand on his lower back, as if guiding him. He kept it there, walking up beside him until they were in front of the display case, when he took his hand off. Again, that feeling of pressing coldness and emptiness.

“What can I get for you?” The girl behind the counter asked. She must have been no older than sixteen. Her brown hair was held back in a ponytail, her chocolate-colored eyes intent on Saeran. It wasn’t difficult to see she was enamored by him. What was it they said? Girls like bad boys, right? Well, Saeran sure fit the stereotype, though it seemed to Yoosung that he was quite gentle. Maybe the tough guy look was a mask to keep people at bay? He really wanted to find out.

Yoosung watched as Saeran practically salivated over the choice of ice cream. He ended up with a waffle cone and three scoops of ice cream, vanilla, chocolate, and strawberry. It made Yoosung grin to see how much like a little boy in a candy store he looked like.

Yoosung ordered a cup with a brownie at the bottom and two scoops on top, mint chocolate chip and butter pecan. The green reminded him of Saeran’s eyes. He felt his cheeks blush when he ordered it. They took their seats and began to eat.

“You really like ice cream huh?” Yoosung said.

Saeran’s eyes went wide, then softened. “I do, I like sweet things.” He eyed Yoosung and smirked before suggestively licking his ice cream. Yoosung swallowed, feeling like a fish on a hook being eyed by a hungry fisherman. It should feel uncomfortable, but it only raised his temperature with excitement. He fiddled with his ice cream, taking a spoonful and gulping it down.

“So, on your profile it says you like gardening? I have to be honest…” Yoosung set his spoon in his cup and leaned forward towards Saeran, “…I kind of thought that was a lie, or at least an exaggeration?” he stated jokingly.

Saeran threw his head back and laughed, his Adam’s apple bouncing, straining against the studded collar around his neck. “Oh no, it’s true. I like gardening. Sometimes it’s nicer to be around a bunch of beautiful flowers and plants than around people. They’re easier to understand at least.”

“Must be nice, I have a black thumb myself, I couldn’t even keep an ivy alive! It’s supposed to be one of the easiest plants not to kill.”

“True, aside from cactus, maybe you should start with one of those.” Saeran teased.

“Maybe. It certainly couldn’t hurt to add some greenery in my apartment.” Yoosung shrugged.

“How about you? Everything on your profile true?” Saeran asked.

“I think so. Well, maybe I tried to make myself look better than I am.” He laughed.

“How so?”

“I might have forgotten to mention how much time I spend on gaming.” He stated. Saeran laughed again, making Yoosung feel accomplished in a way. For some reason, it didn’t seem like Saeran laughed a lot. There was something behind his eyes that spoke of great pain.

“I think I can handle a little gaming in a boyfriend.” Saeran said, once he was in control again.

The statement startled Yoosung. Boyfriend? He was too stunned to speak.

“How come you’re on a dating app anyway? You seem like an attractive guy, smart, charming, and fun.” Saeran asked. Yoosung wondered for a brief moment if he was teasing him again, but no, he seemed genuinely interested.

“Well…” Yoosung shrugged, “…I was pretty popular in high school, but too focused on schoolwork to have time for a girlfriend. And when I started university, it seemed like whoever I liked didn’t like me back, and whoever liked me, I wasn’t interested in. I don’t know, most girls just called me ‘cute’ and treated me like a puppy. Though that didn’t feel so bad either.” He was a little embarrassed to admit that part, but why not?

“Girlfriend huh?” Saeran glanced down at the forgotten ice cream in his hand. Yoosung was about to speak but then he saw the smirk on the other man’s face. “How did you end up here with me then?”

“I didn’t choose a preference. Honestly, I barely glanced at the app, even when there was a match. But…when I saw your profile, I couldn’t help myself. I had to know more.”

“So I intrigued you? Is that it? Why?”

“You seemed like such a contradiction. The fact that you were hot didn’t hurt either.” Yoosung said. He surprised himself with his boldness, yet he hoped he would get another laugh out of the man. He wasn’t disappointed.

Saeran rubbed his mouth, as if this was more than his muscles were used to, then he looked up at Yoosung. There was a splash of color across the apples of his cheeks and the bridge of his nose. It made his freckles stand out. So Cute!

“I…I really like you Yoosung.” He whispered, as if he was embarrassed to admit it.

“I like you too.” He reached his left hand out and laid it on Saeran’s right hand. The studded wrist cuff the other man wore and the pastel necklace wrapped around his own wrist were a striking contrast that was more than aesthetically pleasing.

[themadlostgirl]

When It’s Cold (2)

*Horny teens are horny. Mild smut mentions ahead.*

~~~

I laid in bed watching the lightning flash outside my windows as thunder shook the room and rain poured down. As a child a storm like this would have had me hiding under my covers. Tonight though I watched the storm, every inch of my body on alert with every crack of lightning and thunder. The doors to my room burst open with a roll of thunder. A shadowed figured stood in the hallway. My heart hammered fast as I tried to see through the darkness at my intruder. A flash of lightning illuminated the once dark room and I recognized the jagged line down my visitor’s face.

“Felix?” I sat up straighter. “What are you doing here?”

“I came to make sure you weren’t scared.” He prowled closer, a wicked grin on his face as he got to the foot of my bed. “You always were so scared of storms.”

“I was…” I murmured. He was dressed only in a pair of pants. That same chiseled torso I had gawked at earlier on full display.

He crawled onto the bed until he was hovering over me. “Do you want me to stay?” His voice purred in my ear, “I can keep you warm if it gets cold.”

“Yes please,” I let the robe around me fall from my shoulders leaving me exposed. “Keep me warm, Felix.”

“Gladly.” He swooped down upon me.

~~~

I woke with a start. My body was wound up tight and I was tangled in the blankets on my bed. I gazed around me confused before the previous day’s events caught up to me. It felt like a dream that Felix and I had found this mansion last night.

Felix…

The real dream came back to me with stark detail. What had that been all about? I’ve never had a dream like that before. I never have dreams in the first place. Even when I do they’re nothing like that and most certainly do not feature Felix. Yet he had been the epicenter.

Half naked with a devilish grin looking down at my own nude body. I had wanted him to--to--

I buried my face in my pillow. This wouldn’t have happened if I hadn’t gone to his room last night and saw him coming out of the bathroom. Why did I have to see that? Now I was having borderline erotic dreams about him. Oh screw borderline! I knew exactly what I had been hoping to happen and the aching between my legs only solidified it.

It’s not like I never found Felix ugly or anything. He was pleasant to look at. I dare say at times he was handsome but I never dwelled on it. Maybe a stray intrusive thought or two but they never went so far as my dream had. I couldn’t stop picturing it. Felix and I in bed, his large hands on my body, his lips caressing my skin…

I pressed my legs together as the image took root in my head. Maybe I deserve to indulge a little. For right now there is nothing to worry about. Besides, it’s not like Felix will ever know. My hand dipped between my legs as I let myself fall back into the dream. My body was extra sensitive since I hadn’t been able to indulge in this particular past time since Neverland. Not that I got to do it a whole lot there either. I swear there is absolutely no privacy on that island.

Knock! Knock! Knock!

And none here either it seems.

With a small whine I swung out of bed and pulled my robe in tight. I opened the door and Felix was waiting on the other side already dressed. Could it be considered poetic irony that the boy I had just a moment ago been masturbating to interrupted said masturbation?

“Did you just wake up?” Felix looked me up and down.

“Kinda. I figured I was allowed to sleep in. What do you want?” I stepped back and started collecting my clothes from the floor. 

“Get dressed. I discovered something you’re gonna wanna see.”

“Can’t you just tell me?”

“No. Now hurry up.” He closed the door and left.

With a sigh a pulled my clothes back on and followed Felix up a set of stairs to a hallway that led to a dead end. “This is what you wanted to show me? A wall with a picture on it?”

“Watch this,” He pulled the light fixture next to the painting and suddenly the wall came loose and rotated opening up a passageway into a whole new room.

“This place has secret rooms now. Very cool.” I stepped inside. “A library?” I looked at the books but there were no names on the spines. I pulled one off and flipped through it but all the pages were blank. “I will say I wasn’t expecting this.”

“Oh but it gets better.” Felix went over to the desk at the end of the room and pulled open the drawer. There was a button inside. He pressed it and a section of the floor popped up. I knelt down and opened the hatch and my eyes went wide. It was a safe!

I turned the latch and nearly cried at what I saw. Money. Just stacks and stacks of money! One less thing to worry about. We wouldn’t need to scrape by or get jobs. This safe could keep us comfortable for months! Years even!

“How did you find this?” I asked Felix.

“I like puzzles and I like to snoop.” He grinned pulling out a stack of hundreds. The band around it said ten thousand. Ten thousand dollars and there were easily a hundred or more just like it from what I could tell from the naked eye. We have someplace warm to sleep and we have money for food.

I started sniffling and I could sense Felix watching me befuddled. “Sorry, I just--” I took a deep breath and wiped the tears from my eyes, “We’re going to survive the winter. We don’t have to be hungry or cold again.”

“I know,” Felix pulled a few hundreds from the stack and dropped the rest back in the safe. “Now how about we go do that grocery shopping you were so insistent on?”

“Yes!” I hopped to my feet. We put everything back in place and left the room. I found a pad of paper and started making a list of everything we would need. Unlike Felix who had spent so much time on Neverland that he couldn’t remember who he had been before being a Lost Boy , I did remember who I was. I remembered the responsibilities I had before Neverland. What was needed when I was made to go to market. The grocery store wasn’t like the open air markets I was used to but it was still the same general concept.

Felix and I got weird looks as we entered the store and I took one of the trollies. My first stop was to grab some toiletries. Toilet paper, shampoo, body wash, loofah, deodorant, toothbrushes, toothpaste, floss, and even a set of razors in case Felix wanted to shave. Next we grabbed laundry detergent, dish soap, paper towels, spray cleaner, trash bags, aluminum, and hangers. We would need to go to a different store for clothes. Lastly, food. Now, being the designated responsible person out of the two of us I know we couldn’t just indulge in the sweets and other delicious yet not necessarily healthy food for us.

I sped up and down the aisles with Felix trailing after me as I dumped stuff into the trolley. Chicken, beef, bacon, vegetables, fruits, a ten pound bag of potatoes, bread, milk, two dozen eggs, pasta, rice, butter, flour, sugar, brown sugar, baking powder, baking soda, vanilla, yeast (it’s been forever since I baked anything but I figured I could give it a try), orange juice, apple juice, cheese, canola oil, olive oil, and spices. Then came on the things I knew less about, peanut butter, chocolate chips, gummy candies, dressings, chips, ice cream, instant brownie mix, pizza rolls (they sounded good), cans of soup, yogurt, pancake/waffle mix, whipped cream, cereal, granola bars, pretzels, and tea bags.

Our trolley was overflowing with items as we wheeled our way over to the register. The man bagging our items looked at us strangely as we started unloading our groceries onto the counter. Several minutes and a trolley full of groceries later we were given our grand total. I was scared that we wouldn’t have enough but thankfully we did. We left the store and looked at our haul.

“Hey, Felix,” I paused as we were halfway through the parking lot, “How are we gonna get all this back to the mansion?”

“We steal the cart.” He said it like it was obvious. “Who is gonna stop us?”

“True.” We started out trip back to the mansion and pushed the trolley into the house. We spent the next several minute cramming things into cabinets and the icebox. I pushed the trolley back outside and went to put my toiletries away while Felix took the laundry items down to the basement. I would also need to learn how to use the electronic washers they had here if I wanted clean clothes.

Speaking of clean clothes, “Felix!” I shouted down the steps, “We’re not done yet today. We need to go clothes shopping.”

“Why?”

“Because I didn’t bring any extra sets of clothes with me when we left Neverland and I’m sick of wearing these dirty rags. Now get a move on!”

Felix came upstairs with a scowl. “Don’t pout. Even if we kept these clothes clean they stand out too much. I think it’s part of the reason everyone glares at us. We’ll arise less suspicion if we blend in. Especially since our mission is to find a way out of here and back to Neverland.”

“Fine.” Felix grumbled. He counted the remaining money in his pocket. “Let me grab a few more bills from the library just to be safe.”

My stomach grumbled and I decided to grab a granola bar to settle my stomach while I waited for Felix. This house was so strange. They didn’t have any dish soap but they had pots and pans. No shampoo but they had combs. Not a lick of food but a cabinet dedicated to what looked like a very fragile table set.

Felix came back a few hundred dollars richer and we made our way back into town for the second time that day. The clothes store was emptier than the grocery store which put me more at ease. Felix and I went our separate ways as I perused around the racks and racks of clothing. I grabbed a few shirts, pajamas, sweatshirts, sweat pants, underwear, socks, gloves, a scarf, hat, a thick jacket, a new pair of boots, and a large messenger bag. When I went to try on some pants though I was thoroughly disappointed. They fit fine but the pockets on them were tiny! I could barely get my hand in them. Was this what pants were like here? Why?!

