#irish whisk

[peachetteprice]

The Ever-forgetful John "Soap" MacTavish,

Who just happens to turn the kitchen tap on during your shower, at the exact point in which you need the release of hot water on your skin, and - as a requiem of British plumbing - it sucks the warmth from the water until you're left shivering, ballooned by half your weight in suds alone, and crouched like a beggar before the shower-head until it returns to lukewarm; at best. Naturally, you've told him time and time over never to put the tap on; never to fill the kettle to boil, never to flush the toilet or wash his hands whenever you needed to clean yourself - it was common decency.

Now, he asserts this would be possible if you kept your showers short, though, you'd learnt by month three of your relationship that what he meant by short was a thirty-second (nary a minute) hop-in, hop-out with a bottle of three-in-one doused, rubbed and subsequently rinsed from every crevace and hair follicle on one's body, as he had done between training sessions, spat at by a man whose impatience rivalled that of WW2 bomber over London during the bloody Blitz.

Anything north of that - thirty-seconds, that is - is free game. Hence, what should have been a thirty-minute 'everything' shower becomes something of an Irish jig, tip-toeing back and forth like a naked man on hot coals, hissing, hoo-ing and hah-ing as you deliberate the numerous ways you might enact a similar torture on him. Hair-dye in his shampoo? Moisturiser instead of toothpaste? Refusal of any and all bathroom-related sex?

It's the thought that plagues your mind as you exit the shower, dissatisfied as if there still exists an itch on your back that can not be reached, that you've been aimlessly swatting at for the duration of your shower, wrapping a hasty towel across your torso to meet him in the kitchen.

You barely sniffle at the wet footsteps along the hardwood floors, though it's exactly the sort of foolishness you'd slap his shoulder for leaving, after you'd so dutifully mopped them the previous week. It'll sink in the grain, don't you know? The wood fibres will pick it up like a sponge in the rain, and you'll be left with damp-smelling floorboards that creak in the summer and crack in the winter, and there'll be no getting those mould stains out!

...Is the sort of vitriol your brain spills as you enter the kitchen, expecting to see Johnny fiddling with the kettle to perfect just the right amount of water for two cuppas - oh, none for him, only two for you, one right after your shower and another, ten minutes after the first.

But he isn't there. He isn't anywhere, in fact. The kettle isn't warm, and there are no used tea bags on the tea bag-catcher, seeping their remaining liquid onto the work surface so it stains.

But there is, however, one long green hospipe trailing from the kitchen tap, hooked taught on its end, out through a crack in the window, through the rear garden. And, whisked away by curiosity, you follow its trail.

There he is.

Watering the plants?

"Johnny?"

He turns. Almost points the hosepipe in the same direction, too, with that giddy smile of his, but he has just enough tact in himself not to do that - not after you've just showered. "Y'cannae be comin' outside in tha', Bonnie, you'll catch yer death!"

"Is this what you've been doing whilst my shower's been running cold?"

Johnny turns into an imbecile with that daft frown on him. Never has a man with such a large brain looked so terribly confused by something so simple. What were you talking about, what he's been doing? Cannae ye see?

"Not quite." His brow furrows. "Oi... I told ye to get back inside, lass. Never mind yous flashin' the neighbours." Then pauses for a moment as he re-adjusts his grip on the hosepipe. "Aye, ye might wanna watch this, though."

And watch, you do.

As he sheds the seriousness from his face, dons a more appropriately pleased smile, lifting the hose up to the neighbours fence - just so that the curve of the water arches over the panels - he sends a fledged stream over top of the boundary.

You're about to shout. Really. You're about to put on your mummy-voice (that's what he calls it), perhaps the only instinct you have in you to shout 'John MacTavish', in the most disappointed tone you can muster - reminds him of his Mam, it does, when he used to steal biscuits out of the biscuit jar when he wasn't supposed to - until he ceases everything that could possibly have warranted it in the first place.

Though, just as your lips part, you watch something black - maybe a dark brown, actually - dart across the stream, rendering it effectively useless in its spread.

Johnny turns to you, eyes wide, mouth agape. "Tha' was a good'un, did ye see that, love?!"

He knows you're confused. He can see it in your eyes.

So he does it again.

And it happens again.

A black - no, it's definitely brown this time, just soddened by the water enough to resemble tar - thing leaps past the spout of water. You can hear it chomping, jingling, panting, and it soon dawns on you what the shadow is;

It's a dog - it's the neighbour's bloody dog.

Johnny waits for your reaction - he hopes it's similar to his: complete awe. Imagine his shock - he was only watering the hedges! But you can only relinquish a sigh and a slightly (emphasis on slight) amused chuckle as you note;

"That's what you've been doing for half an hour whilst I've been in the shower? Playing with the neighbour's dog?"

"Yeah!" He gave the fence another squirt, and sure as the rain, the pup came rumbling after it, jaw agape for maximum bite. "An' I don't even like dogs, but ye cannae be mad at him, look how happy he is!"

And, as you step back through the kitchen with a tired laugh, feet still dripping with water, goosebumps prickled along your skin (and although there will be words to have later in the afternoon), you know his words hold some semblance of truth;

That you can't be mad at him, look how happy he is!

| Masterlist |

[eroselless]

─────────────── the spaces between us // 2

series summary: when you accept a job as an au pair in the irish countryside, you expect to spend your days caring for your little new pal but its all upended when his charming uncle arrives to stay for the holidays. [3k]

[paul mescal x reader]

masterlist | part 1

warnings: kinda angst, sort of complicated family dynamics

note: hiii sorry it took me a little longer to get this out. i originally wanted to post the next part a few days ago but I came down with a nasty cold and could not sit down to focus. hope y'all enjoy it!

The soft patter of footsteps pulls you from your sleep much earlier than usual, a familiar giggle echoing through the quiet house. As you stir, you recognize the laughter—the one that never fails to bring a smile to your face. With a quiet sigh, you slip out of bed and wander into the kitchen.

The room hums with life. The gentle clink of cutlery against porcelain mingles with hushed murmurs, shushes, and the sound of laughter that fills the space. The first rays of sunlight filter through the kitchen window, casting a warm glow over the scene.

At the kitchen island, Paul and Callum sit together, sharing a pancake. Callum picks at the edges, pulling out the chocolate chips poking through, giggling as Paul swipes a few from the bowl beside them. The moment feels peaceful, intimate in a way that tugs at your heartstrings.

Leaning against the doorframe, you can’t help but smile at how easily they fall into sync. Callum stretches across the plate, tugging the bowl of chocolate from Paul’s hands. “Uncle P, stop stealing the chocolate chips!”

Paul glances up, a mischievous glint in his eye as he chews dramatically. “I’m quality-checking them, mate.”

Callum bursts into uncontrollable giggles, his face alight with pure joy before stuffing a handful of chocolate into his mouth, just like his uncle.

You clear your throat softly, and they both turn toward you. Paul’s blue eyes crinkle warmly with a smile, a look mirrored almost perfectly in Callum’s face—Niamh’s eyes, the same striking shade of blue shared across their family.

“Mamaíín!” Callum cries, nearly toppling off his seat as he rushes toward you. His sticky hands wrap around your legs, his face nuzzling into your middle as he beams up, mouth smudged with chocolate. “We made pancakes!” he exclaims proudly, tugging you toward the counter. “Uncle Paul let me do the whisking!”

 “Oh, did he?” you ask, raising an eyebrow at Paul.

Paul shrugs casually, leaning back in his chair. “He insisted. And I wasn’t about to argue with the chef.”

You chuckle softly, pulling out plates for yourself and Niamh. As you put the coffee on, ready to start the day, you feel Paul’s gaze linger on you for a moment before he turns back to Callum. Moments later, Niamh appears in the doorway, sharp as always, her notebook and phone balanced in one hand.

“Can I speak with you for a moment?” she asks.

Your eyes flick briefly to Paul, who raises an eyebrow as if sensing the shift in tone, before you follow Niamh into the hallway. Her usual composed demeanor falters ever so slightly as she turns back to you.

“I need the house to myself today,” she says bluntly. “Callum’s father is coming by to pick up a few things, and… it’s not something I want Callum around for.”

You blink in surprise, catching the strain in her voice. “Of course. I’d planned to take him out today anyway. It works perfectly.”

Her shoulders relax faintly, though her voice remains tight. “Thank you,” she murmurs. “Paul can go with you. He’s got nothing else to do, but I’d prefer Callum not be alone with him all day.” You understand the implication—trust him, but not entirely. “We’ll keep him busy.”

When you arrive at the community center, it’s buzzing with its usual chaos. The building, modest and tucked at the edge of town, is alive with bright posters, hand-painted murals, and the unmistakable scent of too many feet. Children squeal and race around, filling the space with noise and energy. You unclip Callum’s coat, and he bolts into the crowd, a toy airplane clutched in hand.

Paul trails behind as you find a seat in the parents’ waiting area. Hands shoved into his coat pockets, shoulders slightly hunched, he looks distinctly out of place.  “Didn’t think I’d ever feel intimidated by toddlers,” Paul murmurs softly.

