#my shift is over but i still have to finish the nut tarts and the inventory and my meeting notes for the meeting tonight

[orcelito]

If I scrape my brain out of my body and put it in a robot maybe then I would be less tired

[unmaskedagain]

Marinette: Iron Man’s Minion: Rising

Over 30 people sent me ask requesting a sequel. I usually don’t do sequels. Its messy and rarely as good as the first. Hoepfully, you like this.

           Tony just sighed at sight four kids and his robot picketing his workshop. Rhodey just looked overly pleased. The sun was had rose. He had just finished up for the day. Only to be met with… whatever the hell this was.

           Honestly, he hadn’t thought they were serious. At least he didn’t think Peter was serious. Peter was the sweet one; 90 percent of time, he followed Tony’s rules to the letter, never giving too much problems.

           …Harley, on the hand, liked to start shit.

“What we want?” Harley called again.

“No curfews!” The other three, Peter, Riri, and Marinette yelled.

           Riri liked to instigate.

           As for Marinette, Tony was certain at this point, she just wanted to see the world burn.

“When do we want it?!”

“Now!”

           Dummy beamed loudly. A little sign in his claw.

           Tony pinched his nose, “I swear to god, Harley.”

           Harley smirked, “He says our sugar intake should be limited. I say we want candy. I say Sugar High and Die.”

“Sugar high and Die!”

           Dummy beamed again.

           Tony glared at his firstborn, “You can’t even eat.”

“Unlimited lab access!”

“Yes!”

“Breakroom for Interns,” Harley sniped. “We are not Avengers. We shouldn’t have to share with Avengers.”

“Not my Pop tarts!” Riri shouted, a big grin on her face, framed by her wild dark curly locks.

           Marinette was having the time of her life, “Death to Baby monitor protocols!” Ever since it was revealed she was Ladybug, Tony put her on the same restrictions at the other teen Heroes. Karen watching her from her new, Stark approved, mask.

           The others went nuts. “Death to Baby monitor protocols!”

           Rhodey looked smug, “Karma.” He said easily. “For everything you ever put me through at MIT; you have to deal with four versions of yourself.”

           Tony narrowed his eyes, “Okay time for the big guns,” He spun around. “PEPPER!” He yelled. “Jarvis get Pepper.”

           The kids looked at each other and braced themselves.

“We will not go quietly into the night,” They all said together. “We will not vanish without a fight!”

“Oh my god,” Rhodey said, looking like a five-year-old on Christmas morning. “They’re doing the speech from Independence day!”

“We're going to live on!” The kids said, dummy beeping with them. “We're going to survive! Today we celebrate our Independence Day

“PEPPER!” Tony screamed again.

           First thing, Tony said when the redhead arrived, “Pepper, the minions are revolting. Do something!”

“Well maybe if you didn’t call them minions,” Pepper suggested just looking so done with the world. She could just barely believe Jarvis when he told her the interns, and teen heroes, were protesting. “And why is Rhodey holding a sign?”

           Tony huffed, “The twerps called him Uncle Rhodey with those big puppy dogs’ eyes. And he went full traitor!” He explained. “Those things should be weaponized. Fix this!”

           Pepper sighed and walked to Harley, the one with the megaphone was usually the leader. She smiled, “Lets negotiate.” This would be easy and over quickly. They were just kids, messing with Tony.

           Marinette stepped forward, “Sure,” She smiled pleasantly. “After our lawyer gets here.”

“You’re what now?!!” Tony shouted.

           Pepper eyed the bluenette approvingly. “Bring it on!”

           Matt Murdock had no idea that when Spiderman called to ask him to his lawyer and defend his rights, that he was talking about Peter Parker’s rights as an intern. He was on the avengers’ roster and most knew he identity. Foggy was confused but elated to test his wits against the force that was Pepper Potts.

           The two lawyers sat across from Tony and Pepper. The kids and Rhodey, who Stark called traitor every time he spoke, sat beside them. They were in a conference room at a large table.

           Matt began, “Our clients have made their requests very clear. Most of which are easy to employ and some would say are their rights.

“Their minions,” Tony stated. “They don’t have rights.”

           Pepper placed a hand on his shoulder, “Never say that again,” She said slowly.

“All employee should have a breakroom,” Foggy stated. “Even interns. It’s non-negotiable.”

           Pepper nodded, “Agreed. They will be given their own breakroom; that Jarvis will ensure only fellow interns will have access to.”

“That means Tony can’t go in,” Peter laughed.

“You little shit!”

“Baby monitor protocols are too extreme,” Matt said.

Pepper pinched her nose. “As a hero yourself, Mr. Murdock, you must understand that we in good conscience cannot allow minors, even superpowered minors, to perform their heroics without proper supervision.”

Riri slammed her hands on the table, “I was a little late for curfew and you sent freaking Thor to track me down,” She said accusing to Tony, who looked completely unrepentant. “Thor. A god.”

“Alien,” Rhodey and Tony chimed.

“I snuck out one time,” Peter glared. “And the Avengers crash a house party.”

           Pepper winced. That had been a PR mess. “Tony will limit his use of GPS tracking provided all parties adhere to the rules and regulations they originally agreed to when they began their mentorship under Tony.”

“You mean when we sold our souls to the man,” Marinette snipped.

“The-The man?” Tony looked flabbergasted. “No! What?”

           The meeting went on for another thirty minutes. It was nearly adjourned when Pepper inquired if there was anything else.

           Marinette looked Tony dead in the eyes, “Karen no longer reports to you.”

           The other kids blinked in surprise before grinning.

           Tony leaned back in his seat, and nodded solemnly, “So its war you want.”

“Oh my god,” Pepper and Matt groaned.

           Foggy and Rhodey looked far too entertained for their own goods.

           Eventually it was agreed that Karen would report that if they were in any danger and agree to disclose if the young heroes were fine or not. Plus any messages they wanted to relay. Pepper didn’t budge on the candy issue; citing parents had enforced a healthy diet rule on the summer internships. Instead, the kids got a pool table to the breakroom and unlimited healthy snacks for the fridge provided at Stark Industries expense. But they would not dictate what the kids bought on their own.

           Marinette had been living at the tower for a month. One morning she decided to make herself her favorite dessert; chocolate and mint AND chocolate and raspberry macrons. She made little over a dozen and had left them in the fridge, a clear ‘Do not Touch’ sign on them.

           When she finished with Tony and the other interns for the day, Marinette washed up and rushed to the kitchen to get snacks so she could start binging watching Batman the animated series. However, when she got to the kitchen, opened the fridge, she saw her beloved snacks gone.

           Marinette eyes narrowed and she hissed. She marched into the living room and saw the plate she had used lying on the coffee table. The avengers sat watching TV. Marinette picked up the plate, “I made macarons for me. I left them in the fridge with a sign that said do not touch. Someone obviously can’t read. Who did it?”

           The heroes shared looks. No one answered.

“I’m not mad,” Marinette promised. It was lie. By the looks on their faces, they knew a trap when they heard it. “I just want to know the truth. I know it can’t have been Tony or Bruce, because they were with me in the workshop. Natasha is out with Pepper. So…”

           Nothing.

           Thor shifted uneasily. Bucky blinked innocently at her. Steve gave her a boy-ish grin. Clint looked vaguely terrified. Sam kept eyeing the window like it was an exit. Scott looked seconds away from calling for back up.

“Oh,” Marinette nodded. “It’s like that. Fine then.” With that she marched out of the room in a huff.

           When she was gone, Bucky sighed, “She’s going to make us pay for this.”

“One of is just going to go missing,” Sam nodded.

           Clint shrugged, “Sorry, Scott.” And went back to watching TV.

“Yea-What?” Scott yelled. “What do you mean Sorry Scott? Why is it me?”

           The next morning, the heroes woke up to find… things missing. Steve couldn’t find his shield. Bucky’s arm was gone. Thor’s hammer was missing and would return to matter how much he called for it. Clint’s was missing his custom arrows were. Sam’s AI redwing had vanished. And as far Scott, well…

No matter how much they searched, they couldn’t find their missing stuff.

           They all arrived back at the living room, wondering what the hell was going on. They figured one of Tony’s cleaning bots had gone haywire… Again. But that didn’t explain how no one realized it happening. Maybe it was Loki. Still they decided to talk to Tony first. Natasha was with him, and thoroughly amused at the sight of the ruffled men.

           The genius had looked confused, “No. My bots are all up to date. They didn’t even clean last night.”

           Thor nodded, “Then it was my brother. I shall have to speak with him at once.”

“Wait,” Steve said looking around, “Where’s Scott.”

           …And as for Scott? Well, he was missing.

           Bucky’s eyes narrowed, “She has him.”

“Well shit,” Clint said. “I was just joking yesterday.”

“I’ll miss the little dude,” Sam whined.

           Tony looked around, “What are you? No!” He laughed. “Marinette? Frenchy took your stuff? You’re the world’s greatest heroes! She is a fourteen-year-old girl, you know that, right?” He chuckled. Lil Dominator strikes again.

“Natasha,” Steve sent pleading eyes to the Spider.

“I’ll talk to her,” The Black Widow sighed, “But she’ll never respect you if you don’t fight your corner.” With that, she left to speak with Marinette.

           Natasha came back ten minutes later looking rather disgruntled, “She said no.” She told them. “Something about macrons and vengeance. And feeling her wrath. I think you created a supervillain.”

“No,” Tony chimed in. “No supervillany anything. Until she’s twenty-one. It’s in the minion’s contracts” He had made sure to add if after they threated to riot of the good grade addendum; anything lower than a B, and patrol is cut. “She’ll stick to her word.”

“Your interns have contracts?” Clint asked.

           Tony just shrugged, “They do now.”

“Let’s all go talk to her,” Steve suggested. “We’ll apologize and everything will good again.”

           This caused Tony to cackle. “Yeah, okay!”

           The heroes found Marinette on the roof with the other interns. The avengers and the minions eyed each other.

           Marinette spoke first, “I want three dozen macrons from the French bakery on 8th street, near Franky’s deli; all chocolate. Then you get your things returned.”

“You can’t just,” Bucky began. “That’s blackmail.”

“Its extortion,” Riri corrected.

“Marinette, how about…” Sam started but Marinette cut him off.

           She crossed her arms, “This isn’t negotiable.”

“Where’s Scott?” Clint asked. “How do we know he’s alright? We want proof he’s alive.”

           Peter leaned toward Harley, and whispered. “Hey, it sounds like they think we kidnapped him.”

           Harley leaned back, “That’s because technically we did. I think we’re a crime syndicate now.” (Peter yelped, “What?!). “Shhh. Just go with it.”

           Marinette pulled out a walky talky, and headed it to Clint.

“Hey Scott, you there, over,” Clint asked into the radio.

“Help!” Scott’s voice screamed from the radio. “Giant hamster. Giant mean hamster. Oh god why?”

“He’s name Sir Grumpy paw,” Riri said brightly. “I have to keep him here now. He tried to take out my mom’s cat.”

           Bucky just looked at Steve, “Can we just get her the damn macrons.”

“No!” Steve said. “We can find Scott and our things.” He promised. “You’ve gone too far,” he told Marinette.

           The bluenette grinned, “Oh captain, I’ve only just begun.”

           Steve stalked off with the other guys trailing behind him.

           An hour later, Thor was missing...

“She took out a god,” Clint yelled. “Anyone could be next.”

Sam used the radio to try and communicate teammates.

“Good spirits, friends,” Thor said. “I shall conquer the vile beast Sir Grump Paws. And return victorious.”

           Bucky was gone by the next hour. “What the fuck is wrong with this hamster?” The greatest assassin in history yelled once they contacted him via radio. “Who taught its fatass how to glare.” It went quiet. “Stevie, I… think it understand English. Shit.”

