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atomicwedgienerd · 4 years

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The Grease

Eddy had that kind of hair that made people jealous. It was thick, wavy, and he never seemed to have to do anything to it. He woke up in the morning, ran his fingers through his hair, and just went about the day. His messy bedhead always looked intentional but it was nothing more than good genes and the luck of the draw, and that was the way Eddy liked it. He viewed his hair as the perfect extension of his personality: carefree, wild, and completely untamed. And despite the fact that he put very little effort into things, Eddy always came out on top. He had coasted his way through high school, charmed his way through college, and now he had half-assed his way to a position as an art director for one of the west coast’s premiere surfboard companies. The work was easy, and it left him plenty of time every day for surfing. Eddy had it made.

One day on his way back from the beach, Eddy caught a passing glimpse of himself in a shop window. He could see that his mane was getting unruly, even for himself. All that saltwater was good for volume but damn could it do a number on split ends. Even a guy like Eddy knew you had to do some upkeep. As he continued on his way home, he noticed a barbershop he hadn’t seen before: Berger and Sons. From the striped pole out front to the subway tile lining the walls, this place looked like one of the classic shops you’d see if you googled “1950s barbershop.” Eddy had seen a few of these retro throwback barbershops open in different spots over the city but they had always seemed a little too traditional for a guy like him. Regardless, Eddy had a meeting the next week with a client and figured it couldn’t hurt to have a little touch up on his flowing locks. Plus, if he did it now, it wouldn’t look like he had gotten all dolled up for the meeting. Looking like he didn’t care was alllllll part of Eddy’s allure.

A bell tinkled as he entered the shop and Eddy immediately noticed the smell. A sweet but nearly antiseptic odor hit his nose, reminding him of his grandfather right after he had shaved. Yep, this place was definitely old school. The barber waved him over and patted the seat, inviting Eddy to sit down.

“Welcome to Berger and Sons,” he said. “Let me guess, you want a headshave?” Before Eddy could even react, the barber had burst out laughing. “Just a little light barber humor!”

“Very light,” Eddy deadpanned. “I’m not looking for anything too crazy. Just wanna get these split ends cleaned up.”

“Ah, an easy enough task,” said the barber as he threw the cape over Eddy’s body and began spritzing his hair with a mist.

“So is it just you?” asked Eddy, looking around at the otherwise empty barbershop. “I thought the sign said Berger and Sons.”

“Well, I’m Nestor Berger,” he explained. “So that part’s accurate. Don’t actually have any sons but I figured the name would convey the sort of traditional barbershop experience I try to offer. You see, in these modern times, there’s a lot of people who don’t really appreciate the…” The barber’s voice started to trail off. The scent from the mist he had sprayed in Eddy’s hair was so powerful--so sweet and intoxicating--that Eddy had started to zone out. He felt warm, he felt comfortable, and he felt relaxed. The shop drifted away from him and suddenly he felt someone tapping him on his shoulder.

“Sir? Sir!” said the barber until Eddy snapped back. “What do you think?” Eddy’s eyes came back in focus and he saw his reflection in the mirror and gasped. The barber had ruined his hair. Where his flowing bedhead had been was now a heavily slicked, extremely greasy, and overly combed hairstyle the likes of which one would see on someone from the 1950s.

“I just asked for the split ends cleaned up!” Eddy bellowed.

“And that’s really all I did!” smiled the barber. “Ok, I may have taken a little bit off here and there but there’s still length.” The barber showed Eddy the back of the hairstyle in a handheld mirror where the sides and top had been slicked back into a greasy tail. “I just figured I would give you a more dapper appearance. This is a homemade hair grease you know. You can only get it here.”

“Well I didn’t ask for it,” Eddy said as he threw off the cape and stood up to leave. “No wonder your shop is so empty! Maybe try listening to your customers!”

“A barber has to do what he knows is right for each customer,” the barber grinned. “Trust me, you’ll be back!”

“The fuck I will,” Eddy said as he stormed out the shop.

He was furious! He stopped to gawk at himself in a parked car’s side view mirror. This nerdy retro haircut was the opposite of everything Eddy was about! It was rigid, traditional, and just plain uncool. He felt his phone buzz in his pocket. It was his buddies asking him out for a night of drinks. “Sure,” he texted back. “Just let me go home and wash my hair real quick.”

Eddy had never washed his hair that intensely in his life. He shampooed it twice, conditioned it thrice! He even blow dried it. He put a little salt spray in it and when he felt it looked the right level of mussed, he got dressed and headed out to meet his buddies.

---

Lee, Kirk and Drew were at the bar doing shots when Eddy walked in. He waved at them and they gave him an odd glance and ignored him, before Lee did a double take and started cackling. “Eddy! Over here!” Eddy jogged over to join his pals.

“We saved a shot for you,” Drew said, laughing. “So uh, what’s going on here? Trying out a new look?”

“Well I washed my hair,” Eddy said, “but I wouldn’t say it’s a new…” He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror behind the bar. Eddy’s hair was back in the heavily greased, retro sidepart he had when he stormed out of the barbershop. It looked just as fresh as when he snapped out of his weird daze and saw it for the first time. He touched it in horror and as he pulled his hand away from his hair, his fingers came back with a thick sheen of greasy, oily product that overwhelmed him with that same scent he remembered from the barber shop. His eyes went blank for a moment before he snapped back to reality.

