#okay i need to preheat the oven now or do Something productive my Word.

[your-local-granny]

.

[procrastinatingsapphictrash]

Cooking class

Word count: 2109     

Genre: Fluff

Pairing: Natasha x gn!reader

Warnings: Very minor injury (let me know if I need to add more)

Request: Hey! I saw your post for a request and this idea popped into my head. Y/n is a fantastic cook, they can do everything right and make great food all the time, while Natasha usually sets towels on fire when they try. Y/n suggests that Natasha enrolls in a cooking class, and does it with them so Natasha doesn't feel so bad. Y/n ends up rewarding Natasha with little kisses and 'good job!'s for the things they do well in class, and eating bits and pieces of the foods they mess up to prove that it's still edible and they're learning

Summary: Natasha is a horrible cook so reader takes Natasha to a cooking class.

A/n: So this was an anon request so I hope whoever requested this likes it! Also this is the second fic in two days which may not seem like a big deal but I actually feel productive for once. Anyways I hope everyone enjoys and I hope to finish some of my other requests soon in case anyone is wondering, and I’m always open for new requests. 

Natasha let out a frustrated sound so you looked over, trying not to laugh at your girlfriend but failing spectacularly. 

“It’s not funny.” She whines looking over at you with an annoyed expression.

“Sorry love,” you respond, “keep going I promise not to interrupt again.” She narrows her eyes at you but turns back to her task. She’s preparing some pizza dough that she is going to use later on in the class and honestly you never thought someone could mess up on pizza dough that much. There is dough literally everywhere, the sink, counters, floor and even her face. The most funny thing however is how she is completely covered in flour from when she opened the bag wrong and it flew into her face. Surprisingly she agreed easily when you had suggested the idea, because she wanted to help out in the kitchens sometimes but she was banned from everything but the toaster for a reason the avengers called the pie incident but refused to speak further on when asked. 

You glance back over at her to see how it’s going and although everything still is a mess it seems like she has managed to combine all the ingredients properly into a ball and is now kneading it. You step towards her and give her a hug from behind, not caring that flour was now getting all over you as well. 

“Good job Tasha,” you whisper in her ear. You pull back and when you look at her face you see a slight hint of a blush. She rarely blushes but you always find it so cute when she does so you decide to make it your personal mission to get her to blush as much as possible today. She is just setting aside the dough to rise when the instructor speaks again. 

“I see that most of you have already finished, or are just finishing up with your dough and setting it aside. From what I can tell it looks like everybody is doing well so far, however before we can continue everybody should make sure their workstation is clear.” As he says the last part he seems to look mostly at your workstation as well as the one diagonally in front of you, which are by far the two most messy. 

Natasha starts clearing up the station while you brush as much flour as you can off of your clothes and wash your hands. As she continues to clear you grab a wet cloth and gently wipe down her face and arms to get rid of all the dough and flour. It takes awhile for the both of you and your workstation to be clear and once it is you realize everybody else is finished and waiting for you. 

“Ok now that everybody is done,” this time he obviously glances your way, “we are going to prepare some of the toppings for later. This part shouldn’t be hard so just follow along with the recipe and ask for help if you need it.” Natasha picks up the recipe and you read over her shoulder. 

“How about I help you with the topping but you do most of it?” You ask her. “We’ll both help cut up the peaches and make the balsamic sauce. This class is meant to be teaching you and not me after all.”

“Sounds good,” she replies while taking a peach and placing it on the cutting board. She starts to chop but she keeps slicing way too thick at the top and way too thin at the bottom. You giggle slightly and she narrows her eyes at you scowling and puts down the knife.

“I’m not laughing at you Nat, I promise.” You explain. “Well I am but can you blame me? You are a crazy good assassin that probably can kill me easily with that knife in many different ways yet you can’t cut a peach properly.”

“I still don’t see how that is funny.” She huffs but with a hint of a smile. 

“I’m sorry, here let me help you.” You grab her hands and guide them into making steady cuts. When the first peach is fully cut up you step back again. 

“Why don’t you try to do the next one on your own?” You suggest. She nods and starts to cut seeming a little unsure of herself. While it’s not perfect it’s much better than the first time so when she finishes you let out a small cheer and kiss her on the cheek. She gives a hesitant smile which you’ve learned means she feels good about herself but doesn’t know how to express it properly. You cut the rest of the peaches in silence, her slices gradually getting better. 

“You’ve already improved so much!” You praise her, your heart melting when you see her smile and blush. “Why don’t you try the next part on your own?”

“Ok,” she answers, “I think I can do this part.” She starts mixing a few of the ingredients for the balsamic glaze and you, thinking she had it under control, start to glance around because you want to see how the others in the class are doing. 

“Eeekk!” You hear Natasha squeal so you quickly look back over at her. The glaze is splashed all over the front of her and splattered all over the counter. 

“What happened?” You ask, this time managing to only laugh inwardly as to not offend her.

“I thought if I mixed it as fast as I could the ingredients would combine faster,” she states, “but then this happened.” 

You fight hard to keep your straight face, “Tasha, love, that’s not how cooking works.” 

“Well I know that now.” She responds in an annoyed tone. 

“I know and it’s okay, you can just redo it while I clean this up, does that sound good?” She nods and starts finding the ingredients she needs again while you take some paper towel and clear up the counter. Unfortunately you can’t do anything about the mess on Natasha’s shirt but luckily she purposefully wore a shirt she didn’t mind getting messy. 

“Everybody should be just about done by now,” the instructor says, gathering the attention of the class, “Right now I want you to put flour on your counters and start to split your dough up to make the flat breads. Then you can put some topping on and pop them in the oven, make sure not to burn them.” The rest of the class immediately gets to work but before you or Natasha can start the instructor comes up to you.

“I’m sorry to bother you but I’ve noticed that you’ve been having some trouble, so don’t be afraid to ask for any help,” he says, “it is my job.” Natasha is obviously not pleased by what he said and scowls at him, opening her mouth to speak.

“Thank you, we will.” You say quickly before Natasha says something rude. He nods and turns away to go back to the front. 

“I wasn’t doing that badly.” Natasha states. 

“Don’t worry about it, let’s move onto the next step, why don’t you preheat the oven?” You respond to her, avoiding her statement because she really was doing ‘that badly’. She grabs the flour and opens it, this time making sure that she doesn’t get it all over, and then starts to put it on the counter. Meanwhile you get the dough and split it up into two pieces, one pizza for each of you. 

“I’m going to be bad at this part.” She says with a small frown.

“No, no, no, don’t say that Tasha,” you rush to encourage her, “this part is the best part because it’s so fun, and it’s impossible to mess up!” 

“If you say she.” She says doubtfully and you laugh. Both of you get to work, at first just playing with the dough in your hands to get a feel for it and after that using a rolling pin to flatten the dough. When you’re finished you take a step back to admire your work.

“Huh, it doesn’t look that bad.” Natasha decides. 

“It looks amazing, I knew you could do it Tasha!” You exclaim while hugging her side and pressing a few quick, light kisses to the side of her neck. 

“I mean it’s not a huge deal.” She blushes. 

“Still, it’s pretty good,” you tell her, “but now we need to focus on putting our topping on.”

She giggles. “You say that like it’s something that requires a lot of thought.”

You gasp dramatically. “Ms. Romanoff, the presentation is the most important part of the dish, it requires a lot of attention to detail.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t know how I forgot!” She plays along. “Why would the actual cooking part matter when you can focus on making them look good?”

“Exactly.” You tell her before both of you get to work, putting all the topping on the flatbread.

As much as you joked about it you tried to make yours look as good as possible and when you were done although it didn’t look perfect you were satisfied with how it looked. At least until you glanced over to see how Natasha did. 

“How did you manage to make yours look like it should be in a cookbook?” You ask her, truly amazed by how pleasing it looks and not even knowing how she can make something as average as topping look like art. She just blushes and shrugs, pleased with herself but not wanting to admit it out loud. 

“Anyways we should probably get them in the oven now because it looks like others are starting to.” You tell her.

“Of course, I’ll put them in!” She replies quickly, transferring the flatbreads onto two trays and shoving them in the oven. You lean over after she shuts the door and set the timer but when you look back at her and smile, you see she is standing by the sink with the water running over her hand. 

“Tasha are you ok?” You ask, immediately rushing over to her.

“Yeah, I’m fine, it’s just a small burn.” You examine her hand and it doesn’t look as small as most burns people get from cooking but then again Natasha gets injured all the time so this probably isn’t a big deal to her. 

“Ok, but just make sure to take care of it.”

“I will don’t worry, I swear I’m the only one on the team who actually knows how to take care of themself sometimes. Remember the time Tony forgot to eat and collapsed?” You laugh at what she said. Although in the moment it was scary, in hindsight it was a funny story to tell. 

The two of you keep bringing up old avengers moments and exchanging mission stories until you hear the timer beep. Everybody seems to have put their flatbreads in at the same time because there must be at least ten timers going off and it’s so loud you can’t even think. Luckily Natasha doesn’t seem to have the same problem because she grabs oven mitts this time so she doesn’t burn herself again and pulls the flatbreads out of the oven.

Her face falls when she sees them. The one on the top shelf, although somewhat crispy looking, seems fine but the one on the bottom shelf is practically black on the bottom.

“How did this happen?” She asks. You take a moment to think because the only way it could have happened was if Natasha had preheated the oven to the wrong temperature but you don’t want to discourage her. 

“Well maybe you accidentally set the wrong temperature,” you tell her gently, deciding to be truthful, “it doesn’t matter though, because it still looks great!” She attempts a smile but looks thoroughly unconvinced. In order to try to make her feel better you grab the knife from earlier and cut a tiny piece off the edge. Your first instinct is to make a face when you put it in your mouth because it really does taste bad but you smile through that. 

“See Tasha? It’s fine.” 

“Y/n, it’s ok I know it’s bad and while I’m disappointed I’m not upset,” she says, “thank you for trying to cheer me up anyways.”

“Ok, fine I have to admit it was pretty burnt. But the other one looks good and besides I’m sure whatever we make next week will turn out better.” Her eyes widen and her mouth opens and you laugh at her. 

“Next week? Y/n, we’re doing this again next week???”

[hydroponicjj]

your fics are the cutest 🥺 i was wondering if you could do a joshua bassett or ricky bowen x reader where the reader tries to teach him how to bake but he fails miserably? ps i love all your work 💗

shattered eggs

pairing: ricky bowen x reader

word count: 1k

warnings: a lil bit of cursing, mostly fluff

a/n: i love this idea so much, thank you for requesting! i really hope this is what you were imagining <3

                                 [ ·˚ ༘♡ ·˚ ♡ ]

“HEY, (Y/N)!” RICKY SHOUTED, TRYING TO push through the countless amount of bodies in the hallway, almost falling on his face in the process.

“What’s up, Bowen?” You questioned, pulling him to the side so he didn’t get trampled by the stampede of students trying to head to lunch.

“I need your help with something.” He revealed, fidgeting with the straps of his book bag.

“Ricky, I’m not watching you sleep just to prove that there isn’t a ghost in your room.” You sighed.

A blush crept on to Ricky’s cheeks, that definitely wasn’t one of his finest moments.

“No, I don’t need your help with that anymore.” Back in sophomore year, Ricky had an obscure theory that a ghost was in his room, messing with him because every morning he’d wake up on the floor. In reality, the boy was just a rowdy sleeper.

“I was wondering if you could help me bake a cake?” He mumbled, with the loud chatter in the hallway combined with his sudden desire to mumble, you couldn’t understand a word he said.

“You’re gonna have to speak up, Bowen.”

“I was wondering if you could help me bake a cake?” He did it again, there was no way in hell that you’d be able to hear him in the overly crowded school hallway.

You grabbed his wrist and dragged him into the nearest room, which just so happened to be the janitor’s closet.