“Marinette took out the Winter Soldier,” Natasha said with raised eyebrows. “Impressive.”

           Sam went after that.

“Oh god, oh god, oh god,” Sam just kept repeated. “We’re in a maze. Plastic tubes. We’re running. It’s after us, Steve. The hamster is after us.” It went quiet. “… I think it ate Scott.”

           Steve sighed, “Can you just talk to her?” He pleaded with Tony, “Clint’s freaked out.”

“Can’t,” Tony said. “Contract. Tony Stark cannot interfere or choose sides in an event of a Minions vs Avengers war.”

“Damn it,” Clint shouted. “This isn’t a war. This is an execution. They’re taking us out one by one, man.”

“Shouldn’t have at her macrons,” Tony smirked, proud of his minions. “She knows it was you by the way.” He told Clint. “She knows you were the one to take them.”

           Clint gulped.

           He went missing ten minutes later.

“Cap,” Clint’s voice came from the radio. “We’re going to do it. We’re going after Sir Grump Paws. It’s time. We can’t live like this, not under his reign. That monster has to be stopped. If we don’t make it, just, just… Tell our story. Tell Nat, I’ll miss her. My sister and her kids, they get all my stuff”

           Steve just looked up at the ceiling, and just looked so done with the world. He got up and went to find the interns, “What are you demands?”

           An hour later, he came back with four dozen macrons, a dozen cupcakes, sticky cheese, peppers, and a pound of gummy worms. He sat the goods on the counter. Natasha, Tony, Rhodey, and Happy looked stunned.

“You… surrendered?” Tony asked perplexed.

“Captain America doesn’t surrender,” Rhodey stated.

           Happy shook his head, “You can’t give in, Cap. I know these rugrats. You gotta set boundaries.”

           Steve just shrugged, “Eighty percent of our team is missing. They just want junk food.”

“It’s a good trade,” Marinette said as she led the other interns, including Pepper’s intern MJ and tech Intern named Ned, into the kitchen. She held the Captain’s America shield proudly.  Peter carried Bucky’s arm. Thor’s hammer floated behind Riri, carried by Plagg and Trixx. Harley had redwing and Clint’s arrow. The kids placed the weapons down on the table.

           However before they could grab the goodies, Steve crossed his arm, “Nope. My friends first!”

“Right behind us,” Riri said.

           Suddenly a squeaky voice was heard, “I have vanquished the dreaded foe, Son of Rogers.”

           Everyone looked down.

           In five different hamster balls, were the missing avengers, looking like they just fought a war?

“Why are they tiny?” Tony pinched his nose.

           Mj shrugged, “How else were they supposed to have gladiatorial death matches with a hamster?”

“Oh, of course,” Tony said sarcastically. “Silly me.”

           It took the tiny avengers half an hour to get back to normal. Hamsters were added to the tower’s banned list.

           Fury showed up later that day. He glared at the interns, Stark’s minions; Ladybug, Spiderman, Iron Heart, and WarIron, “I’m here to talk to you about the Avengers Initiative.”

“No, you’re not!” Tony yelled from wherever he was.

           Marinette woke up a few days later; thirsty. She saw it was close to midnight so she decided to rush to the kitchen to get a glass of milk. As she headed to the kitchen, she saw something out the corner of her eyes that had her quickly backtracking.

           In the dining room was Loki, Bucky, Tony, Natasha, Rhodey, Clint, Plagg, Wayzz, and Trixx siting around the table, playing what looked to be poker.

“The girl who tormented by brother and the avengers,” Loki said approvingly. “With a rodent.”

           Marinette nodded, “Deal me in.”

           She’d sleep when she’s dead.

           The next day, Steve and Pepper would both find themselves knocking on Marinette’s bedroom door. One to get an arm back. The other the keys to Tony’s Lamborghini. Only to find Thor already there requesting his brother’s helmet back.

             Gambling with Marinette was added to the Tower’s banned list. 

[theycallmebecca]

So I’m in need of some tooth rotting fluff right now. Chris and reader having those late night talks about anything and everything, the conversations that make you fall in love 😍 Being all lovey and touchy feely. Just pure cuteness. FYI, love ya ❤️

Well you know what I like to write... haha all that tooth rotting fluff is right up my alley! Shout out to @nomadicpixel for her help with the brainstorming on this one. 

Title: Twenty Questions

Pairing: Chris Evans x reader

Rating: PG-13

Warnings: a couple f-bombs

Disclaimer: This work of fiction is not to be reposted, used or translated without my permission.

Because of how tumblr can be silly about links, I will reblog this post with links to the masterlist and the prompt list.

Chris and Dodger were already in bed when you came out of the bathroom; Chris with his nose in a book and Dodger stretched out at the foot of the bed. After turning off the overhead lights, you climbed into bed with them, but didn't bother to turn on the lamp on your bedside table since you weren't in the mood to read. Rolling onto your side in Chris's direction, you slid your foot over to his side of the bed, seeking the warmth his body always provided you.

He let out a yelp as your cold toes brushed his warm leg. You smiled innocently as he glared at you over the edge of his book.

"How is it that your feet are always cold when you get in bed no matter the season?" he asked.

"Magic?" you offered as you snuggled up against him. "Maybe it's because you're always so warm?"

Chuckling, Chris reached over and put his book on his bedside table before he turned and wrapped his arms around you. "That must be it," he replied as he caressed your back. "Too tired to read tonight?"

"Too tired of reading," you said, looking up at him. "I feel like it's all I've been doing for the last, I don't even know anymore. April feels longer than March at this point."

Chris nodded his head in agreement. "It's kind of too early to go to sleep," he said. "Did you want to talk or -"

"Ask each other random questions?" you suggested. "See who can come up with the most random one?"

"Is there a prize?" he asked once again proving that his competitive drive knew no boundaries.

"Depends on how good the question is," you told him.

Silence fell between the two of you as you both tried to think of a question to ask.

"What's your favorite thing to do on a rainy day?" you asked him and then cringed. "Ugh. Nevermind, that's basically what we've been living through for the last six weeks, isn't it? One long rainy day."

Chris chuckled, but answered it anyway, "Either reading a good book or curling up with you and watching a movie."

"See, that's exactly what we have been doing," you stated. "I have a better question, what single appliance could you not live without?"

Your head hit the pillow as he shifted his body, dropping you to the mattress while he rolled onto his side to stare down at you.

"Think you're funny, do you?" he asked in a tone that was full of mock annoyance. "Asking me what appliance I couldn't live without while knowing full well that I can't cook much." He leaned down and kissed the tip of your nose. "That's like me asking you what your favorite burner on the stove is."

"Front right," you answered automatically and laughed at the deadpan look you got in response. "What? It's the biggest and it's right there."

Chris shook his head in disbelief.

"What was your favorite food during childhood and why?" you asked him.

"Pizza, of course," Chris replied with a laugh. "Or my nona's lasagna."

He sobered in memory, you noticed, and you placed your hand on his chest above his heart.

"Does your mom have the recipe? Maybe we can try and cook it together some night," you suggested.

"And maybe something from your grandma, too?" he asked. "What was her best dish?"

"Most of what my grandma cooked came out of a box or a can," you admitted and smiled at your own memories. "Our lasagna growing up was spaghetti sauce and layers of lasagna noodles."

Chris let out a strangled groan and clutched his chest as if the idea was killing him.

Laughing at his antics, you swatted his chest and said, "Oh stop it. We didn't all grow up with Italian grannies who spent hours over the stove. But regardless, I don't really remember the foods as much as I remember the time we spent as a family. Whether it was a small group around the kitchen table, holiday dinners in the formal dining room or the kids table in the kitchen. That was the part that was special to me."

A few tears rolled down your face at the memories and Chris reached down to brush them away.

"The memories are the best part," he agreed with a soft smile. 

You nodded and then, inspired, asked, "If you could talk on the phone with anyone who ever existed, alive or dead, who would it be and what would you ask them?"

"That's two questions, cheater," Chis pointed out. Under the guise of thinking, he shifted the two for you back to your original positions, so he was on his back and you were resting your head on his shoulder, his arm wrapped loosely over you. "I'm torn between a president or a distant relative. And there are too many of either to choose just one. Fuck. That's a hard question." He shook his head. "I don't think I can answer those questions, babe. It's just too… " He moved his hands to mime an explosion going off in his brain.

"It was a pretty loaded question," you admitted, patting his stomach in empathy. "But don't forget, it's your turn to ask me a question."

He pursed his lips to think and finally asked, "What's the best advice your mom gave you?"

"Best advice from my mom," you repeated as you tried to think. Your mom had given you plenty of advice growing up, but none of them really jumped out at you in the moment. "I don't even know, probably something poetic like, haste makes waste. She said that all the time when I was growing up from people driving fast or one of us kids trying to finish our homework quickly to be able to go outside and play with our friends."

"I can totally hear your mom saying that," Chris stated. "In fact, I swear I have heard her say that."

"She loves that saying," you said with a small sigh. You normally didn't mind living far from your family, but the current quarantined status of the world only made that distance feel farther apart. You and Chris did video chats with your family weekly and you talked to your mom all the time, but it was still hard.

As if sensing that you needed a change of pace, Chris asked you another question, "What is the most interesting thing you could do with 400 pounds of cheese?"

"I think we have a contender for the winner of the most random question," you said with a laugh. "But fuck, that's a lot of cheese. I don't even know where to begin. Nachos? Cheesy potatoes? Mac n cheese? Fondue style entree for every meal?”

“My stomach is cringing at the thought,” Chris stated.

“It was your question,” you reminded him. “Staying in the dairy category, what’s the grossest ice cream flavor you can think of? Actual food only. No chemicals or anything.”

“Hmm,” Chris thought aloud. “It would have to start with a fish, I think. Something stinky or with a really bold flavor. Anchovy, maybe? Then a citrusy mint? Plus a tart berry? Topped off with those big, long oval shaped nuts that always get left behind in nut mixes. For texture.”

“For texture,” you echoed with disgust on your face. “And they’re called Brazil nuts.”

“Ah, well you learn something new every day,” Chris replied and then laughed. “That’s another piece of sage advice I’ve heard your mom say.”

You giggled and said, “I just thought of another, she used to tell us when we were doing our homework that if we couldn’t impress someone with knowledge, we should dazzle them with bullshit.”

Chris snorted with laughter. “That’s amazing!” He cried. “Your mom is a gem.” His eyes found yours as his hilarity subsided. “Like mother, like daughter.”

“You’re such a flatterer,” you said before tilting your head to kiss him on the cheek. “But it’s your turn to ask me another question.”

“If you could have an everlasting candle that could smell like anything, what would it be?” He asked after a few minutes of thinking.

“Christmas,” you answered without much thought and then explained, “because Christmas smells like so many different things all rolled into one. There would be pine, cinnamon, vanilla and a bunch of other scents that might not work together in theory, but combined, think of all the memories those scents would bring back. And if it was made like a marbleized candle where the different fragrances hit at different times, it would be magical. Like Christmas.”

“Is that even possible?” He asked, his interest seemingly piqued.

“Probably not, because eventually all the fragrances would mix together, but you have to admit it would smell amazing, at least initially,” you replied, looking up at him. 

“It would,” he agreed. “Maybe we’ll have to dig out your winter candles tomorrow and experiment burning them at the same time in their own jars.”

“And watch Christmas movies?” you asked as the weight of the day started to catch up with you. You tried to fight back a yawn, but it came anyway. “If the Hallmark channel is playing their Christmas movies, we can, too, right?”

“We’ll see where the day leads us,” he replied. “But you’re supposed to be asking me a question.”

“Oh right,” you said and then yawned again. You blinked your tired eyes and tried to think.

“Maybe this should be the last question,” he suggested, smoothing his hand down your arm.