I went over to the men’s section and found Felix also trying on some new clothes. It was a simple black t-shirt and a pair of dark denim jeans but it looked really good on him. He almost looked less foreboding. Maybe that was just due to the fact that he didn’t have his cloak hood up like usual.

“You look mad,” Felix chuckled upon seeing me stomp up to him.

“I am! Look at this.” I squeezed a few of my fingers into my jeans pocket. “These pants have absolutely no room! Are yours like this as well?”

“Mine?” he stuck his entire hand in his pocket up to the middle of his forearm. “Nope.”

“What the hell?” I stuck my hand in his other pocket. These were so much roomier than mine! “Why are these better than the ones in my section?”

“I don’t know,” Felix pulled my hand out of his pocket, his face was red with anger again and he wouldn’t look me in the eye, “You can stop invading my personal space though.”

“Oops, sorry.” I snatched my hand back to my chest. What had I been thinking? I essentially stuck my hand down his pants and for what? Because I was jealous of the size of his pockets? I grabbed a few pants from his section that looked to be my size and raced back to the dressing rooms in my section. These fit just as well as the ones I was wearing now but the pockets were much roomier so I chucked the others away and got the men’s pants.

Felix met me at the registers when he was done browsing. He still wasn’t looking at me. I think I made things between us really uncomfortable. We paid for the clothes but had no trolley this time so had to carry everything in large bags back to the mansion. After we got back Felix disappeared into his room. I changed into a pair of the comfy new clothes I bought and went downstairs to make myself something to eat.

I heated a can of soup up and sat down to eat. I wasn’t in the mood to be so adventurous as to make a full blown meal. Now that we had all the essentials Felix and I could start our search for a way back to Neverland in earnest.

I didn’t see Felix for the rest of the night. Figures he wouldn’t want to be around me after we spent all day together. I drew myself another hot bath and this time was able to actually wash myself with the soap and shampoo we had bought. I felt truly clean for the first time in a long time as I slid on the pajamas I bought and crawled back into bed.

