#another grandmother would do this then wrap it in dough

[heroes-feasting]

Pumpkin Shaped Dinner Rolls

"On Halloween night, the Great Pumpkin rises from his pumpkin patch and flies through the air with his bag of toys to [give to] all the children." - Linus, It’s The Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown!

Happy Halloween everyone! I’ve been a huge fan of Charlie Brown for as long as I can remember. Every year, my family watches the specials on TV and I must have read each volume in my grandmother’s massive collection at least three times.

So, when I saw this tumblr post late last year, I knew exactly what I wanted to make for Halloween this year… but with a twist! After some trial and error, I’ve found a way to add cinnamon/pumpkin spice sugar to these rolls while avoiding a massive pocket of it.

So, grab your fall-themed drink of choice and check out below for how to make a batch of these delicious pull-apart dinner rolls for yourself! The great pumpkin may just pay you a visit for your troubles…

(Based on the post by Chef John from All Recipes and the tumblr post linked above.)

Prep: 20 mins             Cook:  3 hrs             Total: 3 hrs 20 mins

Ingredients:

1 cup (240 ml) milk, warm

1 packet (2 ½ tsp, 6.5 g) active dry yeast

1 tbsp. (15 ml) honey

4 tbsp. (57 g) butter, melted

1 tsp (6 g) salt

2 ¾ cup (345 g) all-purpose flour, plus ¼ cup (30 g) more for dusting

Kitchen string cut into 12 32-inch long pieces

Vegetable oil

Pour in the warm milk, yeast, honey, and butter into a large bowl and stir to combine (top-left).

Next, add the salt and the 2 ¾ cups of flour. Using a wooden spoon, stir in the flour until a shaggy, sticky dough forms (top-right).

Turn the sticky dough out onto a clean, lightly floured work surface and knead the dough until it becomes smooth, elastic, and is no longer sticky, about 10 minutes. 

Form the dough into a rough ball shape by tucking in the sides. Lightly coat a medium or large bowl with vegetable oil and transfer the dough seam-side down (top-left).

Cover the bowl with lightly greased plastic wrap or a dish cloth and let rise until the dough has doubled in size, about 1 ½ hours (top-right).

Meanwhile, prepare two baking trays with parchment paper or reusable silicon liners.

TIP: I found that only about 3 tsp (8 g) of the reserved dusting flour spread out onto the board was needed to keep the dough workable without the buns becoming dense.

TIP: Remember from the video, you’ll know the dough has been kneaded enough when it springs back after being lightly pressed and you can stretch out a piece the dough like a windowpane without it ripping. The windowpane should also be able to support the weight of the rest of the piece of dough without ripping.

Once the dough has doubled in size, turn it out onto your clean work surface and knead it a few times to bring it back together.

Next, either cut the dough in half and divide each half into six even wedges or divide the dough into 50g - 55g portions using a kitchen scale.

Knead each portion a little and then pull in the edges of the dough to create a ball (like the big dough ball). Secure the its shape by placing the ball seam-side down on the work surface and gently rolling it with the palm of a clawed hand, for about 10 seconds.

Once the smaller dough balls have been formed, place them seam-side down on the prepared baking tray, cover, and let rest for 15 minutes.

Meanwhile, place the pieces of kitchen string in bowl and toss them with a generous amount of vegetable oil. 

NOTE: Do not move onto the next step without this first rest. The dough will expand way too much around the string if you wrap it immediately.

Optional addition to this step:

If you’d would like slightly sweeter rolls to dip in coffee or tea, you can add some cinnamon/pumpkin spice sugar after kneading the measured portions and before shaping the rolls.

First, roll the dough flat and spread ~⅛ tsp. of the sugar mixture on one half (top left). Then, fold in half so the sugar mixture is covered and spread another ~⅛ tsp. on half of the folded dough (top right).

Fold in half again and follow the shaping instructions above to seal the rolls.

NOTE: If you put ¼ tsp. of the sugar mixture in the middle of the rolled dough and shape it from there, the mixture will not be evenly distributed throughout the dough - you’ll just get a dry sugar bomb in the middle of the roll.

After letting them rest, working one roll at a time, place the end of one piece of string on the seam-side of the roll with enough of an overhang to tie a double knot latter, ~2 inches (5 cm).

Wrap the string around the dough so eight sections are created. Unlike the tumblr video in the intro, I wrap the string around the dough in one motion (no crisscrossing or twisting strings).

The string should be secure but loose enough that it isn’t pressing much on the dough before the knot is tied.

Once wrapped, double knot the string so there is enough pressure to form small indents and return the roll to the baking tray knot-side down (which should also be seam-side down).

Cover and let rest for an additional 30 minutes. Preheat the oven to 375॰F (190॰C) with the oven rack in the middle of the oven.

TIP: Any adjustments to the placement of the string should be made before the knot is tied. The string is virtually unmovable at that point.

TIP: If you’re choosing to add the sugar mixture, set a 15 minute timer once you’ve shaped the first roll. Depending on how long it takes to get through all the dough, you may be able to start wrapping the string around the rolls as soon as you finish shaping the last one.

Sift a little bit of flour on top of each roll (top left).

Bake until the rolls have lightly browned and sound hollow when knocked, about 20 to 25 mins (top right).

Once the rolls have cooled enough to handle, cut the strings off of each roll from the bottom. Slowly and carefully unwrap each roll, removing any strands of string that get stuck.

NOTE: It might have been the string I was using, but I found a lot of little strands were left behind as I unwrapped the rolls. The best solution for this I found was: 

Not to wring out any of the vegetable oil from the string when I took it from the bowl and, 

Have my finger directly behind the string as it slowly peeled away from the roll to help all the little strands come off. 

You’ll probably still need to go in an remove some from where the knot was tied, but this should get rid of most of them.

Finally, cut one or two cinnamon sticks into ¾ inch (2 cm) pieces and press one into the tops of each roll to create the stems.

TIP: To cut the cinnamon sticks, use a steak knife to make a small groove and then snap them at that mark. It’ll really save the durability of your knives. Use long sawing motions instead of short ones.

Voilà, your very own pumpkin dinner rolls! Overall, I would give these a 4.5/5 for the regular ones and a 4/5 for the sugar mixture ones - not because of the taste, but for the process.

Cutting the string, soaking them in oil, plus the wrapping, tying, and unwrapping nearly drove me insane each time. I would recommend making these, especially the sugar mixture ones, with a friend. The extra hands (and jokes) will go a long way.

In the end, although they were a little awkward to make, they were definitely a fun way to get into the spirit of the season (and flex on everyone /j)!

#it took me 45 minutes to pose Linus #worth it but *screech* #halloween #charlie brown #its the great pumpkin charlie brown #pumpkin shaped dinner rolls #bread #tv shows #movies #dessert #homemade #homecooking #homemade dessert #homebaking #homecook #baking #recipe #food #foodblr #heroes feasting

[queen-rainy-love]

The Revenge of the Captain Part 13

Let's go!

*The scene picks up with Bubble Pearl and Crunchy Chip fighting Braised Abalone. Crunchy Chip slashed near the captain's torso while Bubble Pearl swung her sword.*

Braised Abalone: *gets sliced on his shoulder* Ugh! You little-! *swings his knife*

Crunchy Chip: *dodges* Woah!

Bubble Pearl: Crunchy! *swings her sword close to Braised Abalone's hand*

Braised Abalone: Argh! *drops his knife* Why you-

Bubble Pearl: *points sword at his throat* Braised Abalone, we need to stop. This will not end well. We need to stop.

Braised Abalone: And let you and all the Houses throw me and my family in prison or banish again!? Like hell I will! I would rather drown than let that happen! Argh! *slaps the sword out of Bubble Pearl's hand and lunges at her*

Crunchy Chip: Bubble Pearl! *slams into Braised Abalone, both of them falling onto the deck.*

Braised Abalone: Ugh! You little-!

Crunchy Chip: *punches his face* Not another word, you monster! *throws another punch*

*Braised Abalone took a couple punches before he grabbed his discarded knife and slashed Crunchy Chip's side. Before the smaller Cookie could process what had happened, Braised Abalone kicked him off himself and overboard.*

Bubble Pearl: Crunchy Chip! *runs to the rail and was about to jump after him when Braised Abalone grabs the back of her blouse* Ah!

Braised Abalone: Oh no you don't! You're not going- *Before he could finish his sentence, Cream Wolf bit Braised Abalone's leg* Argh! You little mutt!

*With this, Bubble Pearl elbows Braised Abalone's stomach. He lets go of her and she dives after Crunchy Chip. The moment she reached the water, Bubble Pearl saw him sinking due to his winter clothes. She quickly swam to him and wrapped her arms around him. As she tried to swim them up to the surface, she noticed Black Pearl swimming over to them in her giant form.*

Bubble Pearl: Grandmother! Help!

Black Pearl: I'm here, my darling pearl. Let's get you out of here. *placed her hand underneath both and started lifting them both to the surface.*

*As soon as the trio breaks the surface, they see Braised Abalone and his crew get cornered by Captain Caviar, his crew, Abyss Monarch, and Squid Ink.*

Braised Abalone: Why you-

Abyss Monarch: Do not even think about it. Unless you wish to speak with the Sovereign of the Duskgloom Sea once more.

Black Pearl: Are you alright, my dear granddaughter?

Bubble Pearl: I'm fine. But Crunchy Chip-

Crunchy Chip: *spits out sea soda* I'm fine. Just soggy and a bit annoyed.

Bubble Pearl: Huh? But Braised Abalone-

Crunchy Chip: *lifts his arm up to show the slash on his coat* He only slashed my clothes. He just missed my dough a bit but it'll cost me a day or two to fix it. But I'm alr-ah! *gets hugged tackle by Bubble Pearl* B-Bubble Pearl?

Bubble Pearl: I'm just glad you're okay. Just don't do that again. Deal?

Crunchy Chip: *chuckles* Deal.

Black Pearl: *giggles* My, my. Who is this my dear pearl? Your lover?

*Both Crunchy Chip and Bubble Pearl start blushing. All the while, Captain Caviar's crew arrest Braised Abalone and his crew.*

#cookie run kingdom #crk headcanons #crk oc: bubble pearl cookie #crk oc: braised abalone cookie #crunchy chip cookie #black pearl cookie #abyss monarch cookie #crunchy chip x bubble pearl

[mywonderfulworldofstoriez]

Pastry Chef In Another World

This Book is one of my own ideas inspired by the isekai fantasy trope. I would like to eventually make this into a webcomic too. The images used in the book are at the moment AI generated because I just don't have the time to draw now but will eventually be redrawing everything when it's done.

All rights reserved!! This is a my own work of fiction and while it is inspired by the isekai genre I have not tried to take anyone else's story or original ideas. This is my own work and it's made mostly for fun. That being said I hope you enjoy it all the same. I have posted it on Wattpad too under @Angvalkyrie.

Description

Atana was accidentally taken from her own world by a clumsy goddess. To apologise she sends her to another world with an enormous amount of money where she opens a cafe that sells pastries and more...

༻Prologue༺

Food has always been a big part of who I was ever since I was little. From porridge, to soup, to meat, to cakes and pies and everything inbetween. But pastries were always my favourite. The soft flaky dough that melts in your mouth as crumbs decorate your clothing or your parent's car. Wrapped around a nice warm filling that could be sweet, or salty or sour or even both. Like opening a letter and discovering your grandparents had given you money and candy for your birthday.

Speaking of Grandparents. My grandmother was the one to teach me how to make almost any kind of food and I loved watching her work. Her old hands moved expertly as she sliced, diced, boiled, picked and placed everything where it was supposed to be. Her hair was always cut short so it wouldn't get into the food, but it suited her cute rounded face so well. My grandfather loved eating her food everyday and luckily he never picked up any weight.

I wasn't so lucky.

I love food and my grandma. I didn't mind being bigger than other kids. But they did and so did my parents. I was bullied at school for my weight. Mostly verbal but it often turned physical if the other kids were mad enough or bored enough. It didn't help that I could never keep my mouth shut. At home while my younger siblings were praised. I tried to be like them. I was really smart and did well in school, but they were always the stars while I was a lump of coal in the corner of the furnace that burnt out.

Eventually my parents moved me in with my grandparents since I spent most of my time there anyway. My life got better after my parents ignored me. I gained back my confidence and grandpa taught me how to deal with bullies. After a few swift beatings they left me alone. I even decided to study the culinary arts. Unfortunately pastry school was super expensive so I went into the beauty industry for a bit since it was more affordable and easy money. I did have to do one or two jobs on the side while studying that, but it was nice. It helped boost my confidence even more and people were starting to notice me for me and not for how much I weighed.

It was magical.

I made enough money to study my favourite subject. I got along with alot of people and made new friends that had the same passion as me. My dream was to open a cafe one day. Just a small thing, nothing too big, but it would be mine. I had even put down a deposit on my first place. My own shop.

And then the accident happened...

#chefs kiss #isekai #pastry #pastry chef #story #novel #novel writing #fantasy #cliche #plot twist

[bardicbeetle]

Baker, Piper, Nice-Maker

Or: why I am the fool in the mask every holiday season.

This is a piece of non-fiction, which is not usual for this blog. But here we are. Full text under cut for ease of dashboard use.

Christmas day alone in my apartment.  I pretended not to hear the skittering of rat feet in the ceiling above my head.  Pretending not to hear a rat, sitting on the floor of my bleach bombed but finally clean kitchen, sobbing so hard I could not breathe.

Liar.

Selfish.

Stop holding a grudge!

Stop acting like this!

Despite the skittering and the thin layer of foam tile as the only barrier between myself in the kitchen and the rat, it was not the source of my tears.  No.  Half past midnight on Christmas day, dread flooded in over what I knew I’d have to do in a couple of hours.

I would peel myself off the kitchen floor with water pruned hands and bleach-burnt throat.  A shower would render my skin pink and raw until it was barely recognized.  I would dust off the person I needed to be.  Pretend that I had not shaved my head in a moment of dysphoria that had had me aching to tear off my own flesh, no, I had simply gotten tired of the hassle of brushing it.

That's all.  I would say.  Smiling like my jaw doesn't ache.

It's just hair, it'll grow back.  I would say.  As though the words don't feel sour on my tongue.

Easier than the alternative.  Easier than watching my Aunt’s lips purse like she’d swallowed a lemon, or my father going ashen as eyebrows vanished into his hairline.  Easier and better than dealing with the fallout of “I’m not your daughter/niece/granddaughter.”

Not easier for me.

But my life seemed to exist for the ease of others.  These problems didn’t belong to the person still confined to their kitchen floor. These and others would be problems for the person who emerged from the shower.  Hours yet before that person would exist, steam and scalded skin, wrapped in a mask that felt like a tomb before the night even began.

So you hate your own family now, is that it?

What are you going to do?  Cut everyone out?  How did that go for you last time?

Anger overpowered despair at last. Breath came in a gasp and stung from bleach. Breathing was a start. Gulping down sharp air until my eyes stopped denying me the right to see. My gaze settled on the sack of oranges atop my precarious shelving system—really just a few coffee tables stacked on top of one another—and it almost set me right back to despair.

Too much to do.

Too much—

Too much—

Too-

Funny. Not really. Funny in the worst way. I had a knack for choosing the worst moments to start fights with my family...  If I could truly be blamed, if the only thing to start them was existing, if I didn't anticipate which words would set off a wildfire of untamed vitriol. I rubbed furiously at my eyes until they burned instead of leaked, as though it might change the sight before me.

I had meant to spend yesterday baking.

I wouldn't have anything to give otherwise.

The only gift I could offer lately was food.  Regardless, it was a favorite.  More personal and sincere than anything I could buy. Everyone got a little of everything and more of what they loved best, and of course—I got the leftovers.

My brother got more brown butter chocolate shard cookies, so named because of the chocolate I shaved into them being molten when first baked— and then turning into layer upon layer of hard-crack delight. Always the first dough to make, as it needed to be ice cold when it went into the oven.