“It’s.. nice,” Kirk said with a wry smile as he handed his buddy the shot of whiskey. “Just very different.” Eddy took the shot and paused. What was going on? He had washed his hair… hadn’t he? He did have to admit though: the haircut did look sort of nifty. Nifty? Where did that word even pop into his head?

He laughed and threw back his head, downing the shot. It burned terribly, like he had never tasted alcohol before and he began coughing and sputtering as the shot came back up and sprayed on his friends. They erupted in laughter at him.

“Maybe you should get a glass of milk instead,” Lee said. Eddy protested--although it did sound kind of nice. But no, he was a grown man. He could drink a beer! But even that didn’t seem very nice.

“You know what guys? I’m not feeling super nifty.” There was that damn word again. “I think I’m going to go home and get some rest.”

“Come on, man! It’s still early!” Kirk shouted.

“No no,” said Drew. “Let the man get his rest. Hope you feel niftier tomorrow.” Eddy blushed. His face felt on fire. His friends were mocking him! He stormed out the door as he could hear his friends burst into laughter.

“Gosh darnit!” Eddy blurted as he marched down the street. He had intended to use stronger language but it just didn’t come out that way. How strange. When he got home, he decided to put on some football to calm his nerves but stopped on a channel showing old episodes of Leave It To Beaver. He couldn’t help himself. He had to watch.

By 10pm, he was already fast asleep.

------

Eddy’s alarm went off at 6 in the morning. He shot to attention and was shocked when he saw the time. He hadn’t been up at 6 in the morning in years, and yet, his phone had it listed as an alarm that went off every day.

He went to go brush his teeth and was shocked to see his hair still stuck in that crisp, greasy and exceptionally conservative side part. He hopped in the shower and scrubbed and shampooed and when he finally got out, his hair was a sopping, stringy mess. Thank goodness. The grease was finally out, and, just to be safe, Eddy decided to let it air dry. After all, he had plans to go surfing with the boys later, provided they weren’t going to be too mean to him after last night.

Eddy actually felt intimidated by that, which was ridiculous. He had always been the leader and now he felt concerned about what the other guys would think! It was just one rough night; they would forget it soon enough. After all, Eddy was the best surfer among them and he would re-assert himself at the top of the food chain. He gave himself a smile in the mirror as a familiar scent began to wash over him: the same scent from the barber shop.

Suddenly, Eddy’s phone rang and he found himself dazed in a strange location. He didn’t quite know where he was. He answered the phone.

“Bro where the fuck are you?” he heard Kirk say, the sound of waves crashing coming through the phone. “You were supposed to be here an hour ago!”

Where the fuck was he? Eddy looked around and realized he was in some sort of convention hall. Tables and tables stretched in all directions, each of them covered in protective lucite boxes containing… stamps!? He saw the banner: West Coast Philatelist Convention.

“I’m at a philately convention,” he said.

“A what, bro?”

“Stamps,” Eddy said. “It’s a stamp collector. It’s a convention for stamp collectors.” The sound of unmistakable laughter arose from the other side of the phone.

“He’s at a stamp collecting convention!” he heard Kirk say to the others whose laughter quickly echoed from the receiver. “Well, uh, I hate to interrupt that exciting occurrence but you gonna join us at the beach?”

“Of course,” said Eddy. “I just wanted to stop in here and uh…. Look I’ll be there soon, ok!?” He quickly hung up in shame. He started heading for the door when he caught his reflection in a piece of lucite and gasped.

The hair had come back. Greasier than before. He touched it and his hand came away with a thick coating of sticky wet hair product. His hair was practically dripping. Then, Eddy caught the rest of his reflection. He was dressed in a pair of grey dress slacks and a white button down shirt. Tucked. In.

Something was wrong. Eddy would never wear this. He looked like a little dork! He had to get home, but first, he was going to stop at that barber shop and get some answers! He headed for the door but then he caught a glimpse of some fascinating stamps.

“Oooh those are actually pretty neato!” he said aloud. He couldn’t believe he was saying that… or thinking it. But he when he got close to the table, he was dazzled by how cool the stamps were. A vintage series commemorating Star Trek! They were so awesome! He couldn’t help himself. He pulled out his wallet and hesitated.

What was he doing? This wasn’t him. But these stamps were really neato completo. What the heck? Life is short. He plunked down his credit card and bought a few, as well as a book to store them in.

“You’re gonna need to fill that up, sonny!” smiled the vendor. Eddy couldn’t help himself. He desperately wanted to leave and meet up with his buddies but he couldn’t help himself from examining other tables, buying more vintage stamps, and striking up conversations with other philatelists. Before he knew it, the convention was closing and it was time to go. His phone had dozens of missed calls and texts from the boys wondering where he was. Something very strange was going on indeed.

As he headed back to his apartment with his new stamp book full of old stamps, he spotted a vintage store with a display in the window. The mannequin was dressed in a way that should have made Eddy recoil. It was dressed in a short sleeved white button down with a thin black bowtie. The black flat front slacks came up to its belly button and were cinched with a thin brown belt. On its feet, vintage white crew socks hung in furls as they went into the shiny black penny loafers. This was the outfit of an unmistakable nerd, a relic of a bygone era representing a sort of clean cut, goody two shoes attitude that had always revolted Eddy. But for a brief moment, he saw his reflection where the mannequin’s head was, his face and slicked up hair on the outfit. It almost seemed right, but he shook his head and snapped out of it.

In a panic, Eddy headed back to his hip apartment and slammed the door. He turned on the TV and tried to relax but couldn’t. Eventually, he flipped to an old episode of Leave It To Beaver and found himself mesmerized. Everyone was so polite and clean cut and old-fashioned. By 9pm, he was asleep.