Rain pattered outside and I was reminded of my dream from this morning. A part of me dreading and hoping that I would have another just like it.

~~~

Fucking hell! You were killing him! You had to be trying to kill him! That’s what Felix concluded as he locked himself in the master bedroom of the mansion.

Ever since Felix had let himself be talked into going to Storybrooke with you he had been forced by your side. You were the only Lost One in Storybrooke still loyal to Pan when all the others had run off to find families for themselves. He told himself he was tagging along instead of staying in Neverland to enact revenge on those that murdered Pan but that was only half of the story.

He should have never followed you though. Revenge aside. It hadn’t worked out anyway. Even after he learned that Pan was still alive, albeit in someone else’s body, it wasn’t enough. Pan died anyway before he got to enact the curse that would have turned this worthless town into a new Neverland. Now everyone was happy and safe and you and Felix were both very much stranded.

Finding this mansion had been a sweet turn of luck. He knew you were right when you mentioned needing a better place to stay over winter. Felix didn’t like the cold either but he could tolerate it better than you. Every night since you two got here you would shiver the night away at your camp. The night before it had been so cold that even Felix was cursing the wind. While he shivered though he glanced across the fire pit at you. You were huddled in so tight to yourself. Teeth chattering and body convulsing.

He was glad that you didn’t make any mention of him giving you his cloak as an extra form of warmth that night. He didn’t want to try explaining why he had done it. Terrible complicated feelings that he refused to acknowledge. He pushed them down hard, stomped them into dust so they could never rear their ugly head again.

Then he had gotten out of the bath. Truly clean for the first time in years he had left the bathroom and all those complicated feelings from before shot to the surface at the scene laid out before him. You knelt on the ground with only a towel barely covering you. Your wet hair leaving drops of water rolling down your shoulders and back.

His jaw clenched and he fumbled to maintain some composure as you explained what you were doing practically naked in his room. He had found the robe in the master bathroom and was planning on wearing it to bed himself but when he caught sight of you he was only too happy to chuck it into your arms. He needed you to cover up. He needed you clothed and out of his room that instant!

He was far from relaxed after you had left that night. The sight of you knelt over, the towel just barely covering your ass was burned into his brain. He ignored the stirring under his towel and dove into the large bed. He tossed and turned most of the night trying to rid the image and the thoughts he was having. His mind betrayed him though as it brought him much more vivid fantasies of you on his bed wearing nothing at all and beckoning him to take you.

He woke soon after breathing hard and his hand around his cock. Felix cursed the fact that he had a lewd dream about you of all people. He tried to ignore the images flashing in his head but when he closed his eyes there you were on all fours again with a teasing smile. He jumped into the bathroom and turned on the shower hoping a cold jolt would snap him back to sense but then he was thinking of you in this shower with him. Water rolling down your body, that same teasing smile and sultry voice begging him to take you against the wall.

For a few minutes he swallowed his embarrassment and let the fantasy play out fucking into his fist and pretending it was you squeezing around him instead. He thought of your moans and whimpers egging him on. Begging him to be harder, faster, rougher. He bit his lip to keep from shouting as he finally spent himself and started coming down from his high.

He felt more relaxed afterwards but the release of tension didn’t make him feel better knowing he had masturbated to you. You were his...friend? You two had never been friends before coming to Storybrooke and he doubted that you two were that now. Whatever you were to him he shouldn’t be thinking about you like that. You both wanted to get back to Neverland and having obscene fantasies of you was not the way to go about that.

It was still fairly early but he was too wound up to go back to bed. So he got dressed and went exploring throughout the mansion. That’s how he had found the secret library full of blank books and that secret vault under the floorboards. He put everything back in place before racing to wake you up and show you. He had almost forgotten about his dream until you opened the door and he was met with your sleepy face and bedhead. Had you always been this attractive or was it just the layers of dirt that had gotten washed away last night that made you much more appealing to him suddenly? He decided not to dwell on why he was having these thoughts and instead took you down to see the stash of money he had found.

You were so giddy at the knowledge that you could actually have a roof over your head and food in your belly that he found himself smiling too. Your smile was so infectious. He let you take the lead when you went shopping. He didn’t recognize half the stuff he saw in that store but trusted your judgement when you dropped something in the cart.

Then there was when you went to go clothes shopping. Felix wouldn’t admit that he was getting a little worn out of his Neverland attire. It was functional but that was all he could say about it. The smell of it after he had gotten out of the bath the night before almost made him gag. Perhaps this was the reason no one wanted you or him around. You both reeked of years of living in a jungle.

You two were on totally opposite ends of the clothing store so Felix thought he was safe until you came charging into his dressing room ranting about the tiny pockets on your pants. The tight fitted pants that hugged your legs and ass perfectly. Then when you unceremoniously stuffed your hand down his pocket to see how deep they were it took all his self control and thoughts of rotting animal carcasses to not pop an erection right there in the store.

You were trying to make him burst a blood vessel and you didn’t even seem to notice! Which is why he was back in his room sitting on his bed hungry and horny. He was waiting until after he was sure you had gone to bed to get some food. He really didn’t want to chance running into you again and risk those impure thoughts bubbling to the surface once more.

Hopefully today had just been a spoof and tomorrow all these strange new thoughts and feelings would be gone. You two had a mission after all. Get back to Neverland. Lust wasn’t going to help that mission.

---

(Previous) (Next)

[1010ll]

do you have any new recipes that you've learned recently? i remember you wrote something a while ago about carbonara and i tried it out for myself it was really fun!!

i love this 😭 im gonna write way too much idec! something that has changed since that post: my kitchen is worse. i have a horrible combi oven which has resulted in me accidentally eating raw chicken, because it had been in there for more than 2 hours at supposedly 230 °C and i was really hungry and thought it HAD to be done by then. also i have less time and less money lol. it has made me a bit sad, and less motivated to cook nice things but i also love food! which means these tips/recipes are gonna reflect that and might seem a bit dull but probably also relatable for a lot of people.   i’ve definitely made spaghetti carbonara a bit too much because it’s simple and require few ingredients! will still vouch for that one tip about substituting the bacon with roasted veggies and other types of meat.

last week i made risotto for the very first time, i think? which means i might be assuming a bit too much, but i think it’s a great dish that you can almost make with whatever you have in your fridge. i made it with roasted beetroot(needs A LOT of time to soften, lesson learned), carrots and parsley root or parsnip(idk the difference), dried rosemary and thyme, garlic and onion. i had some leftover sushi rice, which is great for risotto apparently(love versatile ingredients), roasted them in some oil and then added white wine and chicken stock and actually added a leftover parmesan rind i had in the fridge to give the ‘stock’ some flavour, a bit of nutmeg and then in the end some shredded gouda lol… it was surprisingly delicious and i didn’t even really care to cook the rice perfectly. it also tasted delicious 3 days later, which was a nice surprise. i bet there are tons of risotto recipes online, but as long as you have rice, some kind of flavoured water, i guess you could kind of add whatever you want of veggies and top with whatever herb you have around.

another type of porridge i consume a lot these days is hot oat porridge, which i’ve eaten since i was little and it was the first ‘dish’ i learnt to make myself and it’s cheap. some people really dislike the consistency and look but i don’t. it’s also very easy to customise. i put in whatever nuts and seeds(which are often cheaper than nuts) i have around: flaxseed, sesame seeds, pumpkin seeds, sunflower seeds, chopped almonds and sometimes a dollop of peanut butter. i let them simmer along with the oats. i like adding those elements because it gives it some texture and it keeps me more full throughout the day. it’s very important to me because i hate spending money i don’t have on fast-food when i’m not home and i hate being hungry. dried raisins, cranberries for a bit of sweetness and if i’m treating myself i’ll add some fresh apples cut into small pieces or some homemade berry compote(i use frozen) or brown sugar. if i had more money i’d use maple syrup but i don’t at the moment. i also add a bit of cinnamon and cardamom, dried ginger etc, whatever you feel like. some people also add milk afterwards but i’d rather spend my milk on my coffee.

a small tip: making chili flake / garlic oil. it’s really delicious, you could put it straight on pasta with some parmesan and pepper and it would be a filling meal. either chop the garlic really fine, grate it, microplane it, smash it to pieces. heat some olive oil until it’s quite hot, then remove from heat and add the chili flakes and garlic. if the oil isn’t hot enough you can just put the pan or pot back on the heat but be careful you don’t burn the chili flakes or garlic, as it will make it bitter. the longer it will toast, the less pronounced the raw garlic flavour will be, so when it smells toasted enough for your taste, take it off. i store it in a tiny glass jar and add it in stews, sauces, toasts, pizza, sandwiches etc. the flavour is very strong imo and everything it touches will smell like it. something to drink: i like strong foods and i like sour foods, which is why i like lemon/ginger based drinks. to make it even more winter friendly and easy to make, i like to grate unpeeled ginger(i hate slices of ginger, they do nothing for me and seems like a waste of ginger), lemon zest, lemon juice and mix it or blend it with some water/apple juice and honey and strain it afterwards. if you have a really nice blender you can just add all of it together with some ice. i’m basically making a large amount of ginger shot mixture. then when i feel like it, i can take some of the mixture and either drink it as it is, add more apple juice if i need a refreshing beverage or add hot water and more honey for when im cold. you could also add turmeric, chili, use less sweetener and other sorts of healthy stuff but i honestly do it for the taste so i don’t care about that that much.

something sweet: i posted earlier about cakes and someone mentioned swedish kladdkaka, which is a super delicious, cheap, brownie-like chocolate cake that is easily customized and hard to fuck up which is why i’ve made it since i was very young and is a go-to and i didn’t even know it was a swedish thing. if you like airy, light cakes this is not for your. this is sticky, sweet and almost like confection. you can add nuts, swirls of peanutbutter, tahini, actual pieces of chocolate, replace the white sugar with brown sugar, the butter with oil(you can be fancy and use a bit of olive oil) or use a mixture, brown the butter, you name it. the recipe i use is this: melt 100 g butter and let cool. mix 2 eggs + 3 dl sugar in a bowl until fluffy in one bowl. mix 1.5 dl flour, 4 tbs cocoa, 1 pinch of salt in another. mix the dry with the wet mixture and add the cooled, melted butter. this is the point where you’d add chopped nuts, chocolate etc. pour the batter into a cake tin lined with parchment (i use one that is 16 cm in diameters i think). bake the cake for around 30 mins at 150°C - 175°C degrees. check on the cake using a cake tester or a a knife. if the knife is clean after … stabbing it, it’s done! the cake will change it’s texture after cooling. this is a cheap cake, and if you like cake dough you might want to give it less time in the oven for a more fudgey texture. make it your own! there are no rules. last time i made this, i left it in for too long in my opinion but it was still delicious. also i literally have a shit oven with a round oven rack that goes in circles no matter what due to the microwave function, and the only ‘mixing’ equipment i have is a whisk and a spatula. no need for kitchen aids or  even electrical hand mixers.

something else i’ve been eating a lot for lunch is simple open faced sandwiches, and something that can really elevate those is: making your own mayonnaise(and toasting the bread). it can be challenging, but it’s really worth it imo and i can’t remember the last time i bought it in a store. i have a small plastic bowl, whisk and 1 egg yolk. something i can really recommend is buying pour snouts for bottles. i transfer my oils from their plastic bottles to smaller, old soda bottles because im cheesy like that and it’s really handy especially when making mayo. constantly whisking the egg yolk by hand and then adding the NEUTRAL oil ever so slowly. don’t be fancy and use cold pressed stuff or extra virgin olive oil because it will taste weird. i only ever fail when i try to use immersion blenders for some weird reason but i find it rewarding to do by hand anyways and i think it might be easier to make smaller portions that way. mayo needs acid and you can get it by adding regular vinegar, apple cider vinegar, balsamic vinegar, lemon juice, lime juice, pickle juice, citric acid dissolved in water etc. it’s really easy to customise! when im making banh mi, i add some sesame oil, soy sauce for saltiness and use lime as the acidic element. for more regular use i add a bit of mustard(also helps with the emulsion), for fries, i like adding some fresh garlic. something as simple as mayo, tomatoes, flaky salt and pepper topped with chives is really nice. i also really like using slices of boiled potatoes or boiled eggs(idk if that’s only a thing where i’m from), mayo and the chili garlic oil. it’s also great for making tuna salad. yesterday i made a really simple sandwich with a very simple tuna salad(tuna, mayo, yoghurt, lemon and pepper), arugula, basil, the garlic/chili oil, cream cheese, pickled jalapeños and onions, green peber, cucumber and tomatoes. you could leave out everything but the tuna salad and it would still be a great little meal.

another nice condiment that beats the supermarket stuff by far is homemade ‘pesto’. when i buy parsley from my local grocery store, it’s a gigantic amount that i in no way can consume in a week. first of all when buying fresh herbs i really recommend washing them, wrapping them in a damp towel and keeping them in a closed container. it will prolong their lifetime from lasting a day to a week(change the towel if it seems too wet). i once had some cilantro in my fridge for several weeks and still be fresh. anyways, when i buy that much parsley, i like to remove the tougher parts of the stem(which i use in stews/sauces! chop it up and sautee it along with garlic and onion), add literally just olive oil, water, pepper, garlic, and a bit of acid and then blend away! it keeps for a long time in the fridge and is also delicious beneath tomatoes/potatoes/cheese on open-faced sandwiches. if you want to be fancy you can of course add some type of hard cheese, nuts, seeds, dried tomatoes, whatever.

i know this is the longest text post ever, but as a last reminder, i really recommend watching pasta grannies on youtube. really simple recipes with focus on few, good ingredients that just takes some time and love.

[sarandsaffitz]

Coffee Coffee Cake, p. 219, Dessert Person by Claire Saffitz

Made on 2/2/2022

I’ve been eating this for breakfast (and for a snack and for dessert…) for the past couple of days. It’s super yummy and actually tastes like coffee, unlike normal coffee cakes. Matt loves this one, so we’ll add this to the list of Matt’s Keepers. I added a new page to the blog, click on the link in the header to see Matt’s other Keepers!