You nodded your head. It was amazing how tired you got from doing so little. “What place brings you joy?” you asked, nestling yourself closer to him. 

“Being anywhere you are,” he answered almost immediately. “You bring joy into my life.”

When you didn’t answer, he looked down and smiled when he saw that your eyes were closed.

“Goodnight, Love,” he whispered before reaching over and turning off his bedside lamp. He settled back against the pillows with you asleep in his arms.

[harrystyleswatermelon-sugar]

Café

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What did he ask?”

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

“Here we go, enjoy,”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“We good?” I ask and he nods.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Love, xx 

[luninosity]

Also! I have put up that last (maybe?) Character Bleed Bonus Scene...the one in which Jason’s friend Evan gets his own love story...because ace characters deserve happy endings too! Also Colby and Jason are happy to nudge things along help.

Read at AO3 here! Teaser below. :-)

#

“Oh, good,” Jason Mirelli said, grinning at him, “you’re right on time. And you brought, like, all the wine. Here, I can take those.” Boulders shifted and mountains bulged; the sleeves of Jason’s shirt stretched outward in forest-green despair as big arms collected all of James’s offerings. “Come on in.”

 James shook himself out of fascinated speculation about how Jason ever hugged Colby without crushing adorable blue-eyed slender height. “Um. I didn’t know what you, um, liked? So I just…brought a lot of things?” Good god. He was an actor, a successful veteran of press and publicity tours, and a grown man of thirty-six years. Surely he could talk. “Thanks for, um, inviting me? I mean…yeah. Thanks.”

 “Hey, we’re fans. We’ve loved all the Star Captain movies.” Jason sounded sincere, too. Honesty in craggy features, deep velvet-brown eyes. Casually upending the world: in what universe were Colby Kent and Jason Mirelli fans of James Parr? “By the way, Evan’s already here.”

 James stumbled over nothing at all in the entryway. Maybe it’d been his heart. Laid bare and visible.

 He got out, “Oh…cool…I’ve, um, kinda missed the guy, since we wrapped the last one…”

 “Yeah, Evan said you two’ve been talking.” Jason did not give him time to recover from this bombshell—Evan had talked to Jason? about him?—and instead waved him into the kitchen. “Found him. And wine.”

 Colby and Jason’s kitchen looked exactly the way James would’ve guessed: elegant in a breezy Southern California way, in blue-grey tones that conjured up beaches and hazy marine mornings and friendliness and a hint of quirky fantasy-loving hearts in swirling cabinet handles and a beautiful abstract steampunk brass tangle on one wall. Scents of tomato sauce and garlic wafted, and a dizzying array of cheese and fruit and nuts sprawled across the center island and invited people to come perch on swooping-backed bar stools and partake.

 Colby Kent closed the refrigerator, turned, smiled. “Evan’s out in the garden looking at the kumquat tree; he’ll be in momentarily. Can we offer you a drink? A baked pear and Brie tart? Congratulations on the Star Captain success, by the way, we absolutely loved that moment in the third one when you got back up on your feet and gave that speech about standing up for other people even if you fall, and then half the villain’s henchmen defected to your side, it was so powerful, you’re so good in that role. And thank you for the wine and cider and—oh, you’ve even brought a mead! Oh, that’s marvelous, how’d you know I like mead? I do sometimes make my own but I haven’t had time lately—though I’m thinking about elderflower—oh, sorry, I was offering you a tart! Let me finish putting honey on this one and you can have it.”

 James’s brain, lost somewhere in a hurricane of pear tarts and elderflower mead and petrifying compliments and dazzling movie-poster beauty—and Colby Kent really was that beautiful in person, tall and slim and graceful in a baby-cheetah way, slightly anxious and long-legged and made of soft wayward dark hair and wide blue eyes—said weakly, “Kumquat tree?”

 “Your tree needs less water,” said Evan’s voice from behind him, coming in from the patio door, “stop fussing over it so much. If you still want a lime tree too, I could give my mom a call and—” He had shut the door, and looked up, and froze.

 “Um,” James said. “Hi?”

 Jason started opening the mead, in the background. Colby leaned over the counter to collect and nibble a bite of cheese, then leaned into Jason a little, hips and bodies touching, while drizzling honey over tarts.

 Evan just kept staring at him.

 “So,” James said, “um…how’ve you been?” and gave a small half-wave that must’ve looked as awkward as he felt.

 “James,” Evan said.

 “James brought mead,” Colby contributed helpfully.

 Evan looked at Colby and Jason.

 “I could’ve brought ice cream,” James tried, “but Jason said something about tiramisu and also chocolate mousse, on the phone?”

 “He knows about the dessert thing,” Colby whispered to Jason. Jason whispered back, “Of course he does.”

 Evan pointed a finger that way. “You two. Both of you. Be afraid. Especially at seven am Tuesday morning.”

 “Not me?” James said. “Also, what happens Tuesday morning?”

 Evan finally looked back at him. Emotion flickered, naked and unguarded: something like hope, for a moment, or regret, or determination, or fondness. “Tuesday’s Colby’s next training session with me. Including everything I’m now going to demonstrate on my best friend. I assume you’re innocent, because I know them.”

 “I’m very innocent,” James agreed obligingly. “Can I watch? I’ve missed watching you be awesome.”

 Colby let out a sound suspiciously close to a romantic sigh.

  Evan narrowed eyes that direction.

[comebackolivia]

I have some feelings on how Stephanie and Jason get treated in canon and wanted to explore that, so here. Have some character exploration of my two favs. 

Posted on my AO3 as chapter 5 of F*ck This Family. 

Jason stumbled out of his bedroom, reeking of alcohol and stale cigarette smoke, still dressed in the hoodie he’d been wearing the night before, but it was on backwards and his boots were on the wrong feet. He was pale, his eyes were bloodshot, and overall, he looked like death warmed over as he trudged into his kitchen, gaze trained on the coffeemaker.

He startled, then grimaced when he noticed her sitting on his countertop munching away on a pop-tart.

It took him a bit, but after he’d poured himself a mug of black as pitch coffee and downed half of it, he managed to croak out some words.

“The temptation will be to judge me. Don’t.”

Stephanie smirked, amused. “I got a very interesting text message this morning.” He shot her a glare that was very unimpressive on his hangover from hell complexion, so she continued, undeterred. “Roy asked me to drop by this morning to check that you were still alive and hadn’t choked on your own vomit. Apparently, you drunk dialed him a few times last night, and since he’s all the way across the country, he couldn’t come and check on you himself. How do you feel?”

“How does it fucking look like I feel?” he snapped, and Stephanie’s smirk morphed into a frown. Jason was a lot of things, but he wasn’t usually mean. Not to her at least. He didn’t get roaring drunk either, which meant he’d probably been given a good reason to go out and get wasted.

She’d bet good money it was a fight with someone in the family.

“Who was it?” she asked, more seriously. “Bruce?”

Jason scowled and turned away to rummage through his fridge. After a moment, he corrected, “Dick.”

Stephanie hummed sympathetically. “What happened?”

“He said something stupid and I got pissed off. Then we screamed a lot.”

She grimaced, glad she’d missed that. From what she’d seen lately, Dick had been stretching himself thin and was feeling the pressure. Prolonged stress made him crabby and shortened his temper, which was always more explosive than people believed of him. It wouldn’t have taken much for him to snap at his brother, and Jason never took that kind of thing well.

“Wanna talk about it?” Steph offered after a moment of silence.

Jason laid some strips of bacon on a hot pan and turned his attention to scrambling some eggs. “He’s a fucking dick. What else is there to say?”

Stephanie pursed her lips. As much as he joked around about it, the second Robin didn’t tend to drink in excess. Not with their lifestyles and not with his personal history. He’d told her once that his father had been a mean drunk. She knew what that was like, and knew it likely meant avoiding getting drunk altogether for Jason, at least until shit hit the fan.

“Whatever he said, he’s wrong,” she piped up, making Jason’s shoulders stiffen where he stood at the stove with his back to her. She probably shouldn’t have said anything. It wasn’t her business and Jason and Dick didn’t need her butting in, but she knew what it was like, to never be fully part of this family—to be considered the problem child—the easy target when the others were passing around blame.

From the beginning she’d had to fight her way out of the shadow of Jason Todd. She’d been compared to him left and right, told she was too much like him and it would get her killed one day. She was constantly looked down on as not good enough, too wild, untrainable. Whatever. How much worse was it for Jason who was the standard of badness she’d been judged against?

It was bullshit and she’d raged against it more than once. Because now that she knew him, she could see that she and Jason were nothing alike. Sure, they had similar backgrounds, their personalities meshed well together, and they made a great team in boardgames, but they operated completely differently. Jason was a planner, always had his eye on the prize, a big picture thinker. But, he wasn’t tied to it. He could shift or adapt if he needed to, and the second he felt that the victim was more important than the big picture, he’d throw the big picture right out the window. She respected the hell out of that, because what was the point of it all if they weren’t helping the victims? The individuals. The people who deserved justice, but couldn’t be heard amidst the bureaucracy, corruption, and bullshit. She might not always like his methods, she’d never approve of him killing, but she respected his motivation. She felt that same drive.

But that’s where the similarities ended. They had the same compassion, but where Jason was a planner, Stephanie wore her heart on her sleeve and followed wherever it took her. Jason only appeared impulsive. Stephanie actually was. Over time though, she’d been able to turn it into a strength. Impulsiveness transitioned to adaptability and that was a major asset to have in the field.

The fact that she still took crap for it drove her nuts. The fact that she was still constantly compared to Jason drove her even more nuts.

It wasn’t fair to either of them. They operated differently, had different strengths that helped them be effective in the field. What the others did and said diminished them. It ignored their strengths and compounded their weaknesses. And it was total and utter bullshit. Neither of them got enough credit. They were both good at what they did, and they were good in different ways. The fact that the rest of the family, some of the smartest people on the planet, couldn’t see that? Well, it pissed her the hell off.

So whatever Dick had said, even if it had been coming from a place of stress and exhaustion, she knew it was wrong. Jason needed to know that too.

“You ever get sick of it?” he asked after a moment, voice scratchy and shoulders hunched. He still hadn’t turned away from the stove.

“Of what?”

“Being the family punching bags,” he retorted. “The ones they lash out at when they’re feeling pissy. Bruce does it all the fucking time. Dick too. He won’t with Tim, Damian, or Cass, but you and me are fair game. Every time.”

Her gaze darkened. She knew exactly what he was talking about. She’d experienced it countless times. Bruce was stressed so he’d ream her out for something she did in the field. Something small and insignificant that hadn’t affected anything whatsoever, but still wasn’t what Bruce would have done so clearly it was stupid, impulsive, childish, whatever. Barbara had a tendency to do it as well—snap at her whenever she was stressed. Chew her out for something that had nothing to do with anything. She didn’t get a lot of it from Dick, but she had been snapped at by him plenty of times. And yeah, they didn’t tend to handle their stress in functional, healthy ways, and she’d seen Damian and Tim get snapped at plenty of times. But it wasn’t the same. It was never quite so acidic with them.

“Yes,” she answered plainly because it was true. She often found herself wondering what the hell she was even doing with them when it was so clear she would never fit the way they wanted her too. She almost hadn’t come back after Black Mask, and sometimes she questioned why she had at all. She had her reasons of course, but in her weaker moments she wondered if it was worth it.

At her reply, Jason finally turned from the stove to face her. His face was still pale, and she thought that maybe his red eyes were a little waterier than they’d been when he first walked in. Her stomach clenched in sympathy.

“You ever consider saying ‘fuck ‘em’ and walking away from it all?”

It was like he was reading her mind. “Yes,” she admitted.

Jason frowned and turned back to the stove. Steph watched, suddenly feeling tired as he loaded a plate with bacon, scrambled eggs and toast. She was surprised when he handed the plate to her and fixed another one for herself.