“Well, now I can’t see you.” He exclaimed, rolling his eyes, not that’d you be able to see.

Within seconds, you whipped out your phone and turned on the flashlight, shining the light right in Ricky’s face. He definitely wasn’t ready because he shielded his eyes almost immediately.

“Now that we can hear and see each other, what’s up?” You asked, leaning on the shelf, which probably wasn’t the brightest idea because you got some kind of cleaning liquid on the sleeve of your jacket.

“I was wondering if you would help me bake a cake?” Ricky replied, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet.

“Why do you think I have the slightest idea on how to bake a cake?” You chuckled.

“Well, sometimes you bring cupcakes to lunch and I just figured that you baked them at home.” He shrugged.

You smiled, kind of surprised that he noticed your addiction to cupcakes.

“I don’t know, Bowen. I’m kind of busy.” You sighed.

“Come on, (y/n). You don’t even have to do anything. Just send me some easy recipes and I’ll take it from there.” He pleaded.

“Okay, I’ll send you some recipes.” You gave in, a smile appeared on his face.

“Thank you, (y/n). You’re the best.” He thanked, reaching for the doorknob to exit but you stopped him.

“Before we go, why do you have a sudden need to bake a cake all of a sudden?” You raised an eyebrow, crossing your arms over your chest.

“Well,” He paused, turning his head to look at the display of cleaning products.

“I was going to bake a cake for someone.” He muttered, rubbing his temple.

“Awe, for Nini?” You blurted, internally cursing at yourself knowing that was kind of a touchy subject.

“Sorry, you don’t have to answer. It’s none of my business.” Now it was your turn to awkwardly avoid eye contact.

“It’s fine. Yeah, it is for her.” He revealed.

“Oh,” You were stupid to believe that he wanted to bake the cake for you. Face the facts, he is in love with Nini and will do anything to get her back.

“Alright, that’s enough interrogating for today.” You stated, opening the door.

The second you stepped out, you ran face first into someones book bag. Ricky quickly grabbed your shoulders, making sure you didn’t fall on your ass.

“Shit,” You mumbled, rubbing your throbbing forehead.

“Who would’ve guessed that (y/n) and Ricky would hook up in a janitors closet.” EJ teased as he passed by the two of you, holding hands with Nini.

You noticed that he squeezed her hand a bit harder, almost as if he was threatened by Ricky (which was crazy cause the boy is harmless).

“I’ll text you a recipe tonight.” You turned to face Ricky, ignoring EJ.

He nodded, taking his hands off your shoulders. “Okay, thanks.”

                                 [ ₊˚.༄ ]

Your doorbell rang at least 30 times in the last five seconds. “Holy shit, I’m coming!” You screamed, thankful that you parents weren’t home because they’d scold you for swearing in the house.

When you opened the door, you saw Ricky Bowen, shirt covered in sugar. He was holding multiple grocery bags filled with the ingredients that you sent him that afternoon.

“What the hell, Bowen?” You questioned, contemplating if he’d go away if you slammed the door in his face.

“I almost burned down my kitchen and-”

“Oh, so you’ve come to burn down mine?” You questioned, leaning on the door frame, staring him dead in the eyes.

“I’m sorry, but, baking is a lot harder than it looks.” He chuckled, grinning at you.

You sighed, stepping to the side so that he had enough room to come in. “Put the ingredients on the kitchen counter.”

His grin got even wider as he entered your house. “Oh gosh,” You chuckled to yourself, this boy was hopeless. You’re surprised that he didn’t set himself on fire.

“So, what should I do first?.” He asked, pointing to the countless bags on your island.

“Just preheat the oven, weirdo.” You laughed, rolling your eyes at him.

The remainder of the night continued like this. You’d make sure that he was following the steps in the correct order while sitting on the counter behind him. He was doing a relatively good job, but you’d have to step in occasionally.

“Will you pass me an egg?” You asked, hopping off the counter, sticking your hand out, waiting for him to place an egg in your hands.

But, because Ricky is Ricky, he placed the entire carton in your hand and you weren’t prepared for it, so they hit the ground, shattering like glass.

“Ricky, I said an egg, as in one!” You scolded.

“Crap,” He frowned, placing his head on the counter. You could tell that he was pissed at himself. Things were going so well til now.

“Hey, it was an accident. I’ll just run the the store quickly and buy some more.” You reassured, rubbing his back.

You went to grab you keys but he grabbed your arm, stopping you. “What’s up?” You raised an eyebrow.

“I lied,” He paused, “I wasn’t baking this cake for Nini. I was baking it for another girl but I was just to scared to admit it,”

“Oh,” You mumbled, staring at your feet, anything to avoid eye contact. “Who?” It didn’t matter who it was, because she was never going to be you.

He placed his right hand under your chin, lifting your head up so that you’d look at him. “Can I kiss you?”

“Y-yeah,” You stuttered, nodding your head.

He leaned in slowly, making sure to keep his hand under your chin. Kissing him made you feel like you were on cloud nine. You ran your fingers through his hair, trying to take everything in about him.

“Your lips are really soft.” He chuckled, pulling away.

“Dully noted,” You smiled, intertwining your fingers together.

“In case it wasn’t clear, I was baking the cake for you.”

“I figured,” You laughed, leaning in to kiss him, again.

[faithhudson]

Let Them Eat Cake

Tagging: Faith Hudson and Evan Hummel

Date: September 17

Bingo: Domestic Scene (Faith), Eat Cake during a scene (Evan), Kiss 3 People (Evan)

Summary: A butcher, a baker, and an orgasm maker

Evan

Evan was actually looking forward to doing this scene with Faith. It would be their first actual scene and even though it was a Domestic scene, it was still something that felt like an important moment. It was actually better that it was a domestic scene for this event because if they were questioned, it wouldn't be that odd that they had done something non-sexual in order to gain some points, especially not now that the two of them were actually getting along.

Faith

Scening, as obvious as the statement sounded, was very different than fucking.  Fucking, Fae knew how how to do.  She was well-versed in the mechanics and psychology, and she'd already learned a lot about what Evan liked and what she didn't.  A scene was something completely different.  Aside from one other person, she didn't scene.  Not because she didn't want it - she thought, at least - but simply because the level of trust involved was so much higher.  Despite their rocky past, though, she did trust Evan.  And that would have to be enough. Stepping up to her door, Fae knocked firmly and tried not to fidget as she waited.

Evan

Hearing the knock on the door, Evan opened it up. "Hey, you. Come on in." She closed the door behind Faith and then pressed a brief kiss to her lips to hopefully ease any nerves that she was dealing with. "We're going to move into the living room and I'm going to have you kneel for me, okay? You're with me and you're safe. And everything is going to be really simple today." There were just certain things that needed to be done for Evan to feel like it could truly be considered a scene.

Faith

Fae leaned into the kiss, smiling as she pulled away.  Her pulse raced for just a moment at the request to kneel, but she'd agreed to the scene and wanted to do everything she could to help Evan get a bingo.  If she was going to play the submissive role then she needed to behave appropriately, and that added a few responsibilities to the scene.  "Yes, Miss," she nodded, wanting Evan to be titled the way she deserved.  "Understood."  Following her into the living room, Fae knelt on the carpet and waited.

Evan

She felt a shiver move up her spine when Fae called her 'Miss' and she hummed. It was different, certainly, but there had been a lot of differences that had happened since they both arrived at the institute. "Good girl." Evan said with a smile. "So I have a cake recipe sitting in the kitchen. Your job today is to bake that cake, decorate it, and then clean up the kitchen. Once you have completed all of that, you are going to come sit here with me and feed me the piece of cake."

Faith

Fae's eyes widened a little.  She'd cooked for Madeline, but they'd usually done that together and she'd had someone to help her read the recipe to remind her of what she was meant to be doing at any given moment.  "I...can do that, Miss," she nodded.  "But it might be a bit slow.  It takes me a bit to go back and forth between reading the recipe and actually doing the thing.  I do understand the order, though, and I'm happy to do it, I just wanted to warn you first."

Evan

"That's alright, Fae. I'm not in any rush. I want you to take your time. As long as you do your best, I am going to be extremely happy with you." Evan knew that it would probably be a bit of a challenge for the other Switch, but she very much hoped that it wouldn't be something that frustrated Faith too much.

Faith

It was still an odd sensation, doing a scene where she submitted to Evan and sought her approval.  Fae was getting used to the idea, but it was still new.  "I can do that," she promised.  "I'll do my best, Miss.  Would you like me to go and get started now, Miss?"  Fae assumed so, but she didn't want to try and guess what Evan was thinking or she would likely mess the scene up.

Evan

"Go ahead, Fae. If you have any questions, you can come and ask me. I'll be right here waiting." She lifted her legs onto the couch and curled up into a comfortable postion as she read through some of the school work.

Faith

"Gotcha," Fae nodded, getting up and heading for the kitchen.  She knew she was going to struggle, but it was good to know that all Evan was really expecting from her was an effort.  As long as it was edible - there was no way it was going to look pretty, but she wanted it to be good enough to feed Ev without killing her or something. The recipe wasn't that many steps, and Ev had already left out the cake pan and a mixing bowl for her.  She turned the oven on to the right temperature to allow it to preheat, starting the mix with the eggs and slowly adding one ingredient at a time as she went back and forth between the recipe and the ingredients.  "Uh...shit," she scoffed as the oven finished heating up long before she was done getting everything ready.  "Crap, crap."  She checked the list again and turned the mixer on hoping that she hadn't forgotten anything important.

Evan

She heard Faith cursing to herself in the kitchen and she bit down on her bottom lip. Part of her wanted to just rush right in, but the other part of her knew that it was important if the Switch finished it herself and was able to come ask her for help if she truly needed it. She didn't want to just bombard her or make her feel like she thought that she was incompetent. She did her best to keep focusing on the school work, but was too enraptured by the other's movements.

Faith

As the mixer did its thing, or at least what she hoped was its thing, Fae checked the ingredient list again.  One thing after another she could check off, looking between the bowl and the list, although there was a pinch of sugar that she'd apparently been meant to throw in and hadn't.  It annoyed her to be so poor at following a set of instructions, but as long as it didn't affect the overall product too much she'd be alright.  When the cake batter looked at least somewhat like it was described, she poured it into the pan and then opened the oven to slide it in. Moving back into the kitchen she knelt at Ev's feet again.  "That needs fifteen minutes, if you don't mind keeping track for me, Miss."  She knew she'd forget it otherwise.  "Then I'll decorate it after."

Evan

She smiled down at the Switch when she mentioned that it would need fifteen minutes. "Good girl." She pulled out her phone and set the timer before her attention turned back to the other. She was proud of her for asking her for the help and for coming to kneel in front of Evan when she had the time to do so. She reached out and dragged her fingers against the other's jaw gently.

Faith

There was still tension in Fae's slight frame, mainly because she had no idea whether she'd screwed something up or not.  Cooking was a mystery to her because at some point you just had to put things in the oven and hope they weren't a total mess when they came out again.  The praise helped, though, and the fingers along her jawline made her shiver.  "If you're going to touch me like that, Miss," she emphasized the title, "you've only got fifteen minutes to follow up on it."

Evan

Evan giggled at her words and then tapped her finger lightly against her bottom lip. "Only if you beg me well enough." The Switch stated, shrugging her shoulders slightly and leaning back to see what Faith would do in this instance, because Evan couldn't really say. This was new territory for them at this point.

Faith

Fae almost choked.  They'd been closer lately, sure, and they'd had really good sex, but this...this was a new frontier.  Could she submit to Evan that way and be comfortable?  Would they feel the same about each other when it was done?  How awkward was parent's week going to be, anyway?  The shiver that had went through her, though, had landed right between her legs.  And if she needed to beg to get that itch scratched, well, she'd done far worse than beg in the past for far less.  Looking up into Ev's eyes, she swallowed her pride.  "I...please, Miss?  Please will you get me off while we wait for cake?"