My grandmother got more iced shortbreads, full to bursting with ground tea leaves and lavender, edges rolled in colored sugar to sweeten the drinks they’d be dipped in. The most labor intensive, three separate cooling times, a stint in the freezer, and the absolute mess of icing them.

My mother got more of what I dubbed Punkin’ Clouds, resembling more muffin top than cookie, tasting about as close to warm pumpkin pie as you could get without it being the real thing, injected with pastry cream to boot. Time sensitive and delicate, out of the oven a moment too late and they turned rubbery, out too soon and they deflated like sad orange soufflés.

On and on the list goes.

Every Christmas since moving out I’d made over two hundred cookies, wrapped and labeled each flavor, and arrived for the celebration with a sack of personalized edible joy. Baking my meditation. Every recipe tried and tested until I could do it eyes shut, hands tied. I could start cookies and be elsewhere in moments, mind carrying me away on smell and sugar-high. The one part of this holiday—I no longer held—that actually felt worthwhile. Seeing the eyes of my family light up as they pulled their flavors from the pile.

This thought, more than anything, dragged me from the floor.

I would not slink upstairs to hot water and hopelessness, not yet. I would wait until I could wait no longer, until I felt bone weary and too tired to care what anyone called me. Until every question asked would be met with a tired smile and an empty nod, knowing my excuse would be sound.

I made all of these today, just so you’d all get fresh ones—

Crack!

The trap in the ceiling slammed shut, and suddenly the kitchen filled with the frantic squealing and scratching I had become accustomed to over the past three months of ferrying rodents from my apartment to the old farm road outside city limits. I thought about just leaving it there. I didn’t really have time to waste relocating another unwanted furry freeloader. Nor did I want to cover my newly cleaned floor in fiberglass insulation dust, again.

But I wasn’t in the mood to be cruel to anyone other than myself.

I could bleach the floor again tomorrow.

So pied piper I played once more: I pulled open the ceiling, shrugged on my coat, and walked out into the snow with a rat in a cage.  Deaf to the squealing now that it was free of the ceiling.

I returned to my kitchen empty cage in hand, where I would remain sweating before my old beast of an oven until sunrise came and beyond. Orange zest, flour, and chocolate shards coating my clothes, icing dried against my cheeks, spilled sugar crunching underfoot.

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

Breathing and baking. Tray in the oven, cookies on their racks, hands deep in dough, mind finally relaxed.

#writeblr #nonfiction #l dente #nonfiction writeblr #amwriting #meet the magician #the magician cries

[keepersofmyheart]

Baked apples 🍏

Don’t use the mushy red ones

#bdylanhollis #❤️keepersofmyheart❤️ #he loves his sweets now #cause he’s sweet 🥰😍 #my grandmother use to make these and they are awesome #another grandmother would do this then wrap it in dough #it was awesome as well #I love to eat and smell cinnamon #some people don’t #👁👃👁 terry types #food porn #recipes #he didn’t really say how much but I’m sure #you could guess #or look it up #dare I say google it 😂😂

[rumblelibrary]

Can I have something super soft and sweet with Andrea? I need some content from my cottagecore husband. You can decide whatever you want to do with it!

The Perfect Day [Andrea Marowski x fem!Reader]

Word count: 2.3k

Warnings: fluff

A/N: thank you for making me write this lifesaver <3

The soft chirping of the birds woke you up. You stirred lightly, a smile coming across your lips as you felt the soft lavender scent over your young husband skin. You slept holding hands, your forehead against his chest as your eyes got used to the bright light outside the window.

The soft cotton sheets clung around your naked bodies along with some heavier quilted duvet, legs tangled as he breathed slowly still deep into his slumber.

You observed him into his simplest nature, he looked so much younger when asleep, his features perfect as kissed by the gentle morning light.

You slowly moved your hand away, he frowned but with time you mastered the art of leaving the bed without awakening him. He huffed, face buried into the pillows as he rolled onto his stomach covering the warm spot you left. Your hand gently onto his soft hair caressing them away from his face. The time seemed to be something unknown to you.

After adjusting the covers over his shoulder you shivered into your nakedness, your hands grasping onto your white nightdress pulling it over you to cover your frame before adding up a burgundy cardigan belonging to Andrea to protect you against the goosebumps your body suffered for leaving the warm comfort of his presence.

You stepped into the kitchen quietly, breathing in the soft smell of a new day. Your hands went immediately to unveil the dough that was covered by a cloth and you left to raise during the night, it was now ready to be baked and you’ll have your warm bread for the day. Andrea spent the day before picking up the mature fruits from your trees, so it was easy to wash them and cut them while you put on the pot for your morning tea.

You hummed softly a song that Andrea was rehearsing with his violin for few days, now helplessly stuck with you, your hands unveiling the pie you prepared the day before cutting some slices.

Before anything else you moved away going to your garden standing barefoot onto the cold stone of the steps, you hugged yourself enjoying the view before slipping on some comfortable shoes and settling the table. The summer day was amazing and the morning breeze made the heat unnoticeable. A white table cloth with fresh flowers and then your started going back and forth from the kitchen to the garden bringing dishes and plates

You blinked surprised as little Anthony, the 14 years old son of the local baker, passed by with his bike waving at you. He blushed as you just looked so calm and relaxed.

“Got the mail and the newspaper Mrs Marowski” he said as he hopped off his bike to hand it to you. You picked one of the peaches you got into a basket nearby handing it to him I return “Thank you Anthony, have a good day”

He smiled and nodded vehemently as he rushed off back to his duties.

You looked down onto the mails: an invite to a concert in London, something from your parents, something in polish coming from Andrea’s family and a voluminous yellow envelope that was coming from Andrea's favourite music shop in London and by the weight you could tell it was some new music sheets. Also a note from your seamstress telling you that the new winter coats need the last fittings.

You were about to check the first page of the newspaper as a loud meowing made you jump.

Andrea was standing in front of you, soft khaki pants with a loose white shirt, your cat draped onto him, a beautiful grey British short hair who was staring at you.

“Did Laszlo woke you up?”

“Did you doubt it?” Andrea asked with a chuckle as he leaned closer to you, a kiss resting onto your lips as the cat jumped off his arm.

“I hate to wake up on an empty bed, even if your table setting is the best” he assured as he smiled at you tangling you into another kiss.

“Mh, the tea” you just reminded yourself as he chuckled 

“One more, one more” he begged between chuckles stealing another kiss before letting you go inside and he proceeded to give the annoying boss of your cat the food he deserved and demanded.

He sat on the chair enjoying the soft breeze as you brought a small tray with the tea to complete the set up.

He hummed softly opening the package coming from London gleefully as he admired his new music sheets.

“Your presence is required to see a new concert, I think they want to show off to have you as solo violin” you said showing him the invitation while sitting with him. He admired you, he stared at you with a soft smile “I will have to hear my agent first” he said as he meant you. You always had a good gut feelings and often kept him from taking random impulsive decisions.

“There’s something from your family too” you added and he smirked 

“You read it first” he said as he was helping you with polish and you sighed softly using one of your butter knives to open the letter. His hand quickly went to your cookies taking one happy bite as he still stared at the music on paper.

His eyes darting up only to look at you focused onto the paper scribbled by his parents and you nodded explaining to him a letter that was mostly about every day updates

“This word” you signalled as he leaned in lightly in to read it as there was only one point you didn’t seem to grasp not even by the words before or after it.

He chuckled loudly almost chocking onto the crumbles covering his mouth with the back of his hand.

“What?”

You asked as he blushed deeply.

“Oh no, they hated my knit work? Is it that?”

He shook his head as you frowned at him waving that letter expecting an answer before your mind went onto the worried train of thoughts.

“It means” he licked his lips, eyes shining “It means pregnancy, not literally it is a more discreet way to say it, more like expecting something, but they mean that, my mum wants to know when she can call herself grandmother”

You blushed deeply as you looked down, you are such a young couple and you’re actually enjoying this phase, now it is not like every little delay of your period didn’t make your heart do the backflips, but to be asked so directly felt weird.

“Don’t worry about it, she means it in a good way, they adore you and they keep saying how you brought some sense into me”

He smiled taking your hand gently kissing the back of it.

“We have Laszlo for now it is more than enough” he joked to light you up and you giggled “Indeed” you said as you looked around finding the cat running after some butterflies. Andrea always complained that Laszlo hated him, Laszlo was your cat even before the polish man came into your life, but truth to be told they were best buddies: the cat would always check where he was and Andrea was the first to always feed him.

“I was thinking we could go to town today, I promised Ursula to play for her tea party with some friends coming all the way from Edinburgh and maybe we can go past the bookshop and buy some flour and whatever else. I could plant some pumpkin seeds, I love your velvety pumpkin cream for autumn”

You smiled as he really can’t wait for the colder season even if that meant to see you more dressed and clothed he also loved to nuzzle with you in front of the fire.

“Agreed” you said and he smiled proudly as you handed him the letter from your family and he sighed softly but proceeded to read it like you did with his.

He was way better at English, but mostly spoken English, he still hated to read and you picked books for him too even if he always puppy eyed you into reading for him.

He read quietly the letter as you ate some pie. He frowned lightly as he spelled out loud some words, sometimes he did it to learn the difference from a word that he knows and how it was written.

When you both drank your tea and he finally indulged into the local news he hushed you to get dressed “You take the longest to get ready, I’ll clean up” he said winking at you making you huff and roll your eyes playfully.

So you did, you went to wash yourself and braided your hair into an updo hairstyle, a light white dressy shirt and a long pleaded skirt for you as you also prepared the clothes for him.

As you redid your bed and he walked inside after clearing up the kitchen you couldn’t help but adore him into his little routines, the way he shaved and got prepared, the way he wore the clothes you figured out for him with happy delight. He loved how you looked after him, he felt loved, the small attentions like that one put him at rest, he relaxed and he felt babied and he loved it.

He picked the case of his violin handing it to you using it to pull you closer and steal another kiss. You chuckled as he leaned in to kiss you again, and again, and once more.

“Andrea” you whispered as he chuckled softly kissing you once again, he smelled so good, his skin soft and perfumed thanks to his aftershave oil.

How could you resist him?

“Two minutes” you whispered leaning back down the violin over your vanity to be able to wrap your arms around his neck letting out a soft yelp as he fell over you on the bed.

Useless to say that it wasn’t two minutes and not even twenty, your trembling legs around him and the way you guided him to give you just what you wanted from him always drove him crazy.

After a short nap you really had to begin to get going, he helped you to dress up slowly zipping up your skirt and you had a new rush of pleasure just by buttoning up his shirt covering his chest peppered with hickeys.

You locked the house and he pulled out his black bike putting the violin box in the basket on the front along with your white one “I prefer when we go with one” he complained but you chuckled “yes, but if we buy few things we will have to go by walking” you made him notice and he sighed nodding.

He waited for you as you pedalled your way to the town centre, he was swaying in front of you and you raced a bit against each other until the stone bridge that welcomed you there.

“See you at Ursula’s” you said and he nodded leaning in to kiss you one more time, he indulged into that kiss a littlest as he opened his eyes slowly, a smile playing over his lips.

“My wife” he said, sometimes he repeated it like he had to remind himself. You chuckled as you kissed his cheek and you go parted.

You knew Ursula liked to pared Andrea off, you let her do it, she came with time to like you, she saw how much good you did to Andrea, how much balance you gave to him, his behaviour was stable, he settled down.

You stopped to the local grocery store taking up some spices, some cinnamon in particular as you knew how much Andrea loved it on sweets, few little cooking and baking items you missed and then off to the bookstore.

“Hello hello” you said as the old man there greeted you “The books you ordered arrived” he said as he moved his shaky legs into the back of the shop bringing you the easy books in polish you ordered to practice some reading. You smiled looking at them as Andrea gave you the titles of books that made his youth and also few new ones for him. You added to that stock a new cooking book and few novels for Andrea and his English. The old man was the sweetest, he kept the booster open no matter the weather and politics and he always made sure to find anything you might be looking for.

He helped you tie all your buyings together onto the bike so after paying you just pushed it walking through the town, just enjoying a good time around giving yourself time until you made it to Ursula’s home.

Well, you called Ursula’s but Janet as always there even if her presence was always quieter you teamed up with her most of the time letting Ursula enjoy her time with Andrea.

You smiled stopping in your track as you heard the soft sound of the violin, you closed your eyes breathing in, like you could enjoy the music through the air.

You adjusted your dress and smiling to yourself, the moment sinking in slowly.

Your husband, your life, the idea of coming back home together, cuddle on the couch, listen to his words, having his honey eyes on you.

A natural smiled appeared on your lips.

After few moments you decided to keep going, you pulled your bike  letting it rest against the fence, Janet appearing at the doorstep to welcome you in.

Your perfect day.

Tagged @cazzyimagines @lieutenantn @handmaiden-of-mischief @thesunflowersutra @zemomybeloved @fictionlandslanddreams@charistory @greeneyedblondie44 @apparrio @hb8301 @whatawildone @rhymerhymerhyme  @thehuiabird @lilith-blackrose @unbeatablecurlgirl @obsidianlaszlo @alindeluce @zemosimp05 @baronesszemo-blackwood @nocapesdahling @everythingbeginsineternity-blog

#andrea marowski #andrea marowski fanfiction #andrea marowski x reader #andrea marowski x you #andrea marowski headcanons #cottegecore Andrea Marowski #daniel bruhl #daniel bruehl

[daydreamsandcaffeine]

Sugar and Spice Surprise

Author: @daydreamsandcaffeine

Card number and prompt: Card 3 - Baking Cookies

Title: Sugar and Spice Surprise

Rating: G

Summary: Of sweet traditions, grandmothers, and love - Poppy and Graham Mellark are eager to surprise their mama. Pure and utter fluff, modern AU.

Word count: 1,403

Author’s note: At the start of 2021, I never would've predicted that I'd write and share stories, and now here I am wrapping up a bingo card for @talesofpanem Everlark Holiday Bingo 2021. Kudos to @jhsgf82 for being an amazing friend and beta-ing, couldn't have done this whole writing thing without ya! To the readers, I hope 2022 is good to you.

“Papa, when can we put the cookie dough into the molds?” An eager blue-eyed, dark curly-haired 6-year-old Poppy Mellark asks whilst peeking up over the kitchen counter. Her 4-year-old chubby, blond, grey-eyed brother Graham stands next to her, his eyes shining with equal eagerness.

“Soon, my little bakers,” says her papa, who is prepping the materials on said counter. He holds up his right pointer finger over his lips. “But remember, we have to stay quiet if you want to surprise your mama with them when she wakes up.”

The sister and brother bob their heads up and down in response. Their eyes twinkle in merriment, struggling to contain their excitement to surprise their mama with Christmas cookies and decadent hot chocolate for breakfast.

—

The children loved the story about how their parents’ relationship began over a tin of spiced cookies. When their mama was 14, their Grandpa Everdeen had been in a car accident while driving home from work; another car ran a red light and hit the driver’s side. Due to the injuries, he spent the holidays that year in the hospital recovering, so the Everdeens were there everyday that holiday period.

Peeta wanted to do something, anything really, that could bring a semblance of festive cheer to his classmate and long-time crush, Katniss. Whenever he felt a little blue during that time of year, his Oma would bake a batch of her family’s famous speculaas cookies, and afterwards, they’d then munch on them together. Every single time, he felt full of joy-his blue mood forgotten, replaced with memories of delectable spices of clove, cinnamon, nutmeg, cardamom, cloves, and ginger and his Oma’s love. So, he thought he could do the same for Katniss; if it successfully made him feel better, then maybe it would do the same for her. Plus, this would by far outdo the hospital’s holiday offerings, in his opinion, anyways.

On the last day of school before winter break, Peeta spotted Katniss clearing out her locker. He knew this was his chance, so after a brief pep talk to himself, he marched to her locker and handed her the tin of his Oma’s cookies. “I’m sorry about what happened to your dad, Katniss. I know it must be hard right now with him at the hospital instead of at home, but I hope these can help a little bit. I made my Oma’s special cookies that always make me feel better when I’m down.”