They ate in silence.

“I don’t want to let them be right about me,” she spoke up once they were almost finished.

“They’re not,” Jason answered immediately. “Spite’s a hell of a motivator though, so keep proving them wrong.”

Stephanie smirked, feeling the heaviness that had settled in the room finally lift a little. “I am a kickass vigilante fueled by bitterness and spite,” she declared wryly.

Jason snorted into his coffee, then raised the mug. “Here, here.”

“Seriously though, you okay?” she asked after another smaller stretch of silence. There was a little more color in his face after eating breakfast. Greasy breakfast foods weren’t her go to hangover cure, but it seemed to do a decent job of dragging Jason back from the brink of hangover death.

“Yeah. It’s only a matter of time before Dick tracks me down or finds my new number and apologizes. It’ll take longer for me to accept the apology though. I’ll probably hold off until he starts bringing me food and shit.”

“Nice,” Stephanie replied, bobbing her head in approval. Then she paused and asked, “When did you get a new number?”

“I haven’t yet, but I vaguely remember chucking my phone of the roof of a building last night, so I’ll have to do that at some point.”

Stephanie snorted. She couldn’t help it. The mental image of grumpy, drunk Jason throwing a phone off a Gotham roof was hilarious. He was so overly dramatic.

“What the hell were you doing on top of a building wasted? That’s a health and safety no-no, you know,” she retorted with a teasing smirk. “What were you doing, serenading the pigeons?”

“Performing Hamlet with the gargoyles if you must know.”

“Oh god,” she exclaimed, cracking up at just the thought of drunk off his ass Jason dramatically declaring “To be or not to be” to a gargoyle audience. “You have no idea how much I’d give to have seen that.”

“Yeah, well it was a one time performance so you snooze you lose, Blondie.”

“Yeah, well your hoodie is on backwards,” she retorted, snickering at his surprised look as he realized it was actually on backwards.

“The fuck?” he wondered quietly, pulling at the hood that had been settled at his neck. How he missed this while eating was beyond Steph.

“And your boots are on the wrong feet.”

Jason looked down and groaned loudly, much to Stephanie’s delight. “Fucking hell. I knew something felt off.”

“You also stink. Like horrendously. What’d you do? Bathe in vodka and cigarette ash?”

“Shut up. I fed you and this is the thanks I get?”

“Yeah, you fed me, but does it really count if there weren’t waffles?”

“Yes, it absolutely counts.”

“Whatever. Go shower. I’ll find something for us to watch on Netflix.”

“Ugh, fine,” Jason said, standing up and heading towards the bathroom. “But it better not be one of those sad wildlife documentaries where the baby animals die.”

“That was one time!” she called back. “I didn’t know they were going to die!”

Still, as she settled into the couch, she googled the next episode of Planet Earth to make sure there’d be no surprises. All the while, a warmth spread through her chest because Jason was letting her keep him company. They might sometimes be the punching bags for the rest of the family, but it was nice to know that she had his back and he had hers. They could handle the others.

[lightpinkskye]

cum te amo tota anima mea; or, i love you with all of my soul

summary:  soulmate au based on this prompt by silentpeaches on tumblr: “Where for whatever reason, your clock is stuck/frozen/it’s not counting down anymore but it hasn’t reached 00:00:00:00 yet and you’re freaking out because this hasn’t happened to anyone before.” drarry. draco’s pov.

length: 1,473 words

pairing: Harry Potter/Draco Malfoy

rating: T (teen and up audiences)

also crossposted on my ao3, ff.net, and wattpad

Draco Malfoy is curious.

He has known practically from birth of the existence of soulmates, those who complete you, make your heart whole. His parents are each other’s, Auntie Bella and Uncle Rodolphus too.

Even Uncle Sev has one, even if he doesn’t like to talk about her.

Draco has a clock of his own, counting down to a date far, far away to his five-year-old mind, some sixteen years in the future.

He hopes his soulmate is Pansy. She’s full of adventures, always with scraped knees and messy hair, to the constant detriment of her mother. To a quiet boy like Draco, she seems alive in a way his house, full of empty rooms and cold splendor, rarely sees.

Draco wishes that whoever they are, his soulmate has that same sparkle of perpetual wonder in their eyes that Pansy does.

Draco Malfoy is angry.

How dare that nasty Potter brat show such a blatant disregard for what Draco knows to be the order of things? He just wanted to save him from himself - associating with Weasleys is social suicide, everyone knows that.

It doesn’t help that he knows that when he writes home for the first time later tonight, his father is going to pace his study for a long time, silently fuming at his son’s incompetence at what should have been so easy, Draco, Merlin, how could you possibly bungle up something that simple, pathetic, honestly, how did I ever get so unlucky to get saddled with you as a son, the Dark Lord-

Draco flops back onto his new bed in the dungeons, seething with resentment and not crying at all. His clock has a little over ten years left, and he still doesn’t know who his soulmate is, not that it matters-

Crabbe shifts heavily in his sleep, startling Draco from his thoughts. He rolls over and covers himself in the heavy green comforter, losing himself to sleep.

Draco Malfoy is not panicking. Not at all.

It’s just that how dare Potter keep looking at Cho Chang with that dopey expression, as if she (that boring sap of a Ravenclaw with dreadful hair, honestly) had managed to hang the moon without anyone else noticing.

And he wasn’t at all happy that Pansy tried to kiss him last week at Hogsmeade (not one bit, even if her dress robes did set off her eyes), even if Theo and Greg would eagerly murder him for the same opportunity. Not that there is anything wrong with Pansy, it’s only that whenever he ...thinks about ...kissing, there’s always green eyes and golden, muscled limbs, and-

Okay, so there may be the ever-so-slight possibility that Draco doesn’t like Pansy because he doesn’t like women like that. Which is entirely irrelevant and has no bearing on his future. Because he’s still going to marry a nice, rich, pureblooded girl from a nice, rich, pureblooded family, and have nice, rich, pureblooded sons to carry on the Malfoy line. No matter how good Potter looks in a Quidditch uniform.

Draco is fifteen, his clock is constantly ticking down to somewhen, a little less than six years away, and Merlin why doesn’t he know-

But Blaise is calling him, and he turns away after one last lingering look at Potter’s messy shock of hair.

Draco Malfoy is terrified.

Not only is the Dark Lord inside Hogwarts, but his classmates are dying at the hands of his father’s friends, his mother is nowhere to be found, and for some unholy reason, his timer has stopped counting.

It’s not that it’s at zero, oh no, it still has three and a half years left, no, it has just. Stopped. Right in the middle of a fucking battle. As if Draco doesn’t have enough on his mind already without his stupid soulmark deciding to go haywire.

He whirls around, parrying spells fired from both sides, not caring who sent them, just trying to find his mother, and in the back of his mind is the constant whisper of Potter where’s Potter that bloody son of a banshee did he go did he answer the Dark Lord’s summons where is he where-

Because he can’t stop thinking about the fucking Chosen One even in the middle of trying not to die. Of course.

And then he feels a burning in his wrist and there his timer goes, counting down like it should be, and oh thank Merlin, I’m not any more broken than I already am.

And Draco hears the Dark Lord’s voice echoing around Hogwarts, effectively halting the firing of curses in the wake of -

Potter.

Dead.

At the Dark Lord’s hand.

And there, the half-breed Hagrid, carrying something - no, it can’t be, that’s not -

But it is.

And Hagrid is sobbing while the Dark - no, Voldemort - laughs.

The chaos around him blurs as Draco’s vision tunnels, focusing on that fucking hair, messy even in -

Wait. Was that a -

Breath?

And his heart skips a beat or five as Potter rises from the ground and thank all the fucking gods he’s not dead, Potter isn’t dead, but how?

And as the battle resumes, Draco’s train of thought is lost again in the all-consuming panic of my parents where are they I must find them, is there anyone -

He doesn’t notice when Nagini dies at Longbottom’s hands, or even when the whole gaggle of ginger heads clustered together around their dead son. His parents are alive (and so is Potter), and so is he, and that is enough for now.

Draco Malfoy is, for once in his life, calm.

Three years after the Battle of Hogwarts, as it has come to be known, and his life has finally returned to some semblance of normalcy. Or, you know, whatever normalcy can be when Ron Weasley is beating him at wizard’s chess in his own parlor.

He is still reeling that he’s somehow become - can they really be friends, after all this? perhaps so - something, anyway, with the very people he took such delight in tormenting half a life ago. Yet here he is, living in a comfortable flat in London near St. Mungo’s, not in Azkaban, with Harry Potter attempting to teach Hermione Granger his aunt’s recipe for treacle tart in his kitchen.

“Check!” Ron crows, and Draco’s attention returns to the chessboard, analyzing possible moves in his head. He hesitates only slightly before directing his remaining castle to a black square across from Ron’s king.

He is stopped from declaring checkmate by a sudden burning scent emerging from the kitchen, immediately followed by the distinctive sound of the Chosen One swearing while attempting to remove a treacle tart from an oven barehanded. Draco rises, stepping towards the commotion, as Ron rushes to ensure his fiancee is unharmed.

Harry waves with his left hand, perched on the countertop and seemingly calm once more, as Hermione attempts to bandage the other, scolding him all the while in a shrill tone remarkably similar to that of Ron’s mother. Draco can’t help but grin at the fate the poor dessert has befallen, poking at the blackened crust. “How on earth did the two of you manage to kill this innocent tart in the five minutes since it was in the oven?” he asks, shaking his head. “If there is a speck of damage to my kitchen, Potter, I swear on Merlin’s left nut -”

He is cut off by Ron simultaneously kicking his shin and rubbing flour in Harry’s untidy mess of hair. Draco sighs dramatically. “Ronald Bilius Weasley, I will not tolerate such abuse in my own domicile. Leave this place at once, and take that poor excuse for a pastry chef you call Hermione with you.”

In the midst of the bickering that ensues, he can’t help but smile. One hundred and sixty-two days, three hours, and seven minutes until he kisses his soulmate, yet Draco isn’t concerned about their identity any more. He’s made his peace with his timer and with the world, or at the very least the three people covered in flour and plasters crammed into his kitchen.

No, Draco Malfoy is happy, even if he still gets nightmares about Charity Burbage sometimes, and whoever his soulmate is, they will come when they come. In the meanwhile, he will learn to cook and play chess and finish his potions apprenticeship (and if he still checks out Harry’s arse during pick-up Quidditch games, well, a man can dream, can’t he?).

When Harry Potter finally kisses Draco Malfoy on a crisp September afternoon, one hundred and sixty-two days, three hours, and seven minutes later, Draco can’t kiss back because he is smiling wide enough for three people. His wrist is tingling, his nose is cold, Harry is laughing, and all is well.

[mirajens]

lucky charms and nuts

paring: laxus/mirajane rating: k+ chapter 1 of the rockabye series found on ff.n

Laxus teaches kindergarten. lms if u agreeI can't do this anymore.

It's a thought that crosses Laxus' mind at least twenty times a day and it gives him no shame to admit it. It's as intrusive a thought as it is an honest sentiment and as a single father, he can say it all he wants. So many times he'd dreamt of leaving Lucy on a church's doorstep and hopping five cities south but it doesn't mean he loves her any less than he does. It's his philosophy that a child is meant to drive their parents or guardians up the wall. Up every fucking wall, actually.

He thinks about the church thing again as his daughter's wails go up a decibel.

Feeling as hopeless as every other parent faced with a public tantrum, Laxus leans against the handle of his shopping cart, watching his little girl bawl and bawl and rub her bunched fists against her leaking eyes. Briefly, he wonders how anyone ever finds this small demon cute when she was capable of all this toddler brand of evil.

"Look, Lucy, it's just cereal. You're not eating that much sugar in my house, okay? I can barely get you to sleep by bedtime as it is," He tells her in a tired voice. When she only sobs louder, Laxus sighs and adds, "I promise this tastes as good."