“You’ll survive,” you reply, suppressing a grin at his unease.

“I don’t like being outnumbered,” he mutters, glancing nervously at the many curious eyes turned your way. You wave at a few familiar faces before settling into a chair. Paul watches the scene before him, bemused.

“This is madness,” he chuckles. “There’s no way we were this loud as kids.”

“You probably were,” you tease lightly.

Callum soon spots you both, his voice rising above the chatter. “Look! I’m making a castle!” He grins, holding up a tower of oversized blocks. Paul smiles. “You’re an architect, mate.”

Just then, a tall brunette in a fitted sweater saunters over, her smile a touch too bright, her gaze fixed on Paul. “Well, well, Callum’s uncle, is it?” she purrs, her words dripping with sugary charm. “I thought you were a myth. It’s nice to finally see you back in town.”

Paul straightens awkwardly, caught off guard. “Uh… just visiting for the holidays.”

Her smile tightens as she gives you a once-over, her silent question clear: What’s he doing here with you?

“How lovely for you,” another woman chimes in, her tone sharper than her smile. “Having company must make things so much easier.”

Your cheeks flush at the insinuation, a pit settling in your stomach. “Oh, it’s not—” you begin, glancing at Paul, who has been pulled into Callum’s growing block tower project.

“Isn’t it?” the brunette—Maeve, you realize—drawls smugly. “I mean, who wouldn’t want someone… handsome to share the load?”

A third woman, gentler but still teasing, interjects. “Oh, leave her be. You’re just jealous, Maeve. If I had someone like him tagging along, I’d be smiling too.”

Maeve laughs sharply. “Careful, sweetie, or we might just steal him from you.”

Before you can muster a reply that doesn’t sound defensive, Callum’s small hands tug at yours, breaking the tension like only he can. “Mamaíín, we need you! Uncle Paul keeps messing up our pirate tower.”

Relieved, you let Callum drag you toward the community garden, an open space enclosed by glass walls that let the crisp winter light stream in. The air is a little sharper, less dull than it is outside, the walls only offering you a little bit of shelter from the December air.

You crouch beside him, seeing the remnants of a tower. Callum is huffing, taking sticks and stones from Paul’s hands as he sits next to the partial tower. 

“We need the strong ones,” Callum declares, shifting through smaller ones in his hands and tossing them away. “This one’s going to be really tall. Tall enough to see all the pirates!” 

You laugh at how he keeps taking sticks from Paul, frustrated at his uncle's lack of pirate tower building knowledge. You brush hair from your face as you collect bigger stones. “We’ll need a solid base first. Otherwise, the tower will topple as soon as there’s any wind.”

Callum nods solemnly, getting down to help you. Paul sits still, watching you both. His arms are crossed over his chest, his posture relaxed but his gaze almost contemplative.

“Callum, just look at how careful she is,” he says suddenly, his tone light. 

You glance up, a little confused. “Careful?” Callum makes the same face, watching as his uncle shifts in his spot. 

He gestures vaguely to the stick in your hands, lucking one out of your open palm. “The way you handle things. Like a bird—delicate, precise.”

Before you can even think of a response, Callum’s face lights up, his giggle bright. “Oh, yes! Like a mamaíín bird!”

You blink, startled. “A what?”

Callum giggles, clearly delighted with himself. “A mamaíín bird! You’re little, and you take care of everything, like the birdies do!”

Paul chuckles softly, crouching beside Callum. “He’s got a point. You are a bit bird-like.”

You shake your head, laughing under your breath. “I’m not sure if that’s a compliment or not.”

Paul grins, his blue eyes meeting yours for a beat longer than necessary. “Oh, it is. Trust me, Birdie.”

The way he says it—low, teasing, yet laced with warmth—sends an unexpected flutter in your chest. You turn your face away, hoping to hide the flush on your cheeks, but the name lingers in the air settling into something unspoken yet significant.

“Mamaíín bird, can we make a nest too?” Callum tugs at your sleeve, breaking the moment.

You laugh, ruffling his hair. “Let’s finish the tower first, and then we’ll see about a nest.”

Paul leans back on his heels, his smirk widening. “Careful, Birdie. Looks like you’re getting roped into full-time bird duties.”

You glance at him, your smile faint but genuine. “As long as you’re willing to help.”

“Of course,” he replies, his voice playful but steady.

You sit there for another half hour, the tower collapsing a few more times before it finally stands. Callum, satisfied, dashes off to collect pirate swords, leaving you and Paul behind. He sits quietly, twisting a twig between his fingers.

“He’s been calling me that for a while—mamaíín,” you say softly, breaking the silence. “But he won’t tell me what it means.”

Paul raises an eyebrow, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “Has he now?”

You hum, brushing dirt from your hands. “And Niamh won’t explain it either, something about not wanting to bring too much attention to it.”

Paul chuckles softly, his tone turning more serious. “Mamaíín… it’s Irish. A diminutive, like a pet name. It means ‘little mummy.’”

Your breath catches slightly as you glance at him. “Little mummy?”

Paul nods, his gaze steady, thoughtful. “It’s affectionate. It’s how he sees you. Someone who takes care of him. Someone he trusts.”

The weight of the explanation settles warmly in your chest, heavy and tender all at once. “Oh,” you murmur, turning back to the half-finished tower. “That’s… sweet.”

“It is,” Paul agrees quietly. “And fitting.”

There’s something in his voice—gentle, sincere—that makes your cheeks flush. Before you can respond, Callum charges back, shouting about needing rocks for a cannon.

Paul ruffles Callum’s hair as he joins in, leaving you alone for just a moment to let the weight of his words settle.

✧・゚: ✧・゚:

The playgroup winds down mid-afternoon, the earlier chaos subsiding as the children begin to tire out and parents begin gathering their things. Callum’s cheeks are flushed as he clings to Paul, one hand caught in his while the other wobbles his airplane. 

“Seems like you’ve got a fanclub now,” you murmur to Paul as you tug Callum’s jacket back on. 

Paul groans faintly, clearly uncomfortable from all the wandering eyes and snarky comments. “Yeah, Maeve’s got me down as her next trophy.” 

You laugh under your breath, but the moment is cut short as your phone buzzes in your back pocket with a message from Niamh. 

Niamh: This is taking a little longer than expected, would you be able to pick up some groceries on your way home? I’ll send you a list.

You frown slightly at the message, feeling for her frustration. Soon another message pings through, the list of items she needs. 

“Everything alright?” Paul asks, crouching to help Callum with his snow boots.

“Niamh needs a few things from the shop,” you say, tucking your phone back into your pocket. “Since we’re already out.”

Paul straightens up, almost effortlessly scooping Callum up into his arms. “Groceries it is, then. My culinary expertise might come in handy.”

“You mean sneaking crisps into the cart?” you tease lightly.

Paul smirks, poking at Callum’s red cheeks. “Can’t let him grow up without the essentials.”

The town’s grocery store is quiet when you get there, smelling of fresh bread and cleaning supplies. Callum rides in the cart, humming to himself as he waves his airplane around. 

“Alright,” you start, scrolling through Niamh’s list on your phone. “Alright,” you say, scrolling through Niamh’s list on your phone. “Milk, bread, eggs… and tea.”

“Don’t forget snacks,” Paul chimes in, grabbing a bag of crisps off the shelf and tossing it into the cart with practiced ease.

You glare at him playfully. “Those weren’t on the list.” 

Paul simply shrugs, pushing the cart forward. “Snacks are the universal currency, right Callum?”

“Yes!” the boy pipes up, snagging a bag of treats from his uncle's hands. You roll your eyes but can't stop the giggle that falls from your lips as you continue down the aisles, Paul slipping forbidden treats into the cart whenever you turn away, Callum laughing conspiratorially under his breath. 

At the dairy section, you stop to reach for a carton of milk, looking for a specific brand. Before you can react, Paul, ever observant, grabs it for you, handing it over as Callum babbles about pirates and towers. 

“Thanks,” you murmur, a smile trying to make its way onto your face. 

“Anytime, Birdie,” the man replies, the nickname slipping out so effortlessly you feel like you could drop the carton of milk he just slid into your hands. You narrow your eyes at him, but his attention is elsewhere, already halfway down the aisle, rambling about what tea you should get. 

As you catch up to the pair of boys, a woman pauses next to you. She’s a stout elderly woman, her long hair cascading down her back. She watches as Paul listens in wonder as Callum chatters away about “canon towers.”

“Well, don’t you have a handsome boy there,” she coos, smiling at him warmly. Callum beams, holding up his toy airplane for her to admire.

The woman then looks between you and Paul, her sharp eyes twinkling with curiosity. “You two must be so proud. He’s the spitting image of his father.”

Your heart jolts. “Oh—no, he’s—”

But before you can explain, Paul stammers, “I’m just his uncle—”

The woman waves a hand dismissively, clearly not listening. “It’s always the way, isn’t it? The mother does all the work—nine months of carrying, all those sleepless nights—only for the little one to come out looking like his da.”