Before Eddy knew it, it was already 6pm Sunday evening. He had no idea where the time had gone but when he looked around his apartment, he began to get dizzy. Everything looked… different. That’s when memories came flooding back.

He saw himself at 6am, waking up nice and early, and calling a company to come take his furniture away. Then a flash and he was at the antique store flashing his credit card around and buying all kinds of retro furniture. Another flash and he was at the vintage store loading up a cart with dorky looking clothes. And another flash and he was back at the apartment, showing movers where to place all his many purchases.

Another flash and he was back in the present, standing in his apartment which he no longer recognized. The entire thing looked like it was a set from Leave It To Beaver. His flat screen TV had been replaced with an old woodpaneled TV from the 50s with an antenna on it. His workout equipment replaced with a chess table and two chairs. His slick leather couch was gone and in its place was a floral patterned retro sofa. Everything about his apartment looked old fashioned and drab. All of his records had been replaced as an LP of Bert Kaempfaert’s greatest hits played over the hifi. He ran to his room and gasped. His waterbed had been replaced with a single twin mattress, the bland gray sheets tucked and folded with military precision. Then, he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror and nearly fainted.

He was wearing a pair of shiny red Converses with white socks and cuffed, deep blue, highwaisted straight legged jeans. His shirt, an orange and green plaid number, was tucked into and fastened in place with a cheap brown belt. In the pocket of the shirt, a pristine white pocket protector sat overloaded with pens and pencils and tools. A dorky white undershirt poked out from under the button down. On top of all that, he had a bright red cardigan with white piping and a big letter B like he was in school or something. He was dressed like he was president of the chess club 1955! And of course, on top of his head, sat an exceedingly greasy slicked haircut that was now nearly jet black. He touched it in horror as his fingers came away thick with the grease.

The grease! This had all started with the grease and that barber shop and that awful barber! He would have answers to what was going on. He could help Eddy undo whatever was happening. Eddy would go and find him and get this all sorted out. But not dressed like this! He tore through his closet and found most of his clothes had been replaced. That would be a pain to fix. But in the top, in a corner he must have missed earlier, he found some sweatpants and an old tank top. He didn’t look as cool as he had hoped, but it was better than the Leave It To Beaver nerd look he had been sporting earlier.

Eddy ran out onto the street and started hurrying to the barber shop. As he waited at an intersection, he saw himself in a window and gasped. Somehow, he was back in that outfit! The cardigan, the dorky shirt, the highwaisted jeans! Something strange was going on. The grease was changing him, affecting his perception. He had to get to the bottom of this.

A few more blocks and he found himself across the street from Berger and Sons Barbershop. The lights were on so Eddy knew he could get some answers. But the light wouldn’t change. Eddy waited and waited but it didn’t change. There was no traffic. He could just jaywalk across the street. But try as he might, he couldn’t get himself to do it. A little voice in his head kept telling him that it was against the rules. Since when had that mattered? Eddy never followed any rules! But he simply HAD to all of a sudden. His rebellious nature was defeated and he could not cross the street without the light changing.

It didn’t. Something was stopping it from happening and Eddy couldn’t cross. Defeated, he returned home, fiddled with his TV antenna, and fell asleep watching more Leave It To Beaver.

--------

“Eddy, can I have a word with you in my office?” he heard his boss saying. Eddy blinked and found himself in the conference room of his office, his coworkers staring at him with a smattering of cheeky smirks and barely restrained laughter. He recognized the clients he had a meeting with on Monday but… was it already Monday? He looked down and groaned. He saw it: the outfit from the mannequin. The dorky bowtie, the short white sleeved shirt, the flat fronted highwaisted pants, the slouchy white socks, and of course the super shiny penny loafers. He turned around and saw his presentation: just a big white posterboard that said “Surfboarding: It’s Neato Completo.” All the work he had done for months was gone and this was what he showed up to the meeting with? All his passion for surfboarding and this was the best he had? But when he thought about it, he could barely even remember himself surfing. All he could think about was how much he wanted to get home, look at his stamp collection, and maybe read up on some chess maneuvers. What was happening to him?

Needless to say, Eddy’s meeting with his boss was short. They offered him a month of severance and told him to pack up his stuff and leave. They couldn’t have a square like him working at a surfboarding company. He looked at all the beach memorabilia at his desk and just threw it in the trashcan. It didn’t seem like his anymore anyways.

As he walked back home, he could feel everyone staring at him, giggling at his outfit, looking at his big greasy haircut. He felt dejected and embarrassed and could barely see where he was going. He just looked at the ground and shuffled his penny loafers. When he finally looked up, he saw where he was and he wasn’t surprised. Berger and Sons Barbershop.

The bell tinkled as he entered the shop. Mr. Berger looked up and smiled.

“I knew you’d be back. How are you feeling about the haircut?”

Eddy sighed. “I hate it. Well I hated it, but I can’t make it go away and every day I just feel like it suits me more and more. I don’t know what’s happening!”

“That’s the power of a good grease,” said Mr. Berger. “Once you go slick, you just have to stick!”

“Gee whiz,” said Eddy. “I guess so. I just feel so different now.”

“Would you like me to wash it out? You can go back to the way you were. Or…”

“Or?” asked Eddy.

“Or I can apply one more coating and make it permanent. One more coating of pomade and you’ll be a good retro nerdy boy forever. The choice is yours.”