Not to be distracted from her fixation on Lucky Charms, Lucy continues to lament her breakfast of choice. "I want this one! You're mean!"

If there was one thing Laxus learned and retained from his own father's parenting, it was to never indulge a child to placate a tantrum. "Tough luck, kid." He tosses the box of Corn Flakes into the shopping cart. "My roof."

Like clockwork, the small face of his daughter scrunches up and turns an almost alarming shade of red. Her screams are back, which attract many inquisitive head turns from passersby. He can feel the judgement loaded in the stares, too. Everyone's a fucking critic.

"Laxus?"

Great. As if things aren't fucked up enough, he's caught in the middle of a Shitty Parent Moment by his extremely hot, perfect neighbor who lives next door with her sister. Laxus turns to face Mirajane and makes a conscious effort to wipe the omnipresent scowl off his face. He feels like a criminal with just three items striked off his grocery list, standing like a bulky lamppost in front of a weeping child. He's probably supposed to be holding Lucy, comforting her, quieting her, but his experience knows otherwise. Dreyars were naturally bratty and to indulge them was a shot in the foot.

"Oh, sweetie. Don't cry." When Laxus makes no greeting or any other acknowledgement that he sees Mirajane materialized in front of him, she moves to take the small girl into her arms. Laxus bites his tongue that he's trying to avoid paying too much attention to Lucy tantrums but he's tired. Too tired to protest or comfort or whatever fucking parental etiquette he's probably supposed to be following right now. He lets Mirajane shush the child. She's a nice woman and has babysat too many times to be a stranger. She sways from side to side and speaks in a soft voice and soon enough, the angry sobbing turns into pitiful hiccups.

"Sorry, kid." Laxus rubs a hand over his daughter's back. It's about as sympathetic as he can get over Lucky Charms. Then, he addresses Mira. "Sorry, too. I really wish you didn't have to see that."

Mirajane shrugs and offers one of her beatific smiles. Laxus almost feels the stress melt off his shoulders. "Rough week, daddy?"

Laxus laughs humorlessly. "I want three bottles of wine and a one way ticket to China."

Mirajane has made the very short list of people Laxus considers Cool™ because she doesn't say any of the stupid shit that people think they can say about how he raises his child and how honest he is about it being a challenge on good days and something akin to the seventh circle of hell on bad days. Kids are great but they are a hassle. Anyone who says otherwise is probably on a substance. "I can hold her while you finish shopping?"

He could have married her just for offering that. Choirs of cherubs sing in impeccable pitch in his head. "You sure? She's in a mood right now." Still, he's already pushing his cart forward and Mirajane follows with Lucy in her arms, already tired from her rage. He's expecting her to fall asleep now, as she is prone to after such fits.

"No worries." Mirajane replies easily. "Got any plans for the weekend?"

Laxus expertly maneuvers into the diaper lane. "Laundry. Lawn mower. Installing a bidet. Three seasons of House of Cards. Stress in the form of family." He takes Lucy's brand and dumps a month's worth of diapers into his cart. He consults his mental inventory for baby wipes, decides his supply is low and grabs an economy pack. "My grandfather's wife is visiting from New Zealand. She's a nightmare. She studies medicinal herbs and can curdle milk with a look. Used to be my afterschool tutor. Still makes my balls shrivel up when I hear her voice."

"That sounds… eventful. Will you be cooking?" She shifts the quiet toddler in her arms, brushes back wheat-colored hair from the girl's shoulders. The scent of lemon shampoo and baby powder lingers in the air.

"You mean buying a roast from Vons and saying I slaved three hours to make it?"

Mirajane laughs at that as they round an aisle. And suddenly, memory lane smacks him in the face and runs her cart against his.

Laxus manages to swallow his spit and choke on it at the same time. Mirajane looks alarmed and in an effort to slap him on the back, jostles Lucy awake.

"Comedic." The old lady whose cart Laxus ran into says. "Hello, Laxus. I see you're still an idiot."

Now Mirajane shifts her shocked expression to the stranger. She's about to say something but Laxus beats her to it. "Porlyusica. They really don't lie when they say you can summon Satan by talking about her." He spares Mirajane a glance. "This is the crazy woman my grandfather married."

"Ohh."

Porlyusica eyes the scene before her. "Makarov didn't mention anyone was crazy enough to marry you." Porlyusica's eyes are already softening as they appraise Lucy. "Ah, but you, I've heard about. And aren't you a treasure." In the way of old people, Porlyusica's hands outstretch expectantly for Lucy. Mirajane looks inquisitively at Laxus who only sighs in resignation (and she guesses that's all the affirmative as Laxus allows) before depositing Lucy into Porlyusica's arms. Porlyusica actually coos and her stern face pulls up into a smile. Lucy, still too sleepy despite the new company, burrows her face into her new great grandmother's shoulder.

"Fantastic. You handed my daughter over to a known child eater."

Porlyusica glares at him. "Insolent boy. Introduce your wife to me."

The first wife comment had gone over both Mirajane and Laxus' head in the midst of the ruckus so the new one makes both of them blush in matching tones. "S-she's not my wife, you senile hag!" Laxus squawks the same time as Mirajane extends an unsure hand and says, "I'm Mirajane Strauss, his neighbor."

Porlyusica takes Mirajane's hand and shakes it firmly, balancing Lucy perfectly on the other. "Neighbor, huh? Could have fooled me." Before Laxus' noise of protest and mortification can be followed by any actual words, Porlyusica plows on. "You'll join us for dinner tonight, Miss Strauss." It sounds more like a statement or a command rather than an invitation.

"Oh, I couldn't impose-"

"You are an imposition only if I say you are." And just like that, both adults are silenced. Pleased, the older woman smiles tightly. "Lucy seems complaisant in your company. We would welcome you as a guest."

"You can't just invite people into my house," Laxus grumbles, like he's back in high school being scolded by the same woman for cheating on his take home Biology tests.

"Then maybe you should invite her yourself. There's a kennel of puppies by the pet area I can amuse the little one with. Finish your groceries and find us." Placing the sleepy girl on the pullout of her shopping cart, Porlyusica strides away just like that, leaving Laxus dumbstruck and Mirajane amused.

"Well?" Laxus finally says after he dismisses the awkwardness he still feels. "You wanna come over and see more of that circus?"

"Are you asking me because your grandmother told you to?"

"No." He tries very hard to ignore the whole grandmother thing. "It's not so bad when you come over."

And knowing Laxus, that's as much as he can admit that he enjoys her company and wants more of it. She wonders if he knows his neck is pink again. She foregoes teasing him about it since he looks so close to imploding. "You make a girl swoon, Laxus. I'll be there, and I can help you make actual roast, how about that?"

"Great," Laxus bites out. His nerves always translate to a mean face and tart words. "Great stuff."

Great stuff. She'll have to agree. The blush on him is incredibly endearing. Mirajane takes him by the arm and starts steering him to the snack aisle, since those are next on his list. "Your grandmother was kind enough to give us time to finish your groceries, so we better not just stand here and make eyes at each other. We have to buy things for the roast, too."

Laxus tamps down on his mortification. He's been through too much to be ruffled by a woman like this. "You're not gonna be this smug when you're talking to Porlyusica and the old man. They're nuts."

"I like nuts. And Lucy. So I don't imagine it's gonna be that much of a chore to have dinner with your family."

He likes nuts and Lucy, too. And he likes any woman who can jump into that mix without breaking a sweat. Laxus finds himself grinning for the first time today, actually happy at the turnout of events. Maybe Porlyusica isn't such a hag after all.

[drycoin14-blog]

Rosy Rhubarb Mule

Spring in Portland is something else. In California, it meant asparagus and strawberries and a few cherry blossoms. It meant longer days. It felt promising. But the shift was subtle, and it always left me wanting a little more. In the northwest, the transition to spring feels life-affirming. It offers a break from the relentless grey, a little levity from the soggy darkness of a northwest winter. But the greatest gift of spring in Portland is the insane riot of flowers, emerging in succession from March all the way through to June. It is almost enough to justify the winter.

Every day I go for a walk, regardless of the weather. And the blooms have been phenomenal: first the crocus, then the exquisite camellias and magnificent magnolias, among the first to color the streets. In tandem are the fruit blossoms: the cherry trees and plum, the quince and apple, the funny-smelling pear varietal; the forsythia, and tulips, and daffodils. Next the rhododendron and the glorious, exquisite dogwood. And those assorted weeds – wild mustards, mostly – that still breathe life and color into the sodden landscape. The fragrance of blooms, even when they’re in their final hurrah and smelling a little ripe, is invigorating. Those moments when the sun breaks and I am awash in a shimmering cascade of the most delicate white cherry or apple or plum blossoms are straight out of a fairy tale.

And with all this color and levity, and the sun setting after 8 pm now, people come back to life. Everyone is going out more, emerging from the winter hibernation that seems to be a part of Portland’s fabric. This, too, is invigorating. At the risk of sounding like a broken record, moving away from my community has been the greatest and hardest lesson in the value of people in our lives. So I am having new friends over. Smaller, intimate groups. Easy brunches. An ice cream social. Some silly experiments with gluten-free pizza. The perfectionist in me plans these out to the last detail; but I remind myself that it’s about the people, not a perfect living space. And my perfection backfires on me every time because I inevitably underestimate the amount of time involved in planning, and my friends inevitably help with the cooking that I have not finished by the time they arrive. It’s actually more fun this way.

Rosy Rhubarb Mule

I love the way that people who like rhubarb don’t just casually like it but obsessively love it. It is one of the most beautifully weird plants out there, a strange, vibrant, leafy stalk that is not a fruit at all but hardly used in savory contexts. For this drink – a more dynamic twist on the classic Moscow Mule – I made the rhubarb syrup concentrated, with much less sugar than is usually called for, to let more of its tartness shine. Hangar One’s new Rosé Vodka has a whisper of sweetness to it, and with the ginger beer, I wanted the sweet and the tart to be balanced. With spring’s arrival I am committed to more celebrations. And trying to keep them simple. This delightfully-hued drink is both celebratory and simple. Cheers!

Rosy Rhubarb Mule

For the rhubarb syrup: 

3 cups super red rhubarb (deeply red rhubarb is essential to produce that gorgeous magenta color) 1 cup water 1/4 cup sugar

For each cocktail:

Cocktail shaker Ice 2 ounces rhubarb syrup 2 ounces chilled Hangar One Rosé Vodka 2 ounces strong ginger beer 1/2 lime, juiced 1 mint leaf, garnish

Make ahead: In a saucepan, combine the rhubarb with the water and sugar over medium heat. Bring to a low simmer, covered, until the rhubarb has softened and cooked through, about 15 minutes. Stir occasionally. Strain using a mesh sieve (or a nut milk bag, in a pinch!). Chill in the fridge for at least two hours.

Add a handful of ice to the cocktail shaker. Add two ounces of the rhubarb syrup, two ounces chilled Hangar One Rosé Vodka, two ounces ginger beer, and the lime juice. Shake vigorously and strain into a coupe or lowball glass. Garnish with a mint leaf and enjoy!

This post was created in partnership with Hangar One Vodka. All content is created by Kimberley Hasselbrink. Partnerships like this sustain me as a small business.

62013aec6810b130eda09b339b3e3f6d343e21f6e271923323

Source: http://theyearinfood.com/2018/05/rosy-rhubarb-mule.html

[stempisces83-blog]

Rosy Rhubarb Mule

Spring in Portland is something else. In California, it meant asparagus and strawberries and a few cherry blossoms. It meant longer days. It felt promising. But the shift was subtle, and it always left me wanting a little more. In the northwest, the transition to spring feels life-affirming. It offers a break from the relentless grey, a little levity from the soggy darkness of a northwest winter. But the greatest gift of spring in Portland is the insane riot of flowers, emerging in succession from March all the way through to June. It is almost enough to justify the winter.