You freeze, heat creeping up your neck, unsure whether to laugh or correct her again. Paul, equally flustered, rubs the back of his neck. “Er—he’s not mine. She’s—”

The woman isn’t paying attention anymore, her focus back on Callum as she coos again, “Lucky boy to have such loving parents.”

Before either of you can say another word, she shuffles off, leaving you both standing there in stunned silence.

Callum, still oblivious, turns in the cart and beams up at Paul. “Uncle Paul, did you hear? I look like you!”

Pail blinks, letting out a quiet slightly awkward laugh. “Seems like the Mescal genes are strong in you, mate.” 

You stare down at the tea in your hands, unsure how to respond. Callum, thankfully, breaks the tension. “Uncle Paul, look! It’s pirate tea!” He’s holding a box with cockatoos on it, a hibiscus flower on the front. 

Paul clears his throat, ruffling Callum’s hair as he grins faintly. “Yeah, that’s exactly what it is.”

The awkward feeling lingers between you as you make your way to the checkout. Paul insists on loading the bags into the cart while once again Callum chatters away, entirely oblivious to the exchange. 

As you step outside, the sky now much darker than before, Paul finally breaks the silence. “That was… something.” 

You let out a soft chuckle, shaking your head. “It happens more often than you’d think.”

Paul raises an eyebrow, “People thinking I’m your husband?”

You roll your eyes, the teasing note in his voice making your cheeks warm up for the umpteenth time today. “People making assumptions. Families come in different shapes and sizes, you know.”

Paul glances at you, something thoughtful in his expression, but he doesn’t say anything more. Instead, he focuses on Callum, who’s waving his airplane toward the horizon like it’s searching for treasure.

“Where to next, Captain?” Paul asks, his voice light.

“Home!” Callum shouts, his enthusiasm unending.

You smile softly as you lead the way to the car, feeling a warmth you can’t quite explain settle in your chest.

✧・゚: ✧・゚:

The house is quiet when you arrive, the silence feeling heavier than it did before. There's a single glass of wine sitting on the counter, its contents empty, save for a few drops at the bottom. 

Callum charges up to play, disappearing and fully unaware of the somber mood in the house. You and Paul settle into unpacking the groceries in the kitchen, the soft rustle of bags and clinking of glass on the counter filling the empty room. 

It's not long before Niamh appears in the doorway, almost echoing this morning’s encounter. Her shirt isn’t as crisp as it was this morning, her eyes now rimmed with red and remnants of mascara. She looks exhausted, pieces of her auburn hair slipping loose from her carefully coiffed bun.

“Groceries?” she asks, her voice slightly clipped. 

“All here,” you reply, gesturing to the half empty bags that are still left lined up on the counter. 

Her eyes skim over the unpacked items, flicking over to Paul briefly before settling back on you. “Thank you, I appreciated it.”

The words are simple but her tone is strained, you can feel the weight on her shoulders. 

“Are you okay?” you ask softly, drawing closer to where she’s standing by the archway. Her arms are crossed over her chest—a sort of coping mechanism she’s passed on to Callum. 

“It’s been a long day. I had… some conversations that were necessary.” Her words falter for a moment, her gaze dropping before she masks it quickly. “Nothing to worry about.”

You glance at Paul, who’s watching Niamh carefully, his brows furrowed. There’s questions in his eyes but he doesn’t voice them. He lets her stand on her own, just as she always has. 

“If you need anything…” you begin gently, reaching out to put a hand on her arm but she pulls it away before it lands. She shakes her head. 

“Thank you. You’ve done enough,” she says. On any other occasion, you’d feel a bite to her words but they sound more like a quiet admission. Her eyes soften as she meets yours. “He’s happy with you, that’s what matters.”

The weight of the words settle in the air around you, you’re not sure whether it’s a compliment or something else—a reminder of what she’s failing to do herself. 

Niamh’s gaze flicks to Paul again, lingering. “Callum shouldn’t be up late. Keep an eye on him.”

With that, she leaves the kitchen, her footsteps soft as she retreats upstairs.

a/n: haiiii, if you gotten this far I wanted to say thank you for reading! any feedback and reblogs are appreciated :)))

[mapileonxputellas]

Player (Leah Williamson x Reader)

Request can be found here. I'm loving writing for some new people! 2.8k words x

You weren’t exactly proud of your reputation but you also had nothing to be ashamed of.

You liked having a good time and your teammates were included in that, they always knew what the deal was and you made sure no-one ever got hurt. You had rules and you stuck by them, the biggest of them all to never get feelings and never make it to a second night.

When you got the chance to move to Arsenal from your hometown club of Wolfsburg it definitely wasn’t a decision you took lightly. Everyone knew of your situation there, they were like a family to you and never judged you for all the bad decisions you made. But you lived your life so far taking risks and you never backed away from a challenge, so that’s how you found yourself stood outside the Arsenal training centre on a sunny August morning ready to start the preparation for the new season.

“Y/N, hey!” The unmistakable voice of Katie came out from nowhere startling you from your thoughts. “You just going to stand out here?”

“Very funny.” You muttered bringing her in for a hug. “It’s nice to properly meet you.”

“You too.” Your move was announced just before the Euro’s and your former teammate in Noelle had added you to the club group chat. The players had introduced themselves on there and you had the odd friendly chat with players after a game in the tournament but this was the first time you would be properly meeting everyone.

“Come on, everyone’s excited to meet you.”

Katie informed you on the way that everyone would be in the dining room for breakfast before training. Having played in the final for Germany you would be joining the England girls as the last to arrive back for pre-season, knowing you would just be in the gym today.

You must have been the last to arrive as you walked into the crowded dining room. “Guys.” The Irish woman grabbed the attention of the room, all eyes immediately focusing on you. “This is Y/N.” There was a general greeting back to you as you scanned the room trying to make eye contact with all the friendly faces.

Kim being the captain was the first to come over, breaking your scanning of the room as she went with you to get a morning coffee, talking you through what was going to happen. You got the idea that the team always had breakfast together before moving to whatever that day entailed in training. You had joined slightly late but she assured you that there was enough time for the coffee.

There were very few seats left but you found one free next to your fellow defenders in Jen and Lotte.

“Hey,” You said taking a seat. “It’s nice to meet you all.”

“Not quite the circumstances we met last time.” Lotte said referring to your place on the losing side in the Euro’s final.

Thankfully even though you wouldn’t consider yourself to be fluent, your English was very good so you could understand everyone. “Not quite.”

3 weeks prior: Euro’s final

The final whistly had blew, it wasn’t enough. Your dream was over.

120 minutes of giving it your all only to fall at the final hurdle.

It was as if the energy had been zapped from your whole body, your legs giving way as you fell to the floor. Every emotional just flooded out of you as you buried your head into the grass hiding the tears streaming down your face.

You felt a hand on your back, slightly lifting your head to find an unknown England player’s boots as they knelt down beside you. “You gave it everything. Let’s win the Champions League together.” Of course it had to be the England captain herself, a player you admired so greatly.

You couldn’t bring yourself to make eye contact with the captain however you sat up enough to bring her in for a hug. “Congratulations, go and enjoy it.”

“Thank you.”

You shared a short conversation with Beth before she was whisked away for all her duties, Lotte the final player to make her way over.

“Congratulations.” You once again said bringing her in for a hug now you’d stood back up. “This is some atmosphere.” The majority may have been cheering against you but you couldn’t help but soak in all the people here to watch you play.

“It’s incredible. You were too by the way, I’m looking forward to working together.”

“Thank you, enjoy tonight for me.”

“I’m sure we will.”

You watched them lift the trophy and despite your overwhelming sadness you were excited to play with these players and have a new start.

…..

You’ll never forget the first time you properly met Leah. Probably because to this day you were still embarrassed about the whole thing.

Lotte and Beth led you to the gym area where you would be for the rest of the morning which annoyed you to no end, just wanting to get out onto the pitch again after the final disappointment.

Though there were some drawbacks, for the majority of the time you prided yourself on your confidence. It helped you make friends, allowed you to show off your qualities and to put it bluntly it usually helped with the girls.

That’s how you found yourself in the weight section, clad in just a sports bra and shorts rolled all the way up as you wiped the sweat from running down your forehead.

“So….” You leaned against the bar and watched as Beth ran on the treadmill. “Is it true? About you and Viv?”

“Is what true?” The English woman questioned back.

“Has she got in before I got the chance? Who knows maybe I can still persuade you to go to dinner with me?” You could see the other woman trying to process what you said in her head so you put her out of her misery. “I’m joking, don’t look so worried.”

“So the rumours are true then…”

“Depends what rumours you’re talking about.”

“That, no offence, you get around.” Katie again appeared from behind you. “Again, no offence.”

“None taken, I mean if you’re surrounded by beautiful women all day then you appreciate them a little bit more and they were all very beautiful.”

“Who’s beautiful?” Another voice questioned and you turned to face the one woman you’d yet to meet, the one who you’d been waiting to meet. The woman you’d had probably the biggest crush ever on since you’d met her that day in Wembley.

“Oh, uh…” You stuttered. “Well you see Katie was just asking-“

“Y/N was just explaining her love of dogs.” It perhaps wasn’t the most believable lie but you were thankful for Lotte making that up on the spot. “I think you probably meant to say cute.”