“Oh, um, thank you” was all Katniss could say. She herself was flustered by Peeta’s unexpected but kind gesture; otherwise, she would have tried to refuse, not used to receiving something without having anything to give in return. Not knowing what else to do or say, Katniss hurriedly rushed off to get Prim and then make their way to see their father. Peeta watched her go, and while he wished there could have been more to the exchange, he just hoped his Oma’s cookies would do their trick.

He was working his bakery shift a week later when he saw Katniss through the window. She seemed to be internally debating herself, based on her pacing back and forth and the serious look on her face. He saw her take a deep breath before she made her way to the door, opened it, and stepped into the bakery. She looked to the counter and made eye contact with Peeta. After a visible inhale and exhale, she walked towards him.

“Hey, Katniss. Welcome to Mellarks’,” he warmly greeted her with a smile, hoping to ease some of her nerves.

“Thank you for the cookies. Prim loved them; they made her happy. My parents also enjoyed them; my dad said it’s better than what the hospital passes for dessert,” she blurted.

“What about you?”

She quietly and shyly answered, “I really liked them, too. It helped us forget that we were in the hospital for a little bit.”

Peeta couldn’t help but beam upon hearing that. It was everything he’d hoped it would do and more. “It’s Oma’s holiday magic.”

Katniss nodded and then held out a canister to him. “Um, this is for you.”

He quirked an eyebrow in question as he took the canister from her.

“It’s Grandma Everdeen’s special hot chocolate,” she clarified. “To return the favor.”

He rubbed the back of his neck with one hand and shrugged. “It was nothing, Katniss. I wanted to do something that could bring a little bit of holiday joy to you and your family.”

A whisper of a soft smile graced her lips. “Merry Christmas and Happy New Year, Peeta.”

An act of thoughtfulness and a returned gesture lit the match, coaxing a pleasant fire between the two. Through kindle and tending, a friendship was forged that blossomed into the relationship they have now. Thus, each holiday season, Oma Mellark’s perfectly spiced speculaas and Grandma Everdeen’s rich hot chocolate made a special appearance.

—

This year, Poppy and Graham were giddy to participate in the yearly tradition, so they (Poppy talked for the both of them) asked their papa if they could help make the cookies and the hot chocolate and surprise their mama in bed (Mama had recently been feeling a lot more worn down).

“It’s time to put the cookies in the mold, my little bakers,” Peeta announces.

The children squeal with delight in return. After putting on matching red and green aprons that say “Santa’s Elf” on them, they step onto the foot stools Peeta has set up for them by the counter. With Peeta’s guidance, Poppy and Graham put speculaas dough into the cookie molds, and when ready, Peeta pops each cookie out of its mold. “Ooos” and “aahs” are bountiful during the process; Poppy and Graham point out various details they can see imprinted on the cookies.

After all the dough is used, Peeta places the molded cookies into the oven. He and the children make the hot chocolate while they wait for the speculaas to finish baking. Poppy, being the grown up 6-year-old she is, wants to be in charge of presentation; she picks out the plate and mug to place on the tray and uses some remaining holly and ivy decor to round out the tray. Once the oven timer dings , Peeta takes the cookies out and lets them cool for a few minutes before he carefully transfers the ones Poppy and Graham selected to the plate.

Once all is ready, Poppy and Graham lead the way up the stairs and down the hall to their parents’ bedroom as Peeta carries the tray. Peeta quietly opens the bedroom door, and in unison, the children run inside, jump onto the bed, and yell, “Surprise, Mama, surprise!”

Katniss, already awake, is sitting up in bed and scrolling through articles on her phone. She smiles at her children, eyes playfully curious. When Peeta steps into the room holding the aromatic tray, he grins, winks at her, and cocks his head in the direction of the enthusiastic kids. Her eyes dawn with realization, but she keeps up the charade. “What’s the surprise?”

“We made cookies!” Graham proudly announces. Simultaneously, Peeta sets the tray down in front of Katniss and stays standing beside the bed.

Poppy adds, “We helped Papa make Great Oma’s speculaas cookies and Great Grandma’s hot chocolate.” She carefully enunciates speculaas, since it’s not a word that easily rolls off her tongue just yet.

“It smells wonderful,” Katniss encourages. She picks up a cookie and bites into it. “It tastes delicious as always.” The smiles on Poppy’s and Graham’s faces grow even wider, rivaling their father’s. Katniss grabs the mug of hot chocolate and sips. “Mmm, just like Grandma Everdeen’s. Thank you, my little ones. This was a lovely surprise.”

The siblings clap their hands together, ecstatic that they pulled it off-with the help of their papa. Katniss gives each one a cookie, and they happily start eating them.

The weight of the bed shifts next to Katniss as Peeta joins her. He places featherlight kisses to her forehead. “How are you feeling?”

“Better now. It seems our grandmother’s treats were exactly what these two little ones needed. I can tell they want more,” she says as she caresses the swell of her belly.

“Hmm, maybe this time we should name them after the ingredients used in the cookies and hot chocolate,” he teases. “After all, our grandmas do know best.”

Fin.

—

Final author's note: My ethnicity has Dutch influences, and one of my favorite treats during the holiday season is speculaas (or speculoos in Belgian and French or spekulatius in German; Biscoff may be a more recognizable name). Growing up, my aunt in Germany would ship packages of these cookies to the states to my Oma (grandma) who would then spoil me (and my siblings) with them. These memories are what inspired me to write the above story for the prompt.

#everlarkholidaybingo2021 #tales of panem #holiday!everlark #winter!everlark #katniss x peeta #toastbabies #everlark #everlark fanfiction #everlark ficlet #feel good fluff #daydreamsandcaffeine writes

[bokettochild]

Of Gramma’s and Pie

Saw a prompt about Wild and Legend baking pie together, so here we are I guess...

Should this go in the Bunny Merchant’s Fluffy Adventure’s collection? It’s not exactly Ravio centric....

 “So, you claim the vet can bake.”

 It’s morning and the heroes stopped by again last night, wounded and tired and all too happy to sip warm cider and cocoa while Ravio bustled about and worked with Mr. Hero to organize sleeping arrangements for them. The sun rose long ago, but most of Mr. Hero’s family is still asleep, and when he’d last checked he’d found Captain Hero Sir Jr. dozing on Mr. Hero’s bed with young Wild curled into one side and Tune curled into the other, Mr. Rancher spread out over the top of them like some sort of strange blanket.  

 Mr. Chosen Hero dozes on the couch, sailcloth wrapped around him as well as Mr. Hero’s favorite blanket, and the veteran hero lies collapsed on the floor (but suitably surrounded by cushions) at his side, the older hero’s hand hanging down to where Mr. Hero clings to it in his sleep, the edge of the quilt trails over the top of him, and Ravio seriously doubts that his housemate will be waking any time soon.  

 Fortunately, he’s not pressed for company, what with Mr. Traveler Hero happily inspecting the garden outside and humming softly, and Mr. Smithy busily mending the front door that he’s been nagging Mr. Hero about for years now. The tune of their work mixes with that of his own as he mixes up fresh bread dough to bake for breakfast.

 Mr. Captain Hero Sir had stumbled into the kitchen mere minutes ago, pouring himself a cup of coffee from Ravio’s beloved Hytopian-press, and sipping it slowly as he sits at the table and watches Ravio work

 The statement is out of nowhere, but Mr. Captain Hero Sir’s blue eyes sparkle over the rim of his mug, and Ravio can only smile back. “Yes, Mr. Hero is an excellent cook!”

 “Really?” The captain doesn’t sound the least bit convinced, cocking a brow and giving a smile that screams doubt. “The vet, Mister I-Burn-Any-Food-I-Touch?”

 “Mr. Captain Hero Sir!” Ravio exclaims, a hand drawing up to touch his chest in a sign of offence. “You speak so cruelly! Sure, Mr. Hero never mastered campfire cooking, but he’s a talented cook!”

 The captain continued to stare and smile in unbelief.

 “You should taste his pies.” Ravio sighs, determined to convince his friend. “Light buttery crusts, sweet tender centers, just the right balance of spicey and sweet...” He can already taste the thick gooey richness that is mincemeat, eyes sparkling at the thought of molasses, and stomach growling loudly at the mere hint of apple pie. “I’ll ask him to make you one,” He chirps as he snaps back to attention, shooing Sheerow away from his bread dough and offering his little friend a raisin to keep him busy. “What’s your favorite pie, Mr. Captain Hero Sir?”

 “Oh no,” Mr. Captain Hero Sir shakes his head, laughing lightly. “I don’t like pie.”

 From the bedroom, Captain Hero Sir Jr.’s snores cut off abruptly, Wild kicking lightly in his sleep and Tune’s brows twitching. In the living room, Mr. Chosen Hero starts awake and Mr. Hero stirs slightly, brow furrowing and nose wiggling at some disturbance.

 Three sets of eyes stare at Mr. Captain Hero Sir, one through the window, another from the door, and the third practically in the captain’s face as Ravio darts forwards and slams his hands on the table. Coffee sloshes out of the mug and onto his sleeve, but he’s too busy staring down his old friend to care.

 “You don’t like pie?!?!?!”

 “Um...” Mr. Captain Hero Sir pulls away, wincing at the sudden noise and glancing nervously at the bedroom door. “No?”

 He’s torn, half of him utterly horrified and half wanting to order the captain to go sit in a corner and think about what he’s said, as if his friend is a naughty child, and the other worriedly wondering if Mr. Captain Hero Sir even knows what a proper pie tastes like. “But...how?”

 Mr. Captain Hero Sir shrugs, almost calm, as if his words aren’t critical to their friendship (they aren’t, not really, but Ravio had thought the captain had more sense than this). “It’s just not something I enjoy. If I wanted to eat fruit I’d go buy some, if I want crunchy bread I’ll buy some, why on earth would I mix them?”

 “I sense a disturbance in nature,” Wild and Captain Hero Sir Jr. both stand in the doorway, the younger sleepily rubbing his eyes as the words leave his mouth with a yawn while his elder looms behind him, face shaded in the shadows of the doorway. “What’s happening out here?”

 Mr. Captain Hero Sir sighs in resignation, letting his head fall into his hands as he whispers something unintelligible under his breath, but Ravio doesn’t spare him an ounce of pity as he points an accusing finger the captain’s way. “Mr. Captain Hero Sir says he doesn’t like pie!”

 Four heads shoot up to stare at the man in question, the sleep fading from Wild’s eyes and Captain Hero Sir Jr. sighing in what can only be disappointment with his older brother/father-figure. Over in the living room, Mr. Chosen Hero has shot up to stare in something like shock at the captain, Mr. Hero’s head rising up next to him with a glower that makes them all shiver.

 “Who said what in my house?”

 “I don’t like pie.” Mr. Captain Hero Sir reiterates, and Ravio genuinely has to stumble back, hand on his brow as he looks at the captain.  

 “My own friend! Speaking such words of sacrilege! Such disrespect and sin! Why? I trusted you, Mr. Captain Hero Sir!”

 The man in question sighs again, loudly, shaking his head. “You don’t need to make a big deal out of it, it’s just pie, it’s not even-”

 “Just pie?!?” Two heroes shout en tandem, Mr. Hero practically vaulting himself over the couch and Wild stiffening indignantly.

 “It’s not ‘just pie’!” Mr. Hero protests. “Have you ever eaten pie? Have you never-”

 “Pie is sacred.” Wild nods sagely, eyes sharp and firm as they meet the captains.

 “See?” Mr. Hero motions to the younger hero. “Pie is sacred! You do not disrespect pie!”

 The disagreement turns into a full-blown argument and Ravio can only watch in ever growing shock at how defensive some of the heroes can be about their opinions; Mr. Captain Hero Sir tiredly reiterating his disagreement while the others each travel through the five stages of grief on repeat, Mr. Hero eventually scowling darkly and uttering the words that silence the others.

 “I am gonna to make a pie so lip-smackin' good you’ll be on your knees repentin’ for your sins.”

 And Mr. Captain Hero Sir looks all the more tired at the words, rubbing his head at the beginnings of a country twang in Mr. Hero’s voice as the veteran turns to Wild, eyes flashing indigo as they meet eerie cornflower blue. “Wild, I’ll need your help.”

 “Why?” Ravio whispers, looking between the two.

 “Because,” Mr. Hero runs his hands through his long hair, the locks still messy from sleep and left uncombed for days. “I still haven’t been able to recreate Gran’s recipe for apple pie and Wild’s my best chance at figuring out what I’m doing wrong.”

 The merchant blinks. Once. Twice. Three times. And stares at his friend. “Doesn’t your grandmother live just down the road a way? Only an hour or so? Can’t you just ask her?”

 And as eyes turn to Mr. Hero, the other boy waves him off, ears tainted pink as he turns to the kitchen cabinets and starts searching. “Nope, not tryin’ that. It’s been five years or so an’ she’d only be upset with me for not getting' news to her ‘bout anything. I’d rather save her the bother of fussin’ and worryin’.”

 “You-” Mr. Captain Hero Sir is the one who looks outraged now. “You don’t keep your grandma up to date about how you are? What kind of a grandson are you, vet?!?!”

 “A terrible one.” Mr. Hero sighs into the cabinet, and while his voice is resigned his ears droop ever so slightly, making the captain pause in his scolding.

 Green meets royal blue as merchant and captain exchange a worried look, before both nodding as a silent conversation is spun between them, Mr. Captain Hero Sir plucking up his coffee mug and retreating, and Ravio following behind a few minutes later after making sure his bread is in the oven and that those in the kitchen are fully distracted and properly attired (it brings him no small amount of joy to see Mr. Hero don the frilly bunny apron he gave him last holiday season).

 “We’re contacting that poor woman.” Mr. Captain Hero Sir murmurs as soon as the two of them are clear of the kitchen. “She’s got to be worried sick about him.”

 “Who?” Mr. Chosen Hero is still blinking sleep from his eyes, but he looks between them with curiosity.

 “Legend’s Gran.” Mr. Captain Hero Sir, explains. “Turns out the vet hasn’t contacted her in something close to five years, and now feels awkward about trying.”

 “Oh.” Mr. Chosen Hero murmurs sadly. “Poor vet!”

 “Poor Legend’s grandma!” Mr. Captain Hero Sir , brows furrowed as he shakes his head. “She’s got to be worried sick about him! Imagine if Wind’s granny didn’t know where he was for five years! She’d be sick as death with worry!”

 “We need to contact her.” Mr. Chosen Hero breathes, eyes wide.

 “Agreed.” The other two nod.

 Mr. Chosen Hero’s hand is the steadiest, and his script the most elegant as they work to scribble out a letter. Originally, Mr. Captain Hero Sir had wanted to forge the letter and present it as being from Mr. Hero himself, but Mr. Chosen Hero had rejected the idea, claiming that doing so would only cause problems. “I’m a master of letter mischief.” The Skyloftian claims with a twinkle in his eyes. “You don’t write a letter for someone, or you’ll just cause trouble. Trust me. The best way to do this is honestly.”

 At the doubtful expressions of the other two he adds on, only slightly sheepish. “All other methods are excellent ways of destroying relationships, again, trust me on this one. If we present it as Legend’s words, he’ll just get mad at all of us, and if we lie, then they’ll both be mad and likely hurt. But if we tell her the truth, that Legend is hesitant to reach out because he thinks she’ll only be upset, then any decent granny would either reply or wing it over here as soon as possible.”

 “That’s ‘hoof it over here’.” Mr. Captain Hero Sir corrects with a grin. “But you’ve got the right spirit, Sky.”

 The other man smiles up at him from his seat, eyes twinkling with trouble. “We share a spirit, so...”

 The captain cuffs the back of his friend’s head, missing as Mr. Chosen Hero ducks, giggling softly and smiling as he turns his attention to the parchment and ink that Ravio had provided for their mission. The quill stills just above the paper as Mr. Chosen Hero pauses, biting his lip and looking up at the two of them. “How should I address it?”