Every day I go for a walk, regardless of the weather. And the blooms have been phenomenal: first the crocus, then the exquisite camellias and magnificent magnolias, among the first to color the streets. In tandem are the fruit blossoms: the cherry trees and plum, the quince and apple, the funny-smelling pear varietal; the forsythia, and tulips, and daffodils. Next the rhododendron and the glorious, exquisite dogwood. And those assorted weeds – wild mustards, mostly – that still breathe life and color into the sodden landscape. The fragrance of blooms, even when they’re in their final hurrah and smelling a little ripe, is invigorating. Those moments when the sun breaks and I am awash in a shimmering cascade of the most delicate white cherry or apple or plum blossoms are straight out of a fairy tale.

And with all this color and levity, and the sun setting after 8 pm now, people come back to life. Everyone is going out more, emerging from the winter hibernation that seems to be a part of Portland’s fabric. This, too, is invigorating. At the risk of sounding like a broken record, moving away from my community has been the greatest and hardest lesson in the value of people in our lives. So I am having new friends over. Smaller, intimate groups. Easy brunches. An ice cream social. Some silly experiments with gluten-free pizza. The perfectionist in me plans these out to the last detail; but I remind myself that it’s about the people, not a perfect living space. And my perfection backfires on me every time because I inevitably underestimate the amount of time involved in planning, and my friends inevitably help with the cooking that I have not finished by the time they arrive. It’s actually more fun this way.

Rosy Rhubarb Mule

I love the way that people who like rhubarb don’t just casually like it but obsessively love it. It is one of the most beautifully weird plants out there, a strange, vibrant, leafy stalk that is not a fruit at all but hardly used in savory contexts. For this drink – a more dynamic twist on the classic Moscow Mule – I made the rhubarb syrup concentrated, with much less sugar than is usually called for, to let more of its tartness shine. Hangar One’s new Rosé Vodka has a whisper of sweetness to it, and with the ginger beer, I wanted the sweet and the tart to be balanced. With spring’s arrival I am committed to more celebrations. And trying to keep them simple. This delightfully-hued drink is both celebratory and simple. Cheers!

Rosy Rhubarb Mule

For the rhubarb syrup: 

3 cups super red rhubarb (deeply red rhubarb is essential to produce that gorgeous magenta color) 1 cup water 1/4 cup sugar

For each cocktail:

Cocktail shaker Ice 2 ounces rhubarb syrup 2 ounces chilled Hangar One Rosé Vodka 2 ounces strong ginger beer 1/2 lime, juiced 1 mint leaf, garnish

Make ahead: In a saucepan, combine the rhubarb with the water and sugar over medium heat. Bring to a low simmer, covered, until the rhubarb has softened and cooked through, about 15 minutes. Stir occasionally. Strain using a mesh sieve (or a nut milk bag, in a pinch!). Chill in the fridge for at least two hours.

Add a handful of ice to the cocktail shaker. Add two ounces of the rhubarb syrup, two ounces chilled Hangar One Rosé Vodka, two ounces ginger beer, and the lime juice. Shake vigorously and strain into a coupe or lowball glass. Garnish with a mint leaf and enjoy!

This post was created in partnership with Hangar One Vodka. All content is created by Kimberley Hasselbrink. Partnerships like this sustain me as a small business.

62013aec6810b130eda09b339b3e3f6d343e21f6e271923323

Source: http://theyearinfood.com/2018/05/rosy-rhubarb-mule.html

[diddlesanddoodles]

DUMPLING (g/t fantasy)

CHAPTER NINE

Despite the run in with the four blue Rangers, Nenani ended up learning quite a lot that afternoon. Most of the herbs and spices that the new Queen had brought over with her were either for tea or pastries. Once Yale had the lot labeled and inventoried, they migrated into the kitchen to see if the bakers, Quinn and Kol, were in need to any of the newly named ingredients or help in general. And if their expressions of pure exasperation were any clue, the answer was yes. Please, yes and thank you.

Kol was a face she recognized as he was the giant who had spoken to Farris before Rheil had taken her to see the King. He was the shorter of the pair with chestnut brown hair and eyes to match. Quinn was a tad taller than Yale with hazel eyes and a mop of dirty blond hair. Curiously, Quinn was the only giant she had seen with blonde hair. Both seemed nice enough, sparing her a smile when Yale sat her down on the table.    

“What is marzy payne?” asked Kol, running his hands through his hair and staring at the list in his hands. There were several bowls of proofing dough on the table, covered in white towels, while the table was dusted light with flour after having finished with making the regular roster of breads. Aside from the proofing dough there were several containers of various nuts and dried fruits and jams as well as a large crock filled with more butter than Nenani had ever seen in her life. She walked around the large container, eyes wide in wonder. She was battling with the very strong urge to stick her fingers into it.

Without even looking at her, but somehow seeming to know where her little mind was wondering, Yale reached over to lay his fingers on her shoulders and gently turned her around. Ushering her away from the butter, he pointed to a spot on the table closer to him in a wordless command. She obligingly sat down, a little embarrassed at being almost caught with her hand in the cookie jar. Or butter jar, as it were.    

“Marzy...payne? Sounds disgusting,” remarked Yale, looking over Kol’s shoulder. He snerked. “You git, that says marzipan, not marzy payne. Can’t you read?”

Nenani’s ears perked up at the name. She knew what marzipan was. She opened her mouth to say something, but Kol’s voice drowned her out.

“Ah, come off it. Still haven’t a clue what it is,” Kol sighed, looking towards Quinn as he was scanning a small shelf near a work table close to where the many various knives and cleavers were hung. There were several books there. “Don’t we have anythin’ about Ibronian cuisine? Anything at all?”

“Nope,” Quinn replied. “Nothing.”

“The Queen’s expectin’ these pastries tomorrow, so work them brains boys,” Yale added.  

Nenani tried several times to interject, but the three of them just talked over each other until they all huffed in frustration. Quinn started knocking his forehead against the table while Yale and Kol were staring at the list as though their displeased expressions could will the answers they sought from the parchment. It remained steadfastly silent.  

“Um...” Nenani raised her hand.

“Hm? What’cha needin’ there, Dumplin’?” Kol asked, glancing at her from over the top of the list.

“Uh...welll. M-marzipan’s just another name for almond paste,” Nenani told them. The three giants looked down at her with blank expressions that slowly melted into ones of incredulity. Nenani frowned at their skeptic looks, crossing her arms defensively. “...What?”

“How do you know that?” asked Quinn, one eyebrow raised critically. “Yer just a babe.”

The girl huffed. Just because she was young did not make her stupid. She knew lots of stuff. And she was not a baby! Eleven was not a baby.

“Because,” she replied, “There’s a stall on the docks that make fried dough filled with it. Lots of the ships that come through port are from the northern plate and they’re all crazy for it because almonds don’t grow up north. They call it something different, but the Beastmen always called it marzipan.”

Yale suddenly scooped her up, bringing her close to his face, and nuzzling her cheerfully. “Well aren’t you just a well of useful information!”

Quinn and Kol were looking at them with amused grins, tilting their heads to touch as they clasped their hands together. “Awww...” they chorused mockingly.

“Ah, shuddup, you fuckers,” Yale replied. Nenani blushed and whined for Yale to put her down. “So...do we even have any almonds?”  

It took a good three hours to decipher all of the Queen’s pastry list, involving several ultimately useless books, and finally sending someone to ask the Queen herself about some of the breads. The bay laurels were stewed into a very strong tea that was then added to eggs and flour and yeast, proofed, braided into a spiral, and then baked in glazed ramekins with copious amounts of butter and topped with coarse sea salt. Then there was another braided pastry filled with three types of jam, two kinds of egg tarts, and something called a treasure pouch which Nenani was able to help put together. She took four whole apples and placed them at the center of a large square of yellow pastry that Quinn had rolled and cut for her. Then a mound of butter and a large portion of ground spices were added before the four sides were pinched together, rolled in sugar, and baked. She may or may not have licked her fingers clean of lingering butter when no one was looking. When Kol pulled them from the ovens a while later, they did indeed look like pouches of treasure. If treasure was butter spiced apples. Which after several hours of work, they might as well have been to Nenani.    

They only took a small break to quickly scarf down some lunch and by the time all the bread and pastries were finished and cooling, Nenani had decided that Quinn and Kol had the worst jobs. Baking was very hard and exhausting. And all she did was help with a few of the pastries and still it left her drained. By the end of the day, she was leaning against an empty jar as the three giants started cleaning the tables, bowls, and tools. The rest of the kitchen staff filtered in as well, going about the end of day cleaning. Footmen and other servants had already come down and collected the food for the upstairs dinner service, large silver trays filled with whole sides of beef and venison, stacks of fresh bread and rolls, and large crystal decanters of dark red wine.

There was a bit of a kerfuffle when Bart, Herit, and Gjerk come in smelling of Lipper eels and were hurriedly shoved back outside accompanied by angry demands they all go wash and change. Saen and Kol started on getting the kitchen’s dinner prepared. It was a far more humble meal of onion and venison soup with bread, but no one seemed to mind or care.

As Yale was wiping out a bowl, he caught sight of his human charge as she began to nod off. Quinn caught the look on his face and nudged him with an elbow.

“Ah, leave ‘er be,” he said, voice quiet. “She did a good job. Let her sleep a bit before everyone comes bargin’ in fer supper.”

……………………………..

She was small again, watching her parents argue as she pretended to sleep.

“I don’t care what they say,” her mother cried. “I won’t do it.”

“I don’t want it either,” said her father. “But you can’t pretend like it won’t happen. One day, she’ll bloom. Then they’ll be no hiding her. The seal can’t last forever. One day you won’t be around to fix it when it cracks. He will find her. It might be better if we just...”

“No. We’ve survived this long, we’ve kept her safe. I will be there for her. That...beast won’t touch her.”

“By pure chance we have survived. We’d have been dead already if those Rangers hadn’t...”

“Don’t talk to me about them,” her mother sneered. “I don’t want to remember that smug bastard’s face. I should have roasted him!”

“But you couldn’t. Not without revealing everything and bringing their whole army to us. You’re just lucky he thought you were just a noblewoman and that he handed her over and then they’d have know who we are, who she is. Who you use to be.”

“I never stopped being that person, Hayron. His daughter,” the woman said bitterly. “I will never stop being his daughter. I will always love my family. I don’t care what some old fart wrote down in a book. I don’t care even if he died hating me. His blood is my blood.”

“And her blood. The last flower falls to our daughter. If it blooms, he’ll come for it. For her. Like he tried to come for you.”

“So long as the seal holds, it will never bloom. No magic that exists this side of the border could break it.”

“You’re sure of that?”

“I am,” she said, suddenly sad. Tears began to fall. “The only thing good about this whole mess. Nenani will never know the fire’s bloom. I just pray I live long enough for it to wilt and that she may be granted a peaceful life. Away from all this madness.”

……………………………………

“Ah, should have seen Keral’s face when I told him too!” Bart’s voice broke through the fog of sleep and Nenani’s eyes blinked open. She looked up and saw the underside of Farris’s jaw. She was pressed close to his chest. One of his arms cradled her, her shoes were pressed into the palm of his hand, and his fingers curled around her feet, and his thumb absentmindedly stroked her calf. For a moment, she was scared, but the feeling passed soon enough. She remembered what Yale had told her that morning, about taking care of their own, and was surprised to find herself believing his words. Especially after coming face to face with a giant like Thrist and how Bart had swooped in to stop him from making a meal of her. And how silly Yale had acted when he thought she might have been hurt. It was sweet really...  