Evan

Evan smiled, in surprise, when the other did beg. She honestly had been expecting Faith to just let everything go and she was pleased to see that that wasn't the case. She laid down on the couch and gestured for Faith to carefully settle over her face. "Get naked and get your ass over here, gorgeous." Evan expressed, eager to taste Faith once again, she certainly hadn't gotten enough of that in the last little while.

Faith

There wasn't any telling what the future held, but damned if she wasn't happy about the present.  "Yes, Miss," she winked, stripping down and climbing up to straddle Evan's face.  If begging made the feeling of warm breath against her sex happen then that was enough for her.

Evan

Her tongue brushed along the Faith's folds and she moaned softly. "Maybe I'll just tease you until the cake is ready, I certainly wouldn't complain about just slowly tasting you for the next thirteen minutes." Her hands slipped up to wrap around her thighs and she drew her down slowly to suck her lips into her mouth,

Faith

Fae groaned, her head falling back a little.  "If you do that, Miss, I will not be held responsible for what gets written on your cake."  As she was pulled down and Evan went to work on her she put all other thoughts out of her head.  The damn cake could start on fire, roll down the hall and end up in the Headmistress' office for all she cared.  So long as Evan kept teasing her.

Evan

She laughed against her. "I'll be looking forward to seeing how incredibly creative you can be." Evan muttered gently, circling her clit with her tongue before then going back to simply running her tongue through the wetness. She was too invested in the idea of only teasing Evan for the entire time, so that's what she was going to do.

Faith

Fae's eyes narrowed at that, because there was only one way to interpret what Evan was saying.  And if that way were accurate, then she actually did plan on teasing her for the entire...however long was left.  "I don't think," she gasped, "I'd be a good...fuck...submissive...if I said the words to you that are in my head right now.  I should have known...you were evil."

Evan

She giggled. "I'm not evil. As long as you're good you're going to get quite an amazing orgasm and you will end up very satisfied. You just need to be good." She muttered, before focusing all her attention on flicking her tongue against her clit. The timer went off a while later and Evan frowned in response, but pulled back anyway. "Better go check on that cake."

Faith

If she hadn't been busy moaning, Fae would have scoffed.  Instead she made a series of noises that began as arousal and turned into something close to agony by the time the damnable timer interrupted them.  "Fuck," she groaned, not bothering with clothes and padding into the kitchen naked.  The cake was...less of a disaster than she'd imagined.  It hadn't risen properly and looked flat, but when she poked it with a fork it actually looked cooked and kind of the texture it was supposed to be.  She added some icing around the edge and some sprinkles before using the icing to write LICK ME in huge letters in the middle.  Grabbing a fork and setting it on a plate, she knelt for Evan one more time.

Evan

Evan couldn't help but laugh at the words that were written on the cake. "Good job on the cake. It actually looks pretty good, babe." She cut a piece and then set the rest of it aside. "Here's what's going to happen. I'm going to eat this cake. While I'm eating the cake, you are going to edge yourself. If you cum, you're gonna get spanked and then have to watch me fuck myself. If you don't, then I'll fuck you with my strap. Understood?"

Faith

"That's nice of you to say," Fae chuckled.  It looked more like a pie or something given how it had failed to rise, but at least Evan was kind enough not to mention it.  Evan's next words made her let out a strangled cry.  "And then you have the nerve to tell me you're not evil.  I only hope you eat quickly, Miss."  With a put-upon sigh her fingers wandered between her legs and began to work at her clit.

Evan

She laughed softly again, enjoying the words and sounds coming from the other. She was so pretty when she touched herself and Evan was going to need to see this a lot more often. "Good girl." She took her first bite of the cake and hummed. It wasn't the best cake ever, but it also was far from the worst one she had ever had. "Good job, Fae." She then got back to the cake, being nice and eating at a fairly steady pace.

Faith

There was worry etched on her face as Evan took her first bite, because there was every possibility that a horrified expression and a run to the bathroom was going to follow.  When it didn't, she actually felt a little proud of herself even if the cake wasn't perfect.  "Thank you, Miss."  Evan didn't seem completely determined to make her insane, so Fae kept her fingers moving at a steady pace.

Evan

She watched Faith the entire time that she ate the cake, unable to pull her eyes away from her. She was so damn attractive. And to know that she was touching herself just because Evan had ordered it of her? Perfect. Halfway through the cake she stopped eating to speak. "Quicker. And be more firm." She uttered, before returning her attention to the cake.

Faith

Faith's mutterings would have turned the air blue in a Navy bar when Evan admonished her, because her whole plan to take it easy on herself had been foiled.  "Fuck," she groaned as her fingers worked over her clit.  "Fuck," it was more of a plea the second time as her body fought for something she didn't want to give it.  It was enjoyable, even if she did have the urge to poke Evan with a cake fork.

Evan

When she finished the cake, she set down her fork. "Stop touching yourself. You have done well. But now you have to go finish cleaning up the kitchen. When you've done that, then you can come ahead and meet me in the bedroom." Evan uttered, walking into the bedroom and removing her clothing to pull the harness on. She was very, very excited for the way that the rest of their night would go.

Faith

Fae pulled her hand away with great effort, chest heaving and breath coming in quick, uneven gasps.  "You've gotta be kidding me...Miss," she whined.  It wasn't enough that she'd had to edge herself, now she had to go finish the cleaning?  With a sigh she went about her work, dumping the rest of the cake onto a plate before noisily doing up the dishes.

Evan

She could hear Fae in the kitchen, being very, very noisy and she couldn't help but giggle. It made her feel very powerful in that moment that Fae was wet, needy, and yet stomping around the kitchen to finish and order that Evan had given her.

Faith

Fae left everything to air dry, because fuck if she was going to dry the dishes while she was practically dripping on the floor, especially with Ev in the bedroom.  The job was close enough to done, and she marched into the bedroom expectantly.  "All cleaned up.  Miss."

Evan

She smiled at her and then gestured for her to come and sit on her lap. "You've been good. So now you get your reward."

[harrieheaux]

Cookie Crumbs

So I’ve been at work for five hours and all I’ve done is scroll Pinterest and work on this. It was born of a conversation with @meetyourmouths...well less of a conversation and more me word vomiting this into her dm’s. but i haven’t been able to stop thinking about it so now it’s a blurb. okay sooo it’s pure fluff and LA harry goodness. enjoy xx 

This was one of your best workouts in awhile, you could probably wring sweat from the end of your ponytail if you tried. Harry started bringing you to his spin studio a few weeks ago and you’d realized just how much your routine wasn’t cutting it. You usually mixed a few days of cardio in between  your strength training days but none of that prepared you for the hour long endurance marathon that was spin class. You’re mighty confused what the state of Harry’s balls must be after that because you feel like your vagina just took the pummeling of it’s life, the instructor yelling above N’Sync’s “Bye, Bye, Bye” to get those booties on and off the seat of the bike every few seconds.

You feel good though, and now that it’s mid-November there’s actually a teeny bit of chill as you step outside of the studio. The California sun still shines bright as ever, this time of year the sun tends to sit delicately on your skin though, not bearing down into your bones like it has since May. Overall, you feel light until you feel Harry digging around in your shoulder bag and nearly pulling said shoulder out of its socket.

“Can I help you?” you ask, perturbed and batting his hand away.

“Need my keys,” he offers as way of explanation and you give him a look as you dig around to the very bottom of the deep canvas bag.

When you finally retrieve them he gives you a grateful, “Cheers, love,” leaning in to peck a kiss to your temple but thinking better of it at the last second. You still have drips of sweat escaping said temple and running down the side of your cheek.

You giggle when he takes the keys from your grasp, lacing the fingers of your now free hand through his.

“Want to go through the farmer’s market really quick?” he asks you, already steering the two of you in that direction.

“Are you sure you’re up for it?” It’s a fairly popular spot in LA and it’s more than likely you may run into a fan or two.

Normally he’s not one for sweaty post-workout fan interactions.

“Suggested it, didn’t I?” he quips with a smarmy grin, “Want one of them juices.”

You give him a sly, “sure,” and laugh as his eyebrows shoot up to his hairline, asking you what the hell you mean that for.

He says he wants a juice, but you know that what he really wants is one of the cheese and potato empanadas from the stand right next to the organic produce one you frequent. He’ll never admit it, no, but 9 times out of 10 when you’re waiting in line while they blend up your identical green concoctions his eye will start wandering in that direction.

Asking if you “smell that, love?”

By now he doesn’t even need you to play along, just casually starts migrating over there until he’s leaving with one in each hand and making excuses that the girl at the counter said they just came out of the oven 2 minutes ago.

Sure enough, an hour later you’re climbing into Harry’s car with a green juice in one hand and a half eaten empanada in the other asking him to hold it while you buckle up your seatbelt. You do the same for him while he simultaneously buckles and starts the engine. Nearly jumping out of your skin when his phone connects to the car speakers, the middle chorus of Little Lies blasting at the volume he’d cranked it to as you’d driven here with the windows down. He moves quickly to turn it down, giving you an eye when he sees in your shock some of the empanada filling had fallen onto his freshly detailed leather seats.

You turn your nose up reminding him, “I’ve told you a million times to turn it down once we park, not my fault you never listen.”

He doesn’t answer because he knows you’re right, instead just chuckling to himself as he pulls the car out onto the main road.

The windows are down as you drive PCH, wind picking up the tiny strands of hair that escape your ponytail and whipping them around your face. He’s playing something new of his, though it’s not really new to you anymore because you ask him to play it nearly every time you get in the car together. It’s just the perfect sort of song for this kind of moment, when you both are driving by the beach on a gorgeous Saturday afternoon holding hands loosely and humming along. You’ll rinse off at his house and then you’ve got some errands to run, ones Harry knows nothing of yet but will be dragged into nonetheless. He’s not got an excuse either, because he’s got all the week days to do his own errands and you’ve only got the weekends when you’re not at the office.

You think you left a pair of loafers over last week when you came to his from said office and you really hope you’re right. You’ve only got the one pair of light wash denim at his at the moment and they really won’t go with these running sneakers, Harry could probably pull it off but you lack that same effortless style.

After your luxurious shower at Harry’s you find that you do still have the loafers here and you thank yourself for leaving such a thoughtful treat. Harry’s still pulling product through this hair in the bathroom as you jimmy open a drawer in his closet and slip into the previously mentioned jeans, standing in just those and your bra as you rifle through his button ups for a shirt option. You find a black one with white brush strokes that should do the trick, sliding it over your head and tucking the front into the top of your high-waisted jeans. You’re just pulling on your shoes when Harry comes waddling into the closet, towel tied low around his hips.

You expect him to chastise you for stealing his clothes but he surprises you, eyes going just that bit darker and looking you over slowly.

“Stop undressing me in your head, pervert,” you tease, and he smirks mischievously at being found out.

“Don’t need to, the view I just got in the shower is still pretty fresh,” he retorts, smarmy as you shake your head with a wry smile.

You reward him with a kiss he doesn’t deserve with all that cheek but when he tries to deepen it you pull away. He pouts but you push in his lip with your thumb, patting him on the bum and telling him to hurry up with getting dressed.

You love shopping with Harry, and you know not many girlfriends can say that of their significant other. With past boyfriends a day like today would be full of coaxing and dragging but it’s so much fun with him. You’re still trying things on in the dressing room when he’s knocking on the door, handing you an arm full of sweaters and dresses when you open it a crack.

“I’m only shopping for jeans,” you remind him but he brushes you off.

“Just try em on for me, please?”

He actually gives good feedback, tells you if the cut of something is a little odd or if those jeans are doing your hips no favors. He’s also the first one to tell you you have to get something, when you’re twisting from side to side in front of the mirror and trying to hate it so you don’t add another item to the growing stack of clothes coming home with you.