 The captain blinks, and Ravio watches as the man frowns down at the blank parchment. “...I don’t know. Does Legend even have a last name?”

 “Lon.” Ravio chirps, moving to grab a letter laid at the top of the desk and pointing out the words scrawled on it in Miss Princess Zelda’s hand. Link Lon, the paper reads, and both of the heroes blink at it incredulously.

 “Lon? Like-”

 “Miss Malon?” Mr. Chosen Hero breathes, and the two exchange a glance.

 “Miss- Oh!” The merchant brightens. “You mean Grammalon?” Again, he darts across the bedroom towards one of the shelves, the heroes’ eyes following his motions as he selects a framed picture from one of the shelves and presents it to them.

 He watches in amusement as their eyes grow wide, Mr. Chosen Hero setting down his quill and reverently touching the picture.  

 “Is that Time?” Mr. Captain Hero Sir breathes, brows cocked as he bends over to study the picture that now lies in Mr. Chosen Hero’s hands.

 “Is what me?” And there the kid/not-kid is, standing in the doorway with raised brows and a curious tilt to his head (some things never change).

 “Time, Legend has your picture on his wall.” The captain chuckles, confusion still apparent in his gaze as his younger brother/son crosses the length of the room to stare at the picture.

 Sure enough, the picture, faded and grainy, displays Time’s smiling face, free of markings or scars, with both eyes shining in a smile as what appears to be the younger version of the hero stares out from the photo, arms wrapped around an older woman with equally bright eyes and long windswept hair.  

 “That’s Mr. Hero’s Grammalon.” Ravio chirps as the three stare. “And her grandson, Mr. Hero’s ancestor, Sir Hero Raven.”

 “Hero of Ravens?” The three heroes look at each other in confusion, and Ravio has to bite back a giggle at their stupidity. All Heroes were the same it seemed.  

 “Hero of Labrynnia, but his name was Raven. He’s Mr. Hero’s ancestor and mentor, but don’t let on that I told you!” He whispers, conspiratorially while the three adult heroes blink at him in confusion.  

 “Legend had a....” Twilight breathes

 “How did his ancestor mentor him?” Sky wonders aloud.

 “Are they still at it?” Legend grumbles as he stirs the dry ingrediants, gaze turning to where Wild stands by the cabinets, ears perked towards the bedroom door.  

 “Yep.” The champion replies, climbing on top of a shelf to reach something located higher up. “How do you even reach stuff this high?”

 “Same way you are right now.” legend smirks, violet eyes never leaving the champion, waiting for the second he slips and sighing softly with relief when Wild hops easily down. “Don’t tell Ravio though, he’d scold me for putting me feet on things.”

 Wild nods and the two return to their work, stirring and mixing and measuring and generally existing within the same space as they work.

 It’s nice having someone to cook with, someone who isn’t fussy (although he does enjoy working with Ravio) and a person who’s daring enough to try nearly anything to make a recipe perfect. The vet and champion work in an easy dance, darting past each other and reaching over around and past in order to get what they need, falling into an easy pattern as Legend reaches for the cinnamon to hand to Wild just as the champion hands him a stack of pie pans to place the crusts in once their ready.

 It’s easy to melt into the lull of the work, and he’s nearly lost in slicing the apples the right way when Wild’s voice begins to waver with an all too familiar lilting tune that has violet eyes shooting up to stare at him.

 “Where did you learn that song?”

 “You like it?” Wild offers a weak smile, and the vet can only nod slowly as Wild’s attention drifts back down to his work. “I think my mother taught it to me, I don’t know. It plays in my head when I work, and sometimes when I cook.”

 “You too, huh?”

 At the champion’s confused stare, he elaborates. “My Gran hums the same song when she works the farm, I’ve known it since I was a tot. Guess I never figured that our weird...” He gestures airily, careful not to scatter flour from his white-dusted fingers. “Family, I guess, that we’d all probably learn it.”

 “Where did it come from?” Wild cocks his head, eyes imploring and ever so wide that it’s hard for Legend to remember he needs to look up to meet them instead of down.  

 “Great Grammalon.” Legend answers easily. He doesn’t know why the words spill from his mouth or why he’s so open with the kid, but Wild isn’t teasing and there’s no one else about now that Four’s moved on to join Hyrule in inspecting the bee hives out in the back. “It’s the family horse song, something of a lullaby too.”

 “Does it have words?” Wild presses, curios and open, drawing a short halting laugh from the vet with the innocence of a face that has many times before been twisted in smiles that would make Hylia shudder.

 “I recken’ so, never learned them though, just the tune.”

 And Wild nods, content with his answer as the two return to their work. When the song drifts over the kitchen again, Legend startles to find that his voice is joining in, humming a soft melody to Wild’s lilting voice, the tune weaving about the kitchen and making every motion and task feel like a dance. They’re both light on their feet, both nimble and quick, both seamless in their motions in a way that makes it so much like a dance that Legend’s nearly lost in it.

 In the bedroom, Twilight blinks awake to help write a letter to a forlorn and forgotten grandmother, while, in the kitchen, the vet and champion work to a tune that rings familiar in more than just their own ears.

  Come breakfast time, when the others are awake at last and everyone has tumbled into the kitchen, they find Wild clapping the flour from his hands over the top of an already dust covered and violently sneezing vet, who’s smile stretches just as far as the champions as he wipes apple juice slick hands across Wild’s tunic, from the shoulders to the waist, snickering wildly as the younger hero pulls back with a soft whine of complaint.

 “You two have been busy.” Time chuckles as he walks into the room, wiping ink from his fingers across Legend’s white dusted apron.

 “Twilight, your kid needs to be controlled.” Legend promptly deadpans, earning a hurt look from the champion.

 “But we just had a bonding moment!” Wild protests.  

 “You can’t deny the magic of bonding moments.” Time nods sagaciously as Wild embraces the vet, further covering the vet in flour and now juice as Legend rolls his eyes, but there’s no missing the little smile on his face or the gentle way he pats the arm that wraps around his front as Wild nuzzles into his flour coated hair.

 “Mr. Hero!” Ravio’s startled shriek sounds, an envelope fluttering to the floor as he freezes, green eyes widening in horror. “What in Lolia’s name have the two of you been doing!”

 “Legend spilled the-” The champion is cut off by a fast-moving elbow to the stomach, making him wheeze lightly as Legend reaches above his head to muffle the kid’s voice.

 “Wild knocked a bag of flour off of the top shelf. Don’t worry he- yech!” The vet surges forward with a horrified expression, only to fall forwards into Wild’s arms where they’re still hooked around his chest, the champion’s tongue lolling out of his mouth with a dopey grin.

 “Licking the hand? Really Wild?” Twilight shakes his head.

 “That’s disgusting!” Legend shivers, wiping his hand off on his once pink but now white apron.

 “The vet knocked it over.” Wild says sweetly.

 “You lil’ shit!” Legend scowls upwards at the hero holding him, but when Wild’s eyes meet his there’s a glimmer of something mischievous in the vet’s gaze. “How would I even reach that?”

 The champion only grins, a bit feral and entirely insane, and squeezes Legend closer. “You're a gremlin too!” And this time when the champion nuzzles again his hair with a delighted growling Legend only sits there in the embrace, covered in flour and wearing the most hideously frilly and pink apron any of them have ever seen, a weary but fond grin pulling at his lips.

 “What’s with the letter.” The pink-and-white-headed vet questions, cocking a brow and leaning back in the embrace of a beaming Wild.

 “It’s um...” Ravio flushes, darkening continuously as Legend continues to stare at him. “It’s...”

 “It’s a letter to your gran.” Warriors pipes up, sipping a second mug of coffee as he sist at the table. “Poor woman deserves to know you're okay.”

 The vet stiffens in Wild’s hold, earning Warriors a glare from the champion as well as the vet for ruining the bonding cuddles. “I told you to let it alone.” Legend scowls, hands fisting in his frankly hideous apron.

 “And I know what it’s like to be a parent who doesn’t know where their kid is.” Warriors returns evenly, eyes softening slightly. “Privacy or not, you’re hurting someone else, and if it means not respecting your wishes in order to set an old woman’s heart at ease-”

 “Okay!” Legend snaps, before sagging back against Wild, going very nearly limp and running is hand down his face as the champion looks down at his cooking buddy with concern in his gaze. “Just- What did you guys write?”

 “We told her you’re okay.” Sky offers. “You’ve been traveling and doing things for the royal family and others and you were feeling guilty over not talking to her. We told her why you hadn’t visited, based on what you said earlier, and we said that we’d try and talk to you about it when we could.”  

 The vet nods slowly, a frown creasing his face where he’d been bright and smiling moments before. “Okay.”

 “Are you alright with us sending it?” The gentle hero presses cautiously, and at Legend’s nod of the head Sheerow is already whizzing over to accept the letter from Ravio’s hands before whizzing back out the open window with an eager noise that has Legend shaking his head with a hint of a smile.

 “Come on,” Wild hefts the smaller hero in his arms like a child with a puppy. “We need to force feed my dad some pie!”

 There was no escaping it, Ravio’s bread was set aside and the only food available was three crisp and warm apple pies, which disappeared almost immediately.

 Warriors repented of his sins.  

#linked universe #linkeduniverse #apple pie #lu ravio #lu legend #lu wild #lu warriors #lu time #references to #mamalon #sir raven (legend of zelda) #I LOVE THEM YOUR HONOR!!!! #fluffics #warriors is wild's dad

[flower-slut004]

I’m Not Helping You Make A Love Potion

Summary: Benny asks YN to help him make a potion.

Warning: possible angst, Rory being Rory, Reader being a tease and cocky, as well as Benny being hopelessly in love maybe him being yandere if you squint and tilt your head.

“Listen, I’ll buy you anything your little evil heart desires” Benny begged as he sat down next to YN at lunch. Yn looked up from her notebook. “Anything?” she asks raising her eyebrow. Benny glanced at her lips and licked his before looking back up with a nod. “Yeah anything” 

The witch leans over and rests her hand on his knee. Benny sucked in his breath and looked at her “I want..” she whispers as she leans over “For you to take no as an answer” she pushes him off the chair and goes back to her notebook. 

“YN!” Benny whined “Dude come on, please” he begged getting up. “Nope, last time you tried getting a girls attention you made Pet Sematary into a movie” she flipped a page. “Yeah but hey, Diana came back” Benny tapped his head. “That rabbit bit the quarterbacks nose off, that was not my Diana” She reminded him.

“Listen here YN LN-“ Benny was cut off by the witch’s glare that sent chills down his body. “I mean YN buddy old pal” he stammers. “Just help me with this love potion and I’ll never ask for anything else” he compromised. “I’m not helping you make a love potion Benny” she snaps. “It’s dangerous and unpredictable” she stands up.

“I know your clumsy Benny but I know damn well you’re not stupid, don’t ask again or I will turn your insides out that even your grandmother wouldn’t be able to put you back” She poked his chest as she left the table.

Benny sighs as he watches her leave with a heavy heart. “There goes that plan...” he scratches his neck. “Please tell me you weren’t trying to get YN to help you make a love potion so you could just use it on her” Ethan cringes as he walks over with Sarah and Roy.

“What... no... I was asking her for help so she can... help me.... make cookies for the valentines dance” Benny felt proud of his excuse. “Hey Benny?” Sarah asks which Benny turns to her. “Yeah?” he lifts an eyebrow. “It’s March” she answers back. “I... I knew that” Benny made a face.

“So? Cookies are cookies no matter the occasion” Roy shrugs. “WAIT CAN YOU MAKE ONES WITH BLOOD FILLING” He breaks into a wide grin not caring his voice had risen. “He means fake blood as in strawberry filling” Ethan explains to the group of students passing with concerned looks.

“Shut up Roy, and Benny it’s not right you giving YN a love potion.” Sarah explains “I can’t believe i’m saying this but you’re a great guy and if YN doesn’t see it then, oh well” she clasps her hands.

Benny sighs as he drops his head “I know I know... it’s just... she actually understands me you know? She’s a witch, she likes star wars, she helps me with my grandma, her smile is so bright it can blow up the Death Star, her hair smells like oranges, her eyes twinkle when she learns a new spell, she once helped me build Millennium Falcon-“ Benny was cut off from his list by Ethan “She helped you what-“

Sarah hit Ethan across the head “Not the point nerd, the point is that I really really like YN and I want her to like me back” Benny looks at the trio. “I don’t think I could show my face again to her if she finds out”. Roy looked at Benny with a confused expression then gasped “I forgot something!” he whispers before leaving everyone confused.

YN was walking to her car when a gust of wind appeared in front of her “Hey YN wanna help me make cookies? I wanna put blood in them” Roy nodded happily. “Erm.. would it help with the cravings or is this just for fun” she raises her eyebrows. “Both” he shrugs. Yn pressed her lips as she thought “I guess...” she mumbles adjusting her book bag.

“Great! let’s go!” Roy grabbed her arm “Wait no Roy-“ the witch was cut off by Roy zooming them out of the parking lot and into the Weir’s kitchen. “Why are we here?” the girl asks fixing her hair. “Benny said that you didn’t wanna make cookies with him, so I thought why not make cookies with me!” Roy opened his arms.” Plus we need some special ingredients”

YN gave a blank stare “I’m sorry what?” Roy’s arms flopped down and he huffed “Benny was upset after you left, Something about you not liking him,him really liking you, and then cookies.” he waves off as he looks for the ingredients. YN froze in place after catching on.

Benny Weir... likes me. The young witch thoughts. Oh my God he likes me ! She squealed in her head. Keep it cool keep it cool LN. “You’re right Roy, I didn’t wanna make cookies with Benny. I wanted to make them with you” she smirks as she comes up with a plan. “Awesome, uh... what’s this?” Roy asks holding up cookie cutters “That my bloodsucker, is a cookie cutter”

Later that night was filled with pure chaos especially when Roy found out he can eat raw cookie dough without getting sick. Using her powers, YN cleaned up the kitchen before anyone got home and left for the boys to deal with Roy.

Later that day the cunning witch puts her plan into motion. She smirked as she looked at the faux love potion in her hand and shook it around to make it more believable. “Here goes nothing” she fixes her hair one last time before heading out of her car and towards the school.

“How did he even get a key?” Benny asks Ethan as they recall the events of last night which Ethan replies with a shrug. “Weir, got something for you” YN calls out as she walks towards the boys. “Shoo shoo” Benny swats at Ethan, who flicks him off in return.

“Heyy YN... whatcha got there” he nods to her hands behind her back. YN bit her lip as she looked at Benny with a look that made him want to rethink the whole love potion plan. “Couldn’t stop thinking of you last night as I laid in bed Benny” YN walked closer to him.

Benny’s eyes went wide of the thought of YN in her bed hoping what she was talking was what he thought she was talking. “It was very long process but here” YN dangles the love potion in front him.

Benny’s jaw dropped as he reached for it but in return the beautiful witch pushed him against the lockers. “Not so fast BennyBoo. Who’s the chick” she hums as she played with the buttons on his shirt.

“W-what?” Benny stammers as he stares at her beautiful eyes. “The girl who you want so desperately? Her name?” YN grips his t-shirt and brings his face closer to hers. Lips inches apart. “Y-you don’t know her” he whispers staring at her lips.

“I think I do Benny” she gives a playful smirk. Benny looks up at YN and wraps his arms around her waist “You’re not... grossed out?” he asks not knowing if this was some cruel joke.

The sorceress giggled as her nose brushed up against his “Actually i’m turned on by your shyness” Benny felt his face get red. Before another word was said, YN let the fake bottle dropped and wrapped her arms around Bennys neck and pulled him into a deep kiss.

For what feel like hours, Benny pulled away “Who told you, was that really a love potion, do you really like me? Why me? Are you sure you’re okay?” he rambled on. Benny’s dream girl giggled “Roy,no, yes, because you’re adorable, and I’m better than okay” she answered back in the same order of his questions.