From where she lay, Nenani could smell the lingering scent of fresh baked bread and a fresher scent of something savory and aromatic. She shifted a little, causing the Spice master to peer down at her.

“And so the dead arise,” said Farris. “Thought you were gonna sleep all the way through supper, Dumplin’.”

Nenani wiggled a little, trying to sit up.

“Food?” she asked weakly. She was famished. Farris chuckled and obligingly setting the girl on the table. He reached over her head to the plate of warm bread, pulled off a chunk, and handed it to her. She ate with relish, pulling out the softer white insides first before tearing pieces of the crust and eating them. He pushed a small ramekin full of soup into her field of vision, still steaming. They seemed to eat a lot of soup, she had begun to notice. But she was not going to complain. Food was food and even better if she did not have to sneak and steal for it.    

“The lads were tellin’ us about yer run in with a few of our boys in blue,” Farris said with a smirk as she ate. “Thrist’s a nasty piece a’ work when Keral’s not round to keep his leash short. Best avoid their sort. He could a’ hurt ya Dumplin’.”

“He did drop me,” Nenani replied, dunking her piece of bread into the soup and bringing it to her mouth. Wincing when she found the soup to be a bit too hot, she huffed a few times in an attempt to cool down her burning mouth. She ignored Bart’s snickering. One aspect of her current living situation that she did not think she would ever tire of was the abundance of fresh bread. All the bread she and her family ever had around were hard crusty loaves meant to keep for weeks at sea. Vhasshal breads were a marvelous thing. Soft and plentiful. And their apparent devotion to butter was a godsend. Kol and Quinn were masters of their craft.

“After ya threw a pepperseed in his eye!” Herit laughed from further down the table, waving his spoon in the air. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen a Ranger cry before.”

“It’s no laughing matter,” Yale growled, glowering over his mug. “That fucker could have killed her. And you three were just watchin’!”

Bart just waved a hand. “I was really expectin’ Dayne to stop Thrist before it got outta hand. That boy’s usually smart enough to end a joke when it stops being funny. Can’t say I’m surprised to find he’s a disappointment too. Guess he wouldn’t be a Ranger if he weren’t.”

“Aye,” Farris added with a growl and pinning Yale with a critical eye. “And where might you have been when all this was going on? Ya had Dumplin’ duty, lad. Orders to keep ‘er outta trouble and the like.”

Yale’s sour expression shifted into one of mild shame. “I was getting a crock from storage. I was gone for only a bit.”

“And ‘only a bit’ does it take fer things to go to shit,” Farris said shaking his head in exasperation before plucking Nenani from the table, hands beneath her arms, and holding her up in front of everyone at the table. For Nenani’s part, she just sat still, confused and passive in the Spice Master’s hold, and munched on her piece of bread.    

“Listen good, lads. See this lil’un here? When humans are young like this one, they got all the self preservation instincts of a damn lemming,” Farris stated simply. Several of those present laughed and snickered and Nenani made a muffled noise of protest, her mouth still full of bread. “All curiosity and no caution. Take yer eye off of ‘er fer a moment and she’ll be neck deep in trouble before you can spit. That marker may have my seal, but I expect all ya to keep an eye on ‘er, aye? As fer you, Dumplin’...”

He turned Nenani around to fix her with a clearly unamused expression. “...no more throwin’ pepperseeds into peoples’ faces. Ya need help, ya scream fer one a’ us. Got it?”

She nodded, taking another bite of bread. Farris sighed, not seeming convinced of her understanding.  

“Haven’t even been here a week an’ already makin’ trouble fer yerself,” Farris grumbled as he sat her back down onto the table. Her attention was drawn back to the soup. She was more interested in food than a lecture. After a moment, she tilted her head up to look at Farris who just raised a questioning eyebrow at her.

“What’s a lemming?” she asked.  

Farris chuckled, a warm deep sound from his throat, and his hand came up to playfully pinch at her arm before ruffling her hair. “You are, gal.”

[ideahood58-blog]

Rosy Rhubarb Mule

Spring in Portland is something else. In California, it meant asparagus and strawberries and a few cherry blossoms. It meant longer days. It felt promising. But the shift was subtle, and it always left me wanting a little more. In the northwest, the transition to spring feels life-affirming. It offers a break from the relentless grey, a little levity from the soggy darkness of a northwest winter. But the greatest gift of spring in Portland is the insane riot of flowers, emerging in succession from March all the way through to June. It is almost enough to justify the winter.

Every day I go for a walk, regardless of the weather. And the blooms have been phenomenal: first the crocus, then the exquisite camellias and magnificent magnolias, among the first to color the streets. In tandem are the fruit blossoms: the cherry trees and plum, the quince and apple, the funny-smelling pear varietal; the forsythia, and tulips, and daffodils. Next the rhododendron and the glorious, exquisite dogwood. And those assorted weeds – wild mustards, mostly – that still breathe life and color into the sodden landscape. The fragrance of blooms, even when they’re in their final hurrah and smelling a little ripe, is invigorating. Those moments when the sun breaks and I am awash in a shimmering cascade of the most delicate white cherry or apple or plum blossoms are straight out of a fairy tale.

And with all this color and levity, and the sun setting after 8 pm now, people come back to life. Everyone is going out more, emerging from the winter hibernation that seems to be a part of Portland’s fabric. This, too, is invigorating. At the risk of sounding like a broken record, moving away from my community has been the greatest and hardest lesson in the value of people in our lives. So I am having new friends over. Smaller, intimate groups. Easy brunches. An ice cream social. Some silly experiments with gluten-free pizza. The perfectionist in me plans these out to the last detail; but I remind myself that it’s about the people, not a perfect living space. And my perfection backfires on me every time because I inevitably underestimate the amount of time involved in planning, and my friends inevitably help with the cooking that I have not finished by the time they arrive. It’s actually more fun this way.

Rosy Rhubarb Mule

I love the way that people who like rhubarb don’t just casually like it but obsessively love it. It is one of the most beautifully weird plants out there, a strange, vibrant, leafy stalk that is not a fruit at all but hardly used in savory contexts. For this drink – a more dynamic twist on the classic Moscow Mule – I made the rhubarb syrup concentrated, with much less sugar than is usually called for, to let more of its tartness shine. Hangar One’s new Rosé Vodka has a whisper of sweetness to it, and with the ginger beer, I wanted the sweet and the tart to be balanced. With spring’s arrival I am committed to more celebrations. And trying to keep them simple. This delightfully-hued drink is both celebratory and simple. Cheers!

Rosy Rhubarb Mule

For the rhubarb syrup: 

3 cups super red rhubarb (deeply red rhubarb is essential to produce that gorgeous magenta color) 1 cup water 1/4 cup sugar

For each cocktail:

Cocktail shaker Ice 2 ounces rhubarb syrup 2 ounces chilled Hangar One Rosé Vodka 2 ounces strong ginger beer 1/2 lime, juiced 1 mint leaf, garnish

Make ahead: In a saucepan, combine the rhubarb with the water and sugar over medium heat. Bring to a low simmer, covered, until the rhubarb has softened and cooked through, about 15 minutes. Stir occasionally. Strain using a mesh sieve (or a nut milk bag, in a pinch!). Chill in the fridge for at least two hours.

Add a handful of ice to the cocktail shaker. Add two ounces of the rhubarb syrup, two ounces chilled Hangar One Rosé Vodka, two ounces ginger beer, and the lime juice. Shake vigorously and strain into a coupe or lowball glass. Garnish with a mint leaf and enjoy!

This post was created in partnership with Hangar One Vodka. All content is created by Kimberley Hasselbrink. Partnerships like this sustain me as a small business.

62013aec6810b130eda09b339b3e3f6d343e21f6e271923323

Source: http://theyearinfood.com/2018/05/rosy-rhubarb-mule.html

[oovitus]

Israeli Couscous Salad with Roasted Cauliflower, Pistachios & Dates

Usually at this time of year, as the temperatures warm up, my salads become progressively lighter and more colorful, vegetable-centric rather than grain-centric (which is the winter norm).

This hasn’t been the case lately. Whether because of springtime rain and little bursts of chilly weather—or simply because it’s what I’m craving—I’ve continued to make a lot of hearty grain and legume salads, with vegetables and herbs serving as seasoning rather than the main event. I’m sure this will shift around when summer arrives in earnest, but for now, I continue to love the heft and substance of these easy meals. This pistachio date Israeli couscous salad with roasted cauliflower & herbs is my latest favorite, a sweet and savory mix of texture and taste.

It was love at first bite when I first tasted Israeli couscous. I’d always enjoyed regular couscous, but I couldn’t get over how much more satisfying and toothsome this variety of teeny tiny pasta was. I don’t rely on Israeli couscous the way I do quinoa, barley, farro, or rice, but I do pick it up whenever I see it, reminded of how versatile and fun it is.

This particular salad is all about texture: the chewy grain, crisp-tender roasted cauliflower, and crunchy pistachios. My favorite part of it all, though, are the little jewels of chopped medjool date and golden raisins, which give the salad an irresistable sweetness in spite of its being a basically savory dish of food.

The dried fruits and nuts here are thanks to the folks at Sunnyland Farms, who reached out to me and asked if I might be interested in incorporating some of their products into a recipe this spring. Sunnyland is a family-owned and operated farm and mail order catalog in Georgia, which sells nuts, fruits, cakes, and candies. Pecans are the locally grown specialty, but Sunnyland also sells pistachios, cashews, almonds, dates, coffee, and more—as well as nut butters and pecan meal for baking.

I requested some of my favorites to try from Sunnyland’s catalog: pistachios, walnuts, medjool dates, and golden raisins. Originally I was only planning to use dates in the couscous salad, but when the raisins arrived—triple the size of what I’m used to and absolutely gorgeous—I knew I had to throw some of them into the mix, too. I like how their more tart sweetness balances the candy sweetness of the dates (which were also plump and beautiful). Meanwhile, the pistachios add a kick of saltiness and crunch.

I kept other seasonings simple here: a splash each of red wine vinegar and lemon juice for acidity, and I zested the lemon, too, which brightened everything up. The herbs are also key, not just for freshness but also a little bit of green color.

Like most grain or pasta salads, this one can be seasoned to taste as you go along. Throw everything together, try it, then add whatever’s needed—for me, this was a drizzle of olive oil, extra salt, and a little more vinegar. If you like, you can add chives, cilantro, or even chopped arugula in place of the herbs I chose.

Pistachio Date Israeli Couscous Salad with Roasted Cauliflower & Herbs

5.0 from 1 reviews

Print

Recipe type: salad, main dish

Cuisine: vegan, soy free

Author: Gena Hamshaw

Prep time: 10 mins

Cook time: 45 mins

Total time: 55 mins

Serves: 4-6 servings

Ingredients

1 small head cauliflower, thick stems removed and chopped into florets and pieces (about 1 lb after preparation)

1½ tablespoons neutral vegetable oil, such as grapeseed or refined avocado

Salt and freshly ground black pepper

1½ cups (dry) Israeli couscous (you can substitute 1 cup dry barley, farro, or brown rice if you can't find it)

¼ cup pitted and chopped medjool dates

¼ cup golden raisins (roughly chopped if they're jumbo sized)

¼ cup shelled and chopped pistachios (raw or roasted, whichever you prefer)

⅓ cup chopped mint leaves

½ cup chopped parsley

1 tablespoon lemon zest

1 tablespoon freshly squeezed lemon juice

1 tablespoon red wine vinegar

Olive oil for drizzling, as needed

Instructions

Preheat the oven to 400F and line a baking sheet or two with parchment paper. Toss the cauliflower pieces with the oil and transfer it to the baking sheet(s). Sprinkle with salt and pepper. Roast for 35-40 minutes, or until the cauliflower is golden and crisp at the edges, and tender all the way through. Remove the cauliflower from the oven and allow it to cool for ten minutes.