Eddy sighed a breath of relief. The nightmare was finally over. He was ready to make his choice. And then the strong smell overwhelmed him.

“I’d like to stay this way forever!” Inside, Eddy was screaming. That wasn’t what he wanted at all but the grease was making him say it. The grease was making him sit in the chair. The grease was taking his will to fight. The grease made him sit politely and smile as Mr. Berger took a huge scoop of hair product and began working it into Eddy’s jet black hair. When he was finally done, Mr. Berger spun Eddy around and said, “What do you think?”

Eddy looked at himself in the mirror… and couldn’t see anything. It was a blur.

“Oh of course,” said Mr. Berger. “You’ll be needing these now.” He pulled out a pair of clunky black rimmed glasses with thick lenses and placed them on Eddy’s nose before fastening them in place with a tight elastic strap. The world came into focus and Eddy saw himself in the mirror.

The hair was even neater, even more retro, and even greasier looking than before. The thick black glasses just complimented the hair perfectly. When Eddy reached up to touch his hair, it felt nearly plastic. It didn’t budge at all. This truly was the haircut he was stuck with.

“Gee whiz, it looks neato completo Sir!” he said with a goofy grin plastered on his face.

“You don’t have to call me Sir,” Mr. Berger smiled. He handed Eddy his wallet back and opened it to the ID holder. Eddy’s license had been replaced with a new one. The picture showed Eddy in his thick glasses and greased up hair and where his name should be it read “Edward Berger.”

“Berger and Sons Barber,” Mr. Berger smiled. “I just knew you had potential.”

“Golly thanks for the swell haircut, Dad!” Eddy--or was it Edward--said with a grin.

“Say, son, I know you got fired from your job and I was thinking… isn’t it time you joined the family business?”

-----

From that day forward, Edward Berger spent every day in the barbershop learning the craft. His nights were spent in his dorky apartment studying chess maneuvers, listening to lounge music, and watching Leave It To Beaver. He was in bed by 9pm every night and awake by 5am every day. He wore a tie and pocket protector every day to the barber shop and even on most weekends. Whenever he was on the street, people would point and laugh at him but Edward Berger never felt ashamed. He knew it was better to be a clean cut retro goody two shoes than the hip rebel he had used to be. Besides, nobody had a spiffier haircut than he did.

Finally, the day came when Mr. Berger thought Edward was ready to ply his trade on clients of his own.

“I sent out a few invitations for free haircuts to get you some people to try your greasing skills on.”

The bell jingled and three men walked into the shop. Edward pushed up his thick glasses and ran a hand over his thick plasticene haircut. The men seemed almost familiar but he couldn’t remember why. They signed in and Edward picked up the sign in sheet.

“Well hello and greetings fellas and welcome to Berger and Sons Barbers. So nice to meet you…” He glanced down at the sign in sheet. “Lee, Drew, and Kirk. Now which one of you is up first?”

The three men laughed at this absolute retro nerdy joke before them. Little did they know, they’d be just like him soon enough.

If you liked this story, why not join us in the nerdification discord? Surely someone has a magic hair grease that will turn you into a retro goody two shoes nerd!

#nerdification #haircut #slickedhair #nerdtf #jocktonerd #transformation #retrofetish

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desiraypark · 4 years

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Head Chef/Meat Chef

Characters: Ben Solo Skywalker x Reader (w/vag) Content: *Modern and Earth-comparable Universe; Name-calling; meanness; enemies in public/lovers in private; boss/employee; rough s*x (hair pulling; neck/jaw-grabbing; a little pop in the mouth) | Mentions of: meat (also includes a gif) and death (in backstory below). Author’s Note: This wasn’t as rough and nasty as I initially imagined but it still made me a little hot lol. A blank is used in place of “Y/N” and also, my knowledge of restaurant operation is limited to episodes of Kitchen Nightmares lol. Backstory: Shmi Skywalker was hands down the best cook in her neighborhood. People would give up half their paychecks just to get her to cook up some of her delicious pies or chicken dinners. Sadly, she died very young, and her son, Anakin, honored her legacy by opening a restaurant to serve her recipes. The Skywalker Diner became profitable enough for Anakin to open restaurants all along the west coast over the years. He opened the Padmé Steakhouse in the affluent county of Naboo when his grandson, Ben, was a baby.

Now, Ben Skywalker (his last name is actually Solo, but don’t you dare call him that) is the notoriously meticulous owner and head chef at Padmé’s. He only serves the best and pushes his staff to live up to his and his family’s reputation. Especially you, his talented Rotisseur...

“Fucking hell...” Mr. Skywalker mumbled. “ Hey, Meat Girl?!” “What?” you responded over your shoulder, as you placed a steak on the grill. “This steak is supposed to be medium rare...” You huffed. “Well, what is is it?” “It’s medium!” You huffed again and shook your head. “I’ll start up another.” “This is what, the third time tonight?” he asked. No one said anything. Dishes and utensils clinked and clanked around as everyone focused on their station, careful not to fuck up their dishes. “Hey, Princess?! _____?” he called. “What?!” “Can you get your head out of your ass?” “Oh, fuck you!” you shouted back. The other chefs gasped and let out “oohs...” under their breath. “I know you want to,” he replied. “Is that what needs to happen? For you to cook a fucking steak properly?” A burning sensation pumped through your chest. You focused on placing your meats on the grill. “Go on and run this to table six,” you heard him say to a server. “Tell whoever had the medium rare that the chef had to start another because she’s too busy focusing on her un-fucked cunt.” You scoffed and reached over your own shoulder to hold up your middle finger. “Relax, ____, relax...” Tanya, the pastry chef whispered. “Don’t try to save her Tanya,” Ben interjected. “Let her dig her fucking ditch.” 11:00PM The last table left thirty minutes after closing time, and Ben came out from his office and into the kitchen. Music blared from the radio as you and the kitchen staff cleaned up. “After this place gets cleaned up, you come to my office,” he demanded. Silence. You wiped down your station, paying him no mind. He shook his head and walked away. 11:45PM You watched your co-workers walk out of the backdoor. They’d wished you a chorus of “good lucks” and “everything will be okay’s” before they slipped out to jump in their cars.