Benny was about to open his mouth again but was interrupted by her mouth on his. “Shut up you dork and kiss me”

#benny weir #benny weir imagine #my babysitter's a vampire imagine #my babysitters a vampire #benny weir x reader

[broadstbroskis]

thanksgiving | jeff skinner

a/n: it’s here!!! this is like 4k that i threw together in like a week after i took it as a personal challenge from @blueskrugs after i asked why we don’t write more thanksgiving fics. a huge shoutout to her and @danglesnipecelly, for inspiration and cheering me on for this, as well as literally anyone else who’s cheered me on to finish thing, you’re all the real mvps and i love you all 💚

-----

Jeff shrugs, and from across the table filled with pizza, beer, and a bunch of other things that are most definitely not on his approved list of foods, you stare at him.

“I dunno. I don’t really have plans, I guess? Probably just sit at home, relax a little?” He says. Your jaw drops. He has...he has what now? “You're going to your parent’s right?” You nod slowly, still stuck on the fact that he’s going to sit at home and do nothing on Thanksgiving, the best of all holidays. Not spend the day with some teammates, not make a quick trip to his family, nothing. “That’ll be fun!” Jeff grins, dimples popping. “What are you-”

“You’re doing nothing?” You get out finally, the words coming back to you.

Jeff’s smile falters, but only slightly, and he nods. “Yeah? I mean, there’s no practice, no games. I’ll just…” He trails off for a second and then shrugs. “Rest.”

“You’re not going to go, like, visit your parents? They’re right across the border!”

“It’s a Thursday.” Jeff says patiently and you abruptly remember that his Canadian-ness is the whole point of this conversation.

“Thanksgiving is the best holiday! You can’t sit at home alone on it; I forbid it!” Jeff’s smile grows again as he laughs and you try and fight your own grin as you shove at his shoulders, to no avail. “Come home with me!”

“What?” He laughs again, but this time, it’s more like disbelief.

But the idea is already growing in your mind. “Come home with me! You know my parents love you, they won’t mind at all!”

“I can’t just invite myself to your Thanksgiving!” Jeff protests.

You wave him off. “You’re not, I’m inviting you! Come on, we’d love to have you!” He still looks hesitant, so you add, “Our Thanksgiving is huge anyway; one extra mouth to feed isn’t going to put anyone out, Jeff.”

“Alright.” He caves, and you grin, pulling your phone close to you to text your mom and let her know. “But ask your mom, okay? Like, really ask her, don’t just, like, tell her I’m coming.”

“Too late!” You say cheerfully, showing him the text you’d sent in your family group chat, telling them you were bringing Jeff with you next week. Your mom’s already responded with a string of happy face emojis and your younger sister with a How I Met Your Mother gif about Canadian Thanksgiving. “Be prepared for a lot of Canada jokes!”

“Is that supposed to be different than any other time I see your family?’ Jeff deadpans, but you’re pretty sure he looks like, at least 50% more relaxed, so you count this as a win and ignore him completely, already mentally planning for the best holiday of the year.

-----

The drive back home to your parents takes about an hour longer than you’d like, stuck in the same godawful traffic as everyone else trying to leave Buffalo on Wednesday so that they can get back home in time to go out that night. 

When Jeff finally pulls his car up in front of your childhood home, you can already see that it’s bustling with activity, getting ready for tomorrow. Most of your siblings have already arrived- only your older brother, with his wife and daughters will come in tomorrow, with the rest of your family- but your younger brother and sister have already come home, a fact that’s even more evident when you and Jeff walk in the front door and immediately trip over three pairs of sneakers.

“Liam!” You cry, grabbing onto Jeff so you don’t fall. “Motherfucker, move your shoes!”

Your brother pops his head out of the living room, AirPods in his ears. “I’m on a call!” And just as you're marveling at the fact that your brother is a real person with a real job taking real work calls, said real person with a real job spots Jeff and lights up. “Jeff! Bro! What’s up, man?”

“I thought you were on a call.” You snap at him.

“I’m on mute.” Liam slaps his palm against Jeff’s pulling him in for a ridiculous handshake-bro hug combo, before he finally comes over and lifts you off the floor. “Yo!”

“Yo!” You repeat, honestly unable to believe you’re related to this kid. If the two of you didn’t look exactly alike, you’d probably think he was adopted. “You still coming out tonight?”

“Hell yeah, this is my last call. I’m ready to go.”

You snicker, looking down at his sweatpants and dress shirt combo- he must have taken a video call at some point today. “Yeah, okay, bud.”

He ruffles your hair, in that annoying way he’s been able to do ever since he grew taller than you. “Don’t you worry, I will be.”

You laugh, ducking under his arm, to let him get back to it. You’ve got no doubts about that. Liam’s always ready to party. “Finish your call so we can start pregaming.”

He grins, like you knew he would. “Now we’re talking.” And then he ducks back into your dad’s office.

Jeff is laughing when you look back at him and you give him a look. “What?”

“Nothing, just forgot how the two of you were when you got going.”

“Yup, and you’re stuck with us for next two days!” You grin.

Jeff rolls his eyes at you, but he’s still smiling when he follows you to the kitchen, in search of your mom. She’s at the counter, rolling dough for biscuits, her only other contribution to the annual Thanksgiving dinner that she hosts, besides the turkey; a holiday that she’d taken over hosting once it had become too much for your grandmother to handle, but only on the caveat that everyone began contributing food toward the meal. It’s been a potluck style holiday ever since.

She’s ultra-focused, the volume on her favorite playlist high (this wild mix of 80’s pop and today’s hits that’s actually kind of a banger), so you sneak up behind her and wrap your arms around her. “Hi!”

“Jesus!” Your mom jumps, elbowing you in the process, but you’re laughing too hard to care. “Don’t do that!”

“Just excited to see you!” You beam at her, squeezing her once more, before pulling away. “Where do you want the pie?” Jeff lifts the pie you’d made yesterday, showing your mom.

Your mom purses her lips, studying the kitchen around her. “Leave it on the counter for now; I’ll have your dad clear some space in the garage.” She gestures with her elbow. “Hi Jeff!” 

“Hi!” Jeff pulls out his best smile, a real one, dimples super popped. “Thank you for having me-”

Your mom cuts him off before he can finish, like you knew she would. “Oh, we’re so happy you could make it! You’re welcome anytime, Jeff!” She assures him.

“Is the guest room ready?” You ask. “We’ll throw our stuff upstairs before Dad sees it at the bottom of the steps and has a fit.”

Your mom fights back a laugh at that- a statement that everyone in your family knows all too well-but then looks almost apologetic as she finishes, “It is, but we gave it to Katie.”

“Oh, Katie’s here too?” Your sister’s roommate at college was, at this point, basically another sister to you. She hardly went home for breaks within the semesters, usually came up for at least a month during the summer, and more often than not came home with Abby when she was back for anything. The “guest room” really was more like Katie’s room at this point. 

“Where else would she be?” Abby appears, right on cue, with Katie right behind her, practically matching in leggings and oversized sorority shirts. “It’s Thanksgiving; she’s ready to rage tonight.”

You actually can’t wait for the babies to be hungover tomorrow-both were 21 for their first Thanksgiving Eve and you know they’re going to be in a super rough spot tomorrow-but you keep that thought to yourself. 

“It didn’t even occur to me!” Your mom says apologetically. “I just gave Katie her usual room.”

“No, it’s cool. Jeff and I can share. He doesn’t mind, right?” But you barely even wait for his shrug and nod in agreement. It’s not like you haven’t before, when you’re either too lazy or too drunk to go home. You’re both adults, it’s no big. “I’ve shared a bed with you before; I’ll spare Katie the bruised shins.” You tease your sister.

Katie cracks up as Abby sputters out how rude you are. “It’s a hazard!” Katie agrees, dodging the swat your sister sends towards her. It sets the two of them off, which you take as your cue to grab Jeff’s hand and drag him (and your stuff) up to your room.

Of course, usually when you’re sharing a bed with Jeff, it’s a king sized bed, or at least a queen- definitely not the double that your parents just shoved in your old room to replace the queen bed that had been in there until you moved out and took your furniture with you. You hadn’t realized how small it was though, not until today, until the idea of actually having to share it with someone, with Jeff, who might not be a giant, but isn’t tiny.  “Sorry.” You apologize, almost unsure of what you’re saying.

Jeff shrugs. “Well, at least you don’t kick.” He smiles, as then it’s like everything’s back to normal, that awkward feeling that was growing over you gone as quickly as it came. 

“She’s a bruiser, don’t let her tell you otherwise.” You throw your bag down, rifling through it for the sweater you were planning to wear tomorrow, to hang it up so it isn’t too wrinkled.

Jeff laughs. “I’ll take your word for it.” He’s holding up his shirt, a button down and a tie. “Where can I hang this?”

“You can’t wear that!”

He frowns, likely at the vehemence you’d just spoken that with. “Uhh, why not?”

“You’ll get roasted.” Seriously, you’d told him it wasn’t a dressy affair. God, what part of not dressy does he think requires a tie? “Don’t you have, like, a sweater?”

“I mean, yeah, but-”

“Sweater and jeans, that’s fine.”

Jeff gives you a look. “That doesn’t seem-”

“Sweater. And jeans.” You repeat. He’ll thank you tomorrow, when your uncle doesn’t ask him when tea is. When your cousin doesn’t talk to him only in a fake British accent for the entire night. 

Jeff hands over a sweater, a soft thing you’ve seen him wear on many occasions, and you smile your thanks at him, hanging it up next to yours. “Meet your standards?” He asks; you think he’s aiming for teasing but he kind of misses the mark, sounding a little more nervous than joking.

“Perfect.” He smiles back at you and you laugh. “Come on, you dork. Let’s go see what’s for dinner tonight.”

-----

“Don’t wake me up when you come in tonight!” Your dad calls, as he drops the five of you off at Mel’s, the bar for Thanksgiving Eve. Your friends are already at the bar, you’re anticipating a high school reunion for sure, and you’ve warned Jeff of this, even though he assured you that he could handle it, and he was just excited for a nice, chill night.

You’d actually laughed out loud at that. Oh Jeffrey. 

“Pshh.” Liam waves your dad off. “I haven’t done that since I was like 16 and still having to sneak out.”

Your dad gives him a look. “I was talking to your sister.” He looks over at Abby, who ignores him completely, in favor of taking a SnapChat with Katie, and he sighs resolutely. You all absolutely know she isn’t listening to a word he says. “Have fun, be safe. Uber home.”

Liam salutes him. “Will do.”

Inside the bar, the night starts exactly as you and Liam have started your last few Thanksgiving Eve’s-with a round of shots at the bar as you’re ordering drinks, before splitting off to find your respective friends to start the evening.

Jeff fits in with your friends fantastically, laughing and joking around with them like he’s known them forever, even though you’re sure the only one he’s met is your oldest friend, Ashley. But he greets Ashley and her husband, Brian, like old friends, and quickly joins conversations with all your other friends, and soon hours have passed before your brother is sliding up behind you. “Heads up.” Liam mutters as he passes. “Douche at 3 o’clock.”

You tense as it takes everything in you not to turn and look over. “Hey.” Jeff nudges you, concern clear in his eyes as he looks at you, and you’re not sure what he pulled himself away from, but you must look pretty bad. “You okay?”

You nod, kinda spacily, but leaning in closer to him, and he takes the cue to curl in toward you- you’re not really interested in shouting to the entire bar and you’re really not interested in drawing attention to yourself. “Yeah, just- my ex is over there.”

Jeff purses his lips for a minute and then schools his face back to neutral. “I take it things didn’t end well.”

“No.” You say, thinking of the demise of your relationship with Dylan. “It did not.”

You hadn’t even realized that Jeff grabbed your hand until he’s squeezing it gently. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” You shake your head. “It was...definitely for the best.” It might have taken you a while to see that, but you can now, even if the rare instances you still see Dylan sometimes rattles you. “I thought I was going to marry him, at one point, but I’m so much happier here now.”

Jeff smiles. “Good.”

You squeeze his hand once more, a thanks for his comfort and care, before both of you rejoin the conversation, and you forget about Dylan entirely for the next hour, until you physically run into him coming back from the bar with another round of drinks for you and Jeff.

“Hey!” Dylan beams at you, goes right in for a cheek kiss, like you’re still that familiar, and once again you stiffen up.

“Hi.” You return politely, ready to sidestep around him and return to Jeff and your friends.

“No, wait.” Dylan steps with you, blocking your path. “I haven’t seen you in forever. Let’s catch up a minute, what’s new?”

“No offense, Dylan, but I’m not really looking to catch up with you.” You say flatly.

He opens his mouth to respond, but before he can another voice cuts in. “Everything okay here?” Jeff asks politely, stepping very purposefully next to you, and Dylan’s eyes immediately fly over to him.

“Mhmm,” You nod. “Was just on my way back to you.”

“Good.” Jeff says, in a tone far more harsh than you usually hear him take. “Let’s get back.” He positions himself again, clearing a space for you to easily slip past Dylan, and then steps closely behind you, catching up quickly.

“Thanks.” You lean against him, gently, not looking to spill either of your drinks, but Jeff solves that problem by taking his.

“Any time.” Jeff says softly and you don’t have much else to say on the matter so you just nudge him once more in thanks and walk back toward your friends with him at your side.

-----

When you wake up the next morning, you’re warm and comfortable and only a little hungover, which you count as a huge success. There’s not too much noise going on downstairs yet, which means you definitely have some more time to sleep, so you curl back into your pillow, humming contently when it pulls you in closer.

And then your eyes pop open abruptly, because pillows don’t do that.

Except they do when they look like Jeff Skinner, who looks just as soft and warm and comfortable as you feel right now, still sleeping judging by the evenness of his breath. 

It’s just...it’s a really nice way to wake up, with Jeff’s kind-of smiling face, looking super soft and cozy as he breathes just on the wrong side of too loud, but not so loudly that it drives you nuts. 

It’s a little too early to unpack that, and your hangover might not be that bad but it’s definitely bad enough that you’re not ready to think on that, so you close your eyes and let yourself curl into Jeff and fall back asleep.

-----

When you do finally get out of bed, Thanksgiving morning is its usual chaos, running around with last minute errands, cleaning, and helping your mom in the kitchen. The last to shower for the day, by the time you arrive downstairs, the Lions vs. Bears game is well underway, your notoriously early grandparents have already arrived, and your grandmother is already asking your mom where that one turkey decoration she bought her one year is.

You bypass the kitchen entirely and move toward the living room, where you find your dad, grandfather, Jeff, and siblings all gathered, just as you’d expected. You slide down on the floor next to Jeff, knowing that it’s only a matter of time before more of your family arrives and you’re offering your set up anyway, and wait for the next round of chaos to begin.

It doesn’t take long. Your aunts, uncles, and cousins start pouring in and then it’s just introduction after introduction, as you wrap up showing off Jeff to one group just as the next arrives. You are absolutely confident he has no idea who anyone is, but it’s fine, because he’s still laughing and joking around with all your uncles and cousins that have joined you in watching football. 

The kitchen is its own brand of chaos, when you make a quick stop in on your back from a beer run, but chaos has never stopped your aunt before and it certainly isn’t today. “Oh my god!” She exclaims, after you’ve pressed a smacking kiss to the top of your grandmom’s head. “That boy!”

“What boy?” You ask, like an idiot, which is immediately clear from the looks you get from everyone in the kitchen, even your usually oblivious uncle, who’s doing...something...with the ham they’d brought. “Who, Jeff?”

“Yes.” Another aunt stresses. “He’s cute!”

You shrug. “Yeah, I mean-”

But your grandmom cuts you off this time. “And so friendly! Just the nicest boy! Oh, you couldn’t have found anyone better!” She exclaims.

“Well, I haven’t.” You announce, watching all of their faces fall. “So sorry to burst that bubble.”

“Why?” One of your older cousins frowns. “Girl. Get on that. You are not going to do better than that boy in there.”