“Yeah”

“Well it’s nice to meet you.” God what was happening to you. This was so embarrassing as Leah leant over to give you a hug and something just took over your whole body. It was like you couldn’t move your arms as you almost stayed like a statue. “Have you had a good break?”

“Uh, yeah I just spent a few weeks with my family. Caught the sun.”

“I can see that.” Where was the confidence now as Leah very obviously checked you out her eyes running over your tanned arms and legs. “Fancy coming on the bike with me? I’d like to get to know my new partner.”

“Yeah sure.”

“Is that the only word you know?”

“What do you mean?”

“Ah so you do say other words than yeah, I swear that’s been your answer to like all my questions.” The blonde teased getting on the bike next to you as you both started at a gentle pace.

“I’m sorry, I’m just a bit, I don’t know.” Any normal person would say nervous but you didn’t get nervous.

“It’s ok to be nervous, it must be a lot when you don’t know anyone. Well you know Noelle but you get my point.”

“Mm.” You couldn’t help but get a good look at Leah as she faced forward. Her whole appearance was just so commanding from her serious expression to her classic high ponytail and chiselled jawline.

“How was it back in Germany?”

“Huh?” What had happened?

“After the final.”

“Oh.” Get a grip. “It was incredible, maybe not on the same scale as in England but thing have definitely changed.”

“Why now then? Why not stay in Germany at your hometown club?”

“Why not?” You questioned back. “I’m 25 and it feels like now is the best time to go, my family were very encouraging.”

“Understandable.”

…..

The two of you spent a lot of time together over the next week or so. You’d often make the excuse that you needed to get to know your defensive partner, learn more about each other but the two of you just got to know each other. You learnt about her family, you told her about your own, she gave you the low down on all your new teammates and you told her about your ambitions.

The blank moments though continued, it was like it would only happen in specific moments, when she would make eye contact with you, when she’d sub-consciously touch your leg or graze your arm. Your mind just couldn’t concentrate on anything else. You’d been doing weights together when you suddenly forgot the name of your family dog back at home and what you’d had for dinner the previous evening.

Thankfully no-one else had yet to be witness to these moments. Until now.

You joined the rest of the team out on the pitch, Lotte and Jen had joined you as first out that sunny morning as you started playing with the free balls. This was when you were most confident, flicking the ball up in the air, showing off all your tricks. This was your comfort zone.

Your one touch football was something you prided yourself in and that’s why you flicked the ball up in the air in a series of moves receiving whistles from the two other girls only to be interrupted by a third voice.

“Impressive, maybe you can give me some lessons someday.” Damn the eye contact and one again you almost seemed to zone out, completely forgetting about the ball which you’d just flicked up in the air and therefore came crashing down on top of your head, breaking you out of your daydream.

“Fuck.”

It wasn’t anything serious and your teammates knew that which meant they all just burst out in laughter, your hand coming up to rub the slightly delicate spot on the top of your head.

“Very funny.” You told them.

“Maybe I don’t need the lessons after all.” Leah teased snatching a ball from your feet. “Come on let’s see what you can do with your feet this time.”

…..

It didn’t get better. In fact maybe it got worse.

In the following month you’d managed to spill your drink on her during breakfast, skied a penalty when she jokingly placed herself in the net and made countless errors in drills when up against her.

You’d played your first match together at the weekend and thankfully your game plan wasn’t affected by your growing crush. In game you were the serious defender you were known to be, sweet talking your way out of a few dubious tackles with the ref and denying a massive chance for the opposition in the final minute to close out the win for Arsenal.

“Y/N do you fancy coming round for dinner tonight?” Leah asked when you sat down the next morning with your toast and a coffee.

You could feel your heart start racing when she asked that question, what did she mean? As a date? As a friend? “Yeah, maybe we can order something in, as a treat.”

“Great, I think that’s seven of us now so we could all get a takeaway.” You didn’t let your face drop as you realised for better or worse that it wasn’t just going to be the two of you. “I’ll text you my address.”

“See you tonight.” You whispered as you watched her walk away from the table, instead coming to meet the eyes of Lia and Katie sat opposite you.

“I’m watching you.” Lia smirked. “I see that look in your eye.”

“Someone’s got a little crush.” Katie teased.

“Shut up.”

Leah had stayed true to her word and messaged you her address for that night. You all agreed to a takeaway but of course you couldn’t turn up empty handed and that’s how you turned up at her door with a wine bottle in one hand and a box of chocolates in the other. Thankfully you’d also all agreed to stay casual, your yoga pants and a sweatshirt suitable for the evening.

Lia opened the door for you, once again smirking as she let you into Leah’s apartment, a scowl from you enough to keep her silent.

“Y/N.” Leah said as you walked through into the lounge area where the group were congregated, the England captain the one to stand up and pull you in for a hug. Her arms were barely round your waist for a few seconds but that was enough to get your cheeks as red as a tomato something not missed by your sniggering teammates.

“You alright there?” Katie asked from her position on the sofa. “Something on your cheek.”

“It’s just a bit hot out there.” You muttered. “I need a drink.”

The night was going well, you’d all enjoyed a Chinese and enjoyed a few drinks, though you were only a tiny bit tipsy, before moving back into the living area to play a few board games.

Sadly first up was the worst of them all. Twister.

“Y/N left hand yellow.” That smirk was almost a permanent feature on Katie’s face as she read out the instructions and saw your current predicament. It would have been a simple move had Leah not been in the way. The only way to get your hand down was to basically hover or straddle over her waist as she basically did the crab underneath you.

If it was anyone else in this situation you probably would have laughed, sadly it was you and that red flush was coming up again. You moved across, avoiding eye contact with the woman below you as you tried to avoid eye contact with the woman.

“When I said I wanted to get to know you I didn’t quite mean this.” Leah whispered, her head mere inches away from your own. “Is it getting too hot in here again?”

“Something like that.”

You let everyone else have their turn before it came back around to you. “Y/N left hand green.” You’d done well so far to avoid any actual contact with Leah’s body before this instruction which meant you basically had to reach underneath her body to reach the green dot.

Your balance was good but not this good and before you could save yourself you fell straight onto the woman sending the both of you toppling onto the floor. In trying to save the both of you, you tried to reach down for the floor but instead of coming in contact with the carpet you instead you just grazed Leah’s chest being met with the bare skin from her cropped shirt.

“I’m so sorry.” You immediately jumped up. “Leah, I’m so sorry.”

In a stark contrast to your panicked face Leah couldn’t keep the laughter in, hunching over almost in tears with the rest of the girls. “Don’t worry about it honestly.” She said before moving in to whisper in your ear. “Maybe we could go on a date to make up for it?”

“Seriously?”

“Seriously.” She confirmed before moving out of the room, leaving you alone with all the curious faces as a little happy smile came up on your face.

“You’re such a loser you know that.” Katie teased as you sat down next to her. “You know you practically couldn’t keep your eyes off her the whole meal.”

“How on earth did you ever get laid by so many women when you can’t even think when you’re around them.” Beth teased.

“You have no game.” Lotte agreed.

“That’s how I managed to get a date with her then.” You teased back your confidence rising. “What can I say Leah is just unique. Very unique.”

[memories-of-ancients]

For Whisk(e)y drinkers

Please leave lots of comments, especially if you drink something in the "Other" category

[sepublic]

            The Owl House is a story that begins with a mother and child being separated by a system, and then throughout the series, is the story of the two of them working to get back to one another; Luz putting in so much effort to create a new portal, while Camila becomes more understanding of her daughter.

            Luz went with Eda, who wasn’t meant to replace Camila, but the system Luz herself was supposed to be sent to anyway. And Luz planned to go back to her mother once camp ended, with Eda recognizing Camila’s connection and encouraging Luz to do so; Helping Luz self-actualize, which would allow her to reconnect with Camila on a genuine level, instead of suppressing herself for Camila’s misguided efforts and building up resentment in the long-term, as had happened between Gwen and Eda.

            Mother and daughter thought the other didn’t want them back yet, but they did; Camila clearly had second thoughts and that led her to go back and drive Luz to camp herself, which helped her meet Vee, which gave her a reference to better understand Luz as she waited for her daughter to come back. Luz wanted to tell her mom everything, but had her fears worsened by Grometheus, and then had that taken out of her hands in a way that only exacerbated their misunderstandings and made Luz feel more unwelcomed.

            And who took that from her? An arrogant, bigoted white man with delusions of grandeur and an enthusiasm for dehumanization. Jacob Hopkins’ attempted murder creates a stressful situation for Camila, which leads to her having an outburst towards Luz (one she regrets) that helps inspire a lot of shame in Luz for her decision. And Jacob is someone who explicitly fashions himself after Puritans like Belos, who are infamous for their culture of shame.

            Belos especially is someone who insists that Luz is being ‘corrupted’ by a family and culture she actually enjoys and benefits from, and the way he talks about ‘saving’ Luz’s soul by taking her away from these people (and no doubt re-educating her under his proper Christian tutelage) is an example of how the U.S. would kidnap and whitewash children of color; Such as in separating Native children from their tribes, to raise them with white names and Christian beliefs, with white hairstyles and fashion.