The dining room was darkened and empty, and the kitchen would be, too. You turned off the radio, switched off the light, and maneuvered through the dining room to Ben’s office. Your clit began to pulsate. When you reached his office, you stood in the door frame. He sat behind his desk, staring into a computer. His desk was abnormally clean. Well, it would be abnormal to others, but it wasn’t to you--you knew why the anal perfectionist had moved his paperwork. He’d also taken off his suit jacket. “Come here,” he said, not looking away from the screen. You walked to his desk. He looked up at you and rolled his eyes. “Come around here.” “No,” you said. He took in a deep breath and rose from his seat. You felt the puddle forming in your panties and bit your bottom lip. He walked in front of you and grabbed hold of your jaw. “You’re being a real fucking bitch today, aren’t you?” he asked. You couldn’t stop the menacing smile from forming on your face. Then, he smirked. “This is what you wanted, huh?” he asked. He palmed your ass. “You fucked up my customers’ meals just so you could get a rise out of me? So you could get fucked?” Smack! You moaned at the lash of fire that stung your ass cheek. “Fuck you and those customers.” You squeezed his nipple, making him whimper. He pulled your face to his and ravaged your mouth with his tongue. Then, he snatched his mouth away from yours, throwing you off balance a bit. “Get undressed,” he said, undoing his own pants. You pulled your T-shirt over your head and Ben pulled out a throbbing, hard, and leaking dick. He began to stroke it, and you smirked at the sight. You unbuttoned your pants. “You’re pathetic,” you said. “Shut the fuck up,” he said, grabbing your throat. You quickly wrapped your hand around his wrist and dug your nails in. He let go, so that you could pull your pants down over your hips. But he scoffed, moved your hands out of the way and yanked them (and your underwear) down to your ankles. He knelt down to pull them over your sneakers, too. When he lifted his body again, you popped him in the mouth. Wrinkles formed in his forehead and his eyes narrowed, and before you knew it, you were being turned around and thrown over his cold desk. He tugged at your bra strap and unfastened it, then without warning, you felt his stiff length stretching you open. “Ahhh!” you moaned. “You bitch...” He grabbed your hair and gave you a merciless pounding. The sounds of a squelching pussy and balls slapping against your ass echoed throughout the office, along with your screams. “You okay?” he asked, not letting up on his rhythm. You chuckled. “Am I okay?” You turned your head a little, his fingers still in your scalp. “You’re not doing shit.” Ben released your hair and held on to your waist with both hands. The rhythmic stroke transformed into painfully slow and punctuated thrusts. You grabbed the edge of the desk as the head of his dick met your cervix...again...and again...and again. Your eyes rolled back and as much as you didn’t want to show that he had the upper hand, you started to squirm. “Are you squirming?” he asked. “No!” you lied. He pulled his dick out and yanked you up by your arm. Then, he picked you up and held you by your waist--your legs wrapped around his. You took hold of his hair, and he pressed his fingers deep into the flesh of your ass. He walked you close to his door, where a pair of folding chairs resided, and he sat down in one. Then, he pulled you closer to him. Your arms fell around his neck and the fabric of your lopsided bra rubbed against his skin. “Are you gonna let me take my bra off, you fucking idiot?” you asked. He grunted and stuffed all four of his fingers in your mouth, making you gag at the sudden intrusion. “Take it off without running that disgusting mouth of yours.” You pulled off your bra. Then, you sucked on his fingers--giving him a taste of what could come soon--and you whipped your head away.

“You’ve got me naked in your office while you’re still fully clothed. I bet you feel like I real fucking man, huh?” “Yeah, I do,” he said. He lifted your body and lined his head up at your entrance. “Sit down.” You eased down onto his dick and started bouncing up and down on it.

“Fuck!” you cried out. Ben tightened his arms around you again and pulled you close. Then, he overrode your riding with thrusts up into you.

“I only told you to sit on it, Princess,” he said. You threw your head onto his shoulder, squealing from the painful pleasure. “It’s one thing to be a fuck-up, but to be a disobedient fuck-up?”