“I truly don’t know if that was meant to be a dig at me or you all think that highly of Jeff already, but regardless. We are just friends.” Now everyone in the kitchen is giving you a look. You gather the beers and retreat, distributing them as you return to your spot on the floor near Jeff.

He’s giving you a look as you pass him his, but whatever’s on your face must not be too bad, because he just thanks you as you pass him the bottle, and you nod in return as you try to find the same comfortable spot as before, leaning against his thigh.

-----

Your dad catches you a bit later, as he’s coming back with beers this time and you’re coming out of the bathroom, and he nudges you carefully as you take a few bottles from his hand. “So Jeff?”

You groan. The tone of that statement was far too loaded. “Jesus, you too?”

Your dad laughs. “Who else?”

“Everyone.”

“Well maybe that should be your hint.” Your dad says teasingly, but also not? There’s definitely some seriousness to this. “That Jeff’s pretty perfect for you.”

You stare at him. “You’ve met Jeff, like, a hundred times. Why’s this coming out now?”

“I always thought you were my smart kid and that you’d figure it out yourself.” He muses. “Now I realize you’re only book-smart and you’d never figure this out on your own.” And then he leaves you there in the hallway, with your jaw dropped and too many thoughts, as he continues on, laughing at you.

-----

When the call to come serve yourselves echoes into the room, the usual mad scramble follows immediately. It’s only as you’re getting into line behind your brother that you realize that Jeff’s not with you anymore, and you abandon the long line waiting for food, in favor of seeking out Jeff.

You find Jeff upstairs, in your room, just kind of lounging on your bed, and you lean against the doorway. “Hey! Food’s ready.”

“Yeah.” Jeff nods, the smile he sends you back in return far too tight and forced to be genuine. “Be right down.”

But he doesn’t move, so you step in and climb into your bed next to him. “What’s wrong?”

Jeff laughs; it’s kind of hollow and doesn’t sound anything like his usual loud laugh or his giggles that you love. “What- nothing. Nothing’s wrong.”

“Jeff.” You say softly. “Come on.”

He sighs. “Why did you bring me here?”

That...was not at all what you expected. “What?”

“Why did you bring me here?” He repeats. “Why did you bring me home, to your family? I thought, maybe, finally…” He trails off for a minute. “Except, there’s like ten other randos here too!” He laughs again, that hollow thing that you’re already hating. “Everybody in this family just brings people home, and that’s awesome, okay? Please don’t ever change that about yourself. I just-I thought we had something special, is all.” He says, sounding almost sad? Melancholy? 

“You are special.” You hate this. Jeff should never be sad; he should always be happy and smiling and joking. This is worse than seeing him after losses, worse than seeing him at low points in the season, that one game when he realizes that shit’s done and they’re just playing to keep playing now, that playoffs won’t be coming this year, again. “Jeff, you’re-”

“I’m in love with you.” Jeff says and it’s so straight-up, matter-of-fact, like it’s never not been a fact for him. “And I’m sorry I’ve fucked things up here for tonight and made this so awkward. I just- being here with you and your family just made me want you that much more.”

There’s so so so much you want to say to Jeff, but it’s like time is frozen. You can’t speak, can’t move, can’t do anything except look at him in awe, until he starts to move off your bed, when you reach for him, finally, resting your hand on his thigh, relieved when he looks back at you. “My dad thinks I’m an idiot.” You blurt out and Jeff just gives you a look. “I’m sorry; that wasn’t what I wanted to say.” You take a deep breath, trying to gather the jumble of thoughts in your head. “Or at least, not the only thing. He thinks I’m an idiot because he thinks you’re perfect for me and I didn’t see it. My whole family thinks you’re perfect- cute and friendly and nice- and god, Jeff, you are! You’re all those things!” He’s still watching you, with like, barely the smallest hint of a smile on his face. “I just-didn’t realize you were perfect for me until we came here.”

Now he’s full on beaming, dimples showing, and you don’t even realize that you’re returning the grin until his hand comes up to your face, thumbing at the corner of your lip. “I’m sorry I’m a dumbass.” You finish lamely, too busy smiling at Jeff. “Please kiss me so we can make sure we get biscuits.”

Jeff hums. “I don’t know if I can kiss you now and just...stop.”

“Well I’m not going down to eat until you do.” You say stubbornly. “And you’ve been hyping up those biscuits since breakfast.”

“Fair enough.” Jeff laughs and then you’re smiling into the best first kiss you’ve ever had, tangling your hands into his hair and wondering if you may actually end up missing the meal this year.

#jeff skinner imagine #jeff skinner fanfic #jeff skinner fanfiction #hockey imagine #hockey fanfic #Hockey Fanfiction #nhl imagines #nhl fanfiction #nhl fanfic #my hockey fics

[oddsnendsfanfics]

Thankful

Genre: Fan Fiction Pairing: Henry Cavill/Reader Warnings: It’s kinda cute? Rating: G Length: Drabble Disclaimer: a strict work of fiction, I own nothing except the original characters and the plot line. In no way am I affiliated to any of it.  

A/N: In the event I took a rare request, here you go Anon. I hope you like it. 

“What's the matter, duck?” Henry gently rubbed your shoulders. Tension seeming to melt, slightly, with his touch. “You've been off the last few days, talk to me.”

A faint smile, you wave it away, leaning into his touch. “It's nothing, Hen. Nothing to worry that pretty little head of yours over.”

What were you going to tell him? Tell him that you were homesick? Like a child at summer camp, you were devastated that you weren't able to fly home to spend at least part of the holiday season with your family. It was selfish and childish, but damn it you didn't care.

This would be the first year that you didn't get at least Thanksgiving with your family. The first year, in many, where you wouldn't spend the day listening to your dad argue with the football game on the television. The first time you wouldn't be at the brightly decorated table, enjoying your mother's prize winning cornbread stuffing. You hadn't seen your parents since early January and it was beginning to weigh on you.

You weren't the only person in the world struggling with this, why should you wallow? At very least you had Henry to share your time with. Having one another was more than some people in the world had right now. Sighing, you shake your head, trying to keep the tears away.

“I have to go FaceTime mom, I told her that I'd call before they ate dinner.” You break away from Henry. Pulling your sweater tighter around your shoulders. Leaving him with a peck on the cheek, you pat Kal on the way by.

“Tell her that I said Happy Thanksgiving,” Henry frowned, his words setting in a realization.

Watching you disappear to chat with your family, Henry would give you a few minutes before casually wandering in to have a chat with his in-laws. Allowing you to catch up, gave him a few minutes to put his sudden plan into action. Enough time to send a few quick texts and order some sort of roasting bird for the following day.

Finishing his onslaught of messages and dictations, Henry glanced at Kal who was stretched out on the kitchen floor watching him intently. The big dog yawned and rested his head on his paws. “I know bear, I know. Don't you worry, I'll save you some too.” He bent to scratch Kal behind the ears.

In the other room, Henry could hear the voices coming from the laptop. Your voice sounded more chipper than he'd heard in days. No doubt to the benefit of your family, not wanting them to worry or feel bad that you were on the other side of the ocean. Confident in his planning ability, Henry strode into the next room a deliriously happy smile on his own face as he greeted your parents.

Checking the time, Henry didn't want to appear rude, but he did have to sneak out to the shops before they closed. If he was going to give you a Thanksgiving. Kissing your cheek, he smiled fondly at the screen. Informing your parents that he had some errands to run, insisting that you keep talking when you asked if he wanted you to accompany him.

“Non sense, I can do this. I need to grab Kal some more food. You talk with your mum and dad. I won't be long, duck.” Another kiss on the cheek as he waves goodbye to your parents. Rising from his seat, preparing to head out in search of the perfect yam.

Whatever Henry was up to had kept him out longer than a typical run for some dog food. Sending him a text, he assured you that he would be back shortly not to worry. He wanted this to be a surprise, parading in with an arm load of groceries for a roast dinner would not be the easiest thing to hide or explain.

Giving up on Henry and whatever he was up to – no doubt after grabbing Kal's food, he went off to the gym. That would keep him out for at least a couple of hours. You opted to ready for bed, a little early, but perhaps a good night's sleep would refresh your feelings in the morning. Henry running off to whatever it was he was up to didn't help your homesick mood.

He knew that you were upset, the least he could have done was stay to comfort you. Whatever. You groan and step into the shower. Fuck it. No use in going to bed mad, when you are already this damn gloomy. Downstairs, you hear Kal whimper a few seconds after stepping into the warm stream of water. At least Henry would be home to snuggle a little before you went to sleep.

“Hey bear,” Henry greeted the dog, taking into account that you were nowhere to be seen. “Where is mum?” Listening he smiled at the sound of the shower. Perfect!

Secretly lugging groceries into the house, Henry was pleased with his accomplishments. He'd be up before you in the morning, naturally, which is when he would begin prepping the feast. Storing the last bit of his surprise, he made a cup of tea and headed upstairs.

Sitting the cup of tea on your night table, Henry waited for you to finish in the bathroom. A soft plume of steam escaping the door as you stepped out. Towel around you, ignoring his presence for the moment. A soft silence fell while you took time selecting your pyjamas. Henry sitting on the bed watching you quietly. Satisfied with the fuzzy blue pants and matching tshirt, you continue to ignore Henry walking back into the bathroom.

“Duck?” He calls after you, not wanting to push. He should have known that you'd be upset on his running out so abruptly.

“What?”

“When you're changed, I brought you some tea. Do you want to read for a bit? I can go let Kal out, then grab my book.”

“Sounds nice, Hen. I'll be here when you come up.” You call back, pulling your shirt over your head. A little annoyed but less homesick knowing that you will have Henry to keep you company.

Spending a home sick evening in bed cuddling with Henry and Kal, a cup of tea, while you and Henry fall into silence as you are each lost in the pages of your respective books isn't so bad. It's not your mother's homemade cranberry relish, but it is a pretty good way to end the day.

As predicted, Henry was awake about an hour before the sun thought to rise. Carefully slipping out of bed, making sure to tuck in the covers to keep you from growing cold he kisses your cheek and retreats downstairs. Kal hot on his heels. After a quick run around the small garden, the pair are back inside the kitchen. Henry staring at the turkey he had bought. He may have gone a little over board on the size. Surely you had a pan to fit.

Once the bird was crammed in the oven, as if by some strange magic the damn thing fit! He went to work on the next item, peeling potatoes. After that it was on to the yams and then the green beans. Henry was a confident cook, but making your grandmother's special green bean casserole was daunting. How bad could it be? He'd watched you make this at Christmas. Damn it, he should have insisted he helped you and not listened when you told him to go enjoy his brother's company.

Recipe on the counter top, he eyed Kal as if he would give some untapped wisdom. Kal yawned and licked his lips, his main concern was the bacon that would be topping the questionable squishy green strings.

“We can do this.” Henry tapped his fingers on his thigh. “We've got this.”

“Got what, Hen?” Your voice startled him. Flinching in surprise, Henry spun around to face you. “What are you doing?” Looking around the kitchen at the mess of vegetables, pots, pans, and...was that dough?

“I uh,” Henry rubbed the back of his neck, shrugging. “It was supposed to be a surprise. So, surprise! I am making you Thanksgiving dinner.”

“You're what?” Your brow furrows, pulling your dressing gown tighter around your body. “Henry, sweetheart.”

“I know that you're upset about not being able to go home. I know that it's a bit late, but...”

“Henry, Henry, Henry.” You coo shaking your head. Walking across the kitchen to where he stood, glancing at the recipe on the work top you giggle. “You're doing this for me?”

“I am,” He wraps his arm around you, drawing you close and kissing the top of your head. “Why don't you go relax, it will be a while and I will get your coffee.”

“Or,” You hug him tightly, “I can make the coffee, then we can do this together.”

“It's your surprise, though, duck.” Henry pouts and you kiss him sweetly.

“I know, but I want to help. Besides, Thanksgiving dinner is a huge undertaking. It requires at least two chefs and probably ten people to eat. Please, tell me we're having guests. I don't think we can eat an entire dinner this size.” You look at all the food he has laid around the kitchen.

“That part I have covered, my brother and his family will be here for four. As well as a few close friends. What do you say?”

“I say Happy Thanksgiving?” You giggle at the look of pride on Henry's face.

#henry cavill fanfiction #henry cavill #henry cavill x reader #henry cavill x you #henry cavill fanfic

[obeymeshallwedate-latinplayer]

Tamales. Gn!Mc

Happy Hollydays!!!

 Well let´s have a feedback of what are tamales, maybe a lot of you have heard about it!! From the nahuatl word: Tamallis, that means: wrapped, since the colony the tamal started to make a big evolution and taste even better! with cooked corn dough wrapped in leaves of the cob or of the same corn plant, banana, bijao, maguey, avocado or even aluminum foil or plastic. And all of them are in the same pot so they can steam  (We do not recomend the foil or plastic one.) It can be sweet or salty, it depends on you and how you like it, maybe with veggies, meat or even pastry cream! A lot of latin families in every part of the world usually have a tamal for christmas! After a good back story Shall we start? 

[All the brothers are caught out to help for the dinner] 

Lucifer:

Again with Vicente Fernández? Mc, I already told you that if you want my attention you just need to ask for it. 

Cook with you? Sure let´s do it... Wait is for the christmas eve and christmas? You are so werid. Isn´t that pot quite big? Did you asked Lord Diavolo and Barbatos to search for it? 

He does not like to have his hands sticky with the corn dough, he even tried to run away when you asked him to help you out. 

He is in duty of wrapping them, after all he has expirience wrapping Mammon into the celling. 

Mammon. 

At first he refuses to help you out, but after warching your beautiful puppy eyes he helped you, he was actually the very first to help you. 

In secret he is fan of Vicente Fernández, so after a few songs he started to feel that he was home. 

He is in duty of knead the dough, even if he doesn´t like it, he is happy to help you out if you paraise him constantly. 

He might even start a tamal business in the Devildom.

Leviathan 

He does not like christmas, well maybe he only likes it for the events in his games, and the presents and discounts in the things he want. 

After actually begging him to help out, and giving him a Ruri chan appron he will gladdly help you out.

He laughs at Asmo while he is being yelled. He is in dough coloring, the sweet ones are pink?! And they can have  raisins or cream?! You humans are so werid. 

What is a guajolota?! 

Satan. 

Like in the novela of *Beeeeeeep* (Sorry Satan, you can´t say it, it´s a spoiler for the next headcannon)  He is so into, He even read a book on “How to make tamales if you are a demon?” and “Tamales 101″ 

Those books were burnt by Mc, when they saw all the fallacies. 

He is in duty of the Arroz con leche and the champurrado.  He is a happy demon after you explain everything to him! 

He is making the best drinks for you, he even undertsood the cornstarch would help him out. 

Asmo. 

 Just like Lucifer he doesn´t like to have sticky hands, or even hands full of oil not today Mc, but maybe tomorrow.  

He saw them in Devilgram and he screamed, you obviously yelled at him that those were not tamales, how does that demon even dare to present it? Someone that grabs you because you are on fire, and ready to kick some demon ass. 

He is in duty of puting the tamales in the pot, they are like babies, MC!!! Let´s make more of them pleasee!!!

He takes tons of photos for his fans, and he even made his fans cursed the demon that made you mad. 

Beel. 

Are you doing tamales?! Happy baby boi. He is the one that smelled at first, he needs to taste them. 

Search for banana leaves? No problem he will find them! Searching for corn leaves? No worries he knows a guy that knows a guy that will give them to him. 

He is the muscle in the opperation tamales for tomorrow, One thousand tamales in three large pots? He can lift them without problems. 

He eats and eats, and he does not even have a bite of the dough or fillings, he is a good boi. 

Belphie. 

He tries to help you with Beel but after watching that he is not even eating the dough or the fillings he is helping you to make the Tortas and bolillos. 

Just for Beel he is helping, as twins he can feel when Beel is so hungry or he have some food cravings. 

He needs his twin to help him knead the dough, Beel broke the table. But it was worth it. 