            And the evolution of this is in the racism of the foster care system, which many, including its own workers, call out for its biases; Placing families of color under particular scrutiny compared to their white counterparts, assuming the worst of them, sending them to ‘better’ (AKA white and Christian) families.

            Puritans and Protestants are alike, and it was a Protestant minister who argued for taking Irish children from their parents. Black women like Camila are dismissed and seen as incapable of looking after their children (despite black women historically being forced to look after their white masters’ children), and poorer families are punished for not having the wealth to take care of their children as easily as wealthier ones.

            (Satisfyingly ironic, then, that in TOH we see the children of two white, wealthy families get to cut ties from their abusers and find actual healthy relationships in others, many of whom are working-class PoC.)

            Luz’s interactions with Belos are isolated, and he’s the one doing the isolating too; He whisks away King and Lilith, has Lilith taken by the Stonesleeper, buries Hunter alive, sends Kikimora and the Collector away, and suppresses Hunter within his own body. Sometimes her friends come in to help, but when it comes to talking with him? Luz is left alone with that dude far too often, left alone to explain and defend herself against a grown man who manipulates people; It’s no wonder Belos still managed to gaslight Luz on her personal guilt, even if not the ‘guilt’ of the Boiling Isles.

            Makes it all the more satisfying then that his death comes not just from Luz refusing to waste energy in entertaining Belos’ rhetoric (“You’re not coming from a place of intellectual honesty, so debating you would be pointless!”), but also from her family getting to step in for Luz; Her family getting to have the last word and speak and argue for Luz, in her defense, after she argued for the defense of the isles and her loved ones against Belos by herself, so many times.

            Isolation is not just a cult tactic; It’s the racial implications of separating a child from people like her, in order to tell her they’re a bad influence, in order to keep them from supporting her. In particular, Belos’ demeaning attitude towards Luz in King’s Tide reeks of a racist who wants to ‘civilize’ a child of color; He might claim to want to bring Luz back to her ‘home’ with humanity as she tried, but it would be on his terms, Belos would mean it the same way as the system does, where he means Luz going to a specific type of humanity that isn’t her mother, making her home on Earth more hostile until it isn’t home; Plus Luz’s friends in the demon realm ARE her home as well, so both would be cut off.

            If Belos had his way in the human realm he’d have separated her from Camila, not unlike how white slave owners would claim the children of their slaves as property, and separate them from their mothers; Black women have often had their motherhood towards their own children stolen away from them in the U.S., only to be expected to exercise it towards white charges.

            And in the very next episode? We see the implicit threats of the counselor towards Camila, who preys on her own struggles with ostracizing in the past. And where does that come from? We’re reminded in Gravesfield’s shameful past of witch hunting, which is itself intertwined with its bigotry in many forms, from misogyny to racism; A historical re-enactment calls out the insincerity of all witch hunters.

            Gravesfield is a Puritan colony, and the Puritans helped found and inform the United States and its many, MANY issues, such as its punitive justice system, its racism, its religious colonialism, etc. Belos tricks witches in the Demon Realm and profits off their labor, just as the U.S. often tricks native tribes, immigrant workers, and freed slaves via exploitative contracts; And then take credit and act like their ‘achievements’ are what make white men like them so great.

            So while deeply toned down in the present-day, there’s a connection between a state/school system that takes a child away from her mother to be molded into what they deem more fitting, and how Gravesfield threatened violence on those who don’t agree to fit in; Particularly Evelyn, as well as Caleb, who actually took his opportunity to flee. That school counselor is the modern Belos, taking Luz from her family to be re-educated.

            Things have certainly improved, and kids in that Reality Check Camp were able to find camaraderie (either because of or in spite of the camp), but the dark past of Gravesfield was haunting the Nocedas even before Luz visited the Demon Realm. Things like Child Protective Services can be a tool for good and have been, but there’s always the implicit biases to beware, and the darker origins that those who act in good faith are attempting to overcome via reform; The same can be said for the U.S. as a whole, really, with PoC familiar with the criticisms playing a big part in both.

            And the hostility towards outsiders, the categorization of a default that then defines those who don’t fit in as ‘weirdos’, clearly affected Camila as it does many immigrant families; If immigrants cannot find other ‘weirdos’ as defined by the white majority, a place to belong in a community like them, then they will be vulnerable to the system’s exploitation.

            Note that of the four kids sent to camp, three of them appear to be from migrant families and/or PoC; One of them is white but evidently Russian (So not white in the typical U.S. hegemony way, plus they’re a NB witch), and you could parallel Belos perceiving an outside world as an inherent threat to humanity, as like the U.S.’s Red Scare paranoia towards Russian “commies” that affected Russian migrants.

            So amidst migrant kids being disproportionately targeted, there’s that sense of necessary community that informs a sentiment you don’t have to be an immigrant or even a PoC to empathize with; “Us weirdoes have to stick together.” Camila found Manny, and she found happiness in him and then Luz, and then Vee… And then so many more.

            Because after an entire show of mother and daughter trying to get back to each other, despite the implicitly or explicitly racist system and its representatives that tear them apart, they finally do. Near the end of S3 we finally see Luz and Camila succeed, not just in reuniting physically, but emotionally too; Their bond is rekindled, the system doesn’t break that permanently through what felt like Luz to be a betrayal. And so what would’ve been a hollow return in King’s Tide is made truly sincere, and the damages of the first episode truly recovered from.

            Because if you think about it; Luz and Camila were the original weirdoes, before we even see Eda or King! You could take it even further with Manny and Camila; And then with his death, Camila and Luz tried to stay together, tried to find ways to not let the system take them apart, even if that meant compromises like the Reality Check Camp. It’s Luz, Eda, and King in the first episode; But it’s also Luz and Camila. All three characters are Luz’s loved ones, her fellow ‘weirdoes’. Luz spends the latter half of the show getting back to Camila physically, and then most of S3 doing that on an emotional level; While at the same time reuniting with Eda and King.

            S3 is the climax where despite the efforts of a man who is the remnants of an old system, Luz reunites with her entire family, found and blood, after the show establishes itself via her relationship with them, and the story doesn’t happen without that; No Camila, no Luz accidentally finding the Boiling Isles, and without Eda and King, no Luz deciding to stay and pursue herself. It’s a bond not even death can break, not just literally thanks to the Titan, but also symbolically because we see how Manny still inspires Luz; And once again the Titan helps with that too, being the literal foundation for Luz to meet Eda and King and be inspired to continue that passion.

            And with the Titan technically debuting via her body in the first episode, that’s another loved one Luz gets to reunite with in S3, who she still maintains a connection with posthumously despite his death, not unlike Manny. They’re both father figures for Luz in that and other ways, guiding her from beyond and still spiritually ‘alive’, even if for the Titan that becomes only metaphorical after the finale.

            Because it’s Luz and Camila, King and Eda, and Manny and the Titan; Two worlds, two kids, two mothers, and two fathers who still look after them. Both families trying to survive the loss of a father, one of them not even knowing it. Eda keeps the Titan’s wild magic alive (something they both share an interest in) through successful rebellion, and looks after King; While Camila remembers Manny’s support by re-engaging with that which they bonded over (Cosmic Frontier) and supporting herself again, as well as Luz.

            Even the Clawthornes are alike, not just in Eda and King, but with sisters Eda and Lilith, and their parents Gwen and Dell; A branching offshoot of the same system that antagonizes families like the Nocedas, also antagonized them. It took Lilith from her family by promising things it would never give, and then forced her to change her appearance and beliefs, her personality.

            With Lilith especially, despite or because of her conforming to the system’s mold, she was still taken away from her family physically; Even with both parents (and a daughter) not showing any intention to go along, that still happened, and it’s a sickening thing that this is billed as a positive goal, in a way that the Reality Check Camp’s plausible deniability can’t ever measure up to.

            Again, it’s not unlike what was discussed earlier about the U.S. with Native Americans, and with Eda and Lilith being redheaded and wild magic like Paganism, there’s a potential tie-in to how the Irish were colonized by the British, for whom the U.S. was an offshoot of (just as the Emperor’s Coven is an offshoot of the Puritans); Or even a tie-in to the aforementioned Protestant minister wanting to separate Irish children from their families! The coven influenced Lilith in cursing Eda, which led to Gwen trying to get back one child still taken from her, and Eda her sister. But the erasure of the coven, down to a Puritan’s masks that hide the true appearance of the isles, is undone.

            The Owl House is a story about a lot of things, and one of those stories is the U.S.’s hostility towards PoC, and its attempts to divide and conquer them, often resorting to physical and/or cultural destruction to do so. Even Death itself is an obstacle, whether by the system or by sheer coincidence. But the Nocedas survive anyway; Similarly, the Clawthornes are an indigenous family pulled apart by a branch of that same system, but get together.

            Both families get new additions in each other when reuniting. Everyone survives no matter the damage because there’s always weirdoes and the system fighting so hard to suppress that proves how natural and inevitable such people really are; Because when ‘weirdoes’ have a community, is their status as ‘weird’ really so legitimate to begin with, unlike the ‘weirdoes’ themselves?