I wasn’t feeling very well the day I made this, so I had to keep laying down in between bursts of work. The most difficult part of this was whipping up the butter and sugar. Would this be easier if I used, oh, a stand mixer, like Claire suggests? Yes, or even a regular hand mixer would have made this way easier. As it is, I don’t own those things, and this still turned out great, you just have to mentally prepare yourself for an arm workout if all you have is a whisk or a hand crank hand mixer.

Make it vegan!

To make this vegan, all you have to swap is the butter for Earth Balance, eggs for flax eggs, and sour cream for Tofutti brand vegan sour cream. Bring out the butter to get it down to room temp and make the flax eggs at the beginning of the bake and you should be good to go. Maybe, do what I do, and make about 2 cups of brown sugar before you start as well, now you don’t have extra plastic for nothing.

My only real tip is to make sure you put half or more than half of the batter in the bottom before sprinkling in the ribbon of coffee in the center. The ribbon mostly sunk down to the bottom in my bake, and I have a sneaking suspicion it’s because there was too much batter on top and that weighed it down.

I hope you try this out, it’s simple and super tasty! You also have a great excuse to buy yummy cold brew coffee (try to get local and/or in a glass bottle to help the environment!) This has been another delicious adventure, I’m giving this 8/8.

[treasureswordsgirl55]

What I Gotta Do

Character: Sam Wilson

Pairing: Sam Wilson / Fem!Reader (OC)

Inspired by (song): What a man gotta do? - Jonas Brothers.

Warnings: Nop. Fluff. First meetings. Mentions of COVID-19. Flirting. Post!TFATWS.

Author’s Note: Hello! Hello! I hope everyone’s well 😃

Ok, this is the first fic that I write with our new Captain America, Sam Wilson.

Short story: I heard that Jonas Brothers song and think in Sam in the moment. And I thought: Why not?

That moment I realized that I love write with Sam. It's a lovely character that deserved the world.

This is the first part of the fic, so at night maybe post the other part.

I hope you like it and thanks you for your replies! Always are appreciated!!! XOXO 😘😘

bbb-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Part 1

You ain’t tryna be wasting time on stupid people in cheap lines, I’m sure, I’m sure…

I’m not tryin’ to be your part-time lover. Sign me up for that full-time, I’m yours.

I’m yours.

- Excuse me, My friend sent me on a commission - I hear that voice in the distance and I feel that deja vu as if I had heard it before. I even have the feeling of knowing it.

- Name?

- James Barnes. The girl who always serve him knows him as Bucky.

Jenny laughs and mutters something I can’t hear. Wasn’t the sad-eyed boy outside? I focus on the cake in front of me, trying not to make mistakes in the new colors that identify Captain America, who was now the new obsession of all the children of the country.

- Charm, they are looking for you - Jenny enters my field of vision and I just raise my hands showing her that I have the shield in them and I was not going to leave it to deliver an order - It’s no excuse. You must go.

- Would you do me the favor of delivering it yourself?

- Nope. Go and then you’ll thank me.

She gently takes the sugar shield from my hands and hands me the package with Bucky’s order.

I shake my head as I leave the kitchen and look around for the avenger’s possible delivery, but none of them fit the guy. Most of the men were keeping an eye on the people they were chatting with, and there were none waiting on the other side of the bar for the order.

- Tam? - My best friend turns around and as soon as I show her the package, she is simply pointing to the door with a “happy birthday” smile.

What the hell is wrong with her?

The sound of the door bell makes me look and as I put the green package on the table, I feel my cheeks start to heat up. The object of my deepest desires was there.

Captain America was at the bakery looking for a damn cake for his friend.

Oh my god … I think as I try to remove my blue apron, which is full of traces of cream of white and red colors, but I feel that the knot in my back becomes impossible to remove and I give up with a sigh.

“Ok, Charm. You have to calm down. He is the man you dreamed of the last few months, so you must behave like a decent woman since he will not respond as he usually does in your dreams”

- This is mine? - I lift my head quickly as Sam sees me with a smile and nodded at my apron - Nice color combination. I like it.

God save me from that. Why do I feel like the world is reeling?

- Sure, if you’re here to pick up Bucky’s order - I push the two small boxes towards him while he puts the cell phone in the pocket of the brown leather jacket he wears and walks a little closer to the bar. Hell, he was even more attractive in person, and I wished for a second that the image of him in his suit didn’t invade my thoughts.

That was my damn weakness.

People knew who he was but we all knew that he was too private a person to bother him on the street. That’s why they only came over to pat him on the shoulder or simply bowed their heads to him.

- Yes, I’m babysitting.

We both laugh and I bite my lip, hesitating whether to ask. It was customary for Bucky to spend his mornings here, and that he didn’t come is very strange to me.

- Is James okay?

Sam laughs as he leans calmly and confidently on the bar and lets out a heavy sigh, as if something about that question bothers him.

- I could say yes. He has the “cold” - I nod when I notice that he refers to the Covid, that disease that kept us on edge for so long and that today was considered just another cold - He asked me to come for his order on my way home.

- Shouldn’t you be isolated?

That question comes off my lips like I’m talking to Jenny, and I shrug at that rush of confidence.

- No, because contrary to what many people believe, I do not live with Buck.

I laugh as I feel Sam’s gaze on me and that attention makes me even more nervous, in a way that I find charming.

- It’s not exactly what he says. If you are that friend that he talks about so much, he says that you are not one of those who share things.

I hear him curse as he looks away and waves to those watching him at a table in the distance. The four young women who see him smile at him as if it were a trophy they want to get, something that I notice makes him feel uncomfortable.

- I’ll rip off that bastard’s arm.

I barely pushed me away with my hands up and he tries to get closer, perhaps preventing me from walking away if he could get past the bar. Which wouldn’t be difficult for him if he’s used to jumping off a building.

- That does not sound good at all - I approach while I extend my hand towards him, who takes it without even hesitating and a spark seems to jump in the place where our hands are joined - I’m Charm, by the way.

- Sam, Bucky’s “tight-fisted” partner.

- It’s hard not to recognize you.

I wanted to let go of his hand but he wouldn’t let me apart.

- So you know who I am?

That dazzling and shy smile made me realize that Sam Wilson is not one of the men to be good for popularity. Rather, they escape from it.

- It’s hard not to know when a man with a bionic arm comes to breakfast every day and talks proudly that his partner is Captain America - Sam drops his head while smiling and I feel my heart melt like butter in contact with fire. That gesture seemed to me the most adorable - Besides that you are the new obsession of everyone around here. Children love you.

- Just the kids? - The tone of his voice changes and I feel that he becomes softer when pronouncing those words. Was that some kind of flirtation? - You’ll make me feel really bad if it’s just childish fanaticism.

- That’s what the cakes I decorate every day say. Your admirers range from 2 years to 15 - I admit while trying not to laugh at the expression of feigned disappointment that appears on his face, I even maintain the image would be regarding my childish analysis and in a moment, I push my hand away for more than wish the warm contact - My nephew Katriel loves you. And he’s only 3.

He nods as he looks around.

- Buck always talks to me about this place, especially how well they treat him … And sometimes, he only talks about you sometimes - He approaches over the bar, as if he wants to keep that between us - I think he wants to have you alone for him.

I blush at his words and shake my head.

If you knew ….

- If that were the case, it would be a shame if he is getting his hopes up, since I’m interested in someone else.

I play with a small envelope of green tea in my hands and if I even doubt it, Sam takes it from me, he approaches to ask Tam for a pen, who sees him as if he were a delicious sweet as he hands it to her, and write something on it before putting it back in front of me.

- I would like to continue with this but I feel in my pocket Bucky’s insistence on why I’m not in his department with the blessed cake.

I looked down for a moment the paper and I see a number. His number.

- Actually, they’re cupcakes.

I see him roll his eyes as he smiles at me and indicates the tea bag between us as he takes the two boxes in one of his hands.

- In fact, tomorrow maybe I’ll try again these delicacies that have enchanted a certain white wolf.

- They will be waiting for you.

I respond by trying not to get my hopes up about seeing him here tomorrow and even try to appear indifferent, but something gives me away because he gives me a mischievous smile as he walks away from the bar.

- I’ll only come if you are here, darling.

- And why are you so sure I’ll be waiting for you?

- Instinct. I think there may be something important between us.

- That’s how they all begin … - He frowns at my words and I shrug as he remains still.

- I’m not like the others.

- I don’t know you.

- But you will.

- Whatever you say, Mr. Trust. Or should I say, Mr. America.

Tam, who is pouring coffee next to me, lets out a laugh and mutters under her breath “America’s Ass” that makes me choke on my own laugh.

- I heard that, girl - We both blush at that proposal he makes to Tam and after pointing her out to her, he indicates to me as if I were guilty of something - You remain as a witness, Charm will marry me.

I gasp for words to rebut that, but my brain fails for a second and I just shake my head. I sure look like an idiot.

- Whatever you say, Captain.

- You will do it. You’ll see - Something in his words makes me shiver and I don’t doubt that. It seemed like a promise he was willing to keep.

And worst of all, instead of freaking out, I liked the idea.

- Didn’t you have to go, Sam?

- I’ll come for you, darling. As many times as it takes - he walks to the door after saying goodbye to Tam and just gives me a smile that could melt any woman on the road - And one more thing, don’t make plans after work. You already have them with me.

His scream is heard all the way to the kitchen, which makes Jenny come out of it with some pieces of candy tangled in her hair that I don’t even want to ask how they got there and for the first time in a long time I feel the stares of everyone present about me.

- Is that what I think it was? Did Sam Wilson just ask you out?

- I never said yes - I try to avoid looking Jenny in the eye because unfortunately she knew of my infatuation with Sam and she would see that the idea of ​​a possible date was very tempting for my mind and my heart - Besides, he will give up easy .

- I don’t believe that him is the type of men who give up the first time. It seems one of those who insist until he get what he want.

- I don’t see it that way. Maybe it won’t even get anywhere. Besides, he doesn’t know that tomorrow is my day off.

Jenny rolls her eyes as she hands me another sugar shield she just entered the kitchen and indicates the shield as if it were a spellbound object.

- Don’t forget you’re talking about the new Captain America. Giving up, we both know, is not an option for him.

And time would prove her right.

[kinkykinard]

Our Branch of the Family Tree - 2

Fandom: 9-1-1. Word Count: 1313. Genre: gen. Rating: all ages. Summary: when Chim tells Maddie about a rough call on shift the night before, she decides Buck might need a little hand getting out of his head. Note: for @thebuckleysiblingsweek 2021.  AO3 link here.  Unbeta’d. 

            Maddie was careful not to make too much noise as she unlocked Buck’s apartment door and let herself in, a couple of grocery bags hanging from her other hand.  She knew he’d be asleep for another hour, at least, and she didn’t want to disturb him and ruin the surprise.  When Chim had come home earlier in the morning, he’d had told her about the rough shift they’d all had and about how Buck had watched the life go out of a woman’s eyes as he’d held her.  It would have been difficult for anyone to handle, but Buck’s big, bottomless heart left him particularly vulnerable to the darkness that was an inevitability in his line of work.  Knowing that and knowing how much Buck would be blaming himself, Maddie wanted to do something to perk him up a bit, to bring back some of the spark she knew had been doused by the whole situation.

            She glanced around surreptitiously as she slipped into the apartment, locking the door behind herself and making a beeline for the kitchen.  She could hear Buck’s soft snores from up in the loft and she smiled as she unpacked her bags, setting out all of the ingredients she needed to make him breakfast.

            Maddie hummed softly to herself as she moved around the kitchen over the next little while, the rich scent of coffee filling the air as she brewed a strong pot, mixing with notes of vanilla and strawberry.  She hadn’t had this particular breakfast since she and Buck had both still been kids, but between some fuzzy recollections of the way her grandma used to make it and some hastily cobbled together tips and tricks from Pinterest, she was confident it would be every bit as good as it had been years before.

            Pouring herself a cup of coffee, Maddie added just enough cream and sugar to make it palatable before leaning against the counter to take a few sips.  She stirred the strawberry compote she was reducing with one hand, turning on another burner with the other so she could get to work on the pancakes.  

            A few minutes later, between the sizzling of the butter in the pan and the clinking of metal on metal as Maddie scraped the last of the pancake batter out of the mixing bowl, she completely missed the sound of Buck coming down the stairs.  He’d awoken to the scent of something sweet and sticky in the air, confused as to its source until he’d heard Maddie’s soft humming.  Intrigued, he’d rolled out of bed and followed his nose to the kitchen, standing back a moment and watching Maddie work with a small, sleepy smile on his face.

            “What’s all this?”

            Maddie made a wordless noise of panic, briefly startled by his sudden appearance.  She dropped the spatula and pushed up the edge of one of the pancakes, causing it to bulge and ruining its shape.  Rolling her eyes at her own reaction, she carefully nudged it back into line and glanced over her shoulder at Buck.

            “This is me wanting to do something nice for you,” Maddie replied brightly.  She turned the heat down a little as the pancake browned up and reached for a clean mug, pouring Buck a cup of coffee, hot and black.  It wasn’t his favorite way to drink it, but she figured it would be a nice palate cleanser after the sugary breakfast she was almost through preparing.

            Buck padded toward the kitchen island, glancing at the spread laid out there.  Strawberry compote, chocolate syrup, crushed peanuts, maraschino cherries, and canned, sugary, oily, terrible-for-you whipped cream next to a container of rainbow sprinkles.  He opened his mouth in surprise as his mind worked through the items gathered there, his memory going back through the years, dispelling the cobwebs that hid them from conscious view.

            “Banana split pancakes?”  Buck asked in wonderment, the nostalgia hitting him at the core.

            “I thought it might be a nice treat,” Maddie said warmly, taking the last pancake off the heat and setting the frying pan aside before circling the island to give Buck a hug.  “Banana split pancakes always used to make you feel better.”

            Buck chuckled, hollow and incredulous, touched at how much thought and work she’d put into surprising him.

            “I can’t believe you did all this for me,” he commented as he took the cup of coffee she pushed at him, his tone turning to jest.  “I would’ve settled for a muffin from that bakery down the road.”

            “This is infinitely better,” Maddie hedged as she pulled a platter out from where it sat warming in the oven.

            Buck sat down on one of the stools on the far end of the island, setting his mug down and watching Maddie pile pancakes onto a couple of plates for them.  He murmured a thank you as he set his down in front of him and waited for Maddie to join him before reaching for the whipped cream.

            The two of them lapsed easily into a friendly exchange as they topped their pancakes, and Maddie gasped, shocked, as Buck scooped up a dollop of whipped cream with a fingertip and dotted it on her cheek.  She was tempted to arm herself with chocolate sauce and get him back, but in spite of the meal before them suggesting otherwise, her adulthood won out and she decided the clean up wasn’t going to be worth it.