He tsk-tsk’d you and removed one of his arms from your waist to release a couple of more hellish smacks to your ass. You gained the courage to start bouncing on him again, trying to meet his thrusts with your own, but you were powerless. You looked down at him and he looked up at you with a twinkle in his eyes and with his lips in a smirk. Then, you wrapped your hand around his throat. He slowed down his thrusts, but he didn’t remove his eyes from yours. The rapid banging was replaced with slow, deep thrusts. Squish...squish...squish...went your pussy. You could feel your juices dripping out, and being fucked back into you. The sensation made your nipples harden and your eyes roll back. Ben grabbed one of your breasts and wrapped his lips around your nipple. Then, he let you bounce on his dick on your own accord. He pulled his lips away and looked up at you. “Do you want to come?” He grabbed your other breast and sucked its nipple. “Yes,” you whimpered, looking down at him. “You think you deserve to?” “Yes...” He pulled his mouth away and slapped your ass again. You whimpered and fell back over his shoulder. He chuckled. “What a fucking nerve...” he said. “After your behavior tonight, you think you deserve to have an orgasm?” “I’m sorry...” you whined, still grinding on his dick, your thighs starting to burn. “No you’re not,” he said. “Stand up.” You didn’t move. You kept grinding and whined at the idea of losing the sensation of his dick in you. But he lifted your body--the strong bastard--and pulled his dick out of you. “Get on your knees,” he said, pulling his pants down and letting them fall to his feet. You climbed down and onto your knees in front of him. “If you make me come with that smart mouth of yours, I might let you come, too...” You licked a stripe down his glistening shaft.

“Mmm...” you teased. “I taste so good.”

You looked up at him, opened your mouth and slapped the head of his dick on your tongue. “You should thank me for giving your dick something to look forward to.” Ben pressed your head down, pushing your mouth down onto his entire length. “Less talking, Princess.” He moved your head up and down over him in swift motions. Tears began to well in your eyes and your cheeks burned, and finally, he showed mercy and released your head. You pulled your mouth away to catch your breath, and scowled up at him. Then, you got to work on your own.

You made a mess of his dick - mixing your saliva and your pussy’s juice over its entirety with your hand and your hot mouth. You looked up at Ben and he watched you with a lax jaw. He’d untucked his shirt and held it up to give you room and to cool the sweat on his abdomen. He wiped sweat from your brow. “That mouth looks so good with my dick in it,” he said. “Is your pussy wet from sucking my dick?” With a pop, you pulled your lips away from his dick. “Nope. She’s fucking dry as a desert. She’s practically repulsed.” Ben caught a laugh in his chest. “You’re such a devilish little bitch.” You smiled and got back to sucking. As you swirled your tongue around and swiveled your neck over his dick, you reached into his boxers and massaged his balls. Then, as you sucked at the tip, you began to stroke his shaft. You smirked at the sight of him shifting and squirming under you, trying so hard to keep his cool. You stroked over his boxers with your knuckles until you found your destination.

He may have refused to get naked—making you the only vulnerable one of you two—but he wasn’t leaving out of that office without falling apart at least once. You pressed your index finger’s knuckle against his perineum and stroked up and down. “Fuckkkkkk!” he shouted, jerking his hips upward.

You pulled your mouth away but kept stroking the shaft and the perineum, watching with your teeth pressed into your bottom lip as an endless stream of cum gushed out of his dick. You moved your hand from the space over his anus and sucked him through the rest of his orgasm. You were looking up at his chin, waiting for his eyes to meet yours, holding some of his nut in your mouth. When he finally looked down, you swallowed the remnants and licked your lips. He jumped forward, grabbed your jaw again, and pulled you into a deep kiss.

Ben stood up and helped you up, as well. Then, he pulled his pants back up to his waist. Holding on to his waistband, he guided you to his desk and motioned for you to sit on it. You planted your cheeks on the wood as he pulled one of the chairs behind him--softer than the folding ones--close. He sat down, opened your legs, and ran his index and middle finger along the sticky folds of your labia. You’d lied to him about being wet, but he didn’t care. He pushed your legs open further and stuck his middle finger inside of you. “Mmm...” you moaned. You grabbed hold of your nipples. Then, he flicked his tongue against your clit. After a few flicks, he wrapped his lips around it and sucked, then circled his neck so all your wetness could cover his nostrils, his lips, and his chin. You cried out and reached out for his hair. But he pulled away and grabbed both of your wrists--holding them down at your sides. Without the use of his hands, Ben consumed your pussy like it was on his restaurant’s menu. He licked and sucked at your clit, fucked the hole with his tongue, and even motor-boated the damn thing, making you jump and squirm. The pleasure was so intense and he wasn’t letting go of your hands for anything. You had no choice but to trapped Ben’s head between your thighs to alleviate the pressure. He tightened his grip around your wrists as you fucked his mouth and screamed like a banshee. Finally, he licked you into your release, but even as you came, he didn’t stop. He kept a firm grip on your wrists and kept slurping at your folds and drinking down your cum. Your body felt like one big wave. Like those squiggly lines that covered everything on the Spice channel back in the day. Even when you tried to fall backward on the desk, Ben released your wrists just to grip your waist with one arm and fuck you with three fingers on his free hand. “I...” you started. You were shaking. “I fucking hate you...” Ben finally pulled away and smirked up at you with a glazed smile. He licked his lips and you fell over to your side. He smacked your thigh. “Get your hot ass cheeks off my desk and put some clothes on,” he said. You stuck your middle finger in his face. He chuckled, grabbed your hand, and gave it a kiss. Then, he stood up and planted kisses up your leg, your thigh, your hips, and your shoulder, then onto your lips. @kathorax

#kylo ren smut

35 notes · View notes

michaelfallcon · 4 years

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Support These Black-Owned Coffee Companies [Updating]

Original print by Cxffeeblack—pre-order now available.

Many readers have reached out in the last 24 hours via email and social media, requesting a resource to support Black-owned coffee companies in today’s historic moment for civil rights in the United States. In response, the last 24 hours have been spent reaching out and calling in to Black-owned coffee businesses across the United States, speaking directly with owners, founders, and members of various leadership teams. The goal was to provide a working, updating list of Black-owned coffee businesses across the country while prioritizing consent and permission from every included company.