[mad-hatter-memes]

BDylanHollis Starters

A collection of dialogue prompts from the videos of BDylanHollis. Feel free to edit quotes if needed.

TW: Suggestive references and drug references,

"This recipe is making me cry, not the onions..."

"Are we sure this recipe wasn't written by a cat?"

"Buy me dinner first."

"It's ten PM and I'm boiling prunes in my kitchen..."

"You know, it's not bad...It just vaguely tastes like a felony."

"Tastes like a boot! Like a size ten boot!"

"I didn't know tuberculosis had a color scheme."

"I think I summoned something..."

"Are you still here?...Dammit!"

"You could just use canned pineapple...if you're a communist."

"It doesn't tell you how to eat it...So I don't know if I need a knife and fork or if I need to tie my hair back."

"Do I call the police or a priest?"

"Can we at least have coffee first?"

"I bet this recipe is just all the wrong answers on a baking test."

"Well I don't have sorghum, cause I don't have a life expectancy of twelve!"

"Sweetie, none of this is my liking."

"Are you just making things up? Who are you?!"

"You know I've never been particularly religious, but today might be the day..."

"This ain't food, honey. This is a bioweapon!"

"I am in utter fear..."

"Hello, you are very green sir."

"Did you just kill my blender?"

"This is personal now, you swung first!"

"Welcome to the world; it's awful!"

"Were you really worried that I was gonna mix a fully constructed pie shell into this?!"

"I'm a fool, not a idiot!"

"Thought this was a joke, turns out I'M the joke...'

"Or what? I'm gonna ruin your disaster?"

"This is from 1938, it's only electrocuted me twice!"

"If I cut off my feet do we still have to do this?"

"Celery's just like your parents; dirtier than you think!"

"What have you perfected?! Garbage?!"

"Now in my personal experience, depression and ice cream are a match made in heaven."

"If there's one thing I've learned, it's that Jell-O is inevitable!"

"Sweetie, this needs a lot of things but water isn't one of them..."

"It doesn't need salt, it needs help!"

"Normally I'm quite comfortable handling meat, but this is physically disturbing me..."

"This is giving me emotions previously unknown to man..."

"Are you supposed to eat this on crackers or on drugs?"

"What are you trying to do, live longer?"

"What do you take me for? Grown?"

"He looks like if you get a tattoo, you'll be written out of the will."

"Precisely what realm of mathematics do you inhabit?"

"Did you just throw a grenade down aisle 6?!"

"I'm not concerned about your precious Grind-o-Mat!"

"The only thing this is going to rise up from is the dead."

"You know they invented a tool for that, it's called a whisk."

"Bacon is always a good idea!"

"What exactly are we trying to raise up, hope?"

"What is it with dead people and their obsession with this?!"

"Yes I know it's hot you git, it's an oven!"

"No I have never had these, you must remember I'm not an American."

"I am a [Nationality] and we grew up with things like party rings and custard creams."

"Is the pudding related or did you just want a snack?"

"Were you subject to a fall from a great height?"

"I'm serious, don't disrespect the Irish. They can be mean..."

"Don't worry, my hands are the only touch I know."

"This is sacrilegious! Preposterous! Daft!"

"Yeah it's alright, but it's all wrong!"

"I'm not sure if you know, but beef is a COW. You know, the mooing?!"

"Smells like a Palm Springs retirement home..."

"It could be because I like illicit substances, or like psychiatric disturbances, being held at gunpoint, these types of things..."

"Ow! Ow! It's got ranged attacks!"

"What you've never put cereal in a blender before?"

"I don't like boxes, people get buried in them..."

"If it looks like oil, it must be good!"

"Thank you, I'd hate to have an uneven disaster. That would be terrible..."

"It's hot! I'm sunburnt! There's bugs!"

"I'm feeling like a rotisserie chicken out here!"

"Are you supposed to eat this for Christmas or for punishment?"

"It's so good, it's in danger of becoming my dinner!"

"Who's fingers they are we'll never know...They might even be Charlotte's!"

"Where do bugs go in the winter? And why are birds?"

"But [Name}, what if I'm allergic to peanuts?"

"You and your ancestors have obviously done something to deserve such a malady."

"It looks like I microwaved a squirrel...again."

"What part of Italy are you from? Kentucky?!"

[foodshowxyz]

🍀 Irish Cream Pie Recipe 🍀

Ingredients:

For the Crust:

• 150g graham cracker crumbs 🍪

• 50g granulated sugar 🧂

• 115g unsalted butter, melted 🧈

For the Filling:

• 240ml heavy cream 🥛

• 100g granulated sugar 🧂

• 3 tablespoons cornstarch 🌽

• A pinch of salt 🧂

• 360ml whole milk 🥛

• 3 large egg yolks 🥚

• 60ml Irish cream liqueur (e.g., Baileys) 🍀

• 1 teaspoon vanilla extract 🌼

For the Whipped Cream Topping:

• 240ml heavy cream 🥛

• 2 tablespoons powdered sugar 🍬

• 1 teaspoon vanilla extract 🌼

• Crumbled graham crackers or toasted coconut for garnish (optional) 🥥

Instructions:

1. Prepare the Crust:

• Preheat your oven to 175°C (350°F). 🔥

• In a medium bowl, mix the graham cracker crumbs and sugar. Stir in the melted butter until well combined.

• Press the mixture into the bottom and up the sides of a 23cm (9-inch) pie pan.

• Bake the crust for about 10 minutes, or until lightly golden. Remove from the oven and let it cool completely.

2. Make the Filling:

• In a medium saucepan, combine the heavy cream, sugar, cornstarch, and salt. Cook over medium heat, whisking constantly, until the mixture begins to thicken and comes to a boil. 🥄

• In a separate bowl, whisk the egg yolks. Gradually add a small amount of the hot cream mixture to the yolks, whisking constantly, to temper the eggs.

• Pour the tempered egg yolks back into the saucepan with the remaining cream mixture. Continue to cook, whisking constantly, until the mixture thickens further and begins to bubble. 🔄

• Remove from heat and stir in the Irish cream liqueur and vanilla extract.

• Pour the filling into the cooled crust. Cover with plastic wrap, pressing it directly onto the surface to prevent a skin from forming. Refrigerate until set, at least 4 hours or overnight. ❄️

3. Prepare the Whipped Cream Topping:

• In a large bowl, beat the heavy cream, powdered sugar, and vanilla extract until stiff peaks form. 🍶

• Spread the whipped cream evenly over the chilled pie. 🎂

4. Garnish and Serve:

• Sprinkle crumbled graham crackers or toasted coconut over the whipped cream, if desired. 🌰

• Slice and serve chilled. 🍴

[rose-of-oz]

𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐑𝐎𝐃𝐔𝐂𝐈𝐍𝐆… 𝐌𝐘 𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐔𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐒 𝐄𝐑𝐀 𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐈𝐍𝐀𝐋 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐑, 𝐎𝐑𝐋𝐀 𝐁𝐘𝐑𝐍𝐄

❝ Up until receiving her Hogwarts letter at age eleven, Orla hadn’t realized at all that her father was a wizard. Really, she hadn’t realized he was anything at all - she’d never met him, and her mam had never talked about him, except to tell Orla, when she’d asked about him at the tender age of six, that he was a “right thumpin’ bastard” who’d fled the second Orla’s mother had told him she was pregnant.

But now, eleven years later, a stern bespectacled woman was showing up in their little house in their little Irish village, informing them that Orla’s da had, in fact, been a wizard, which made Orla something called a “half-blood” and, more importantly, a witch. And then she was being whisked away to a magical hidden street filled with strange shops and getting spellbooks and a new cat and a bloody magic wand, and then only a few weeks later Orla was standing in a great castle in the Scottish highlands, putting a weird talking hat on her head and hearing it proclaim that she belonged in Hufflepuff, whatever that was.

Orla was pretty sure she’d never been as confused in her life at she was at the very start of her Hogwarts career. But then, in her very first class, she’d made friends with Gryffindors Lily Evans and Mary Macdonald, both of whom were something called Muggleborns and also new to this strange, amazing world, and it had gotten a little better. It had improved even more once the three girls had made friends with another girl named Marlene McKinnon, who had been raised by magical parents and could therefore answer any questions the others had, and who had also kicked an older boy who had insulted Mary where the sun didn’t shine, which in Orla’s opinion was just deadly.

And so it had gone. By this point, at the start of her fifth year, Orla is fairly sure she’s stopped being confused about the wizarding world. She’s learned a lot through experience and all the questions she’s asked Marlene and Sirius, another Gryffindor from a wizarding family whom she really likes even if Lily kind of hates his best mate, and now she’s fairly confident she’s done being confused. As the school year starts, she’s very much looking forward to spending time with her friends, little study parties with Sirius and his boyfriend Remus, and watching James Potter utterly fail at getting a date with Lily.