When you’ve stocked up on the essentials, and a few non-essentials that he’d insisted upon with black card in hand, he even helps you carry the bag. For being an absolute menace he was pretty freaking wonderful sometimes.

The final stop on your to do list is the grocery store and when you park you ask Harry to open his trunk so you can grab a few of his reusable bags.

“Need those back,” he grumbles, “you’ve stolen nearly all of them at this point.”

You pretend you don’t hear him but you smile to yourself as you get a shopping cart and throw the bags into it. His are just so much cuter, it’s not your fault he’s ridiculous and will spend $30 on a canvas tote that he just throws groceries in.  

You should have gotten a snack before coming, it’s nearly dinner time and now you’re hungry grocery shopping. You throw piles of things in your cart that you don’t need and Harry’s not helping. He likes to keep a few of his favorite snacks at your house for when he stays long weekends but that’s usually a fruit or some rice cakes and peanut butter. Now though, it’s chips and a sugary cereal and nearly talking you into a package of Oreos.

“They’ll all be eaten by the time you come back, H,” you reason, “Can’t keep those in my house it’s too dangerous.”

Because you’re right and he’s stingy with his snacks he puts them back, punishing you by chucking his chin over your shoulder and leaning into you as you push the cart.

“Carry me,” he demands as you try to push him off, “like one of them eskimo babies,” putting the entire force of his upper body into pinning your top half to the cart handle.

He acting like a toddler and you want to admonish him. It’s less than convincing however because there’s a fond smile that you’re having trouble keeping from curling at the corners of your lips.

At the freezer aisle all of your mature adult shopping goes out the window. They have the Christmas break and bake cookies out, the ones with green trees and you immediately throw a package on the top of the cart.

“No,” Harry tells you, “those are full of sugar. Not even that good.”

“Of course they’re not,” you tell him, “they’re not supposed to be good, they’re supposed to be nostalgic.”

“S’that supposed to mean?”

“Just push the cart please, darling.”

He’s forgotten all about his aversion to the cookies apparently when you get back to your apartment. He skates by with only a kiss to your roommates’ cheek and makes a beeline for the oven, preheating it to the right temp with the package in hand.

Once he’s gotten them on a cookie sheet and baking away he leans back against the counter, arms crossed against his chest while he chit-chats with your roommate. His cotton t-shirt is pulled tight across his chest and his ankles are crossed, looking like an absolute dream while he gets the update on your roommate’s new job. You ask him to grab you a few things here and there, some plates and forks, as you put together the take out you’d picked up for your dinner. He’s standing behind you and kneading at your hips, lips sponging kisses onto the top of your head as you dole up his plate.

“Thank you, baby,” he coos when you hand it to him, loaded up with curry and steaming hot.

You eat quickly and are just clearing up your plates when the timer goes off for the cookies.

“I’ll get em,” he tells you, taking your plate and your roommates as well to dump in the sink.

You hear him opening and closing drawers as the timer continues to beep and after a minute his voice comes booming out into the living room.

“Babe? Where are your pot holders?” he asks completely lost.

“Second drawer down, by the stove,” you call back and you hear him hoot triumphantly before shutting off the incessant beeping and taking the cookies out off the oven rack.

While they cool, you both maneuver around your bathroom, trying with little success to get your bedtime routine done together in the small space. It’s much easier at Harry’s, where you both have your own sink and plentiful counter space but you kind of like squeezing around him to spit out toothpaste or grab the towel from it’s hook. You suspect he does too, if the grin he’s giving you around his toothbrush is anything to go by. It’s quiet while you brush your teeth side by side but you share soft glances in the mirror. You have no idea of knowing what he’s thinking but you, for one, are just admiring the view with an annoying kind of fondness that only he can bring out of you.

“Can I use your mouthwash?” he asks and you hand it to him after you take a swig off the bottle, swishing it around all the corners of your mouth. He takes his own gulp as you spit and you lean against his side as he swishes, letting him rest his ring clad hand against your hip. He’s kissing you then, with uncomfortably pursed lips around his mouth full of Listerine and you can only giggle. He can’t talk but his eyes smile when he pulls back, spitting into the sink and screwing the cap back on the bottle.

You try to move around him for the door but he catches your hips and pulls you back into his sturdy chest with a soft, “C’mere a minute.”

This kiss is supremely more enjoyable than the last, his soft lips coaxing yours with just a hint of tongue. It’s nothing that’s going to lead anywhere but it’s nice and intimate and you’re sighing into his mouth as his arms pull your closer from where they rest at the small of your back.

He pulls away first, looking down at your with the softest smile.

“Hi,” he grins and you can’t help letting your face mirror his, pecking a kiss to his warm chest and breathing in the scent of the fresh cotton under your nose.

When you part you make your way to the kitchen. You pile up a plate with the Christmas cookies and get a few water bottles from the fridge.

Harry is already under your white duvet when you return , shouldered back against the pillows and reading glasses hanging off the end of his nose.

“What are you doing?” you giggle and he looks up from the manual in his hands, ignoring your question and asking what a phillips screwdriver is and if you’ve got one.

You do, coincidentally, and you tell him so as he flips through the instructions on how to put together the new dresser you bought.

You climb in beside him and get the plate of cookies situated in your lap, “Put that away, please, we can sort it tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow I’ll be building it, and i’ll be shit out of luck if you’ve not got the right tools.”

“You live like 15 minutes away,” you argue but he’s shaking his head as he swipes a cookie from the plate.

“I don’t want to have to stop in the middle to go get tools,” he grumbles around a full mouth.

You concede, and let him finish up as you queue up the new episode of American Horror Story. When he sees what you’re doing the manual goes away surprisingly quick, another cookie shoved into his mouth as he hands you his reading glasses.

“Put those in the drawer for me?”

You tuck them back into their case and into the drawer of your nightstand while he shovels yet another cookie into his mouth. You want to laugh at how quickly he’d abandoned his crusade against them but you’re too excited to start the new episode.

Instead you fluff your pillows behind your back and tangle your legs up in the duvet, smiling when Harry curls against your side and nestles his head in the pillow of your left breast. His hand is wrapped loosely around your waist and he plays with the hem of your shirt as he winds one leg over top of yours. The plate of cookies is now balanced on your night stand and once you press play you start munching on them as well, handing one to Harry when he reaches up with an outstretched palm in your face.

It’s mindless munching, the story on the screen completely captivating your attention and you’re only pulled from your reverie when you feel a chunk of the cookie you’re biting break off and drop straight into Harry’s curls.

He stiffens as you stifle a laugh, “Was that your cookie?”

You apologize profusely through your giggles, picking the chunk from his hair and feeling him biting you softly through your t shirt in retaliation.

“This is why we don’t eat in bed, hmm?” but his point is lost because he says it around a mouthful of his own.

You agree with him anyway and he’s shortly acquiesced, attention turned back to the witches and warlocks as you check his scalp for cookie crumbs.

[quarterfromcanon]

Habits

Heather & Valencia - Femslash February - Day 25 - Pet Name [3,599 words]

“Wanna get high and help me name my starfish?”

Valencia lifted her eyebrows. The sight of Heather on the doorstep toting an aquarium and a backpack full of recreational materials was not what she’d expected to find outside her apartment that night. However, after the recent decrease in communication between them, the surprise was far from unwelcome. “Hello to you, too.” She stepped aside to allow her friend to pass.

Heather carefully set her new sea creature atop the kitchen counter, under the cabinets. She gauged the distance from there to the living room and nodded to herself. “She’ll be safe here,” Heather elucidated upon noticing Valencia’s quizzical response.

“I should preface by saying I don’t smoke pot. Or anything else, for that matter.” Valencia returned to the couch. She turned off the TV and tossed aside several throw pillows to make room for a second occupant.

Her unexpected guest took the vacant spot and put her book bag on the floor. “I can teach you,” Heather volunteered as she withdrew the supplies from their hiding places.

Valencia glanced at her stack of rented DVDs beside an empty takeout box. Meanwhile, Heather rummaged through unseen contents and grumbled about the stash slipping all the way to the bottom. Valencia watched her for a moment - hair falling over her cheek, biceps still bearing indents from the heavy fish tank, a faint trace of spilled water across her shirt - and reached a conclusion. She rearranged the clutter on her coffee table. “All right. I wasn’t really doing anything tonight anyway.”

“That’s the spirit,” Heather remarked dryly. She produced a purple lighter, papers, cardboard, glue, and the sought-after Ziploc bag. “Before we get started, do you have cucumbers?”

Valencia blanched. “One, I think. Why?”

“It’s good for the dry mouth effect,” Heather explained. “That and water. But we need to prep ahead of time because you do not wanna be wielding a sharp knife when you’re on this stuff.”

“Got it. I’ll take care of those and you can finish setting up here.” Valencia departed for the kitchen, feeling strangely observed by the starfish in the corner. She sliced enough cucumber to cover a plate and put the rest of the produce back in her fridge. Once a water bottle was tucked under each arm, she shuffled to the living room with the dish balanced on her palm. Valencia positioned one drink on each end of the table. She set the plate in the center.

Heather held a finished product and the lighter in her hands. She sparked a small flame, touched the fire to the end of the paper, and twiddled the joint in circles between her thumb and forefinger. Heather talked Valencia through the breathing counts by likening it to yoga. Then she detailed the best inhalation technique for drawing the hit into her lungs. 

Valencia worked to commit the advice to memory despite mounting uncertainty. She gave Heather’s demonstration full attention and tried to duplicate it once the second toke was offered to her. The sputtering aftermath seemed unavoidable, but it could’ve been worse without the tutorial.

“Why do you have a starfish?” Valencia asked once the cough subsided. 

“Marine Biology. She’s basically the biggest part of my grade for the next three months.”

“Important starfish.” Valencia flexed her fingers. Her brow furrowed at the subtle numbness in her extremities.

“Yeah. We get to refer to them by name in our reports, so I’m trying to figure out something that’s, like, academically serious but still reflects her personality.” Heather contemplated the tank from a distance. “Oh, right, I almost forgot.” She fumbled with a different compartment of her bag and tossed Valencia a hefty paperback. 

Valencia missed the catch. The purchase whacked the corner of the couch, causing it to ricochet into her lap. “What’s this?”

“I thought it might give us a place to start.” Heather twisted the cap off her water and chugged.

Valencia held the book away from her face. Her eyes went slightly crossed at the number emblazoned across the front. “One million... No, wait, damn it. Not that many zeroes. One hundred thousand baby names? Holy crap! Heather, I don’t think people consider this many options for their human children.”

“They do according to the store where I bought our mid-high munchies.”

Valencia tried to whistle but couldn’t accomplish the sound. She gave up the effort and shook her head instead. “We’re going to be here a while.”

Heather plucked up two slices of cucumber. She pressed one against Valencia’s palm. “We’ve got time.”

Valencia followed the unspoken command and sampled the serving. She grabbed Heather’s wrist. “This tastes like rain.”

Heather snorted. “What?”

“Try it.” 

Heather complied and her eyes widened. “It does.”

They consumed a few more before Valencia’s elbow bumped the book and she remembered their intended task. “Oh shoot. We were supposed to be finding a name for your little buddy.” Her forehead creased as she attempted to concentrate. “What kind of name?”

“Maybe we could start with real stars?”

“The celebrity kind or wish-upon-a?”

Heather cackled but held up two fingers. “That one.” She leaned against the pile of throw pillows. “Polaris. Vega. Mira.”

“The Sun,” Valencia added tentatively.

“Also true.”

“How about the word for star in other languages?”

“What would that be in Spanish?”

“Estrella.”

Heather leaned forward until she could see her starfish in the water. “Estrella,” she repeated, dragging out the final vowel. “I kinda dig that.” 

“We have a keeper?”

“I think so.”

Valencia pouted at the tome under her hand, still unopened. “Well, that was easy.” She chucked it away. The thunk of impact when the book slid to the bathroom door made them giggle.