Meanwhile, cook the couscous according to package instructions.

When the cauliflower is finished roasting and cooling, add it to a large mixing bowl, along with the couscous, dates, raisins, pistachios, mint, parsley, lemon zest and juice, and vinegar. Mix everything well. Add a drizzle of olive oil as needed (I used about a tablespoon and a half), as well as additional salt and pepper to taste. Serve while the ingredients are still warm.

Notes

Leftovers will keep in an airtight container in the fridge for up to 3 days.

3.5.3251

I can imagine making this salad year round, pairing it with baked tofu or adding lentils or when I need a more filling meal, or with veggies or a cup of soup for an easy lunch. It’s reminding me of how much nuts and dried fruits can add to simple pilafs like this one—and also that I don’t have to reserve dates, which are probably my favorite dried fruit, for oatmeal or baked goods. They’re intense, but a small amount works so nicely in savory dishes, too.

If cauliflower’s not your favorite vegetable—or if you’d like to use something more summery here—zucchini and summer squash would work beautifully. I think adding roasted carrots would be a nice touch, too. No matter what, if you try it, I hope you’ll enjoy it.

This short week is flying by already, thanks to Monday’s holiday. Wishing you all a happy Hump Day, and I’ll be back soon for the weekend roundup!

xo

This post is sponsored by Sunnyland Farms. All opinions are my own, and I love these flavorful nuts and dried fruit. Thanks for your support!

The post Israeli Couscous Salad with Roasted Cauliflower, Pistachios & Dates appeared first on The Full Helping.

Israeli Couscous Salad with Roasted Cauliflower, Pistachios & Dates published first on

[gardencityvegans]

Israeli Couscous Salad with Roasted Cauliflower, Pistachios & Dates

https://www.thefullhelping.com/wp-content/uploads/2018/05/Cauli-Couscous-Salad-4.jpg

Usually at this time of year, as the temperatures warm up, my salads become progressively lighter and more colorful, vegetable-centric rather than grain-centric (which is the winter norm).

This hasn’t been the case lately. Whether because of springtime rain and little bursts of chilly weather—or simply because it’s what I’m craving—I’ve continued to make a lot of hearty grain and legume salads, with vegetables and herbs serving as seasoning rather than the main event. I’m sure this will shift around when summer arrives in earnest, but for now, I continue to love the heft and substance of these easy meals. This pistachio date Israeli couscous salad with roasted cauliflower & herbs is my latest favorite, a sweet and savory mix of texture and taste.

It was love at first bite when I first tasted Israeli couscous. I’d always enjoyed regular couscous, but I couldn’t get over how much more satisfying and toothsome this variety of teeny tiny pasta was. I don’t rely on Israeli couscous the way I do quinoa, barley, farro, or rice, but I do pick it up whenever I see it, reminded of how versatile and fun it is.

This particular salad is all about texture: the chewy grain, crisp-tender roasted cauliflower, and crunchy pistachios. My favorite part of it all, though, are the little jewels of chopped medjool date and golden raisins, which give the salad an irresistable sweetness in spite of its being a basically savory dish of food.

The dried fruits and nuts here are thanks to the folks at Sunnyland Farms, who reached out to me and asked if I might be interested in incorporating some of their products into a recipe this spring. Sunnyland is a family-owned and operated farm and mail order catalog in Georgia, which sells nuts, fruits, cakes, and candies. Pecans are the locally grown specialty, but Sunnyland also sells pistachios, cashews, almonds, dates, coffee, and more—as well as nut butters and pecan meal for baking.

I requested some of my favorites to try from Sunnyland’s catalog: pistachios, walnuts, medjool dates, and golden raisins. Originally I was only planning to use dates in the couscous salad, but when the raisins arrived—triple the size of what I’m used to and absolutely gorgeous—I knew I had to throw some of them into the mix, too. I like how their more tart sweetness balances the candy sweetness of the dates (which were also plump and beautiful). Meanwhile, the pistachios add a kick of saltiness and crunch.

I kept other seasonings simple here: a splash each of red wine vinegar and lemon juice for acidity, and I zested the lemon, too, which brightened everything up. The herbs are also key, not just for freshness but also a little bit of green color.

Like most grain or pasta salads, this one can be seasoned to taste as you go along. Throw everything together, try it, then add whatever’s needed—for me, this was a drizzle of olive oil, extra salt, and a little more vinegar. If you like, you can add chives, cilantro, or even chopped arugula in place of the herbs I chose.

Pistachio Date Israeli Couscous Salad with Roasted Cauliflower & Herbs

Print

Recipe type: salad, main dish

Cuisine: vegan, soy free

Author: Gena Hamshaw

Prep time: 10 mins

Cook time: 45 mins

Total time: 55 mins

Serves: 4-6 servings

Ingredients

1 small head cauliflower, thick stems removed and chopped into florets and pieces (about 1 lb after preparation)

1½ tablespoons neutral vegetable oil, such as grapeseed or refined avocado

Salt and freshly ground black pepper

1½ cups (dry) Israeli couscous (you can substitute 1 cup dry barley, farro, or brown rice if you can't find it)

¼ cup pitted and chopped medjool dates

¼ cup golden raisins (roughly chopped if they're jumbo sized)

¼ cup shelled and chopped pistachios (raw or roasted, whichever you prefer)

⅓ cup chopped mint leaves

½ cup chopped parsley

1 tablespoon lemon zest

1 tablespoon freshly squeezed lemon juice

1 tablespoon red wine vinegar

Olive oil for drizzling, as needed

Instructions

Preheat the oven to 400F and line a baking sheet or two with parchment paper. Toss the cauliflower pieces with the oil and transfer it to the baking sheet(s). Sprinkle with salt and pepper. Roast for 35-40 minutes, or until the cauliflower is golden and crisp at the edges, and tender all the way through. Remove the cauliflower from the oven and allow it to cool for ten minutes.

Meanwhile, cook the couscous according to package instructions.

When the cauliflower is finished roasting and cooling, add it to a large mixing bowl, along with the couscous, dates, raisins, pistachios, mint, parsley, lemon zest and juice, and vinegar. Mix everything well. Add a drizzle of olive oil as needed (I used about a tablespoon and a half), as well as additional salt and pepper to taste. Serve while the ingredients are still warm.

Notes

Leftovers will keep in an airtight container in the fridge for up to 3 days.

3.5.3251

I can imagine making this salad year round, pairing it with baked tofu or adding lentils or when I need a more filling meal, or with veggies or a cup of soup for an easy lunch. It’s reminding me of how much nuts and dried fruits can add to simple pilafs like this one—and also that I don’t have to reserve dates, which are probably my favorite dried fruit, for oatmeal or baked goods. They’re intense, but a small amount works so nicely in savory dishes, too.

If cauliflower’s not your favorite vegetable—or if you’d like to use something more summery here—zucchini and summer squash would work beautifully. I think adding roasted carrots would be a nice touch, too. No matter what, if you try it, I hope you’ll enjoy it.

This short week is flying by already, thanks to Monday’s holiday. Wishing you all a happy Hump Day, and I’ll be back soon for the weekend roundup!

xo

This post is sponsored by Sunnyland Farms. All opinions are my own, and I love these flavorful nuts and dried fruit. Thanks for your support!

[Read More ...] https://www.thefullhelping.com/israeli-couscous-salad-roasted-cauliflower-pistachios-dates/

[shake-glitterybones]

A few weekends ago I had the luxury of working outside on Sunday (pause for laughs), so after a gruelling shift in the humid, sticky weather I treated myself to some beautiful lakeside views.

Ironically enough, it had been exactly one year since I visited the Scarborough Bluffs and was pleasantly reminded as to how beautiful and serene the landscape is. Exploring places solo has to be one of my favourite past-times, a hobby I don’t often indulge in for a fear of being perceived as selfish, but it’s a comforting feeling to be able to stop and smell the roses at your own pace.

Located in the district of Toronto, Ontario, exploring the escarpment proved to be an exceptional use of a Sunday, despite the occasional rain showers. One thing worth mentioning is the confusing location of Bluffers Beach, which hosts the only access to the beach and offers you a glance up at these monstrous bluffs, along with the rest of the nine surrounding parks – it was kind of confusing finding everything!

Following my tiresome 9KM walk and playing photographer to several groups of friends and couples, I decided to treat myself to a flight at a nearby brewery: Left Field. I had heard so much about this little brewery in Toronto and researched their selection of beers prior to making the journey over – I was intrigued.

credit: blogTO

credit: blogTO

  I’m in no way a professional, but I do consider myself to be somewhat of a beer connoisseur, an enthusiast if you will and I make it a weekly habit of exploring new breweries and returning to my tried, tested and true brew shops.

Left field had quite the selection, a total of six which includes two seasonals. Please note, these opinions expressed are my own and do not wish to offend anyone or impose my suggestions. This is a way to record my travels and my experiences at breweries throughout North America – and beyond!

Cannonball (Helles Lager) – Yummy. Fresh. One of those beers that have your taste buds salivating for after a long day at work, perfect for indulging on a patio on a hot summer day. Crisp, light, has a pleasantly refreshing honey sweetness to it.

Sunlight Park (Grapefruit Saison) – Named after Toronto’s first baseball stadium (goooooo SPORTS!), it has an equal blend of both grapefruit tartness and malted wheat, with a slight hint of honey. I’m not a huge fan of grapefruit, so the tart does throw me off a little bit, but it is still delicious, easy to drink and very smooth.

Maris (Pale Ale) – Delicious, flavourful, crisp. Named after both baseball legend Roger Maris and after the Maris Otter malt of which it’s brewed with. Maris Otter malt, which is one of the crème de la crème of malts and is one of the more commonly used malts in the craft brewery market today. Despite its flavourful aroma and taste, I probably wouldn’t order it when compared to all the other choices on their roster but it is a great introductory beer if you’re just getting into the game of craft brews.

Passionfruit Day Game (Session IPA) – This is exactly what I expect when ordering a session IPA, which is essentially an IPA with an ABV of 5% or higher, though the elaborate history of this type of brew can be found if you’re interested. Brewed with an assortment of flavourful malts, your taste buds are also titillated by the surging flavours of candied orange and mango, all while being engulfed in some truly delightful tropical aromatics. Crispy. Hoppy. Deliciously delightfully good. My second sip was just as enjoyable as the first, however this time around you can truly taste and sense the tropical passionfruit infusion and the lingering notes of pine.

Eephus (Oatmeal Brown Ale) – I love oatmeal-anything beers. Roasted malt and toasted nuts scent, the type of aromas you’d come to expect from an American style brown ale. Comfortingly dark and warm, with an amazing velvety smooth taste.  Classically yummy.

Laser Show (Vermont Style IIPA) – So I’ve recently started enjoying IPAs and have developed an affinity for the hoppiest of all hoppy beers. With an IBU of 80 – I got a tasty punch to my taste buds. What previously turned me off of IPAs was the over usage of Cascade, Simcoe, Amarillo, Columbus, etc. hops which made it unbearably difficult to drink, let along enjoy. This double IPA with brewed with your standard IPA hops, but what makes it fruity is the combination of a unique yeast strain from Vermont. I’m a hung fan of punchy hops when paired with complimentary flavours, Laser Show boasts delectable tropical fruits and an OJ. This beer oozes fruit juice flava, traditional hoppy delights, with an easy drinking finish.

Have any suggestions on breweries to scope out? Are there any awe-inspiring hikes you’d recommend? Leave me a comment below, I’d love to hear what breweries you go to and where you like to spend your Sundays in the sun!

Until next time,

Alejandra

left field brewery vs. scarborough bluffs A few weekends ago I had the luxury of working outside on Sunday (pause for laughs), so after a gruelling shift in the humid, sticky weather I treated myself to some beautiful lakeside views.