But then, at the very first Quidditch party of the year, Orla gets drunk and kisses Mary. Mary, her very best friend, who’s always been there for her and has had a million deep late-night chats with her and made Orla laugh when they compared Irish and Scottish slang. Mary, who Orla is just now starting to realize is gorgeous and funny and the dearest person ever… and who Orla has now taken to avoiding because she can’t look at her without remembering what her lips felt like through a booze-fueled haze.

Just when Orla thought she had everything in her life, it turns out the universe has seen fit to turn her life topsy-turvy once again. ❞

Wizarding World Taglist: @manyfandomocs, @of-asters-and-roses.

General Taglist: @hiddenqveendom, @foxesandmagic, @artemisocs, @reyofluke-ocs,

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[doyoubelieveinmonsters]

happy st paddy's day, here is THEE chocolate guinness cake. actually normally I double this and bake it in a big roasting pan

for the cake: * 1 cup Guinness stout * 1 stick unsalted butter * 3/4 cup unsweetened cocoa * 2 cups granulated sugar * 3/4 cup plain greek yogurt * 2 large eggs * 1 tablespoon vanilla extract * 2 cups all-purpose flour * 2 1/2 teaspoons baking soda

for the frosting: * 8 oz cream cheese, softened at room temperature * 1 cup confectioner’s sugar * 1/4 cup Bailey’s Irish Cream * 1/4 cup heavy whipping crea

DIRECTIONS make the cake: preheat the oven to 350*.

butter a 9″ spring form pan and line the bottom with parchment.

butter the parchment and set aside.

in a large saucepan, heat the Guinness and butter until butter is melted, then remove from heat. in a small bowl, mix the sugar with the cocoa powder and stir into the saucepan.

in a second bowl, beat the eggs, yogurt, and vanilla; add into the saucepan.

in a third bowl, combine the flour and baking soda. whisk the flour and baking soda into the liquid mixture until no lumps remain.

pour into the prepared pan and bake for 45-50 minutes, testing after 45 with a toothpick in the center.

cool in the pan on a wire rack.

make the frosting: beat the confectioner’s sugar and the cream cheese until smooth.

beat in the 1/4 cup of Bailey’s until smooth.

beat in the heavy cream until a spreadable consistency.

pile into the center of the cake and spread outward with an off-set spatula.

[sitp-recs]

Hey! Hope you're doing good!! :) I'm wondering if you know any Drarry fics that have mythological elements / stories as part of the plot. For example, a fic based on Greek myths like Hades/Persephone?

Hi anon! I’m doing great, what about you? :) oh that’s a really cool ask, I hope you enjoy these! I strongly recommend checking khalulu’s stuff as they always explore different mythologies and cultures across their works. I’d love to get more recs on this theme, too!

Nordic:

Veðr by @shealwaysreads (M, 3k)

Norsemen have ranged far enough inland to find Harry, alone and abandoned by his kith and kin. But they bring far more than danger with them, they bring adventure, they bring magic.

Swedish:

Sweden | A Midsummer Night’s Dream by @drarrelie (M, 5.5k)

With the war finally over, you’d think Harry would finally be granted that “normal life” he’s always dreamt about. Finally free from the Dursleys, from that nose-less megalomaniac, from Horcruxes, Hollows, Death Eaters, Dementors, Prophecies… you’d think that he, for the first time in his life, would be allowed to be just a normal teenager. You’d think he’d deserve that much, right?

Russian:

S’Mitten by khalulu (G, 6k)

Harry and Draco aren’t enemies any more, but it seems their history will always stand between them – so let’s try some other histories on for size! The fickle finger of fate is muffled in one of Mrs Weasley’s mittens. Did I mention kisses?

Norwegian:

East of the Sun and West of the Moon by khalulu (T, 6k)

One stormy Thursday evening, a big white bear named Draco turns up to carry Harry away from the dreadful Dursleys. They get along fairly happily together until one night Harry’s curiosity gets the better of him, and Draco is whisked away to his wicked aunt’s castle, East of the Sun and West of the Moon. It will take a strong wind to bring Harry that far…..

Albanian:

What Country, Friends, Is This? by khalulu (M, 8k)

When Harry and Draco are paired up for a nebulous “capstone project” in 8th year, Draco suggests they use it as an opportunity to take a free Grand Tour of Europe. Harry isn’t interested in being grand, and they soon veer off the beaten path. The journey to find what (and who) you really want can lead to unexpected places. (As well as Bertha Jorkins’ aunt, Illyrian Serpent cults, heroic baby Draco tales, and Slytherins singing Motown.)

Hindu:

Birds of Dreams / Remover of Obstacles / Guardian of Waters by khalulu (G, 12k)

Harry is exploring his Desi heritage, and Draco runs into him in colourful circumstances. Luna has a penchant for puns and the Patils watch Bollywood. Paper is folded, a flying carpet takes an Indian road trip, and a phoenix is found. Love blooms along the way, a flower that’s free.

Finnish:

Sparks from the Fox’s Tail by khalulu (T, 17k)

Draco is frustrated with his career as a travel writer, when a mini-tirade from Mrs Weasley and an encounter with the portrait of an intrepid great-great-great-aunt lead him to Finland to study wandless magic. Harry is – just being contrary and following his sweet-tooth, or taking the subtle route to saving the world?

Multiple:

The Hardest Hue To Hold by @cavendishbutterfly (M, 17k)

Harry needs to get the hell out of England. So he sets up a teaching assistantship in America, hops on a plane, and heads off to a fresh start. Except there’s a familiar face among the university faculty, and it’s really not the familiar face that Harry wanted. Or at least, it’s not who Harry wanted at first.

Irish:

Offer Up Our Hearts by @tackytigerfic (M, 23k)

Harry Potter has a very nice life, thank you very much. He's a top Curse-Breaker with a lucrative Ministry contract, and exciting prospects ahead. Sometimes he does wish that he had time to pursue something official with Draco Malfoy - they're half in love with each other, after all, and a great team (in and out of bed), though Draco is still one of the most infuriating people he knows.

Egyptian:

Memory Lost | You Found by @maraudersaffair (E, 30k)

After his Auror training, Harry's assigned to guard the Department of Mysteries - specifically the room where Malfoy is being held in comfortable captivity. Yet no one will tell him why, and what's more concerning? Malfoy doesn't remember Harry at all. To uncover the mystery, Harry must travel all the way to Egypt where he discovers a magical community living in the great pyramids and a long held secret that is dangerous to anyone who knows it.

Arthurian:

The Compact by astolat (E, 64k)

Hermione frowned. “The real question is why the magic of Britain would be failing now, in fact.” “That is not the real question!” Ron said loudly; he’d woken up fully by now, and Harry had too; it was starting to sink in that they’d found the problem. “The real question is, how do we fix it?”

Brazilian:

A Sense of Scale by @fantalfart and dragontamerdrarry (M, 70k)

In which Draco spends an obscene amount of time thinking of new nicknames for The Living Git, lying to himself and using his charms to seduce an extremely uncooperative sentient school.

Celtic:

The Stars Have Courage by @fantalfart (M, 85k)

Draco waited five long years to watch his husband wake up from a coma. He's not ready to meet a Harry with no memory of anything that happened after he died at The Battle of Hogwarts, twelve years ago.

Greek:

Close Behind by @oflights (M, 134k)

To rescue Draco from the Underworld, Harry has to look forward. Unfortunately, Draco has to look back.

Bonus: dark fae AU 🧚‍♂️

Mushrooms of Wiltshire by @shiftylinguini (T, 5k)

There's no point unpacking―Harry's not staying long, and besides, there's just bundled rags in his valise. The illusion of belongings, of a man heading to a new position at a prestigious manor―one beset with rumours of old magic and of impish forest dwellers causing chaos and mayhem amid the phosphorescent toadstool glow. Bugger the job. Harry's here for the rumours. He's been chasing them for years.

[bakingtherapy]

Just Keep Baking #4 Irish Apple Cake

Sul Sul, gerbits. Today is Saint Patty’s day and because of that I wanted to find and share with you an Irish Apple cake recipe.

I will provide you with some history about Irish apple cakes. They were first steamed in pots besides an open fire. One of the main apples that you can see in Ireland is the crab apple. And Crab apples play an important part in Ireland and Celtic mythology.

Crab apples are very important to the legend of Avalon. One of the sacred places where Arthur went to recover from his wounds at the Battle of Camlann, is called the Isle of the Apple Trees.

Hearing the history of this dish, it makes sense why the apple flavor is not extremely prominent. Because they would have been using crab apples, not the large apples that we know so well. 

Okay, know that you know the history of this recipe. Let’s begin. 

Preheat your oven to 350 degrees F. And line a 10-inch cast iron skillet with parchment paper and set it aside.

The recipe will be in the description down below. 

You will need:

flour

baking powder

butter

white sugar

cinnamon

nutmeg

1 egg

milk

vanilla.

About 1 cup of apples, which makes sense because crab apples are relatively small.

You will also need a little more sugar, cloves and cinnamon. 

Add the flour and baking powder to a medium bowl. Cut 8 tablespoons of butter into the flour with a pastry cutter or your fingers until the mixture has the texture of coarse crumbs. Add sugar, cinnamon, and nutmeg to the flour and butter mixture. Whisk sugar, cinnamon and nutmeg into the flour and butter mixture. 