            “You’ve won this time,” she conceded.  “But I’ve got my eye on you.  I’ll get you back sometime.”

            Buck laughed, rubbing a hand through his hair, making it stand up in all directions.  “I’ll remember that.”

            He picked up his fork and speared a piece of pancake, allowing the excess compote and chocolate to drip off into a pool on his plate before taking a bite.  His eyes closed and an involuntary moan of contentment escaped him as he was instantly taken back to grandma and grandpa Buckley’s dining room on a Sunday morning, cartoons playing on the TV in the background as they shared a family breakfast.  Their parents had always insisted the pancakes were a bit much, but no one ever got to say no to grandma when she insisted he and Maddie deserved a treat.  

            Buck opened his eyes again as he chewed and swallowed, pointing his fork at Maddie with a small, earnest smile.

            “You’re kind of my favorite person, you know that?”  He said softly.

            Maddie reached up with her free hand, playfully punching him in the shoulder.

            “You have to say that, you’re my brother”

            Buck rolled his eyes, pointing at her with his fork.

            “No, I really mean it,” he insisted sincerely.  “Ten years and twenty five hundred miles later, you’re still here for me.  You’re always here for me.”

            Maddie set her fork down and reached for his hand, giving it a squeeze.

            “And there’s nowhere on this Earth you can go to hide from me, so you’d better get used to it,” she teased gently.

            Buck chuckled and realized suddenly that the weight he’d felt on his heart earlier was gone.  The memory of the previous night’s events was still there, but it lacked the venom it had held as he’d laid down to sleep after his shift.  The pain had been replaced by something else, by the comfort Maddie brought - familiar and yet still and always impossibly novel.  He quashed the feelings of inadequacy, the memories of his parents that reared their ugly heads as he wondered how and why anyone could ever care for him as much as Maddie did and instead took comfort in her presence and the absolute mountain of sugar on his plate.

            “Thank you,” he said quietly.

            “You’re welcome,” Maddie replied, nudging him affectionately and flashing him a wink.  “Now dig in before it gets cold.”

[megamegaturtle]

golden syrup

Rating: G

Relationships: Luna Lovegood & Harry Potter (Friendship)

Tags: Post-War, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Baking, Self-Love, Male-Female Friendship, Platonic Hand Holding, POV Harry Potter

Summary:

Golden syrup: a thick amber-coloured form of inverted sugar syrup that tastes delicious on scones, hot cakes, and treacle tart with a buttery, caramel flavor.

Golden: something Harry Potter hasn't felt in a long while.

[the one in which Luna teaches Harry how to bake]

(For the Dumbledore's Armada Discord Flash Comp: Magic Begins From Within! Winner for Overall Favorite, Best Platonic Friendship, and Best Use of Prompt!)

Read it here on Ao3

Harry Potter welcomes the new year with a six-pack of beer and booming fireworks. It smells like war. Gunpowder screams overhead and the lively colors flash before his eyes, but no one dies at the tip of a wand. He trembles, his muscles are weak, and he is defenseless. 

With each explosion, he relives every death. Cedric, in the graveyard, his face devoid of red. Green howls on the top of the Astrometry Tower and Dumbledore falls. Sirius, in a flash of blue, his body gone in a blink.   

Change feels like swimming in the desolate waters of the Black Lake. It is numb and no one can save him, but Harry still swims. He longs for the shore, but breath is scarce, just like his seconds. He doesn’t know what tomorrow will bring, but he waits for it with a guarded heart.

Life slows in solitude, Harry decides. It is as cozy as an empty flat that has a drafty window. Winter creeps in every crevice and rustles the tops of cardboard boxes. Loneliness nestles in the space where his friends used to stand, but Ron and Hermione are moving on to tomorrow, with or without a plan.

He sits in a deserted living room, a ratty couch as his lonesome furniture. He stares out the window, the gray sky frozen in the sunlight. It does not thaw as the sun moves across the day. He sits there frozen too and welcomes snow to fall over his soul. He wants to be buried under soft white until he sinks into the cold. 

He is the aftermath of war.

He is the definition of lost.

But someone finds him anyway.

The knock on his door is light, but persistent. The knocks continue even after a full minute. Harry gets up, his knees creak and his joints sore. He drags his feet just like his blanket clings to the floor. He trips over a cheap rum bottle; the glass echoes a shrill laugh in his flat.

His fingers glue to the doorknob and shake at welcoming someone into nothing. Hot disappointment whispers in his ear, and warm, breathy shame is enough to propel him into battle. Harry plants his feet to the ground, his body tenses for a fight. He clenches his jaw into a familiar ache.

Harry prepares for someone to drag him into a hug. He expects someone to force him back to a life with obligations. But Luna Lovegood only pauses her knocking and takes a step back. Grocery bags rest at her feet and her bottle cap necklace jingles like a blessing. She smiles up at him like she saw him yesterday.

“Hello, Harry,” she says. “I like your blanket cape.”

A blush paints his cheeks, and he clears his throat, his voice raspy. “Hey, Luna.” 

Luna stares at him patiently from the threshold as Harry opens the door wide enough for her to enter. She does not comment on the state of his empty flat or how it’s been so long since she’s seen him. She only asks to be directed to the kitchen. He leads her with slow steps, each movement heavy on his person. Luna trails behind him, and the items in her bags jostle together as a cheery chime.

Without help, she hoists the bags onto the counter and takes everything out: golden syrup, ginger, and other baking ingredients. She rests a pie tin to one side and a few mixing bowls and some utensils to the other. Carefully, she pulls out a handwritten recipe and reads it once before putting it on the counter too.

Harry licks his lips, desperately wishing he had a glass of water. “Luna, not that I’m not happy to see you—”

“But you’re not happy to see me, Harry,” she interrupts. “You haven’t been happy to see anyone.”

“Okay, fair enough, but—”

“I am happy to see you though,” she interrupts again, her smile honest and sweet. Her smile cuts like crystalized honey. It has sat too long in the opened container in the pantry, forgotten. 

Harry swallows his growing irritation; burning anger kept tight under a lid. “Right, well—thank you, but what are you doing?”

Luna blinks and gestures to her ingredients. “Isn’t it obvious? We’re making a treacle tart. Mother said the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach.”

“I’m sorry—what?” Harry sputters. “You want—my heart?!”

“No, Harry,” she sighs. “We’re making this so you can get through to your own heart. You like treacle tart and I brought Mum’s recipe.”

“Luna, I don’t—I don’t need to get through to my heart. I’m  fine. Perfectly and utterly  fine.”

Luna only hums and begins reciting the instructions. “Okay, first we must make the short crust pastry. Hermione said it’s easier the Muggle way, so I am willing to try, but I don’t know the Muggle way. Anyway, Step 1) gather the flour, butter, and very cold water. Step 2) place 272 grams of flour in the mixing bowl—272 grams? That’s such an odd number. Okay, place 272 grams of flour with 2 sticks of butter, cubed, and—” 

Luna pauses when Harry does not move and points to the counter. “Harry, what are you doing? I can’t make the tart by myself.”

Tension in his chest crawls up his throat. “Yes, you can. I didn’t even ask you to come over here today. I said I was fine and you’re—I don’t need a bloody tart, Luna! I just want to be left alone.”

Luna puts down the recipe. “Harry,” she whispers. She says his name as if he’s precious. “I don’t want you to be alone the same way—the same way you didn’t want me to be alone.” She reaches across the counter and touches the back of his hand. “I just want to help you find your shoes, Harry. Can I—will you let me help you find your shoes?”

Her chilled fingertips carry the weight of friendship in their gentle touch. Twigs crunch under their feet. They laugh as teenagers laugh. They love as teenagers love. Magic weaves into all their moments of silence, never forcing either to speak.

Luna’s pale blue eyes find him with kindness, her heart an anchor when he feels so far away. Harry wonders if he is a ghost now, but Luna’s hand wraps around his and she tugs him away from gunpowder explosions, pulling him out of darkness to stand by her side. She is the lifeline in the Black Lake, skipping like a stone across the water to the other side. She takes him with her and for once, Harry does not feel like he’s drowning.

Smiling doesn't feel right, but he clings to her hand. “Okay, Luna. We can make a treacle tart.”

She beams at him and begins reading the instructions again.

Harry was always a decent student, but in the stillness with Luna, Harry listens. He makes the crust as she instructs and makes the filling too. Together they watch the golden syrup simmer over the hob with juicy lemon and mix it with breadcrumbs. They beat the egg and cream together with a fork, but never has Harry felt more sure about a moment. Luna has never asked him to face his own crossroads. 

His chilly flat warms with the oven and the loneliness thaws with Luna’s laughter. She charms his blanket into a real cape, and it fastens around his neck with a simple button. She says it suits him.

The timer buzzes and Luna dons lion oven mitts. Heat pours out of the oven as she opens it and delicious buttery caramel wafts under their noses. Harry’s mouth waters as he watches steam rise from tart, tasting the sweet syrup in the air.

“Very good, Harry Potter,” Luna praises. She rests the tart on the table and performs a cooling spell. “The golden-brown color reminds me of the hares we see in the garden during spring.”

“...is that a good thing? That sounds like a good thing. ”

She peers at him with a small smile. “Of course. They never played tricks on us when we fed them fresh berries from our bushels.”

Luna fishes out a bowl of clotted cream she kept tight under a statis charm. The pie cools to perfect temperature with the aid of her magic, and she spells some plates to set themselves at the table. They whiz around the room until they lay calmly like little birds. Together, they sit at his small kitchen table for two. Luna pours them both a glass of milk and serves them each a slice of tart. She tops their slices with a delicious helping of sweet, clotted cream.

Harry holds his fork with trepidation, the humble slice gooey at the edges of its filling. The toasted breadcrumbs feel crunchy under his fork, but he is too nervous to slice it.

Luna’s foot touches his under the table. “Go on, Harry,” she says. “Try it. You deserve it.”

Harry meets her eyes only for a moment, but then he nods, bracing himself as the metal of his fork hits the ceramic plate. The sound snaps like a crumbled bell, but still rings with finality. With nerves on fire, he takes his first bite with dolloped cream.

Buttery warmth melts in his mouth, the hint of slight spice and sweetness oozing in all his bones. He sinks in his chair as he relishes the delicate pastry crust, the flakey layers dissolving on his tongue. The cream cuts the sweetness, so it is not overbearing, but remains pleasant like a tender kiss.

Luna props her chin in her hand and grins at him. “How does it feel to fall in love with something you made?”  

Harry blinks at her words, startled by their genuine curiosity, and he remembers the dough as it stuck to his skin. His hands still smell like lemon and when he bends his index finger, a cut stings from the juice. The pie in front of him unassumingly sits in in the middle of the table, enveloping him in kind warmth and wonderful memories.

His mouth wobbles as he takes a second bite, and Harry remembers his Hogwart’s letter. Another, the first time he made friends. He eats more and remembers Hermione’s fierce hugs when she thought no one was looking. A thick part of filling and he can feel the comfort from Ron’s laughter as they stayed up all night. At the very last bite, he remembers dancing with the girl across the table when no music played just because she wanted to dance.

Like the sun dawning, emotion wells at the corners of Harry’s eyes and his chest caves as he hunches over the table. He heaves a choked sob as he curls around his finished plate, the loneliness in his heart thawing in the warmth of a home cooked treat. Blindly, he pats the table, searching for Luna’s hand. Her icy fingers thread between his and squeeze tight as she kisses his knuckles. Her thumb traces over the spot where her lips touched.

She says nothing, but he hears her heart: I am here with you. 

Love builds inside him and spreads to tips of his toes, igniting a fire of forgiveness in its wake. In the trail of flames, he saves some love for himself. 

Magic washes over him when Luna squeezes his hand once more. With a teary laugh, he sits up and wipes his face. Luna looks at him as if he is handsome as she wears a content smile. He takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly, the snow inside his body melting in Luna’s bright friendship.

Harry cups his hands around Luna’s, relishing in the peace that settles over him.

He smiles for the first time in a long while.

“Thank you, Luna.”

[softbiker]

Steve Rogers Oneshot

Warnings: maybe a bad word or two? I forget, sorry

Summary: If it’s green, it’s healthy. Nobody tell Steve otherwise.

Word count: ~2k (oops my hand slipped)

A/N: This was supposed to be a very short drabble based on a conversation I had with @kentuckybarnes​ last night...and then I don’t know this happened. Anyways! This is a little gift for @nacho-bucky​ , who deserves all the extra whip; the story features her character Agent 41, as well as a brief appearance by @kentuckybarnes​ Agent 28! A “reader” character may or may not make an appearance ;) Enjoy!

He hasn’t said so out loud - not yet - but Steve is really proud of her. She’s been doing really great this time around. Really, really great. 

After last year’s health kick ended (sometime around the holidays, even the heroes stop caring), everyone’s diets slid back to a state of normal that was…somewhat shy of their (read: Steve’s) original goals. Sugary cereals and waffles dripping in syrup and butter; everyone having their own pint of Ben & Jerry’s in the freezer; Sam and 41 insisting on an extensive comparison of all available delivery pizza, often side-by-side taste tests that led to multiple pizzas devoured each night. 

Steve gave them a warning this time, 4 weeks in advance. It would be hard to jump right in and change their habits on January 1, since they’d be up late partying the night before, and then of course there were the holiday leftovers, etc etc. So he’d give them some time to mentally prepare.

“Mark your calendars, guys,” he warned, eyebrows arched, Captain Six-Pack posed in the community kitchen. “We’re cleaning up this kitchen - starting February 1st.” 

A month of healthy eating - but he picked the shortest month, so he was going easy on them, right? 

Like before, he had worried a little about their agent with the biggest sweet tooth. Poor thing, 41 had nearly had a breakdown last time, and Steve thought she might hate him forever. It was probably a close call. But she made it through the first time around, and February is only 28 days anyway. Well, 29 this year. 

She took it like a champ. Met his announcement with quirked brows and an amused glance in Clint’s direction, but no more wailing and gnashing of teeth than the rest of the team. Bucky had watched them over his steaming mug of coffee, secret smile around his mouth. 

“You know,” 28 piped up from across the island. “It might be a good idea to cut back on caffeine, too. It is an addictive substance.”

Bucky’s eyes had twitched, big knuckles flexing as his hand tightened on the mug.

“Come back with a warrant,” he grumbled. 41 giggled behind her hand and patted his shoulder. Steve just rolled his eyes.

Fast forward a few weeks, just over halfway through this little challenge, and he has to admit that she’s really leaned into the healthy lifestyle. More so than last time; in fact, she’s the one in the kitchen, night after night, iPad poised with a healthy recipe from Pinterest. Everything she’s made has been damn good - he always goes back for seconds. And she’s the first to volunteer to go for grocery runs for the team, dashing off to Whole Foods and the farmer’s market, a triumphant return with a beaming smile and arms full of lush, colorful produce. 

Feeling accomplished, and not a little proud of his leadership skills, Steve decides they’ve earned a little treat. Just a little one. 