They readjusted on the couch until they were angled toward one another, legs overlapped at the ankle. 

“You know, before you showed up tonight, I kind of wondered if maybe you were mad at me,” Valencia admitted.

Heather reached for the joint where it rested at the edge of their shared plate. “Why would I be upset with you?”

Valencia frowned. “I don’t know. We haven’t been hanging out lately, and I guess I got worried. I haven’t seen you since Rebecca and I came back from investigating Anna.”

“Things got kinda busy after that.” Heather exhaled slowly. “Speaking of getting busy, how was that barfly rando you left with? Rebecca was all pouty you turned her down for Friday Night Lights to get laid. Because, y’know, priorities.”

“We didn’t really do anything.”

“He passed out before things got to that point? The guy was pretty far gone already.”

“No, he was conscious when I saw him last.” Valencia sighed and lolled her head to the side. “I panicked and ditched him in the parking lot.”

Heather traced the design on the nearest pillow. Her head bobbed almost imperceptibly with every rise and fall of the stitching, as if she were experiencing each crest and valley like a winding road. “Why’s that?”

“I didn’t know how to go through it.” Heather gave her a dubious look and they both laughed. Valencia rolled her eyes. “Well, okay, I knew how, but I’ve never had a one-night stand in my life. He was all over me under the lamppost and it was like I was out of my body thinking, ‘What am I going to do? Invite this not-so-sexy stranger back to my place and pray he’s not a murderer?’ I don’t even remember what excuse I made. I just bolted and shouted something over my shoulder. Locked my car doors and sped off.”

Heather stifled a snicker with a fist against her mouth. “Wow. That was a next level hard pass.”

Valencia hid behind her fingers, wincing. “I know. I feel bad but, at the same time, I don’t regret it.” She lowered her arms and twitched her shoulders. “So Josh has some hot new girlfriend and I’m still single. Who gives a shit? Let her put up with the sports clutter all over the house and his annoying nostalgia for his mom’s Bagel Bites.” Valencia paused with a wistful expression. “Oh, but those do sound good right now.”

Heather plunged a hand into her backpack and produced a recognizable red box with a yellow label.

Valencia’s jaw dropped. “You’re a genius.”

They went to the stove and arranged the treats on a pan. Valencia set the oven to preheat then hopped onto the counter with her legs dangling over the ledge. Heather visited her pet. “Hey, Estrella, how’re you doing over here? V, check it out. I think she kinda moved a little. She answered when I called her.” 

Valencia beamed and tapped her shoes against the lower level cabinets. “I’m glad she likes it.”

“Since you picked the name, it feels like that makes you an honorary part of this.” Heather slid her fingertips across the cool glass. “Like a godmother or something.”

“Except we didn’t have to immerse her in water for the christening. She’s already there.” 

“Maybe, for ocean life, you’re supposed to lift them to the sky? Sorta like Simba.”

“I’m not reaching in there.” Valencia shook her head emphatically until dizziness made her stop. “Let’s just pretend we did.”

“It’s the thought that counts.” Heather bent low to drape her arms along the counter in front of the tank. She folded both hands beneath her face and stared at the grains of sand. 

Valencia studied Heather with heightened sensory detail. The soft, even sound of her breath reached Valencia’s ears as if there were only centimeters between them. She became convinced it might be possible to count Heather’s eyelashes from afar. Everything was so bold and focused when she looked closely -- the small mole visible beyond the opening in Heather’s deep-cut tank top and another on her neck, the subtle indentation in her chin, the slope of her nose, the piercing through her perfectly sculpted eyebrow, and the way the light bounced off the water to dance across her skin.

“God, you’re beautiful,” Valencia mumbled.

Heather turned to her with a smile. “And you’re high as fuck.”

Valencia considered the current perch she occupied and gulped. Her muddled thoughts latched onto a more literal interpretation of the word ‘high.’ She became suddenly anxious. “I don’t know if I can get down from here.”

Heather moved to stand before Valencia. She braced her knees and extended her arms. “On three?”

Valencia jumped off without warning. Heather yelped when Valencia’s feet landed on hers, but she steadied her companion with a firm grip regardless. “I didn’t count,” she croaked.

“Sorry.” Valencia pulled away slightly to look into Heather’s eyes, but not far enough to break the hold.

Beep.

Heather dropped both hands to her sides. “Oven’s ready.”

Valencia blinked and nodded. She slid the pan onto the metal rack and closed the door. Then she settled cross-legged on the laminate to stare through the foggy glass at their food.

Heather laughed. “Dude, you’ve gotta set the timer first.” She punched in the appropriate number of minutes and offered to help Valencia rise from the floor. “C’mon, let’s wait in the living room.”

Valencia accepted Heather’s assistance but felt a strange pang when her friend’s fingers released hers once more.

They flopped on the couch. Heather flailed as the stacked throw pillows came tumbling down over her head. “Your furniture is attacking me.”

Valencia guffawed but angled forward to rescue Heather from the onslaught. They batted half the square cushions in various directions until only the ones supporting Heather’s spine remained. Valencia took in the mess and her lower lip protruded. “Wait, I didn’t leave any for me to lean on.” 

Heather shifted to the left and patted the empty space beside her. “Just share mine. This thing is like a gigantic bench. We can both fit next to each other.”

Valencia snuggled into place. “Okay.” She rested on her side and hummed contentedly. Her arm wound across Heather’s middle. “You’re so warm. The last person who was on this couch with me was Josh.” Valencia stuck out her tongue. “I’m so much happier with my girl. You and Rebecca are way better company.”

Heather tensed. The bridge of her nose scrunched and her eyelids clamped shut. “V, I have something I’ve got to tell you. But I think you should take another hit first.”

Valencia made a grabby gesture in the air. Heather responded to the silent request and fetched the joint for her. Valencia took a drag with remarkably improved technique and only minor throat clearing. She passed it back to Heather, who indulged in another toke before freeing her hands again. “So, what did you want to say?” Valencia prompted.

Heather grimaced. “Okay, so, you know Anna?”

Valencia’s mouth turned down at one corner. “Unfortunately. What about her?”

“She’s gone.”

“She died?”

“No, no.” Heather waved the misunderstanding aside. “She broke up with him.”

“Oh.” Valencia’s eyebrows rose. “So Josh will finally have to figure out how to be on his own. It’s about damn time.”

Heather took a deep breath. “Not quite.”

“He’s already with someone new? That is so typical.” Valencia scoffed and folded her arms.

Heather met her gaze. Her features were etched with sympathy. “Valencia, it isn’t someone new.”

Valencia struggled to comprehend what that meant. She had to speak the thought process aloud just to make sense of it. “Somebody old? An ex. But Josh only has two of those and he’s not with me so...” The realization washed over her with painful understanding. “Rebecca?”

Heather inclined her head in confirmation.

“But we connected,” Valencia protested feebly. “We refreshed. We healed.”

“I know.”

Valencia pushed her fingertips against her temples. The truth kept slipping in and out of her grasp, a devastating déjà vu she instinctively fought to reject. “When?”

“I don’t know exactly.” Heather sank deeper into the couch. “Rebecca was staying with Paula right after she kicked Scott out, and I got this text about Josh going over there to find her.”

“He ran right from one woman to another. Again.” Valencia’s lip curled.

“That’s what I tried to tell her when I texted back.” Heather tugged off her beanie and clenched it in her fist. “But you know how that goes. You try to stop Rebecca doing a thing and she doubles down. They’ve started going out in public and I didn’t want you to see without knowing ahead of time...” Heather draped her palm over Valencia’s left wrist. “I’m so sorry, V.”

It took additional effort due to her dulled sense of touch, but Valencia found Heather’s hand with her right and clasped. “You don’t need to apologize for anything. No one else showed up at my door to be honest, but you’re here.”

Heather studied the place where their skin met in silence, but there was still intense guilt and regret behind her eyes.

Valencia let her forehead fall against Heather’s arm. She felt Heather’s chin rest near her scalp. “I’m really lucky to have you,” Valencia murmured.

“Same here.”

Beep.

Heather’s laugh escaped on a tremulous exhale. “Oh, shit. The bagels.”

Valencia returned to the kitchen. Heather moved from the couch to the chair where she could monitor snack-related proceedings. Valencia opened the oven and squinted as heat spilled from the interior.

“Don’t forget you need those glove thingies,” Heather cautioned.

“Good call.” Valencia pulled the handle of a nearby drawer and found her floral pair of oven mitts. She moved the tray over the burners then leaned her hip against the counter while she waited for everything to cool. “Heather, what am I going to do?”

“... Eat the Bagel Bites?”

“No. I mean, yes, I am, because they look and smell like a dream. But the Rebecca and Josh thing.” Valencia wrapped her arms around her stomach. “I’ve only got enough room in my head for one thought at a time -- like how I’m pretty sure I can hear the cheese sliding down that far left bagel right now -- but tomorrow’s going to be different. I can’t stay high indefinitely to avoid this.”

Heather nodded. “I think you’ve gotta let yourself feel your feelings. If you wake up sad, have a good cry. If you wake up pissed, go kickboxing or something and let all that aggression out. They’re gonna want your forgiveness, but you don’t have to give that to them until you’re ready. They need to respect your emotional right to cope in whatever way works best. Both of them hurt you, and they don’t get to dictate the self-care required to recover from that.” She looked down at where she was sitting and smiled. “I’m like textbook armchair psychologist right now, literally and figuratively.”

Valencia’s lips twitched. She dissolved into a fit of giggles.

Heather tilted her head to the side and her eyebrows quirked. “Okay. That is a feeling. Not any of the ones I was expecting, but like, do your thing.”

“It’s not that,” Valencia clarified as she gasped for oxygen. “I just realized something.”

“What?”

“Heather Davis. HD. Your initials are the same as High Definition.” The amusement overtook her again. Valencia whimpered at the resultant sting behind her rib cage. She ran her wrist under both eyelids while Heather chuckled appreciatively. “I’m sorry; the weed is just making that weirdly funny to me for some reason. But I think I have your new contact name for my phone.”

“It’s perfect. Go for it.”

Valencia tried to access her back pocket and ended up patting her jeans in confusion. “Wait, I can’t find it.”

“That’s because you’ve still got your Minnie Mouse hands on.”

“My...?” Valencia held out her arms and realized she still wore her patterned oven mitts. “Oh! Crap. Hang on, how do I take this one off when my fingers are stuck in the other one?”

Heather wheezed. “Don’t worry. I’ll come help you, you confused cartoon character.”

She walked over to catch hold of the troublesome material. “Pull.”

Valencia wrenched her hands free and gave an excited shout. “Yay, they’re back!”

Heather patted Valencia’s shoulder. “I think they were there the whole time.”

“Probably.” Valencia gasped, making Heather jump. “Hey, do you know where we should eat these bagels? Under the dining room table.”

Heather’s eyebrows drew closer together. “Don’t people usually put their food on top of the table?”

“Doesn’t matter. This will be better. Trust me.” Valencia wandered off with the pan in both hands. 

Heather stood still for a minute while she tried to trace the logic behind the suggestion. Ultimately, she shrugged and followed Valencia’s lead. She passed through the living room, grabbed the two water bottles along the way, and sidestepped the Venetian screen. Valencia was already there, dragging two living room pillows and a thin blanket alongside her as she crawled out of sight. 

“It’ll be like a fort,” Valencia reasoned. “Just us against the rest of the world. Only you, me, and modified food starch allowed.”

Heather shook her head affectionately. “Stoned you is basically a junk food craving third grader. I love it.”

Valencia’s face poked into view. “If you’re cootie-free and you know the password, you can join me.”

“Is the password ‘pizza,’ by any chance?”

“Duh. Get down here before I polish them all off myself.”

Heather ducked past the surrounding chairs, back bent to keep her head from bashing against the table. “You’re right; this is so much more comfortable.”