He sleeps while the tortas and bolillos are ready, after that and after the tamales are ready he feels sick, Beel ate too much. 

Diavolo:

I´ll find the pot even if is the last thing I do. Mood.

He is over the roof of happines, he even helps you with the flavours, and the things you need. 

Barbatos Mc! Needs human food and their grandmother, please go for them!!! 

He will eat every type of tamal and he will make a festive day for them. 

Barbatos.

My lord I can´t bring Mc grandma, she is with their family and her house seems to me like a war filled. 

He will go for all the ingredients, and will help Satan with the atole and arroz con leche.

Yes my lord, we will have a festive day for this, no my lord you may not eat tamales your whole life. 

He liked the mole ones. 

Luke. 

Move aside demons! I Luke, and Barbatos will make the pastry cream for the sweet ones. 

Baby angel tried to help Beel kneald the dough, fails in the action. 

Mc, is scolding everyone in the room for not watching Luke, they got their mood from their mother. 

He is shocked from Mc´s hability to using a flip flop like a mortal weapon (If someones now how to draw please draw this scene and tag me on pleasseee!!!)

Simeon. 

He is helping with the wrapping, and he is happy! 

Not even him could ran away from Mc´s furious and he got a chanclazo. Not even the celestial war punches hurted him as that flip flop did. 

He takes the bolillos and tortas out of the oven and have an splendind dinner with the demons, his grandson and even you. 

He will write about this expirience in his new book “How to survive with a Latin Mc!”

Solomon. 

GET OUT OF MY KITCHEN IN THIS INSTANT!

He can´t touch the food nor breath near them, he is with Asmo making a curse into the demon and theri miserably idea of tamales. 

He eats along with all of you, but after this he will make some by his own. 

He likes the idea, he will make potions with the form of a tamal. 

New Character?! Or is this de MC?! it´s the MC. 

They had a crisis every single minute of the day. 

Let´s learn some Spanish: 

Tortas: Bread

 Bolillos: Bolillo, white bread, loaf or French bread is, in Mexico and Central America, an inexpensive and quite popular type of bread made with wheat flour, which is not considered sweet. It is about six inches long and has an oval shape with a longitudinal cut at the top, on the outside it is golden and crisp, on the inside it is white and soft, this part is known as a migajón. Bolillo is similar to French bread. With it, the molletes and Mexican cakes are prepared

Arroz con leche: Rice with milk, it may be a dessert or a drink. 

Champurrado: Champurrado is a typical Mexican preparation of atole, made from crushed corn dough, dark chocolate and water with cinnamon, boiled until thick. It is usually served with another typical Mexican dish, tamales.

Guajolota: Is a torta or bolillo with the insides of a tamal and you might find them in tamales carts, if you come to Mexico, I recommend you eating them in the CDMX or in the capital of the country. 

Mole: The term mole refers to various types of highly seasoned Mexican sauces made mainly from chili peppers and spices, and which are thickened with corn dough, tortilla or bread; it also refers to the same meat or vegetable stews that are often made with these thick sauces.

#obey me shall we date #OBEY ME #obey me headcanons #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus #Obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor #obey me luke #obey me simeon #obey me diavolo #obey me barbatos #obey me solomon #lucifer headcanons #mammon headcanon #leviathan headcanons #satan headcanons #asmo headcanons #beel headcanons #belphie headcanons

[bruh-haikyuu]

@arcangel-wings REQUESTED: Heya! I’m new to your blog and I really like your writing! Can I request Tenma Udai with an s/o who’s a baker while he’s in hs? So like he’s a delinquent and she’s a sweetheart who’s always giving people the stuff she bakes? Everyone thinks it’s weird but they fit together kinda thing 🥺?

A/N: Thanks for requesting!! This is über cute. Fem!Reader as alluded in the request^^

kilig. | udai tenma

word count: 2155

warnings: manga spoilers!!

(n.) the rush or the inexplicable joy one feels after seeing or experiencing something romantic

“Chocolate is the ingredient for love~!” you say after pouring what seems to be an entire bucketful of chocolate chips into your bowl.

Your friend Saeko has seen just about enough of your nonsensical chatter about baking, your boyfriend and your abundant love for both. Already exhausted from a recent scolding by the vice-principal, she decides that it’s better off to smile and nod rather than try to come up with a snarky remark for your innocent mania.

“T-That’s a lot of chocolate,” she blurts out. When she picks up her spatula from the bowl, the girl grumbles at the sight of a liquidy trail drizzling down the utensil. “Ahh geez, it’s not supposed to be like this, isn’t it? Katagiri-sensei’s going to fail me again...”

You smile and hand her a bowl of flour. “Don’t worry, Saeko-chan. Just add a bit more flour and you’re good to go! You can never go wrong with cookies.”

The halo above your head is nearly visible. Saeko swears she can even hear angels singing to her in the background as you mix away on your fragrant bowl of dough. You don’t even seem real—from your angelic grin down to your overwhelmingly flowery aura. It’s tough enough to imagine that you’d ever talk to her of all people, but to imagine you’d go for a guy who’s just as much of a thug...

Unthinkable! Saeko shakes her head. She’d thought you’d pulled a joke on her the first time you announced that you were dating... him. Udai Tenma, star of the Boys’ Volleyball Club, a red-hot beacon of undomesticated temper.

She’d always known you liked him—though which part of him you liked is somewhat still a mystery to her—and as much as Saeko wanted to protect you from those ruffians, that absolutely infatuated look in your eyes was too much to bear. And eventually, she succumbed to your incessant ambitions of high school romance.

“You’re a saint, dude,” she sighs longingly. “I don’t get how you’re still dating that guy. I’m not really one to say anything about this, but don’t you think Udai’s kind of a jerk with the way he treats you?”

You chuckle, like a sweet grandmother about to tell a nostalgic tale to her grandchildren.

“I suppose you can say that Tenma-kun is a bit shy. He likes to act tough and mighty when he’s around people, but he’s actually just a normal boyfriend with a very sweet tooth and a penchant for manga.”

Saeko scowls. “Normal’s normal, but you have to at least let him know that you have your limits too. I really can’t stand leaving the two of you alone, w-what if Udai breaks your heart, or worse—”

“Tanaka-san. If you have time for chatter back there, then surely, you’re finished with your cookies?” at the sound of the grouchy Home Economics teacher at the front of the class, Saeko quickly returns to her bowl in a sorry attempt to look busy.

Deciding to humor her interest, you lean towards her and whisper lowly. “I’ll be fine, Saeko-chan. He may not look like it, but Tenma-kun’s actually very cute.”

In her mind, it’s much easier to simply handcuff herself to you so that you’re under her watch at all times possible. But your gaze is nothing short of genuine—you really love this guy, and the fact that you’re still with him, assures Saeko even just a tiny bit that he might not be so bad after all... with you at least.

You’re already storming away in your little world of baking. It amuses your best friend whenever you’re off making your personal masterpieces (“‘Masterpiece’ is absolutely right!” she’d say while stuffing her mouth full of your mini tarts). Each and every one of your creations are whipped up with the utmost amount of love and care, and for just the right reasons, everyone’s been pestering you to set up a bakery after high school. Your regular patrons just happen to be the Karasuno Boys’ Volleyball Club—with the addition of the lively Coach Ukai who is rather fond of how much filling you put into your red bean buns.

As regular as regular can be, you’ve found yourself visiting the Volleyball Club clubroom after school every Wednesday to hand out your treats to not only your aloof boyfriend, but also to his friends, his coach and the prostrated manager who direfully needs a pick-me-up. And suddenly, you’re ‘Karasuno’s Cookie Goddess’.

“Ah, you’re making another batch, Y/N?” Saeko perks up when you split your dough in half.

“Yep!” you giggle, essentially a high school student drowning in love. “I want to make something special for Tenma-kun today.”

“... What’s the occasion? Is it his birthday or something?”

You shrug, face absolutely alight. “Nope, I just want to give him a surprise~”

══════ ⋆★⋆ ══════

Tenma isn’t exactly unapproachable. It’s just that people tend to avoid him at all costs. Perhaps you were just bold... or remarkably stupid, but if you hadn’t addressed him that day, life would’ve probably been drabber.

Your parents and your friends (with emphasis towards your overprotective Saeko-chan) had shown their unfiltered concern when the news of your relationship circulated like wildfire. What was the analogy they used, again?

“You’re like a rabid bridge troll and a rabbit! It doesn’t work!”  You could only laugh at their valiant efforts of a correlation... if they were really trying to make one. But after a few more reassuring pushes and awkward family dinners, they’ve come to be more lenient about your little ‘liaison’.

But you never feel like you have to worry when Tenma is around. In fact, when Tenma is around, you feel calm—even when he’s spouting off curses to a taller rival.

There’s a warmth unlike any other when he holds or kisses you. And though you’d have to drive him through hell and waters to say it out loud, you already know that every action he does for you is out of love. Words are material, it’s the action that counts, right?

“Sorry for the intrusion~!” you call out into the open doors of the Boys’ Volleyball Club’s space.

A flash of obnoxious yellow hair flashes before your eyes and suddenly, an imposingly tall  figure appears in front of you out of nowhere. “Cookie Goddess!”

“Good afternoon, Yukimura-kun,” you smile. “Is there only you right now?”

“I’m here too, Y/N-chan,” the lax-faced captain Tokito emerges from the room in the midst of zipping up his jacket. His eyes flicker towards the packages in your hands and a smile cracks on his face. “Ooh, chocolate chip cookies today~”

You quickly raise the fragrant bags of treats into their view, bringing in the remaining swamp of boys from the clubroom. Suddenly, the common hallway is blocked by an influx of starving teenagers who are rampaging on about your existence.

“So good...” Yukimura murmurs dreamily, mouth full of chocolate. “Man, anyone would be lucky to have you as their wife if you were to cook them these everyday.”

A brazen first-year with frosted tips elbow him and sighs. “Too bad you’re taken, huh, Y/N-chan-senpai? If it were me instead of him, I’d always make it a point that ‘Heeey... guess what my girlfriend made for me today~ Isn’t she the best—”

“Oi, brat. Whose girlfriend do you think you’re talking about?”

The gangle of boys freeze up simultaneously at the grouchy voice behind you (aside from Tokito, who’s yawning at the whole ordeal). Whipping around to the dark aura boring holes into your back, you immediately light up at Tenma’s presence.

“Tenma-kun~!” you launch at him with your arms wide open. You’re ready for some sort of swerve from him, so you make sure you protect his bag of cookies with your arm... You’ve learned this counter-attack the hard way, of course.

But what you don’t expect is that your boyfriend makes no move to avoid you at all.

“H-hey! Don’t just lunge at me like that, you idiot! What if you fell down and knocked your head open?” Ah, at least the embarrassed comment is there.

You can only smile at him kindly. From the edge of your eyes, you swear that you can see a light blush dusting his face as your boyfriend gains newfound interest in your shoes.

“Come with me for a while,” he finally grumbles, effectively breaking the silence between the both of you. Grabbing your hand, Tenma leads you down the little aluminium staircase, eliciting small grates from the steps below you and a mass of curious whispers from the group you’d just left behind.

“Hey, Udai-kun~” Tokito calls out, a lilt of roguery in his tone, “Make sure to get back in time for practice, okay? And keep Y/N-chan in one piece, won’t you? We can’t get another Cookie Goddess if you don’t.”

When he turns into a secluded corner away from the prying eyes of his teammates, you can hear him audibly huff and mutter something under his breath. As silence lingers between you, you nearly forget about the reason why you came to visit.

“I made some cookies for you, Tenma-kun,” you say to him, urging the neatly wrapped bundle into his hands. “I hope you like it.”

You can clearly see the hesitation in his eyes when he takes it in his hands. You can probably guess why.

(“Y/N, your skills with a knife are scary, dude,” Saeko grimaced as she watched you trail over the dough with the gleaming blade of your paring knife.

“Aaand... done!” you proudly wiped the sweat off your forehead. It would’ve been more helpful with a cookie cutter around, but you figured that it would’ve been more heartfelt otherwise.

‘Heartfelt’, you pondered on the word for a moment. Would this be too heartfelt for such a rag-tag person like Tenma? It would probably be better to go for something simpler, just like the other days...

Nah. You shook your head as you chucked the tray of heart-shaped cookies into the oven.)

You’re hoping for a shocked response from him, but Tenma only grumbles meekly. You brace yourself for another scolding for acting too chummy with him, or being too affectionate, or—

“You shouldn’t get too close with other guys.”

Wait.

Tenma crosses his arms, the curls of his hair falling gently over his forehead. His pink cheeks darken into a soft maroon. “If they found out you’re giving me this sort of special treatment, they’ll be all over you the next day, asking for it too... I don’t like it.”

The laugh that rises in your throat threatens to burst. What is this, you think. Your stomach hurt from the mere image of this innocent “delinquent” professing his jealousy for you. If he was like this all the time, wouldn’t that be an interesting change... Aah, your boyfriend really is cute, isn’t he?

A giggle escapes you and you watch him jolt in chagrin. “Tenma-kun, you’re so red.”

“I’m not!” he yells rather briskly, then shoots back at you. “You can’t say I’m red when you were all burning up as you were giving me these heart-shaped cookies.”

Touché. “I’m glad you like them, Tenma-kun.”

His gaze visibly softens up as you give him an angelic smile. “Uh, yeah. Thanks.”

At times like this, you really do see the boy who’d shyly confessed to you under the shade of the summer ginko tree. It wasn’t anything of a distant memory, it was just that Tenma’s usual demeanour and your unrelenting tolerance hindered the both of you from being completely outward with one another. Maybe something like this isn’t so bad after all.

“I-I have to go back to practice. You can go home by yourself, right?” your boyfriend clears his throat, urging you to leave.

Though you wished the moment would last a little longer, you know there are other countless shared opportunities with him. “Mm-hm! You do your best in practice, okay?”

He ruffles your hair and chuckles endearingly.

“Atta girl. Now go home before Tokito catches me getting all touchy-feely with you.”

Bidding him goodbye, you sullenly trudge away from your boyfriend (and his friends waving back at you from the balcony). Then the idea strikes you.

Special cookies ought to have a special flair to them, no?

Cupping your hands around your mouth like a megaphone, you shout, loud enough for his teammates to hear. “I love you, Tenma-kun~!”

And the crowd goes wild.

══════ ⋆★⋆ ══════

From: Tenma-kun ♡

Subject: Untitled

(15:58) Now Tokito’s all over me thanks to you, making me do extra diving drills. You better make more of those cookies as compensation, idiot. Be prepared for it.

(15:58) Btw, don’t forget to look both ways when you cross the street on the way home. If you get into an accident, you won’t be able to apologize to me properly.

(15:58) ... Hey.

(16:00) I love you too.

#bruh haikyuu writing #haikyuu!! #haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu scenarios #haikyu #udai tenma #udai tenma x reader #haikyuu fluff #udai tenma imagine #udai tenma scenario #karasuno x reader #udai x reader #little giant x reader #sfw

[dragons-bones]

Unsolicited Prompt: #couple problems (i.e. ‘if they don’t clean the peanut butter off the knife before putting it in the sink again...’)

Okay so before I finally answer this MONTHS AND MONTHS LATE, required context.

One: I don’t write Ishgard as a one-to-one Fantasy France Equivalent because I just don’t find that to be fun to write, but I do draw on a lot of Quebecois-like nonsense for Ishgardian/Coerthan culture (which is what happens when half your FC is Canadian), amongst other Eastern Canadian foibles, for when I want to look at the real world for influences. All food is fair game, though.

Two: I envision Limsa Lominsa as a bastard mishmash of Boston and Halifax (primarily Boston since that’s where I lived most of my life).

Three: I once asked the FC which of the two would be more likely to have butter tarts as a regional dessert, Limsa Lominsa or Ishgard, and got the immediate reply, “Both, but Ishgardians add raisins,” which initiated Butter Tart Discourse.