Modern coffee and Steve Rogers have struck a deal - he’ll pipe down about price margins and inflation, as long as they continue to deliver strong, kick-you-in-the-teeth flavor. He loves a mean cup of joe, bitingly bitter, with only the occasional splash of milk to soften the harsh taste in his mouth. Coffee was scarce during the war, desperate rationing pared down the drink to little more than brown water, drunk from a helmet while he crouched down next to Buck in a foxhole. He’ll dig a little further in his wallet for something stronger than that. 

He’s familiar with the Starbucks down the block from the tower, having stopped in several times after runs with Bucky and Sam; they haven’t been in a while - a part of his health initiative includes less eating out and more making their own food and drinks. But it’s just coffee. And coffee has plenty of health benefits - he was just reading an article this morning about studies on the preventative effects of caffeine in dementia patients. Not that his brain cells are likely to be affected, but still.

Coffee it is.

41’s eyes light up when they walk in the door, a chorus of “Hello!” and “Welcome to Starbucks!” greeting them from behind the bar. She can smell the syrup in the air, blenders whirring double chocolatey chip frappuccinos with extra mocha drizzle and - what did the menu say? A…caramel ribbon crunch? Yum.

Steve Rogers is a purist in terms of coffee. The concept of frappuccinos and white chocolate mochas makes him want to roll his eyes a little. But he doesn’t make the rules - and hey, the people who invented this are raking in profits, so it looks like they’ve got the right idea. 

Clint’s got his arms around 41 from behind, his chin propped on top of the beanie he knitted her, both of them swaying a little as they glance over the menu. Steve knows Clint is a coffee-addict, too - he’ll probably order straight espresso. 41 loves her lattes, the sweet-flavored ones of course, but she’s done so well cutting out sugar. He trusts her. She’ll be fine. 

It’s just the three of them, with a list of coffee orders to bring back for the team. The cafe doesn’t seem too busy, so he doesn’t feel like an asshole when he shuffles up to the register, pulling up the list on his phone. 

“Be with you in just a second, okay?” 

His head pops up and he notices her standing there, smiling over her shoulder as she preps a new batch of coffee to brew. He nods, a little smile - “sure” - and slides one hand in his pocket while she finishes. She’s efficient and fast, measuring the grounds into the basket, sliding the urn into place and pressing the right button. He notices the way her hair swings, twisted up into a big butterfly clip at the back of her head, the ends falling like a ponytail, longer strands hanging next to her face. 

And then she’s twisting back around and popping up at the register, a nose-scrunching smile and a “What can I get started for you today?”

Blink.

“Um, I’ve got a list-” He fumbles for his phone again. “Sorry, it’s quite a few drinks.”

“Sure, that’s fine,” she nods. Smile still curling up her cheeks - he can’t quite tell if she’s wearing makeup or if that glow is just natural. 

“O-okay,” he clears his throat, swipes at the notes app on his phone. “So first, a tall dry cappuccino with an extra shot-”

He gets through Sam, Bucky, Nat, Wanda, and 28’s orders, before sliding his phone back in his pocket, puffing a harsh breath past his lips. 

“What else can I get for ya?” The barista leans a hip against the counter, tilting her head, smiling eyes still watching him. There’s just something about that look - like she’s in on a joke and he’s still waiting for the punchline. 

“For me…uh,” he shrugs, falling back on a standby. “An Americano, with a little bit of milk and cinnamon, please.” 

That makes her smile deepen, and he would really love to be let in on the joke, but she just nods and repeats the drink, tapping the buttons on her screen. 

“Okay - anything else?” 

“Oh, and whatever they’re having.” 

Over his shoulder, he nods Clint and 41 forward, their hands linked as they slide up to the register. With a smile and a quick greeting, Clint goes for a triple shot, double cupped, one Stevia. Pretty standard - whenever he’s not sharing sweets with his sweetheart, Clint tends towards strong flavors. For Christmas, 41 bought him a bag of something called Death Wish coffee - he brewed it all within a week. 

When it’s her turn, 41 grins at the girl behind the counter, standard sweet and friendly. She leans close to the register and tilts her eyebrow as she orders. 

“I’ll have a spinach milkshake,” she hums. “Venti, please. Oh! With extra whip.” 

Spinach milkshake, huh? Steve’s ears prick up, a little bubble of pride floating up in his chest. He knew if she just gave it her best shot, she’d get used to it. 

The barista grins back at her, and Steve does not at all notice the dimple in her cheek. 

“You got it, girl,” she winks. 

Steve pays, leaving a generous tip in the jar by the register, as the girl flits away from the computer to help prep their drinks herself. She smiles and chats with 41 over the espresso machines, her hands wicked fast between steaming milk and pulling espresso, lining up the finished drinks in the little cardboard tray at the end of the bar. Under her apron, she’s wearing a pair of baggy overalls and for a moment a memory sweeps up in him - factory girls and borrowed boots and rolled up sleeves. A victory smile, that’s for sure. Standing next to Clint at the counter, he pretends not to watch. 

She’s got the trays loaded up, all except one, and turns around to the counter behind her, pouring cold milk and some kind of green powder into a blender. Must be 41’s drink - she’s busied herself at the counter writing everyone’s names on the tops of their cups, adorned with little hearts. Characteristically cute. 

The blender whirs loudly, and as she reaches for a cup and lid the barista meets his eyes over the machines. It startles him, that guilty thump in his ribs, like he was caught doing something he shouldn’t. Her smile stays glued in place as she turns back to the blender, fetching the pitcher and neatly filling the cup with the creamy, green drink, before dropping the pitcher in the sink to rinse. She flips the metal canister in her hand, shaking it a few times, before swirling up a veritable mountain of whipped cream on top. 

Steve sighs one of his long-suffering sighs, his eyes flitting up to the ceiling before he catches the look of excitement on 41’s face, already peeling the wrapper from a straw as the pretty barista snaps the plastic lid over the cup. Well…what can some whipped cream really hurt? At least it’s a healthy drink…she called it a ‘spinach milkshake’ and he has no idea what the ingredients would be in that, but the bright green color has him sold on some marginal health benefits. She’s earned a little dollop of cream. 

“Here you go, babe,” the barista grins as she hands over the drink to an eager 41, who immediately scoops her finger under the dome lid and pops a little whipped cream into her mouth. 

“Mmmm,” she smiles, dreamy. “You did great.”

“Oh, thanks,” the girl laughs back, now wiping down her counters with a rag, cleaning up any of her milk and coffee spills. 

“Seriously,” 41 insists, between slurps through her straw. “You’re, like, my new favorite person.” 

“Hey, now,” Clint hip-checks her as he reaches around to grab the drink carriers. He offers the barista a smile. “Thanks, kid, it looks great.” 

“Oh, it’s no problem,” she insists, sliding away her steaming pitchers and milk jugs. 

They’re turning to leave, all drinks accounted for, and the girl gives Steve one last smile as she turns to restock the cups next to the espresso machines. He sips his Americano - good, bold, perfect combination of milk and cinnamon. 

“Steve?” 41 is slurping at her…spinach thing, Clint holding the door open with his back, hands occupied with the drink trays. Steve licks his lips. 

“Excuse me, miss?” Starbucks employees have their names on their aprons, right? He remembers that being a thing.

She turns back, bright-eyed, expectant. 

“Yes, Captain?” The smile twitches at the corners of her mouth. “Anything else I can help you with?” 

He opens his mouth, starts to say yes, not surprised she recognized him but willing to hope-

His eyes slide down to the top of her apron, corners adorned with colorful, cute little pins, black name tag fixed to the top left corner. A neat cursive scroll spells the word ‘Fourteen’ in stark white chalk. 

Oh. 

His mouth shuts. 

41 gives an exuberant wave as she grabs his elbow and all but drags him out the door. The grip around his drink tightens when he almost stumbles over her behind him. 

“Thanks, see you next time!” 41 grins. 

Without breaking his gaze, the barista leans against the counter and winks, waving her fingers at them. 

Maybe he should give one of those spinach milkshakes a try. 

[milkmadeicecream]

Key Lime Pie Ice Cream

I knew I was doing my job right at MilkMade when I could make a recipe for a flavor of ice cream that I didn’t like, but I still knew it was good. That’s what Key Lime Pie was for me. Though not MY favorite flavor, it definitely was one of yours. It’s one of the most lauded Seasonal ‘Screams we had and the second most requested recipe. 

The secret to our key lime pie ice cream is simple: Steve’s Authentic Key Lime Pies. If you know, you know. Steve’s is a Brooklyn-based producer of truly authentic key lime pies. Steve and his wife Victoria run a small operation at the very end of Van Dyke street, right on the water in Red Hook, Brooklyn. In front of their bakery they have a small (smaller than MilkMade small) take-out counter where you’re transported to the Florida Keys the moment you walk through the door. The decor is as authentic as their pies, which they make using only fresh squeezed key limes they source from Mexico (where most key limes are grown now, but Steve is trying to put some key limes back in the Keys). Since 2011, when I first released this flavor for Members, we’ve partnered with Steve’s to source not only their amazing pies, but also their fresh squeezed juice. They made it easy for us. 

Steve’s is open for takeout and soon will resume it’s online shipping across the US. Because I’ve just relocated to California to be near family, I couldn't get my hands on a pie so I made this flavor without the mix-in (but the recipe for Steve’s Key Lime Pie is included below). 

Definitely use key limes if you can get your hands on them - they are less acidic, a bit sweeter, and more aromatic than regular limes. And DEFINITELY juice your own limes either way (as annoying as it is with the tiny key limes!). As Steve says, “no bottled mystery juice.”  Here we go:

Ingredients:  2 c cream 1 c milk 1 c sugar 4 egg yolks ⅛ tsp salt ¼ c lime juice 2 tsp lime zest

Instructions:  1. Cook ¼ c of the sugar, the lime juice and zest over medium heat. Bring to a boil, stirring until sugar has dissolved. Transfer to a bowl and allow to cool.

2. In a separate medium saucepan, heat milk, cream, remaining sugar (¾ c), and salt over medium heat, stirring regularly until sugar is dissolved. 

3. Separately, whisk together the egg yolks in a small bowl. Once the cream mixture begins to simmer, gradually pour some (like ¼ cup) of the mixture into the egg yolks, whisking the yolks constantly as you pour. Then scrape the warmed yolks back into the saucepan, whisking constantly.

4. Cook over low heat, stirring constantly and scraping the bottom until the custard thickens enough to coat the spatula or it reaches 160°F.

5. Pour the custard through a strainer into the bowl of lime simple syrup. Pour a little at a time and whisk thoroughly until incorporated. Place bowl over an ice bath and stir until cool. Refrigerate to chill thoroughly (8 hrs or preferably overnight). 

6. Whisk then strain the custard to remove lime zest. Push the zest with your spatula to remove any excess liquid. Freeze the base in your ice cream maker according to manufacturer’s instructions. 

7. Scoop ice cream into a freezer-safe container, adding chunks of frozen key lime pie (about 5 pieces per pint). Place in freezer to set (about 4 hours).

Mix-in: Steve’s Authentic Key Lime Pie Courtesy of Steve Tarpin via Food Network

Ingredients:  Crust:  8 oz graham crackers, crushed 4 oz butter, melted

Filling:  1 c canned sweetened condensed milk, chilled 4 egg yolks*, cold ½ c key lime juice, cold

Instructions:  1. Preheat oven to 325 degrees F. 

2. To make the crust, combine the ingredients in a bowl and mix well for 2 minutes. Mold the mixture into a greased, 10-inch pie shell and bake for 8 minutes or until golden brown. Remove the crust from the oven and allow to cool. 

3. To make the filling, combine the milk and the egg yolks and mix well. Slowly add the key lime juice and mix just until incorporated. Do not overmix or the pie will not set-up in the refrigerator. Pour the mix into the pre-baked pie shell and refrigerate until set. 

4. For the ice cream mix-in, place pie in freezer for at least an hour until hardened. Remove from freezer and cut into 1” cubes. Place in freezer until ready to mix-into ice cream.

*Consumption of raw or undercooked eggs, shellfish and meat may increase the risk of foodborne illness.

Some notes (and pics) from Diana:  * With my very old school juicer, it took about 15 key limes to yield 1/4c of juice (I ended up hand-squeezing them, check out this juicer). It took just shy of 3 key limes to yield 2 tsp of zest. 

* To zest your key limes, you’ll want to use a very fine grater - a microplane is perfect. Make sure you do not zest too hard to get to the rind. You want just the lime skin, the green part. Example of the right (left) and wrong (right) way is below.

* Making ice cream with fruit can be difficult because there is so much variability with every piece of fruit. When I made this recipe at home, I tasted the base after combining the lime simple syrup with the custard. It didn’t taste quite there (and I knew it wouldn’t get there - I’ve tasted lots of key lime bases!). So I ended up adding whatever zest I had left from my three zested key limes (an additional ~1/2 tsp whisked right into the base). It worked out great though was very close to being too bitter (because of too much zest). With fruity flavors, I recommend tasting as you go and adjusting your recipe based on taste. Keep in mind the base should always taste a little too sweet and a little too strong in flavor. Once frozen, the sweetness and the flavor will not be as strong.

[sometimesfoodie]

Benton Red Velvet Cookies 

It's trendy to take chocolate-whatever, add red food dye, top it with white frosting, and promote it as "red velvet." But it's wrong! In case you're new here, "red velvet" is one of my rant-triggering flavors. (That, and "birthday cake.") So, let the ranting commence! 

I love baking, and I watched The Food Network obsessively in the 90's and 2000's, back when they were more focused on actual baking/cooking and not reality TV. I have seen tons of bakers discuss red velvet, because it's a real, historical, baking-thing. The coloring and texture comes from a reaction in the ingredients, typically cocoa powder, baking soda, vinegar and buttermilk. 

Also, red isn't the only "velvet" in town. Throughout baking history, there have been tons of other flavors, since it's about getting a certain texture in your cake and not a flavor in and of itself. But what most people get hung up on is the dang coloring. Hence all the "pink," "green" or "blue velvet" recipes on Pinterest. The color has next-to-nothing to do with how it tastes! (As long as you're not using beet juice or a distasteful food dyes.)

A "Red Velvet Cake" is a chocolatey cake, with a burgundy-brown coloring, and a velvety mouthfeel. Typically topped with a white frosting, to highlight the coloring of the cake itself, which may or may not be cream cheese based. (These days cream cheese is the go-to, but at one point it was ermine.) Not just a chocolate cake with a ton of red food dyes, or beets, or whatever else you dump in there. 

So, we have established that the coloring doesn't affect the flavor, it's more-so a reaction, AND that the main reason to get "Red Velvet" is the texture of the cake itself. So... how do you make other things like gum, or cookies, "red velvet?" You don't. 

But "cream cheese filling" Doesn't exactly have the same decadence or punchiness as "red velvet." It's all about spin and marketing. (Ever see Thank You for Smoking?) 

Which brings us here, to this review. Why would I buy cookies that are "red velvet" given that I clearly think it's a marketing scam. Especially after the Benton Hot Cocoa cookie fiasco? 

I took a photo of these for my Instagram stories and went to put them back, but then I realized I had nothing Valentine-y to post for the upcoming holiday and my gut said, "just toss 'em in the cart." I am so glad Idid.

When opened, the cookies inside are red alright, and I find something about their specific shade of red oddly appealing. It's not a bright, happy, red. More of a muted, but still saturated, bloody red. My inner-goth-kid loves it. 