Valencia put a Bagel Bite against Heather’s lips. “Why be full of sarcasm when you can be full of mozzarella?”

“You have a point.” Heather caught the bagel between her teeth and groaned. 

“Good, huh?”

Heather popped the remainder into her mouth and held two thumbs up. “Best three dollars and ninety-seven cents I’ve ever spent.” She tossed Valencia a water bottle and they drank.

Conversation fell by the wayside as they ate across the rows of mini pizzas. By the time they got down to the last few, they were both stretched out on their sides with one elbow propped against their respective pillows. Valencia finished her final bagel and shifted to a reclined position. “This table fort might have to double as a cave. I think I could hibernate from now to spring.”

Heather stowed the empty pan atop a chair, clearing the path for them to get more comfortable. “Sign me the fuck up. Home Base and Miss Douche can figure out how to get by without me until, like, at least mid-March.” She hugged the throw pillow and settled on her stomach. Valencia fanned the blanket over their legs. “So it’s cool if I crash here?” Heather checked, eyelids fluttering closed despite her best efforts to prevent them from doing so.

“Of course.” Valencia got situated with one hand flung above her head. Her natural sleeping position accidentally brought their arms into contact again. She debated moving a few inches to allow more room between them for sleep. However, since Heather didn’t seem to mind their proximity and Valencia found the nearness comforting, she let it go.

A few minutes ticked by without a single noise, save for their relaxed breathing. Valencia was on the brink of dozing, but she licked her lips and tried to express one last sentiment. It traveled through the stillness in a whisper. “Heather?”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you for trying to protect me.”

Heather drowsily rolled to the side, bumping against Valencia in a slow motion body-check before returning to her spot. “No problem. Everyone needs someone in their corner, right? You can count on me.”

[hxlding-on-blog]

085 with peter b and eddie brock?

Fluffy Prompts: 085: “It’s 2 am but you’re craving cake and we’re both up anyway so let’s bake in our underwear.”

They’ve spent a good half hour trying to put the report together, grouping pictures side-by-side with words. Since making their own reporting website, they’ve found better work. It was their own little business, every click a bit of ad revenue. And though the truth was hard to find sometimes, they got out of their ways to make sure it was somewhere other people could find it. Once it was uploaded, Peter leaning in his spot of the couch a bit more as Eddie had his arms around him, they shared a lazy celebratory kiss.

Peter glanced at the clock in the corner of his screen, yawned, and allowed his head to lean on the other’s shoulder. Venom slithered from Eddie’s other shoulder, a string of themselves going up from his neck to allow them to comfortably sit on top of Peter’s head. The more and more time Peter spent with Eddie, the more comfortable Venom got with this, essentially feeding off of this love and affection Eddie felt whenever around him. 

“Y’know, little buddy, I’m not sure what you’re doing in there but, whatever it is, it’s making me hungry for some cake.” He pat his womb, where their child was, and pouted a bit. Neither of them expected this to happen, with Peter thinking he was infertile the moment he had his first shot of T, but- accident or not- they were going to raise this child with all they could. “Hey, guys, lets go bake some.”

It’s only been five weeks, with Peter throwing up in the morning every day and his constantly changing cravings, but Eddie and Venom were already taking to the pregnancy pretty well. In fact, teaching Venom about it was one of their pastimes. Neither of them knew enough about it to really teach them about it but, with a quick google search and the experience to back up the claims, the symbiote was starting to learn. 

Whatever the effects of having radioactive spider-power blood and an alien symbiote in your body were to a child, they didn’t have a clue. All they knew was that it was fine, and that they didn’t need to mention anything about it. So long as the baby was going to be fine in the end, they didn’t see any reason to mention the little…supernatural things that might get in the way. 

“Peter, it’s two in the morning. Are you sure?” Eddie’s head leaned a bit on Peter’s, arm moving to rest over his shoulder. He knew a thing or two about helping others in these situations, just a bit more than Peter- though, it’d be better if Peter had his own little experience to help himself- knowing enough that his morning sickness may strike somewhere soon.

“Yup. Come on, Eddie. V, help me get him up.” Peter stood up, stretched his back out, and pulled the other up by the arms. Venom didn’t do much; they simply observed from Eddie’s shoulder. When he was on his own feet, Peter made his way to the kitchen, dragging Eddie along. “If you won’t help, I’ll make it myself. That’s right, little guy, dad’s gonna get this cake done on his own without the help of his other husbands.” 

Again, Peter pat where their child was. He could handle things on his own; the doctor only warned him to avoid certain foods and to do certain things when he felt this or that. Nothing out of the ordinary that would get him to not be able to do the usual, except for putting a pause on the Spiderman business. That, sadly, was something Peter had to sacrifice for a while; once this human being was out of his body and he’s had the time to adjust, he could get back to swinging around New York.

“Oh, fine, fine.” His human husband gave in, pulling out the cake mix from the cupboard and lifting it towards the symbiote riding his shoulder to allow them the chance to observe it. It got Peter to chuckle, reminding him of ratatouille. Eddie opened up the box, placing the plastic bag of the mix on the counter as he unknowingly placed the box into the trash. It took Venom looking back to remind him that they indeed weren’t done with it. “Oh, shit. Right.”

“Hey, not in front of the kid.” Again, he chuckled, giving Eddie a soft slap with the back of his hand to Eddie’s unoccupied shoulder. It was a joke, Eddie knew well, but Venom watched with a look of confusion. They still didn’t understand much about this.

{| THEY CANNOT HEAR YOU. THEY ARE TOO YOUNG AND, TO MY UNDERSTANDING, HAVE NOT DEVELOPED THE ABILITY TO UNDERSTAND WHAT YOU’VE SAID |}

He probably shouldn’t have but Peter laughed, Eddie chuckling soon after as he gave a pat to the symbiote’s ‘head’, fishing out the box with the ingredients and the instructions. Thankfully, there was nothing within the trash that would’ve hindered it useless. Eddie tried to fish for something to help, but it wasn’t easy. “Yeah, we know. It’s like a fun little joke, y’know?”

And, hell, maybe their kid could hear them. They’re the product of Spiderman, Venom, and the world’s greatest reporter; Peter wouldn’t be too surprised if they popped out the womb with the full ability to speak. It’s almost expected, really. How far could they keep this up without mentioning it to their doctor?

Eddie got two eggs out, balancing them on the counter and making sure they wouldn’t roll off to the floor. When that was settled, he got out a measuring cup. Peter, on the other hand, prepared a cake tin, a plastic bowl, and a wooden spoon. As Eddie was measuring out a cup and a half of water, Peter got to dumping all of the mix into the bowl. A dust cloud of it got in his nose, Peter coughing out with a laugh.

He coughed into his fist, Eddie noticing and placing the cup to the side so that he could come over to help. But Peter stuck out his free hand, laughing off the little incident. “I’m fine, I’m fine. Get back to filling that cup. Do we need to preheat the oven?”

The other shrugged it off, Venom watching Peter as Eddie gestured over to the box on the counter, making sure that he wasn’t going to get injured. It took a moment for Peter to remember how the oven worked at all- he sat there, kneeled down in front of it for a while- and turned the knobs according to package instructions. 

Everything was going a lot smoother than the last time they baked anything, with nothing burning just yet. Then again, they haven’t gotten anything mixed just yet. Peter cracked the two eggs into the bowl, taking a wooden spoon out of a little cup and stirring as Eddie poured in the water. As he poured the batter into the tin, he hesitated halfway. It felt like they were missing something but, without knowing what it was, he didn’t bother to stop.

“Okay. Last thing is to just put it in, right?” Eddie itched at the back of his head, Peter reading the back of the box again just to be sure. Yup, this was it. All they had to do left was stick it in the oven and wait for a while. So, Eddie took the tin and knelt down, Venom trailing towards his back to observe Peter’s stomach. Or, actually, his womb. Not much to see now, really.

But, with Eddie like this, Peter took this as a chance to let his splayed hand slap Eddie across the ass. He jolted a bit in the surprise but wasn’t at all mad about it, shaking his head and closing the appliance before getting up and giving Peter a few playful slaps to the chest. “Hey, hey! Not in front of the kid!” 

Again, Venom found this odd, but didn’t question it. Instead, they observed where the offspring was supposed to be. It didn’t move, or make a sound, or anything else; it was simply there. They knew it was alive in there but it was really hard to think of a reason as to why they’d ever talk directly to it, or even think it was listening.

But Venom didn’t mind all that much; they were just as excited as the other two were about the child.

“Hey, while we wait, want to think of baby names?” Peter leaned against the counter again, one leg over the other with a hand over his stomach as the other kept his weight up on the marble. The other two agreed that it’d be a nice pastime, listing off the generic names and having fun with it. At this point, with the two of them holding each other in the living room, they weren’t trying all that much.

“Okay, okay. How about…Lee.”

“Wait, just Lee? Like, earlier you said Optimus Prime. And then you said Toaster. Then you said Pumba.”

“Well, duh; imagine his school ID. Brock, Lee.” Peter let out a hearty laugh, Eddie soon joining after as Venom was quietly observing the two of them. It was dumb, yeah, but they seemed happy. The symbiote fed off of that love and care, enjoying it overall.

“You want our kid to get bullied?” It was simply the nature of Spiderman- of Peter Brock-Parker- to be witty and comical. Eddie couldn’t do much, if anything at all, to change this; it somewhat charmed him. “You’re insane, Peter.”

Then, there was the burning smell. It came from the kitchen and the two of them knew instantly what it was; they’d forgotten about the cake. They got off each other, stumbling their way inside to open the oven and Peter quickly got the window open to try and get the little bit of smoke out. “Yeah, I’m a bit insane. But I wasn’t the one who was supposed to remind me of the cake.”

No big deal- they’ve eaten worse. But, to their dismay, the realised a missed step; they didn’t coat the tin in anything to avoid the cake from sticking to it. So, when Eddie pulled it out of the oven and fanned away the fumes, he nervously laughed by Peter’s side. They could eat it straight from the tin, that wouldn’t be an issue, but now it looked unappealing.

“So, are you craving anything else or is it still cake?”

[loadedliterature-blog]

Recipes to follow at the bottom.

Roasted Chicken with Oranges, Brussels Sprouts, and Green Olives

Stuffed Artichokes

Butternut Squash Soup

Fruit Salad

Macaron Tree

Can-died Pears

Crimson Thread and Menage Trois wines

Reading The Handmaid’s Tale by Margaret Atwood, I was a bit daunted by how to create a menu in theme with the book. In a dystopian society, what do they eat? How do they eat? How do they cook? Thankfully, Miss Anya Spector came to my rescue. “Why don’t we do a Birth Day Party?” Duh. A Birth Day Party. Though this is an oppressive society, they seem to splurge when it comes to the day their Handmaid’s gave birth. This fact opened up options for me. Here, I want to explain my research, as well as my choices for the menu for this week. The three stages in this process are as follows: research, prep, and cooking.

1. Research

The background of the book is a bit vague. We don’t really learn what happened to the US until page 174 of the Anchor Books edition. I tried to mark down any mention of food, but I also found a list on the website Bookmenus.com. There were many foods mentioned, but the most mentioned were oranges and coffee. Because Anya Spector and I live on coffee, this would automatically make the menu. It is now tradition to begin a recording session with a strong cup. Oranges, however, stumped me. I knew we should do a luncheon, but what savory options would be included?

That’s when I found an interview with the production crew of the new Hulu TV adaptation. A lot of research went into making decisions of what to include in grocery stores like Loves and Fishes in the show. Production designer Julie Berghoff said to a Marie Clare writer visiting set, “Every piece of fruit had a thought process behind it—when she gets oranges, the implication is, ‘Okay, they conquered Florida.’ If they had artichokes, it meant they conquered California. The evolution of Gilead was always in mind.” So that was it. Oranges and artichokes were enough inspiration to start a menu.