Consent to being included is incredibly important, for reasons both obvious and subtle. This list is not perfect or fully authoritative and will be updated with additional information in the hours and days to come as we continue to gather consent and input from Black-owned coffee companies.

Alongside their own work, each owner and business leader was welcomed to spotlight an organization—be it local or national—that they wanted to amplify at this moment. Join us in donating to these organizations, and please see yesterday’s feature for an additional list of organizations and educational resources to support. Most of these are outside of the sphere of coffee—this is a moment that’s bigger than coffee.

If buying a bag of coffee is the beginning and end of your activism, that’s not enough. Don’t let it be where it ends.

This story is updating—we will continue adding businesses to it in the hours and days to come. Want to get in touch? Reach out via the contact form.

BLK & Bold — Des Moines, Iowa

Rod Johnson and Pernell Cezar of BLK & Bold (Photo via BLK & Bold)

Des Moines, Iowa based BLK & Bold was founded by Rod Johnson and Pernell Cezar. A distribution deal with Target makes BLK & Bold one of the biggest national Black-owned coffee brands in the United States in terms of coffee availability and access.

Here’s more info from the official BLK & Bold website:

“Our founders, Pernell & Rod, created BLK & Bold with a desire to make purpose popular. They welcome the obligation to equip young people with tools to live their best lives and overcome familiar unfortunate circumstances by turning a daily ritual, enjoying a cup of coffee & tea, into a means of giving back. BLK & Bold pledges 5% of its profits to initiatives aligned to sustaining youth programming, enhancing workforce development, and eradicating youth homelessness.”

Rod Johnson of BLK & Bold would like to recommend Sprudge readers consider supporting B&B’s national and local pledge partners, No Kid Hungry and By Degrees Foundation.

Red Bay Coffee — Oakland, California

Photo by Amir Saadiq.

Red Bay Coffee of Oakland, California is one of the most important coffee brands in the United States right now. Founder Keba Konte has managed the brand’s growth since founding Red Bay in 2014, including a successful Series A fundraising round in 2019 and multiple successful crowdfunding campaigns. In what Red Bay calls “an evolution of coffee culture,” Red Bay’s dedication to diversity and inclusivity is dug into the DNA of the company. “Customers are looking for a coffee experience that’s more inclusive and more deeply connected to the community,” they write. “[The] specialty coffee industry presents an opportunity to correct several inequities.”

Read a 2019 spotlight feature on Red Bay Coffee and founder Keba Konte.

Keba Konte would like to recommend Sprudge readers support the Dream Youth Clinic in Oakland, California whose mission is “Youth informed. Youth-led. Youth engaged.”

Cxffeeblack — Memphis, Tennessee

Bartholomew Jones (Photo by Erin Kim)

Cxffeeblack is the work of Bartholomew Jones, a Memphis based barista, brand builder, apparel designer, and activist. “Cxffee is more than a sugar and cream thing,” he writes. “It’s more than a colonial commodity. It’s meant for the people. Let’s #makecxffeeblackagain.”

Jones is a member of the Sprudge Twenty Class for 2020, with a forthcoming spotlight feature published in the coming days. He offers a range of originally designed apparel directly via his Cxffeeblack website, including t-shirts currently in the pre-order phase and multiple prints, stickers, and music bundles. He’s also responsible for the excellent Guji Mane coffee collaboration with Ethnos Coffee.

Bartholomew Jones would like to recommend Sprudge readers support the BLM Memphis chapter.

Deadstock Coffee — Portland, Oregon

Ian Williams (Photo by Zachary Carlsen for Sprudge)

On experience alone, Deadstock Coffee is one of the best coffee shops on the American West Coast, a clearinghouse of information and ideas, a daily intellectual feast of creatives from around the world connected by a love of coffee and sneaker culture. Founder Ian Williams has rightly be given significant media love, profiled by publications both local, national, and international thanks to an ongoing series of collaborations with the Tokyo Coffee Festival. He’s also a gifted coffee roaster now offering national shipping in the wake of COVID-19.

Deadstock’s official website offers a range of coffee and industry-leading merch design available, all of it created in-house by Deadstock’s team. You can learn more about this design process in our interview with Ian Williams from 2018, this excellent spotlight by Nike, and this episode of the podcast Racist Sandwich.

Deadstock is experiencing an outpouring of community support and some of the busiest days in the shop’s history over the last 72 hours. Ian and his team of baristas are donating funds to the Congressional Black Caucus and have asked this be shared with Sprudge readers looking to provide additional support.

Black & White Coffee Roasters — Wake Forest, North Carolina

Co-founder Lem Butler competes in the 2016 US Barista Competition. [Photo by Charlie Burt]

Living coffee legend Lem Butler is the co-founder (with Kyle Ramage) at Black & White Coffee Roasters, serving Wake Forest and a range of wholesale partners across the country, including Hopper & Burr in California, Drip in NYC, and Brew in North Carolina. He is the 2016 United States Barista Champion (read an in-depth interview with him here after the big win) and a five-time champion at the regional level, making him perhaps the most awarded and accomplished barista in American coffee competition history.

Lem Butler was a Black Coffee panelist at the Black Coffee event in New York City—watch this panel here. He has become a kind of “most likely to be mentioned” source of inspiration for baristas in the Sprudge Twenty and across the industry, serving as a much-loved MC at the Coffee Masters events and performing as an in-demand DJ at coffee social events around the world.