The cookies and their filling smell sweet and tangy like canned cream cheese frosting mixed with the dry filling usually found in knock-off Oreos. It's tanginess is a little off putting, but it's not a bad smell.  

Separating the cookie from the filling isn't as easy as a normal Oreo, due to this filling's texture. It's a drier formula that sticks better to the cookie itself, not the moldable greasy Play-Dough-like filling Oreo fans are used to.

I managed to get a cookie on it's own, and it's light, crispy, and not overly sweet. Honestly, it's like a sweeter, very slightly chocolatey, and much lighter animal cracker. Like, if animal crackers had the texture of Brownie Brittle. I really really like the cookies, way more than I ever expected. If you look carefully at the photos you can see the underside of the cookies, which face the filling, are filled with little pockets and holes. Normal Oreos are much more smooth and solid. These? Light and airy. I love it! 

Then there's the creme filling. The creme is crumbly, with a fine, but still gritty, texture. It's rich, like shortening, but dry as if it were mixed with too much powdered sugar, and although it smells tangy and cream cheese-like, I barely taste it. It's more-so a sweet, sugary, and slightly buttery creme filling. (More in that butter flavored margarine kinda way than real butter. But I don't consider that a negative.) It's good, but the cookie is hands down my favorite part.   

When eaten together, they actually work really nicely! The combination brings out the buttery flavoring in the creme filling, with lots of extra sweetness, and I really love the combination of textures. Light crispy cookie, dry, but still fairly rich icing, and lots of sweetness. Does it taste like eating a bite of red velvet cake? Not at all. The textures are completely off, and there's very little chocolate or cream cheese, BUT they are delicious. 

Milk and cookies are usually the perfect match, but this time around I found that dunking these in an ice cold glass of milk actually took away some of it's appeal. Due to it's lightness, the milk makes the outer portion mushy too quickly and the main flavor that remains is just the icing. I love the textures and milk completely kills that for me. 

Personally, I prefer to eat these dry, right out of the package, and as of writing this review I only have 8 cookies left. Out of the entire package?! When did that happen? I think the only other time I singlehandedly decimated a cookie package like this was with my beloved Pistachio Oreo Thins. (RIP my beloved Oreo cookie. ;_;)  

I think most modern day red velvet fans are in it for the cream cheese frosting, and if that's the case, I think you'll be disappointed in these. I, on the other hand, absolutely love them. They are light, crispy, have a lightly chocolate but more-so vanilla animal cracker-like flavoring, and a dry, but still rich, icing center. If they sold the cookie portions on their own, as a wafer or something, I'd probably love them even more, but as-is, this is still a great cookie, and perfect for Valentine's Day munching.   

 © Maria Smith http://poison-and-antidote.net

Keep Up with My Daily Adventures on the main blog SometimesFoodie.com!

[thephantomofthe-internet]

Problem Solver

Steve Harrington x Reader

Word Count: 5,668

Warnings: Swearing, Angst, Abortion

Author’s Note: Hey guys! Lemme know if you want a sequel to this one, I’d love to explore this concept further!

Tag List: @hotstuffhargrove @moonstruckhargrove @mickmoon @alex--awesome--22 @hawkeyeharrington @songforhema @carolimedanvers @thechickvic @lilmissperfectlyimperfect @sunflowercandie @kaliforniacoastalteens @spidey-pal @buckybarneshairpullingkink @marvelismylifffe 

The tile of your bathroom floor was freezing on your bare feet, your fleece pyjama pants around your ankles. It was four in the morning, way too early to be awake on any day, especially not a Saturday. But you needed space to do this. You had to be careful.

The pregnancy test was on the counter, the egg timer ticking down slowly. You had never been more anxious before in your life. You crushed the box tightly in your fist, stolen from the pharmacy; you were too anxious to actually pay for it. You couldn’t let the cashier tell your mother about it or even let her see the receipt.

You needed to not be pregnant. Desperately. You couldn’t be pregnant. You were too young, too scared to be a single mother. It had to be a false alarm.

You felt stupid. You should’ve been careful; you should’ve said something when he didn’t have a condom. You should’ve stopped. But you didn’t.

As the timer got closer and closer to the zero, you grabbed it, forcing it to stop before the trilling ring came out, waking up your whole house.

You took a shaking breath, eyes rolling to the water marked ceiling as your clammy hands reached out for the test, tapping lightly on the counter until you hit the plastic test, pulling it over to you. You eyes fluttered shut as you levelled your head again, crossing your fingers in a silent prayer before opening your eyes.

The pink plus sign was clear as day.

Pregnant.

“Fuck…” you muttered, letting your head drop into your hands. You were so screwed.

All you could do was go back to bed, hiding the test in your dresser, climbing up the heap of blankets, begging the universe to let you sleep and to wake up and for everything to be fine again. But you knew that the universe didn’t work that way; you had to face the problem head on. You let hot, fat tears slip down your face, silent sobs wracking through your gut and chest, your throat tightening into a Gordian knot.

At seven o’clock, you forced yourself out of bed and into clean clothes. You forced yourself to the kitchen and forced a spoon of peanut butter into your mouth, the only thing you thought you could keep down, too upset to eat. You grabbed the yellow phone book off the counter, marked up with sticky notes for important numbers. You carried it to your room, grabbing the canary yellow rotary phone off the hall table, drawing the long cord down the hall and into your room, shutting the door and sitting down in front of it, pressing your back against the pressboard door.

You put the phone by your feet, flipping open the phonebook to the list of medical numbers, scrolling through to find a number for a woman’s health centre. There was a Planned Parenthood in Chicago, a three hour drive away, which felt like a risk, but you called anyway.

You could tell that the receptionist on the other end, who introduced herself as Amy, was trying to be nice to you, but it felt forced and harsh, sympathy training gone wrong. She warned you that you’d need parental consent if you were under eighteen before anything could be performed and it would cost $150.00. You told her that you understood and made the appointment for the next weekend.

You decided not to tell the father, he didn’t need to be involved. In fact, you decided not to tell anyone. You took off work the Saturday of your appointment, but you worked all that week, trying to flush your bank account with enough money to pay for the procedure.

If anyone asked you what happened that school week, you wouldn’t have had an answer. Your mind was on other things, on the drive to Chicago and the appointment itself. You just wanted to be done with that week, but Friday night proved to be the longest one yet.

Sitting at dinner with your parents, you pushed peas around your plate, eyes trailing the clock. “Hey ma? I was wondering if I could have the car tomorrow. I’m supposed to go to the mall in Greenville with Vicki and I thought I’d offer to drive us, since she usually gets Tommy to drive us and that means we have to invite Carol and it’s a whole thing.” You rambled, hoping that the influx of information would confuse your mother enough to give you the answer you wanted just to shut you up.

“Sweetheart, you know that your father and I are going to visit Aunt Shelley in Gary this weekend, we need the car. I’m sorry but you’re just going to have to deal with Tommy and Carol.” Your mother replied, reaching over to cut up your little sister’s chicken, smiling easily, as though she couldn’t feel the walls around you closing in.

“Unless of course you want to come along, I’m sure Aunt Shelley and Uncle Marvin would love to see you.” Your father added, but you weren’t listening, anymore. You pushed your plate away from you, tossing your napkin on the table top.

“May I be excused?” you asked. Your mother opened her mouth to answer you, but you were already turning on your heel and heading out of the dining room and upstairs. You had to be alone again. You needed a new plan.

Alone in your room, you forced your window open, your whole body trembling. Your lungs were on fire, eyes stung with tears. All week you’d been emotional, ready to cry at the drop of a hat, and this little change in the plan was the icing on the cake. You stuck your head out the window, forcing cold evening air into your lungs, trying to catch your breath and lessen the lump in your throat. You needed to calm down; you needed to be rational again.

Looking out at the dark street, streetlights like spotlights over the road, you watched as a car pulled into the driveway adjacent to yours, the only car at the house. You watched as a boy with a careful constructed coif and toned shoulders and arms stepped out, tossing what looked to be keys up and down, his entire body screaming ease and comfort.

Steve Harrington.

You and Steve were sort of friends. Key word sort of. He and you ran in similar circles but you’d never had to be close to get through parties at Tina’s and smoking at Tommy’s. But there were times that you were; first in sixth grade when Macy had convinced you that he was in love with you and you developed a tiny crush on him and then in freshman year when he had an actual crush on you and you had assumed he was just trying to be your friend. Both times had ended in awkward heart break for one party and awkward parties for awhile after until one of you moved on. You got your heart broken when you caught him in the closet at Carol’s making out with Mackenzie Fisher, his first ever girlfriend. And Steve got his broken when he asked you out and you laughed in his face, assuming it to be a joke. Since then, things were a bit tense and awkward, though it lessened when he started dating Nancy Wheeler. You always felt like you were skating on thin ice with him, like any second you could mess up and crash through the ice, even with Nancy around cutting the tension and the power of sticky weed and cheap liquor breaking down the walls of your social hierarchy.

But in that, with your head stuck pathetically out the window, his car was more appealing than even before.

Your fingers flew over the rotary dial, the number still engrained in your mind and fingers. You wondered if his mother was home, his father seemingly always gone on business. But when the phone was picked up on the first ring, you knew he was alone, his mother always took four rings to pick up the phone, not allowing anyone else to pick up the phone out of fear of seeming desperate.

“This is the casa de Harrington, Steve here.” Steve greeted, his tone jovial and relaxed. You could practically see him flopped on the overstuffed brown leather couch in their living room, a hand running through his long tresses.  

“Hey Steve it’s…uh it’s Y/N.” you said, curling the yellow coiled cord around your finger.

“Oh hey Y/N, what’s up?”

You sighed “Look, um this is weird but…I was wondering if you could drive me into Chicago tomorrow…I’d do it myself but my parents are driving out to Gary and I have an appointment out there. If you can’t help me it’s totally fine, I get it, it’s a weird request.” You sputtered, closing your eyes tight.

Steve was quiet for a long time, at a loss for words. Your stomach dropped, practically hearing the ice crack under your feet. You backtracked quickly “Look, I’m sorry this was stupid, I shouldn’t have bothered you, sorry.” You went to hang up the receiver, but a voice rang out from the other end.

“Y/N, wait.” Tentatively, you pushed the receiver back to you ear, unsure what to say “I can drive you, it’s not a big deal. Just tell me what time we have to leave.” He said, his soft an octave softer, clearly concerned.

“My appointments at ten o’clock, so we have to be out early. I can chip in for gas or we can drive it in shifts if you want, or I can find my own way back if you need-” he cut you off.

“Y/N. It’s not a big deal, I’ll pick you up at seven thirty, okay? If you wanna help, you can bring me a coffee, okay?” he replied easily. Steve was being too giving, too genuine, and it made your skin crawl, like he was watching you.

But you nodded, you got him to spill how he liked his coffee, you held back your giggles when he admitted just how much cream and sugar he needed to make the stuff drinkable, you said polite goodbyes and you thanked him again. Then you went to bed, not bothering to wish your parents a good night. Your body felt impossibly tired, a week of anxiety crashing through your body and pushing into dreamland.

Your alarm rang out a six o’clock the next morning, pushing your groggy body out of bed and into the shower, finally finding the energy to wash your greasy hair, eyes closed so you wouldn’t look at your stomach, which you swore was getting bigger every time you looked at it. You dressed cautiously, pulling on the thick knit skirt your mother had insisted you’d need for something, wondering to yourself if this was what she meant. You pulled on warm layers and tied your hair into a thick black scrunchie at the top of your head, messy and tangled and wet but away from your neck.

Your parents were still asleep, they wouldn’t leave for Gary till later that morning, giving you plenty of time to get in and get out without question. You tip toed down the stairs, stepping over the well known squeaky step and into the kitchen. You pulled out a paper coffee filter and dropped it into the top of the machine, filling it with grounds and flicking on the power button, the sound of the water boiling filling your senses. You remembered that you couldn’t have caffeine before the procedure, so you pulled out the electric kettle, boiling a separate pot for you as you dug through the various teas your mother bought on various whims, trying to find something without caffeine that wouldn’t taste like absolute crap. You finally decided on just have honey and lemon, pretending that you were sick made the whole trip feel more normal to you.

You pour the hot drinks into two Styrofoam cup, pouring honey and dropping sliced lemon into yours and enough sugar and cream into the other to make nearly white. You kept your eyes on the Harrington house, hoping that Steve remembered his promise to you.

You scrawled a note to your parents on a scrap piece of paper which you pinned to the refrigerator door.

“Mom and dad,

Me and Vicki decided to go for breakfast before driving into Greenville, say hi to Aunt Shelly and Uncle Marvin for me, I’ll call there when I get home. See you on Sunday!

~Y/N”

You heard a horn honk outside the house, your eyes snapped up to see Steve waving at you from his driveway, his eyes sleepy and his smile wide and soft. You waved tentatively back, pulling your purse onto your shoulders, popping plastic lids on the cups and marching towards the door, forcing a bright smile on your face as you crossed the street to meet him.

“You ready to go?” Steve asked, taking the cup from you with nod of thanks.

You nodded “Yeah, let’s do this.” Steve chuckled, popping the passenger seat door open for you, letting you in with a silly sweep of the hand, earning a little giggle from you. It was going to be a long drive.

Despite music playing from Steve’s stereo, the silence in the car was unbearable. You’d run out of things to talk about fairly quickly, Steve avoided the topic of your appointment out of politeness, but as Chicago grew closer, he needed to know where he was going.

And he worried about you. Ever since middle school when he broke your heart, he’d kept his eye on you, trying to ensure that you were happy and secure in your life. At first he felt like it was an obligation, a way of apologizing to you beyond words, but it became second nature to him, watching out for you as though you were one of his own, a prototype to the way he’d come to watch the middle schoolers he’d adopted. He’d punched out your first boyfriend, a squirmy boy named Brian, after he’d told their entire gym class how bad you were in bed. Did he have a good excuse? No, but listening to some kid treat you so terribly behind your back made his blood boil, igniting a fire behind his eyes and tightening his core. Driving you to Chicago felt like another obligation in watching you, making sure that you were still okay. But it bothered him to watch you twitch in the seat next to him.

“So,” he broached the silence with a brave, easy smile, “Where’re we going here?” he asked, the sign signalling Chicago was only five miles away.

You had been tearing the edges of the map in your lap, trying to calm your twitching hands and racing heart. You reached into your bag, pulling out the yellow legal pad you’d written the directions on, scanning the chicken scrawl for a sign of legible instructions.