In Gilead, there seems to be a black market where rich wives can find luxury gifts, from cosmetics and lotions, to exotic cheeses and canned goods. Following the logic of Berghoff, assuming Florida and California had been conquered, and the Marthas had access to their agriculture, as well as some black market items, they could create a bountiful Birth Day banquet, fit for a Gilead luncheon.

One thing that stood out to me in the books was that cooking had become a bit more pure. No longer are there processed, pre-made foods in Gilead. Everything is homemade, so that was something that we wanted to emphasize in our own work… Not that we’ve actually served anything store bought other than the Harry Potter Candy. However, the homemade bread from P&P, and homemade macarons are very different. Everything to follow is made by us.

2. Preperation

Because I agreed to make quite a big spread for this book, my preparation began days before our actual recording. Quick tip: most soups can be made in advance and frozen! Almost all soups have a base that can be separated and frozen, while garnish can be made the day-of.

So I made the soup first. Butternut squash is hard, so make sure you have a sharp knife, sharp peeler, and strong grip. When roasting, make sure you dice vegetables as uniform as possible for even cooking. Metal spoons work wonders at scraping out squash. Save the pulp for a squash bread, especially pumpkins. The seeds can be roasted and salted for a healthy snack! When roasting the squash (see recipe below) toss roasting vegetables in the combination canola oil and EVOO. This mixture lowers the smoke point and help avoid over caramelizing the vegetables. Then I place a small piece of butter at each end of the roasting sheet for the nutty browned butter flavor. Finally, just barely cover the roasted vegetables with vegetable broth. You can always add more, you can’t take it out. However, if your soup becomes more like a puree, thin with more broth. Remember the more you thin, the less seasoning it will have so be sure to continue to taste. Separate into servings and freeze for freshest taste. Thaw the morning-of.

Next I prepped the artichokes. Artichokes have a low yield, so we try our best to avoid cutting the yield down further by wasting much of the plant. Cut the stems off to make the artichokes sit flat on a cutting board. Next cut tips off, at least an inch and a half down the artichoke. Trim the other untrimmed leaves with kitchen sears. Soak in water with fresh squeezed lemons, and be sure to rub the leaves and stem in lemon to prevent discoloration. I’m soaking mine for half a day. When they are done,  I will steam them until the are tender, around half an hour. The day of the book club meeting, I will stuff them and roast them.

For the chicken, the oranges can be sliced the day before. Beware! You will smell like oranges all damn day. The Brussels Sprouts can also be cleaned. I tear the outside leaves off the sprouts, cut the stems off, and slice them in half. Store in water and lemon to prevent discoloration. The chicken can also be cleaned and trussed the night before. Run under cold water, and pat dry. Stuff with garlic cloves, onion halves, lemon and orange halves. Truss chicken to prevent the stuffing falling out.  Rub in butter. Salt and pepper the chicken just before it is cooked. Pan sear for a beautiful golden brown color. For the gravy, make sure you pre-make the veloute base (blonde roux with stock, reduce until thickened. Skim the scum it creates to reduce floury flavor!). Mix veloute base with drippings and reduce.

Finally the fruit. For your fruit salad, make sure you have a good arrangement of fruit. Too many tart fruits together will make your mouth turn inside out (i.e. pineapple, oranges, grapes, green apples, raspberries…). Instead, mix with softer flavors like strawberries, red apples, melons, etc. For the “can”-died pears, we’re using canned fruit so it is already soft. Don’t overcook these, or they will turn to mush. You only want to heat these up. Immediately mix in the butter with spices. Finish with the whiskey. Be careful! Any time you are cooking with a high-alcohol content liquor, there is a chance it will go up in flames! This is called flambe. Don’t panic if it happens. Enjoy the pretty colors! Alcohol burns off very quickly. As long as it stays in the pan, you are safe. If you try to fling it into the sink, you risk spilling it on something that will actually catch fire. Instead, tend it carefully and it will go out.

**Macaron vs Macaroon

Okay let us get one thing straight. There is a difference between these two cookies, so let me educate y’all. For this podcast, Hale graciously cooked us macarons and we put them on a painted foam tree for pictures. However, many people will think they are macaroons, which would be untrue. Many of you may know the double-O Macaroon. This meringue cookie is popular in the US during Passover, and to understand that you need to understand the history of the cookie and how the French macaron became the coconut macaroon you find in cookie tins.

So the “French” Macaron actually came from Sicily (shout out to my fellow Sicilian co-host Hale).  Macaron is actually related to the Italian word ammaccare, meaning “to crush.” This relationship probably refers to the act of crushing almonds into powder, the process necessary for your perfect French Macaron. However, until the 18th century, the cooks in the United States could not get their hands on many nuts or nut powders. Instead they substituted potato starch for a bit of texture, and substituted coconuts for almonds or other nuts, which were more perishable. Because the cookie has no leavening agent, they are considered acceptable for Passover! Thus, we have tins of chocolate dipped coconut macaroons for Passover in the US! However similar in history these cookies are, in the 18th century with the rise of French cuisine, these cookies deviated from each other. Though both are egg white meringue based cookies, the “flour” used is quite different. The French style is said to be more tedious and particular. Below you will see the difference between the coconut macaroon and the French macaron, respectively.

3. Cooking and Final Product

Roasted Chicken with Oranges, Olives, and Brussels Sprouts:

Ingredients:

Whole chicken (for 3-4 people)

3 Oranges

2 Cans Olives

1 lb Bussels Sprouts halved

1 Small Onion

Butter/Oil

Salt and Pepper to Taste

Process:

Preheat oven to 400

Clean, stuff, and truss chicken, salt and pepper to taste with a bit of butter rubbed over it

Line greased pan with oranges, halved Brussels sprouts, and green olives

Place chicken on top

Mix orange juice and honey and pour over chicken and everything on roasting tray

Roast in oven until done; start checking around the hour point.

When the chicken comes out of the oven, save drippings.

Mix drippings with veloute sauce. Reduce to desired thickness. Season with salt and pepper, orange juice if needed.

If the sauce isn’t thick enough, add a corn starch slurry

Fruit Salad

Banana, Papaya, Oranges, Grapes, Watermelon, Honeydew, Cantaloupe, Mango

Cut uniformly and serve

Butternut Squash Soup:

Cubed squash oiled on a roasting tray with salt and pepper, nutmeg, cinnamon, allspice, rubbed sage, rosemary, and thyme

Roast at 400 until tender, about 30 mins

Puree with warm vegetable stock to desired thickness

Season to taste

Garnish with bacon lardons

“Can”-died Pears:

Canned pears quartered sautéed with butter and cinnamon/nutmeg

Saute in butter until they turn golden, mix in brown sugar

Finish with honey whiskey–flambe

Top with ice cream

Stuffed Artichoke:

Ingredients:

3 large Artichokes (for 4-6 people)

Lemons

1 cup Italian Style Bread Crumbs

8-10 Garlic Cloves, chopped

1/2 cup Parsley, Basil chopped

1/2 cup Grated Parmesan Cheese

1/2 cup Grated Romano Cheese

Butter/Oil

Process:

Clean artichoke, soak, steam until tender (see tips above)

Mix together breadcrumbs, garlic, herbs, cheese, and melted butter or oil

Spoon mixture between leaves of artichoke

Roast until brown at about 375 degrees

Macarons (not Macaroons. See note)

For the macaron shells:

300g ground almonds

300g powdered sugar

110g liquefied egg whites (see below)

+ 300g caster sugar

75g water

110g liquefied egg whites

Liquid food dye to splatter: pink, blue and yellow

Frosting:

1 batch fluffy vanilla buttercream frosting

1 drop each of yellow, green, blue, purple, red and orange food gel

Process:

For the process, use the directions the creator of this recipe uses. Follow the link below.

https://www.thescranline.com/yay-gay-macarons

For a butter cream recipe, look to our Harry Potter themed birthday cake from last months’ recipes: https://loadedliteraturepodcast.com/2018/07/04/unicorn-blood-and-candy/

Macaron vs Macaroon; or Forever Smelling of Oranges Recipes to follow at the bottom. Roasted Chicken with Oranges, Brussels Sprouts, and Green Olives Stuffed Artichokes…

[sanctumslider]

Fic: Glass Houses, Chapter 35

Summary: In an alternate universe where all humans are empaths, Kurt Hummel is the odd one out. Registering at a mere 0.5 on the Hawkins Scale of Empathic Sensitivity, Kurt has resigned himself to a lonely life, empty of touch or true love. That is, until the mysterious Blaine Anderson transfers to McKinley, and everything Kurt thought he knew was changed. But finding love is never easy, even in a world where everyone’s emotions are shared. This is the story of the boy who could not feel, and the boy who felt too much.

[Go to Chapter 1]

[FF.net] [S&C] [AO3]

Miss you x

Kurt didn’t second guess pressing send on his message to Blaine, even though it was nearly midnight. It was their first night out of the hospital, and in the joy of getting out, in the elation of knowing they had actually done it, both of them had forgotten it would also mean going home to separate houses. It was the first time they had slept apart since Kurt had taken Blaine out of Dalton, and he was definitely feeling the separation.

Kurt’s phone buzzed nearly immediately, and a picture popped up of Blaine pulling a stupid sad face, somehow holding a very put-upon Molly in frame. We miss you too! xx

Kurt giggled, warmth coiling in his chest. Dork. You’re lucky Molly and I love you! Bet she was happy to see you :)

Wes brought her round after dinner. I missed her so much!

Kurt sighed, still unable to believe that things were on their way to settling back to normal, or as normal as they got anyway. That he was simply laying on his bed, texting his boyfriend.

His phone buzzed again, Can’t sleep?

Kurt bit his lip, letting his fingers fly fast across the screen and hitting send before he could second guess himself for being too cheesy, Not without you here…

There was a longer pause, enough time for Kurt’s stomach to tighten as he stared at the screen. But then, I know. I wish I was with you now. But at least my parents are letting me join the ND end of summer party!

To be honest, Kurt was surprised his dad was letting him go only the day after he got out of hospital, let alone that Blaine’s parents were releasing him. But the doctors had been clear that it was important to get Blaine back onto as normal a schedule as possible. Yes, the last two weeks since leaving Dalton had been a terrifying rollercoaster, but Blaine really was doing okay. Treating him like glass would only be counter-productive.

It probably helped that the party was being thrown by Finn, in the Hummel-Hudson garden…

Tomorrow can’t come soon enough. I think it’s also a welcome home party. Don’t tell Rachel I told you!

:)

Kurt bit his lip, tapping his finger against the side of his phone, debating. How are things with your mom?

Weird. She’s my mom but I don’t know what to say to her. Or how to feel. Coop’s pretty angry about everything I think.

Kurt rolled onto his back. Maybe this wasn’t the best time to have this conversation. But still… Your mom loves you Blaine.

A pause, and for a moment Kurt wasn’t sure if Blaine was going to respond. I know she does. That’s the problem. It makes it harder to hate her…

Kurt didn’t know what to reply to that, but Blaine sent another message immediately afterwards, Thank you for not giving up on me in the end. I love you xxx

Never. And I love you too xxx

00000

“Hey,” Finn sat down on the grass next to Kurt, handing him a drink. It was a beautiful Friday, one of those peaceful final days of summer that shine all the brighter for it. The New Directions were scattered around the garden and in the kitchen, music playing loudly as they took advantage of most of the neighbours still being at work. “How’re you?”

Kurt leaned back on his elbows, smiling up at Finn as he tore his gaze from Blaine. His boyfriend was as carefree as Kurt had ever seen him, arms waving animatedly as he chatted with Sam. Kurt had been unable to take him eyes off him, taking in Blaine’s glowing skin, his bright smile and, to Kurt’s delight, bare sun-kissed arms.