Thus: this. I don’t normally do timeline notes, but this specifically is probably somewhere in the late 3.X range, if not the lull before Stormblood begins proper. (So fairly early in Aymeric and Synnove’s relationship, within the first six months minimum.) But it recurs. A lot. ;)

------

It was as Synnove was setting aside the now-empty bowl that had been full of the maple-butter-egg-sugar mix that she had used to fill her small cups of pastry that, from the corner of her eye, she spotted a hand slowly, deliberately ilm towards her baking tray, in a manner that would have succeeded had she not been mama to one of the most notorious sugar fiends in Eorzea. She tipped her head the tiniest fraction, giving her enough of a view of the hand in question to note that it contained small, dark objects that were banned from her kitchen when it came to this particular treat.

She immediately grabbed her tray and yanked it out of the way, clutching it aside protectively. “Do not,” she said with a growl, turning more fully to glare at the hand’s owner, “get those things anywhere near my butter tarts.”

Aymeric froze, eyes wide and startled at being caught in the act, before he pouted at her. “But you like raisins,” he said, a note short of a full-blown whine.

“Not in butter tarts, you heretic!”

“It’s butter tarts without raisins that are heresy!”

Her knight attempted to lean around her, using those damnably long elezen arms of his to try and fill the pastries with the offending dried fruit despite her objections. He had her nearly boxed into the corner, so with a scowl, she hurriedly hopped up onto the counter, sliding until her back hit the wall, and planted her foot in his chest to hold him off, pastry tray held over her head to finally get it out of his reach. Aymeric narrowed his eyes at her and surged forward, using all that muscle and strength she normally loved to force her knee to bend and bring himself closer and defile her tarts; in retaliation, she wedged her other foot up and used the leverage of both legs to shove him back.

He scowled up at the tray, finally thwarted, then dropped his head to rest it on her knees. The hand holding the raisins deposited said raisins in a pile on the counter, which then he used to wrap around her calves. “Your arms will get tired,” he said petulantly. “And then you’ll need to have those tarts the correct way.”

A loud clatter caused him to raise his head and turn, and Aymeric stared incredulously as Galette, concentration fierce on her face, carefully used a tightly controlled slipstream to finish placing the pastry tray into the oven. Once the tray was settled on the rack, she headbutted the door shut, and looked up at him in turn.

No raisins in butter tarts, Galette primly chittered. We are civilized in La Noscea. Perhaps next time if you ask nicely, we’ll add walnuts.

“Walnuts are vile.”

Mama, you picked an absolute barbarian. With a flick of her tails, Galette sashayed out of the kitchen--after using another curl of wind to flip the five minute hourglass timer next to the stove.

Synnove, arms crossed since Galette discretely relieved her of her burden, smirked triumphantly at her lover when he met her gaze again. “It’s not like you can’t have butter tarts with raisins whenever you’re in Ishgard,” she drawled.

“You make your tarts properly runny,” he grumbled. “And your crust is the perfect blend of flaky and buttery, I don’t know how you do it.”

A warm glow of smug pride settled in her chest, her smirk widening further to Aymeric’s exaggerated eye roll. (Hah, like she couldn’t see the smile tugging at his lips.) Score one for Aunt Angharad’s secret to proper pie dough: butter and lard.

“And you can’t ask Hersande to perhaps adjust her recipe because...?”

“Well. I quite enjoy living.”

Synnove paused, tilting her head thoughtfully, and then nodded in acquiescence. She certainly knew how her auntie would react to anyone telling her to change one of the recipes that had been handed down to her by her mother and grandmother.

Aymeric, still bent over her, rested his cheek against her knee, and his pale blue gaze was suddenly oddly bright, morose and pleading all at once. “Please may we have raisins the next time you make butter tarts?”

She smiled, half in exasperation, half in fondness, charmed despite herself. No adult man had any right being that adorable. She reached out and ran her fingers through his hair, enjoying the silky feel of those black locks as she brushed them from his eyes and said, lovingly, “No.”

He dropped the act and sighed in defeat, shoulders dropping. “Damn.”

#chysgoda #dt answers things #final fantasy xiv #aymeric de borel #aymeric x wol #aymeric x synnove #oc: synnove greywolfe #synnove's carbuncles #dt's writing #one day pecans get imported from the new world #and peace is finally achieved in the war of butter tarts #for the record both synnove and galette will both eat ishgardian butter tarts if offered them because they aren't mannerless savages #but they won't /like/ them #the same with aymeric: he will eat them but there's something missing

[duskdragon39]

Kneaded Cinnamon Rolls

Aka I had half of the yeast I need to make my normal loaf of bread yesterday and was craving sugar. This was knocked together with a couple bastardizations of other recipes I normally make and turned out surprisingly well.

I'm turning this into Science(TM) by documenting this shit. So:

Dough:

1 tsp active dry yeast

about 1/2 cup of water

1.5-ish tablespoons of melted butter

1 egg

1.5 tablespoons of sugar

1/2-1 tsp salt, which I forgot, but they turned out fine anyways.

About 2-2.5 cups of flour, I used unbleached white flour.

Mix the yeast, water, butter, sugar and egg, let stand for a few minutes while you drag everything else out of your cabinets. Mix one cup of flour thoroughly with your mixture, add in the salt somewhere in here. Add flour until the dough comes together, knead for 6 minutes or until stretchy and smooth. Oil your mixing bowl, plop the dough in there, cover with plastic wrap and a towel, let it sit for a good hour or so.

Filling:

Quarter cup/half stick of butter, softened.

Brown sugar (I think it ended being about a half cup)

Cinnamon

Mix the sugar and butter, add cinnamon to taste. You will need more cinnamon than you think you will. You will also want to eat this from the bowl. Do not, you will need it for the actual rolls.

Rolls:

Another half cup of butter, softened. You may not use all of this.

Rolling pin. Did I splurge on a rolling pin two weeks ago simply to use it for something like this? Yes, yes I did. Worth it.

Preheat your oven to 375 F.

Roll out your dough as thin as possible, spread butter over it, fold over, and roll out again. Repeat until you've had enough, the dough becomes unworkable, or you run out of butter. Roll out one last time, spread with cinnamon sugar mixture, slice into approx. 1 inch thick strips. Starting at one end, roll the strips up into squat cylinders of sugar and fat and gluten.

Stick those in the over for 15 minutes while you prep the sauce.

Sauce:

Tablespoon of butter/whatever's left from your buttering and folding

Like a quarter cup of brown sugar

Splash of milk. I used rice milk.

I decided these didn't have enough sugar in them, dumped the above together, and microwaved them for about a minute total, taking it out every 10-15 seconds to stir until it came together into a thick caramel-like sauce. It would probably be safer to do this in a saucepan. Oh well.

Dump that over the rolls, stick them back in the over for 5 minutes. Take out, eat too many, feel slightly sick because there is an unholy amount of butter and sugar in here, save the rest for after your monday nine am chemistry midterm.

Discussion and Conclusion:

Overall I was pleasantly surprised. Very flaky, reminded me a lot of some cinnamon rolls my grandmother used to buy after church Sundays. They also still were good the next morning, which is a point in their favor.

Want to try and chill dough before rolling out/while rolling out since I only have enough counter space to roll out half the dough at a time. I think it might let me cram more butter in there.

Remember to actually put the fucking salt in the cinnamon rolls. In their defense, I didn't actually notice until this morning.

Parchment/Baking paper made cleaning this up surprisingly easy. Would recommend, especially with all the sugar. On the other hand, the stuff that did get on my pans came doff with a bit of judicious scrubbing. Your mileage may vary, etc.

Theoretically this could work with baking soda and some sort of acid or with baking powder. More experimentation is needed. Unsure if doing it this way would still require kneading.

Will update this as trials continue.

#Duskcooks #cinnamon rolls #no fucking idea what I'm doing but I sure am having fun with it. #'Aight back to not as fun chemistry #thank you thermo professor for ensuring I will always remember the fucking origins of baking powder #long post

[lengiesofrps]

You’re My Only Ho

@hartrps​ Merry Christmas!! 🎄🎅🎁

I honestly couldn’t tell you what this is besides a disaster? I thought that Manny and Isabelle had a much longer conversation about this, but upon inspection it was only a couple of text messages. 

So I hope you enjoy this story that makes no sense, has no purpose, and will give you whiplash from the tonal shift. 

Love you so much and I hope you enjoy your present!

The cardboard box sat open at his feet, the folds of cheap crimson silk and gold foam painted to look like leather facing up towards him. A one-off joke made real due to desperation and inability to do anything else.

Manny sat on Isabelle’s bed in her childhood home, the whisper of voices coming up the spiral staircase to meet him. Nothing that was said was registering though. He could only assume that Isabelle and Jessica were sitting around their dining room table, discussing the latest development in a long line of disappointments.

Only this time, the disappointment was him.

Or rather, his father, but what was the difference really? Santos and his obsession with recognition, with having his name in the mouths of the rich and fucked up. Who had wanted so badly to be brought up in the conversations surrounding San Francisco’s newest royal, so that people would flock to his practice, and he could start raking in dough that he didn’t need. Probably had dreams of seeing his name in Psychology Today.

Isabelle not wanting to speak to press about herself or her past must have been a real blow to him and his ever fragile ego.

What other reason could he have for leaking story after story to the press? Things that Santos and only Santos would know. How hard she’d been hit after the death of her father and how they had led to the panic attacks that were now, thanks to the Genovian monarchy, part of Isabelle’s everyday life. Her feelings of being invisible and inferior in their high school, how the changes of life could set off her disorder.

At that thought, his fingers clenched hard in the fabric as he remembered the series of panic attacks she’d had ever since this whole fiasco had begun. The one the very day Isabelle had met her grandmother, the queen, how she had called him for support when she couldn’t even tell him what was wrong.

Ever since that moment, non-stop incidents. Some rich fuck with too many rings and a fake Italian accent selling Isabelle out to the press for “the prestige,” which everyone knew meant money; paparazzi swarming the campus, following Isabelle to class, and camping outside of their apartment building for a chance to get a shot at her.

She’d spent weeks spiraling in anxiety, having an unprecedented number of attacks. They’d both missed classes over it; Isabelle because she was too afraid to leave the building, too busy forgetting how to breathe to do anything else; Manny because he was too afraid of what might happen if he wasn’t there, too scared to leave her on her own given the circumstances. He’d never felt so helpless.

Usually, he was able to talk her down, to distract her with stories about cryptids and myths and folktales. It was how he’d gotten the idea for his podcast after all. That way, even if he wasn’t with her, she could turn on a story and lose herself.

His stories had lost power though. No matter what weird fact or legend he dropped on her, distraction wouldn’t come. They had gotten bad enough that they’d had to sneak in a physician up through the laundry room so the paparazzi wouldn’t twist the visit into another story of defamation. Isabelle’s anxiety stuck and Manny’s heart felt like it was in a vice while he watched her suffer.

That happy thought forced him into action, pulling the two piece costume from the box and stripping his clothes off.

After a quick but horrifying lesson from Google on how to tuck his junk that involved words like wrap your scrotum and a newfound conviction that he wasn’t cut out for drag, he stood ready in front of the mirror. Tanned skin was on display in abundance, and he was a couple of inches away from an indecent exposure claim.

As he let his fingers trail his skin, ensuring that everything that needed to be hidden away was indeed out of sight, Jackie’s words from a previous conversation entered his mind, unbidden.

“You’re really going to let go of any impression of dignity you have left, huh? What, so she can lead you on again? That’s sappy and dumb, but congrats on the double hit.”

Was he really willing to sacrifice his dignity in order to boost Isabelle’s spirit?

The simple answer, yes.

Jackie didn’t understand love, had never been in love to understand. Manny didn’t care if Isabelle loved him like he loved her. That’s what love was. He would sacrifice anything if it meant providing her with a moment of levity amidst the chaos that was currently her life: his public image, his podcast, his collection of alien memorabilia, and, yes, his dignity. All of that and more. Manny would surrender everything for her, whatever it took for her world to make sense again.

But, given the circumstances, he would settle for seeing her smile again. Sense seemed like too far a reach these days anyways.

Besides, he looked fine.

He gave his own ass a smack for good luck and stepped out to the fireman’s pole outside of Isabelle’s room. After a final check to make sure his balls weren’t going to be putting on their own show from below Manny grasped the pole with one hand, draped his skirt dramatically over his thigh and descended into the kitchen below.

Manny kept his gaze straight ahead, not wanting the sight of Isabelle to crack his façade. As he dropped dramatically, one leg pointed out, free hand held out, wielding an invisible lightsaber, he decided to quote his personal favorite tweet as he neared the end of his journey.

“Help me, Obi Juan whoever the fuck you are!” he warbled dramatically. “You’re my only ho!”

“Good heavens!” The voice that rose to greet him was decidedly posh and European, and decidedly not Isabelle. It wasn’t even Jessica.

Ice filled his veins as he realized who the voice must belong to. Was he about to get sniped right off his pole? That had to be well within a queen’s power. Manny held himself rigid, muscles taut in his fighting stance, but he slowly relaxed when Joseph didn’t pop out of the shadows to end his life.

Isabelle thought she shared nothing in common with her grandmother; Manny would have to inform her later that they had the exact same expressions of shock, down to a very slight twitch in their left eyebrows. Jessica had her coffee cup to her lips and the silent shaking either indicated that she was terrified or holding in her laughter with Herculean effort.

Manny did the only thing he could do; he fanned out the front flap of his prisoner Leia costume and curtsied.

What was he supposed to address her as? His mind blanked out. “Sorry, you royalness,” was the best he could come up with. “If I knew we was having company, I would have broken out the silk skirt.”

“You should have seen the prime minister of Thailand after Drag Race premiered,” she responded faintly, hand pressed against her the spot just above her chest. “We wasted our entertainment budget on our Independence Day Ball that year; everyone simply gathered around him after a couple of gins and watched him try to walk on those stilts he called heels. No one cared to listen to the Norwegian cellist after that.”

He huffed out a surprised laugh at that and grinned across the kitchen. “Now that sounds like a party you’d hate to miss out on.”

“Yes, well…” Queen Clarisse lifted her hands in front of her. “It would be a shame to miss Independence Day Ball.” This was said with a look shot Isabelle’s way, bordering on pleading. Or what counted for pleading in the monarchy. More like a stern suggestion. “I’ll expect an answer in a week’s time. I do hope you’ll say yes.”

The queen stood and fidgeted with her handbag for a moment, as though she was deciding on something. Whatever it was, she seemed to decide not to go through with it. She turned on her heel and Joe immediately materialized from the shadows in the entrance hall to escort her, as she left in a flurry of cream.

Huh. So, Joe was a shadow shifter. He was going to keep that in mind for later.

As soon as the door clicked shut, Isabelle was out of her seat and across the kitchen in seconds, with a punch to the arm that lacked her usual heat. “What the hell, Menudo?” In the background, Jessica roared with laughter that quickly turned into spluttering as she inhaled her coffee.

He shrugged, unbothered that the Genovian queen had seen basically his whole ass and torso. She wasn’t complaining, so why should he? “I think she liked me,” he said cheerfully. “Didn’t ask for an introduction though. Bit rude if you ask me.”

“The rich so often are,” Jessica offered when she was finally able to breathe again. “And hey!” She came up and placed a hand on Isabelle’s shoulder. “Manny managed to buy you an extra week of time to make a decision on attending her majesty’s grand ball. That’s a win.”

Isabelle’s shifted from horror to recognition and Manny couldn’t help being surprised when her arms slipped around him, pulling him in for an embrace. “Thanks, Marzipan.” Despite the nickname, she sounded genuinely relieved. “Another week to figure out how to get out of going? You’re my only ho.”

It wasn’t the hilarity that he’d been hoping for, but his costume had resulted in something even better. Relief from badgering from the royal court, even if only for a week, would give Isabelle a much needed rest from some of her anxiety. As Manny slid his arms around her, he decided he was wrong. Drag wasn’t so bad after all.

#hartrps #pixel perfect #sophie