Make a well in the middle of the bowl and add the milk, egg, and vanilla. Almost like a scone dough. Mix until soft dough forms.

Put dough into the parchment-lined skillet . Lay thinly sliced apples on the dough. Sprinkle over the apples a teaspoon of sugar and a few dashes of each cinnamon and cloves.

The skillet should be placed on the middle shelf of your oven. 

You will need to bake for 30-35 minutes or until a toothpick inserted in the middle comes out clean. 

The recipe states that you can broil it for 2-3 minutes if you want. 

Let the cake cool slightly. Cut it into wedges and dust it with powdered sugar, if you like. 

This was another simple apple recipe, and I was fascinated with how apple cakes vary across countries. Most of the ingredients are the same, but the procedure is different, so the outcome is different. I hope you enjoyed this recipe. Check out the recipe down below. Vadish, Dag Dag. 

Show the original author some 💖💖💖 31 Daily

Printable version of this recipe: on the blog

Feel free to support me on:

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[weepingfoxfury]

The man on the radio is back! He's back! Obviously the post it note I left for the lost postman did the trick and the man on the radio was able to return through the relevant garden portal. Phew! So ... he's now wending his way through Wednesday and whisking us through a wealth of wild tracks. Weatherwise there's the promise of the usual rain with hints of sunshine and then maybe ... just maybe ... a few places may have a wee bit of lightning, so best put the seaweed away in case combustion occurs. The traffic lady gives out about the usual and from there the conversation turns to Pinky and Perky, whereupon the traffic lady starts singing in Irish alongside the two little pigs as they sing The Hokey Cokey. The man on the radio jokes that standards have obviously slipped in his absence.

Today's groaner: A priest and a Rabbi are very good friends, so they decide to go to a remote lake for a swim. Of course they're swimming naked, as you do. All of a sudden, two busses pull up. Out of one pours the Rabbi's congregation and out of the other pours the Priest's congregation. Their clothes are on the other side of the lake so they don't have time to retrieve them, they just have to make a run for it. The Priest, running with his hands covering his genitals, looks over at the Rabbi and sees him running with his hands over his face. He says, "Rabbi! What are you doing!?" The Rabbi says, "In *my* community, they recognise me by my face." ;-D badoom tish ... here all week!!

Couldn't resist returning to the chandelier. Cathweegia is slowly divesting herself of her finery and there's leaves aplenty to redecorate the landscape and catch my attention. Memories upon memories of fun times with leaves and the critters that reside in the composting pile beneath Cathweegia will be absolutely delighted to add to their home.

Off to the shiny metropolis taking Biggest Dog with me. We both slept well, which was wonderful! Fingers crossed for the results of her scans.

Wednesday, Wednesday, Wednesday ... critters and coffee ahoy! ...

[vanilla-cigarillos]

Moist Spiced Honey Cake Recipe

This is different from my honey loaf recipe with the texture being that of a cake instead of a more bread-loaf consistency. It's yummy, and I hope you enjoy it!

Ingredients:

3 1/2 cups all purpose flour

1 TSP baking powder

1 TSP baking soda

1/2 TSP kosher salt

2 TSP ground cinnamon

1/2 TSP ground cloves

1/2 TSP ground nutmeg

1/2 TSP ground allspice

1 cup vegetable oil

1 cup honey

1 1/2 cups granulated sugar

1/2 cup brown sugar

3 large eggs (room temp)

1 TSP vanilla extract

1/4 cup Irish whiskey (prefer using Jack Daniels)

1 cup warm strong tea

Instructions:

Preheat oven to 350 F and generously grease a bundt cake pan

In the bowl of a stand mixer, whisk together the flour, baking powder, baking soda, salt, cinnamon, cloves, nutmeg, and allspice

Make a well in the center and then add oil, honey, sugars, eggs, vanilla, tea, and whiskey

Tip! Measuring oil in the same cup as the honey will help pour the honey out of your measuring tool

Mix on slow speed and then stir together the well to make a thick and well-blended batter. Make sure there are no ingredients stuck to the bottom

Spoon batter into your prepared pan and bake until done

For angel and tube cake pans: 60 - 70 minutes

For loaf cake pans: 45 - 55 minutes

For sheet style pans: 40 -45 minutes

Let your cake stand for 15 minutes before removing it from the pan to cool, then enjoy!

[bjfinn]

BAGÚN (IRISH BACON)

Irish bacon is different from American bacon -- it's usually made from the loin, and isn't traditionally smoked (German immigrants are credited with introducing the idea of smoking meats to Ireland).

It's usually served whole as a roast or cut into chops, or boiled like ham.

This recipe was cobbled together from various sources.

1.8kg (4lb) pork loin roast, fat cap left on

160g (¾ cup) brown sugar

80g (½ cup) Diamond Crystal kosher salt

15g (2 tsp) honey (or maple syrup)

8mL (½ heaping tbsp) peppercorns, crushed

8mL (½ heaping tbsp) juniper berries, crushed

2 bay leaves, crumbled

2-3 whole cloves, crushed

Part One

Wash pork thoroughly in cold water; pat dry with paper towels and place in a large plastic zipper bag.

In a small bowl, whisk together remaining ingredients to combine; add dry brine mixture to pork, rubbing to coat evenly. (I did it on the board for the sake of the photo, but it's easier and less messy to do it in the bag.)

Seal the bag, removing as much air as possible; refrigerate for one week.

After the second week, remove meat from the bag and rinse lightly; wipe dry with paper towels and place on a rack over a pan or foil in the refrigerator for about 24 hours.

After one week, rub meat again with dry brine mixture and turn over; refrigerate for another week.

Part Two

Cut into chops, if desired, or may be cooked whole as a roast.

[miceli-dairy]

Miceli’s Irish Soda Bread

Ingredients:

4 tablespoons sugar

1 teaspoon baking soda

1 & ½ teaspoons kosher salt

4 cups & 1 tablespoons flour, divided

4 tablespoons butter, chopped

1 cup of Miceli’s ricotta cheese

1 cup buttermilk

1 egg, beaten

1 teaspoon orange zest

1 cup dried currants

Instructions:

Preheat your oven to 375°F, beat together the sugar, baking soda, salt, and 4 cups of flour on low speed, and then beat in the butter. Whisk together the ricotta, buttermilk, egg, and zest, beat the mixture into the flour mixture, and the combine the currants and remaining flour. Add them to the ricotta mixture, at it to a floured surface, and then roll it into a ball. Cut 2 crossing slits in the top, add it to a parchment-lined baking sheet, and then let it bake for 55 minutes.

Original recipe courtesy of Food Network

[clochanamarch]

some things can't be covered in training. sure, you can be taught how to use the coffee machine, how to make the cutlery gleam like new, how to sweep and mop the floor in a nigh-impossible 36-second swoop. but no amount of speeches nor powerpoints can hope to convey the true punch in the gut that is the service industry: the customers.

it's why she nobly sacrificed her own sanity just twenty minutes beforehand. mrs. penny gatworth was the sort of woman who'd make hardened criminals tremble with fear and a profound feeling of inadequacy and stupidity in her presence. one time she made edwina cry in the staff room for thirty minutes because the poor girl smiled at her and mentioned her scarf was her favorite colour of lilac.

penny delivered a withering monologue that lacked volume, despite sentencing the diner to a terrified and tremulous silence for the duration of it, all to inform the silly child that the scarf was lavender.

so when felix was strolling merrily towards the table, blissfully unaware of the trauma set to befall him, aisling stepped forward with the decisive resignation of one who knows the arrow is aimed at her heart. what followed was a rapidfire exchange that felt like playing chess against a grandmaster on eggshells with a tray of champagne glasses on each shoulder. no pleasantries, no small talk, just a service smile and flashing eyes that sought out every risk and assigned solutions at a moment's notice. scrambled eggs and toast. unsalted butter, grassfed, none of that yellow irish nonsense, and the bread needed to be sourdough, lightly toasted, baked no more than six hours prior, and five eggs, no milk, whisked to a froth with six chopped leaves of parsley and a grating of nutmeg and pepper, god help her if they touched the toast, we're not animals--

she's been lying flat on her back, a cold cloth wrapped over her closed eyes, for twenty minutes when felix walks in, and she gingerly peels back the cloth, migraine fading a touch.

you didn't have to help me out there. ( he's working at the diner now, it's decided 😈 )

" mm. " she lowers her head back to the cushion, knees bent, feet flat on the ground as she shifts her back on the floor. " nobody has to do anything. but i hired you to work here. i don't want to be losing people to the unhinged karens that try to derive a feeling of accomplishment from bullying my colleagues. first time i served her, she went apeshit over my hair. i was crying for fifteen minutes and the oul' battleaxe just smiled and kept going. most of the people who cross the threshold are dotes, @cragsnow, and we'd serve them all day every day until the end of days. but penny? she's likely going to be the cause of the end of days. " she reaches out for the icy can of orange juice, sips a little, then eases herself up. " how are you settling in, though? "