“We’re looking for North Humberland Court.” You read, eyes locked on the page. You refused to admit where you were actually going, to admit that it would make it real and you refused to believe that it actually was. You weren’t going to a clinic to have an abortion with Steve Harrington.

“Alright…” he muttered, scanning signs for the street you’d named. The fact that you were so quiet made him nervous. Something was wrong, even he could sense it. “So why couldn’t your parents drive you out here? To the doctor I mean.”

“Like I told you, they’re going to visit some family today, they needed the car. I’m old enough to handle this stuff without them anyway…” you replied quickly.

“Why schedule an appointment if they knew they wouldn’t be in town?” he asked. God, sometimes you wondered if Steve Harrington had any sort of deduction skill. In this case, it worked in your favour.

“It was a mistake, they told me to cancel but it was hard to get and I wasn’t gonna wait around for another chance.” You told him, finding a relaxed smile, leaning back in the chair for the first time in the entire drive.

Steve hummed “Right…” he looked at you for just a second, catching the look of anxious fear in your eyes that made his heart lurch and made him drive faster. You looked almost scary-the smile looked so natural, but your eyes were so far from matching, you almost looked like a psychopath.

“They don’t know that you’re out here, do you?” he said, a smirk pulling at the corners of his mouth. Your head snapped to look at him, shocked that he’d figured it out, which felt silly in retrospect-Steve wasn’t stupid, he just had no forethought when he spoke, making him seem dumber than he actually was.

You opened your mouth to retort, but you had nothing. Instead, you sighed, looking away. “Look, it’s just one of those things.” You said.

“I need to know where we’re going here, Y/N, like are we actually even going to the doctor at all?” he pressed.

“We are going to the doctor, I didn’t lie about that.” You replied. Steve watched you for a second, looking for more cracks in your façade. But your smile had dropped, your face finally expressing what your eyes had been screaming the whole ride. He nodded, turning down the long street you had requested.

“Just tell me where to turn.” He muttered and you nodded, muttering back “Stay in the left lane…”

North Humberland was a longer street than you’d expected, but halfway down in a small, unassuming building, was the Planned Parenthood. You nodded for Steve to turn, watching him for a sign of something, anything. You wanted to know if he judged you, if he was scared or hurt or disgusted-if everyone saw you the way you saw yourself. But he didn’t look like he felt any of those things, he looked eerily calm and comfortable with this scenario, as though he’d been there before. Maybe he had, you realized in that moment how little you knew about him.

There were a few sparse protestors outside, all in pink shirts with Bristol board signs, declaring that you were a baby killer and that abortion is murder. You hadn’t thought much about what you were doing, it just felt like a chore to you like an annual check up or a teeth cleaning. You hadn’t even realized what was inside you was technically a life to these people, a baby to these hallowed few. Watching them and their signs walk their picket line, their glares and scowls targeting your car as you pulled in. They had their teeth bared and their fists clenched tightly around their signs like weapons.

You looked to Steve, in almost the same way you’d look to your parents as a small child, for guidance and support. He sent you a small smile and nodded towards the front door, waiting for you to make the first move. You let out a sigh, pulling your bag off the floor and popping open the side door, dropping your feet onto the pavement. Steve stuck close to you, his hand pressed into the small of your back, pushing you past the screaming hoard who called you a murderer and a sinner.

The girl who answered your call, Amy, was at the desk, her false smile and terrible phone voice matched her face; she looked like the head cheerleader forced to be nice to everyone. She handed you your paperwork and verified your I.D, both of you knowing that it was fake but neither saying anything. You took a seat in the plastic chair, propping the clipboard on your knee. Steve sat next to you, you hadn’t realized that he had taken your hand while you were handling receptionist Amy until he let you go, and you oddly missed it when he let go.

“I wish you’d told me…” Steve whispered, slouching down in his chair to whisper into your ear, arms crossed over his chest.

You rolled your eyes “What was I supposed to say, Steve? Hey, I know we’re not really friends but I need an abortion, wanna come with? Yeah, I’m sure you’d love that call, totally would’ve gotten me a ride here…” you shot back, crossing your arms defiantly over your chest. You felt younger than you actually were, like an angry preteen rather than the girl about the head to college in just a few months.

“Would’ve been better than lying to me...” Steve seemed hurt by your small lie, in a way you didn’t quite understand. You’d done nothing to hurt him; nothing about this situation even truly involved him. It made your blood boil-for once, something wasn’t about him and he had to get his emotions all in it.

“I didn’t lie!” you snapped “I told you I have an appointment in Chicago and I do, it just so happens to be the appointment.”

Steely silence covered you like a blanket. Steve knew you were right, he knew he was in the wrong here. But he couldn’t look at you, it hurt too bad. If he had chosen to stick around, to be genuinely be your friend and not creep around in the shadows of your life. He was sure he could’ve stopped this, he could’ve stopped whatever the hell happened here.

“You don’t have to sit here with me, you know, you can go, like I said I can find my own way back.” You said softly, not bothering to look at him. You couldn’t bring yourself to.

“No, no I’m-I’m not abandoning you in Chicago.” Steve replied “Jesus, Y/N, what kind of person would I be if I just left you here?” it was a rhetorical question, but you thought long about an answer, and not just some snarky comeback, but an actual argument.

You couldn’t think of one. So, instead, you focused on the forms in hand, filling out your health information and signing on the dotted and solid lines. Steve watched you, taking in your little moments of thought and annoyance, the little huffs and the way you chewed on the end of the pen, tapping your fingers on the clipboard in a rapid, uneven pace.

“Y/N?” he asked quietly, his voice almost childlike, like a toddler about to ask his mother an innocent, wide eyed question, tiny hands gripping long skirts.

“What?” you replied, not looking up from the page, trying to remember if you were allergic to any medications, your mother always filling out these forms for you at your family doctor’s office.

“What happened?” he asked, intentionally vague. You both knew what he was asking and the question upset you. Maybe it was just because you were ashamed and embarrassed, but you felt deeply angered by the question.

“Are you trying to ask how I got pregnant? Come on Steve, you know how this shit works.” You replied, chuckling bitterly.

Steve rolled his eyes, his cheeks turning the slightly pink shade. “You know what I mean…” he

“I made a stupid mistake, Steve, it happens. Won’t let it happen again...” You told him, standing up to return the clipboard to bitchy Amy, who smacked her blue bubblegum at you, ushering in the heavily pregnant woman with the green hair and her spiky looking boyfriend.

“Where’s the guy who made the mistake?” Steve asked when you returned. You cocked your eyebrow, urging him to elaborate. “Unless you’re the Virgin Mary, there had to be a guy to help with this problem, where is he? Who is he?”

You smirked “No, no you guessed right. I’m carrying the next saviour and, unlike her, I want out.”

Steve shook his head “Y/N…” he pressed.

You sighed “Look the guy isn’t here because I didn’t tell him, which is for the best seeing as how it was a stupid one night stand and he wouldn’t give a shit about it.” You said, balling your hands into fists, focusing on the white plastic bin of condoms on the front desk, rainbow coloured and screaming ‘You’re sexually active and we want the world to know!’

“What a shit head…” Steve muttered.

You laughed “Yeah, you’d think that...” you brushed a loose strand of hair out of your eyes “You’d probably kill him anyway, or try.”

“Oh yeah? How do you know? I don’t try to fight everyone.” Steve looked you over, leaning his elbow on the arm of the stiff chair, turning his whole body towards you.

You looked him over. He looked far too relaxed to be in a sex clinic, it was both calming and infuriating. “Oh you would...you’re always looking for an excuse to fight with Hargrove...” you grinned, matching his body language, your faces only inches from one another.

Steve’s jaw dropped to the floor and he fell back in his chair, earning a loud laugh from you. He looked so offended, so surprised by the news, like he hadn’t heard every rumour about your indiscretions since freshman year. You stood your ground as Hawkins’s whore of Babylon, leading on the youth of Hawkins to sin as you had, although you didn’t see it as a sin to fool around.

“Oh come on, Stevie, you heard about Lizzie Bishop’s party. Everyone was at that one! I swear even you made a cameo.” You continued, nudging him with your elbow.

“You…you let Billy Hargrove knock you up?” he asked, watching you with wide eyes.

Your good mood dropped away immediately, replaced with annoyance and anger. “I wasn’t trying to get pregnant, Steve, I’ve been on the pill since I was twelve. It just happened. I’m not pretending that it wasn’t stupid.”

“I just…it’s Billy! The guy is a walking advertisement for plan B!” he cried, slapping his knee.

A heavy blush grew up your neck and over your cheeks “Look…you’re right. He’s awful!” you laughed awkwardly, dropping your head into your hands, more embarrassed than amused.

“He’s such a dick!” Steve laughed loudly, but stopped when he looked over at you. You’d finally broken, a small sob wracking through your body. He quickly wrapped an arm around you, rubbing your shoulders. “Y/N...Y/N I’m sorry I shouldn’t have-”

“He’s awful!” you moaned, lifting your head to reveal the tears streaming down your face, your eyes red and shining with tears. “And-and you know what? You wanna know the saddest part?” you stuttered, trying to catch your breath in between words “He’s not even good in bed.”

“What?” Steve asked, reaching over to wipe the tears off your face. The touch should’ve been intimate, it really was, but you were acting so strange; you seemed both deeply upset and a little humoured by the whole scenario.

“He’s a shit lay!” you cried. Steve snorted, he couldn’t help it. You looked so sad but the situation was so comical, he couldn’t hold back the laughter pooling in his stomach. His whole body curled inwards, shaking with suppressed giggles and snorts, his feet kicking in the air.

“I’m serious! He’s absolutely awful in bed!” you said seriously, a small smile coming to your lips, your face warm from the slight embarrassment on the conversation and the raw emotions still swirling around your head. “I don’t know how it’s possible I mean fuck! Brian Frey was better than him in bed and he was a damn virgin! I don’t think I’ve ever been further from an orgasm in my life!”

The whole scene was ridiculous-you and Steve looked like a pair of preteens, giggling over dirty words and sex jokes with an air of secrecy and innocence, hiding the dirty nature of the words like they’d be in trouble if anyone found out. In the context of the clinic, sterile waiting room, they look out of place and wrong, the other woman waiting quietly for her turn watching them with a look of shock and confusion, the joke lost on him.

You heard someone clear their throat and you looked up, wiping away tears with your knuckle. Amy was staring at you with an angry expression, she nodded to the doctor standing at the door, a kind looking woman with salt and pepper hair and pink scrubs. “Lydia Olsten?” she asked, looking up from the clipboard with a polite smile. It took you a second to remember your fake name, but when you caught it you nodded, standing up quickly, slinging your purse over your shoulder. Steve followed suit, wiping his palms on his jeans.

You looked to him quickly, shaking your head. You whispered “I gotta strip down in there, can you just wait out here?”  

Steve nodded, deflating slightly “Right…” he murmured. You turned to follow the doctor, lost by the events of the day. It felt so normal for him to want to come in with you, like he was your boyfriend or your protector or something. Maybe it was normal. Either way, you were glad to have him waiting for you, to not be alone in the waiting room when it was done.

The procedure took longer than you expected, but the doctor was kind enough and the anaesthesia was heavy enough to not feel anything. After it was over, you were told to sit in the examination room for thirty minutes before leaving and to not drive yourself home. You assumed that Amy at the front desk parlayed this information to you, because he was allowed into the room soon after the thirty minutes had began.

“What’s up, kiddo? How’re you feeling?” Steve asked, sitting down on the edge of the examination table.

You scoffed, rolling your eyes “We’re the same age, weirdo...” you sighed “I’m fine, just tired, I think it’s from the anaesthetic.”

“Right...well, we can head out of here whenever you’re ready. I’ll just be in the waiting room, alright?” he said softly, taking your hand in his and squeezing it softly. You nodded, waving as he left the room again. You took your time getting up and getting dressed again. Your body felt strange and sore and you were dizzy from the painkillers in your system. It took you probably ten minutes to get out of the room, but Steve was still there when you got out of the room. It warmed your heart a little bit, even though you knew he’d still be there. It was nice to have someone still waiting for you. You were used to guys who didn’t stick around.

Steve helped you to the car, wrapping an arm protectively around your shoulders, ushering into the passenger seat and rushing out of the parking lot as the protestors continued their brigade of abuse towards the middling groups of girls entering the clinic.

The drive back to Hawkins was more comfortable than the way there. You didn’t feel the urge to keep quiet, it helped that you weren’t in the throes of deep anxiety and sadness. You felt more at ease with your surroundings and more comfortable talking and laughing with Steve, letting the open windows blast cool air through your hair and watching Steve laugh and grin with a certain sense of satisfaction, just because you were making him laugh and smile. It was nice, fun even. Steve was fun to be around, you’d forgotten that.

The drive was too short for your liking; you’d been having too much fun to notice the time pass by. Steve pulled into your cul-de-sac, parking in front of your house. His was just across the street, he could’ve parked in his own driveway, it would’ve been easier for him. Still, you didn’t complain, you popped open the door before Steve could pull the hero chivalry act again.

 “Well...thanks for the help, Steve, I really owe you one.” You said with a small sigh, pulling the thick blue cardigan up onto your shoulder again.

“Don’t mention it.” Steve rubbed his arm awkwardly. You gave him a small wave and turned to head towards your house, but Steve grabbed your wrist and gently pulled you back “Wait!”

You turned, flashing him a bemused smile and raised eyebrow. “Listen...this is probably weird, but do you wanna maybe go out sometime?” he asked, looking down at his shoes.

Your smile dropped away and you looked towards the trees behind Steve’s house “I don’t know if I can really stomach dating right now...not after this whole thing...” you gestured towards your stomach quickly, uncomfortable with the saying the words too close to your parent’s house. They weren’t home yet, their car missing from the driveway, but you were still nervous.

Steve nodded, kicking at the pebbles near the curb. You squeezed your eyes shut “It’s not as if I wouldn’t, in any other context I’d say yes, but right now is...”

“Not the best time.” Steve finished, looking up to meet your eye again. He flashed you a lopsided grin “I get it. I’ll just wait for you.”

Your eyes widened slightly “Steve, you have to do that I mean I don’t know when I’m ever going to want to date again, I don’t want you to waste your time...” you said softly, wringing your hands.

Steve shook his head “I’m not worried.” He turned to climb back into his car, turning back to look at you with a smirk “I’m driving you to school tomorrow.”

“But-” you tried but Steve cut you off.

“This isn’t a debate; you’re not walking to school in the cold when I live literally across the street.” Steve chuckled, climbing into the driver’s seat.

You nodded, biting back a small smile “I’ll bring you another coffee then...” you said “See you around...” you turned on your heels heading inside.

You didn’t know what he was trying to do, but you weren’t mad about it.