The morning had dawned hot, and Blaine had thrown caution to the wind, much to Kurt’s pride. It was a big step, and a bigger statement of how much Blain trusted both the New Directions to respect his no-skin-touching boundary, and for Kurt to be his safety net.

“I’m really good, Finn,” Kurt said softly. “More than good.”

“So…” Finn drew out the word, “Does that mean you and Blaine are coming back to school on Monday?”

Kurt snorted at Finn’s blunt delivery. It was a topic no one had broached yet. The summer had disappeared far too quickly in a blur of stress, and Monday would mark the start of Kurt’s senior year at McKinley. And if Blaine was to return, his junior year.

Leaving the hospital was one thing, having a party like this was easy, risk free… but going back to high school? Kurt knew he would be – his dad may not have said as much, but there was no way that conversation was going to end up any other way for him.

Blaine however…

His education was all over the place, and Kurt knew Blaine’s mother would be considering homeschooling again after the scare the family had been through.

“What’s going on?” Blaine blocked out the sun for a second, before flopping down effortlessly on his side right next to Kurt, mindless of any personal space as he casually draped a hand to rest on Kurt’s stomach, propping his head up with the other. Kurt tried to stop his brain from flat lining, but wasn’t having much luck.

By Blaine’s mischievous grin, it had been intentional. Kurt must have been projecting his conflicted feelings across the garden, and now Blaine was very aware where Kurt’s mind had jumped to.

Finn remained oblivious, “I was just asking Kurt if you guys will be coming back to McKinley with the rest of us on Monday.”

“Oh, yeah…” Blaine’s nose scrunched adorably, “I keep forgetting it’s next week.”

“There’s been a lot going on,” Finn said.

“Understatement of the century,” Kurt muttered, but Blaine’s fingers tracing languidly over his shirt banished any darker thoughts.

“So?” Finn prompted.

“Of course we are!” Blaine laughed, but when he sensed Kurt’s surprise, he continued more seriously, “Well, I’ve not had the conversation with my parents yet, but there’s no way we’re not. The doctors said we have to be normal. Normal is school, and I can’t spend the next year only seeing you guys and my family. We’ve fought too hard.”

“Who’d have thought people would be fighting to go to McKinley!” Puck crowed, butting in as the rest of the New Directions whooped and clapped at the news.

“Bring on Sectionals!” Artie yelled, grinning as he caused another uproar.

Kurt took advantage of the distraction to lean over and press a light kiss to Blaine’s warm lips, “You sure your parents will be okay with this?”

Blaine shrugged, “It doesn’t matter. It’s my life, not theirs, and I’m not going to waste another moment.”

His fire and determination sang through Kurt, who couldn’t help but smile, “I love you…”

Blaine grinned, sun catching in his gelled hair, surging forward to capture Kurt’s mouth in a heated kiss of electric sparks.

“Get a room!” Santana yelled.

They ignored her.

00000

“I’m home!” Kurt called as he closed the front door. It was Wednesday, just over halfway through their second week back at school. And everything was, somehow, going great. Kurt kept expecting to wake up, kept waiting for something to go wrong, but it was still perfect.

Sure, there had been bumps in the road… The way the entire school had buzzed about them those first few days. Kurt’s inability to focus unless he knew Blaine was in a class with at least one other glee kid. Blaine’s slight dip when Cooper returned to New York last weekend. But these were hurdles they had been able to overcome together.

The school gossip had inevitably moved onto the next scandal once it realised that neither Kurt nor Blaine were about to sprout wings or whatever they’d been waiting for. Blaine had sat down with Kurt and talked through his fears that Blaine would be cornered by some jock, and Kurt wouldn’t be there to help. And following their first session with Dr Nordstorm, Kurt had stayed over at Blaine’s on Saturday night, simply letting himself be there for Blaine while his boyfriend processed the empty space left by Cooper’s departure.

They were settling into some sort of rhythm, a sense of normalcy that Kurt was happy to bask in. Even the doctors seemed positive, although it was very early days. Kurt was beginning to breathe again.

“Hey Kurt, can you come in here a sec?” His dad’s voice floated out from the kitchen. It was just going to be the two of them that evening. His stepmom Carole was picking up an extra late shift, while Finn had gone round to Rachel’s after school. Blaine had been met at school by Wes, who wanted to catch up on everything that had happened since the hospital. Kurt had been invited to join them in the Lima Bean, but he had a mountain of homework to get through before Friday, and with glee club tomorrow he didn’t have much time to fit it in. Besides, he was looking forward to dinner with just him and his dad.

Kurt dropped his bag in the hall, calling fondly, “What have you done this time? I told you, you need to preheat the oven.”

“Hey, I’ll have you know dinner is completely under control,” his dad said with a grin, throwing a cloth onto the counter. “I just wanted to talk.”

Kurt froze in the doorway to the kitchen, muscles tense and ready to bolt, “Dad, no. We don’t need that talk. We did that, remember? It was traumatising for both of us, but you covered it. Just because I’m with Blaine now does not mean we need to revisit that.”

Burt rolled his eyes, “Sit down Kurt. It’s not that kind of talk.”

Kurt sidled delicately into the kitchen, sitting down at the table. His dad sat down opposite, pushing something across the table. Kurt’s breath caught. He knew where this talk was going now…

Tentatively he reached forward, fingertips brushing the neat, lovingly designed hardcover, flicking down the spiral spine of loose pages. Carefully, he looked up at his dad, trying to read his expression as he asked, “You’ve been looking at it?”

“I have,” Burt confirmed. “And, while I’m not going to pretend I’m an expert… Kurt, these are amazing.”

Kurt ducked his head, a smile tugging at his lips at the praise, “Thanks Dad…”

“So, I gotta wonder. Why is it you’ve not done anything with it recently? I get the summer was… a lot… but it’s like you’ve just abandoned it. And this is just your work in progress book. I know, I found a stack of older ones upstairs,” his dad said earnestly, eyes searching.

Kurt, draw the book across the table, fingers dancing along page edges before randomly flicking the book open. The spread was a carefully arranged splash page of nautical colours and fabric samples, along with an ink sketch of a final outfit, and a photo of the final piece. He remembered wearing it the day Blaine kissed him in the choir room.

“I guess I just stopped thinking about them…” Kurt shrugged, trying to sound nonchalant and failing. “They’re just a stupid hobby.” As soon as he said those words, his throat tightened.

“Stupid?” Burt repeated incredulously, “Kurt, you’ve put your heart into these. They were your dream. So, why am I having talks with Finn about colleges and the future when I’ve not heard one word about it from you?”

Kurt closed the portfolio with a snap, folding his arms as he avoided his dad’s eyes. All seniors had been distributed with pamphlets and general application advice on their second day back. Kurt’s were still stuffed at the bottom of his bag. “Maybe it’s not my dream anymore.”

His dad sighed, “Who are you trying to lie to here? Me? Or you?”

Kurt swallowed thickly, shaking his head against the tears that burned at his eyes, determined not to let them fall. He pressed his lips together, looking anywhere but the portfolio as he tried to gather himself. And even though he thought he had moved past it, he couldn’t help but hear his own hollow words, all those weeks ago, when he had tried to defend himself to Blaine’s mom. No real plans, just a vague idea of New York, and maybe something long distance.

How naïve had he been?

“I won’t abandon Blaine, not when there’s a chance for him now,” Kurt finally said.

Burt shook his head, refuting quietly, “Kurt, the whole point of these sessions with Dr Nordstorm is to give you the chance to make choices. Both of you deserve more than to be stuck in Lima for the rest of your lives. You need to take any chance you have, or you’re going to live a life of regret and, eventually, resentment.”

Unbidden, Kurt’s promise to Blaine in their darkened hospital room came back to him. A promise to follow his dreams, come what may. He let his fingers curl around the precious portfolio, “Can I think about it?”

“That’s all I ask,” his dad said, leaning back in his chair. “Dinner’s at seven.”

Kurt rose, hugging his portfolio to his chest, “Thanks Dad…”

Burt smiled, “You’re welcome. I love you Kurt, remember that I only want the best for you.”

“I love you too, Dad,” Kurt replied sincerely. He had a lot to think about.

00000

The problem was, the more he thought about it, the more overwhelmed he became. Forgetting homework, Kurt had spent the whole evening looking through his portfolios with a critical eye, flicking through his old browser bookmarks of the top colleges in fashion design in the country. He had been trying to ignore it, much as he had tried to ignore the start of senior year.

The summer had wiped all chance for dreaming away. He had been lost in a mire of heartbreak, confusion, fear, and complete immediacy that he hadn’t had a moment to think of the future, not really. If anything he had been actively trying to avoid thinking about it, because before, thinking of the future meant thinking of a world without Blaine.

But now… now there could be a future. Couldn’t there?

And most importantly, Kurt couldn’t bear the idea of growing to resent Blaine. Because if he looked at it with brutal objectivity, he knew he would.

The next day at school, Kurt knew Blaine was aware something was off, but his boyfriend didn’t press him until they were pausing at their lockers, on their way to glee club. “So, are you going to tell me what’s got you so distracted?”

Kurt’s hand stuttered, and he nearly dropped his textbook. He took a breath, closing his locker and looking into Blaine’s extraordinarily expressive eyes. Just say it, like ripping off a band-aid, “I’m going to apply to college to study fashion design. I’ve got a couple of options, but my top choice is Parsons School of Design, in New York.” Blaine blinked, clearly surprised by what probably seemed like such an out of the blue topic. Kurt ploughed on, “I’ve already looked into it, and while my portfolio could do with a bit of a refresh, I think I’ve got a really good chance of getting in. And I really want to get in Blaine…”

As soon as he said those words, he knew it was true. His dad was right. This was his dream. Just as much as Blaine was his dream. Could he really have both?

Blaine’s face was unreadable, and Kurt wasn’t sure that he felt confident enough to reach out and take Blaine’s hand right now to get a read of what his boyfriend was feeling.

Blaine shut his locker, nodding, as he said neutrally, “Well, that’s it then.”

Kurt blinked, the tone of Blaine’s voice throwing him even more. But then Blaine had his hand, and was guiding him towards the choir room. Kurt still couldn’t get a read on Blaine, even with the skin on skin contact, he was simply too nervous and worried by Blaine’s complete lack of reaction.

“Ah, Kurt, Blaine, just in time,” Mr Schue said in greeting, “We were just about to start-”

“Can I have a second, please Mr Schuester?” Blaine cut across their teacher smartly, taking everyone in the room by surprise.

Mr Schue raised an eyebrow, but gestured for Blaine to go ahead as he took a step back. Blaine guided Kurt to his seat, and Kurt was even more perplexed to see Blaine was grinning. “Blaine, what..?”  Kurt asked.

Blaine pressed a quick kiss to Kurt’s lips, before taking two steps backwards, addressing both Kurt and the rest of the club, “If you’re going to New York, then I guess I’m just going to have to come too. And what better way to get in some practice, than to join New Directions? If you guys like my audition, of course.”

Kurt’s mouth dropped. Around him, his friends were grinning, clapping encouragement. Blaine was practically glowing, grinning cheekily at him in a way that convinced Kurt that this had been planned before he had announced his college plans.

It struck Kurt as unbelievable that the confident, happy boy in front of him was the same as the quiet, shy shadow who had stepped into Kurt’s life at the beginning of the year.

And then, as Blaine sat down at the piano, Kurt realised that he had never, not once, heard Blaine sing.

The first few chords blended delicately, and Blaine’s eyes flicked to meet Kurt’s with a grin, registering the exact moment when Kurt recognised the intro.

Before you met me, I was alright,

Things were kinda heavy, you brought me to life…

Kurt had never understood what people meant, when they said what feeling a really amazing singer was like.

Now he did. And Blaine… Blaine was stunning. He swept the room up in his voice, in an indescribable energy of joy and trust and love. And it was all for Kurt.

Don’t ever look back…

Chapter 36