Like so many coffee businesses around the country, Black & White have struggled with the effects of COVID-19 but “we have a great staff and community support has been incredible over the last couple months,” Butler says.

Buy coffee, merch, and gear from Black & White Coffee Roasters today, shipping nationwide.

Lem Butler would like to recommend Sprudge readers consider supporting the Freedom Fighters Bond Fund.

Bloom & Plume — Los Angeles, California

View this post on Instagram

Just in case you missed it… I have a show coming out Monday!!! Say whaaaaat. It’s called centerpiece and i have the privilege to interview amazing creatives of color where I explore the core of there creativity and then synthesizing our conversation into a floral installation that i present back to each guest. It was such a moving experience on every level!! I am so excited to share…. so go download @quibi and watch my show, comes out Monday, with a new episode everyday. The show is pretty magical and I have poured so much love and creativity into this show, down to fixing some of the hair follicles that were out of place in this poster… #likeandsubscribe #centerpiece #anewwaytolookatflowers #anewwaytogiveflowers #anewwaytoshowlove #anewwaytoseeoneanother

A post shared by Maurice Harris (@bloomandplume) on May 15, 2020 at 2:10pm PDT

Maurice Harris is the founder of Bloom & Plume in Los Angeles, a unique coffee shop and floral design studio hybrid located in Echo Park. Harris’s list of clients reads like a who’s who of creative LA, from Goop to Gucci to MOCA and LACMA and dozens more, and in 2020 Harris has parlayed this work into a series of hosting gigs for programs on Quibi and HBOMax.

The coffee portion of Harris’ mission is styled as “your favorite neighborhood coffee shop… where everyone belongs and becomes a better version of themselves – One Cup, One Person, and One Neighborhood at a Time.” B&P Coffee has its own Instagram, and online they offer very good merch (look at this beautiful tote), gift cards, and pre-order for pick-up.

Visit the official Bloom & Plume Coffee website.

Bloom & Plume founder Maurice Harris would like to point Sprudge readers interested in donating to The Okra Project, and included this brief statement on the organization’s work:

“They are an organization that supports folks of the Black trans community who experience food insecurity, paying Black trans chefs to cook free meals for black trans individuals. In wake of the murder of Tony McDade and Nina Pop, The Okra Project started a Mental Health Recovery Fund, those donations go toward providing free therapy sessions with black therapists for trans-Black folks.”

Vagrant Coffee — Baltimore, Maryland

View this post on Instagram

We solemnly swear we’re up to only awesome things. Despite the mischief on display from these fellas.

#fuelthehustle #vagrantcoffee

A post shared by Vagrant Coffee (@vagrantcoffee) on Sep 16, 2019 at 9:38am PDT

Vagrant Coffee is a Baltimore brand, founded by Joshua Dew (with Jared Cate) in 2017, with the goal of “taking quality coffee everywhere through retail stores, specialty coffee catering, and small-batch, craft coffee roasted in Baltimore, Maryland.” In addition to offering online roasted coffee sales, original merch, and online ordering, Vagrant publish a blog, podcast, and video channel under “The Hustle Club” brand umbrella.

In lieu of supporting one specific organization, Vagrant has asked to share the following message: “We would encourage the involvement in the many local grassroots organizations that bring about change in urban centers.”

Southeastern Coffee Roastery — Baltimore, Maryland

Candy Schibli (Still from Black Coffee DC)

Southeastern Coffee Roastery is the work of Candy Schibli, whose title is “Founder/Head Roaster.” The brand offers a broad range of services, from one-time online coffee purchasing to subscriptions, local delivery, bespoke blending, food, tea, wholesale, and toll roasting—a full suite of coffee options and many ways to support their work.

Candy Schibli was a panelist at the Black Coffee DC event, and here’s a little more about their work form the official Southeastern Roastery website: “Beautifully southern, it is committed to promoting the cultural exchange, open dialogue, and collective creativity that coffee communion has historically and internationally nurtured. Southeastern Roastery unabashedly continues in this warm tradition by offering fresh, high quality, specialty coffees and sharing inspiring roasts in love.”

Candy Schibli would like to recommend Sprudge readers support the All African People’s Development and Empowerment Project.

BD Imports — Atlanta, Georgia

Phyllis Johnson speaks at the SCA Coffeewoman Panel in 2017 (Photo by Zachary Carlsen for Sprudge)

Coffee buyer, roasting company owner, and origin expert Phyllis Johnson is the founder of BD Imports, a coffee company dedicated to gender equity across the supply chain. BD offers a diversified range of services, crafting custom blends for roasting partners and roasting their own coffees targeted at the hospitality sector. Johnson is also a very accomplished and gifted public speaker and communicator, appearing on a range of panels and interviews across the specialty coffee industry over the last decade. Her landmark feature Strong Black Coffee: Why Aren’t African-Americans More Prominent in the Coffee Industry? is the winner of the Maggie Award for magazine journalism. For more on Phyllis Johnson and her mission, read this interview feature from 2017.

Phyllis Johnson would like to recommend Sprudge readers consider supporting the Equal Justice Initiative.

BeanFruit Coffee Company — Jackson, Mississippi

Paul Bonds (from BeanFruit Coffee: The Best Dang Coffee Roaster In Mississippi by Evan C. Jones)

BeanFruit Coffee founder Paul Bonds fell in love with coffee at a public cupping; today he owns one of the most decorated coffee roasting brands in the American south, winner of the Good Food Awards honor for coffee roasting and home to a fervent fan base stretching from Farmer’s Markets to high-end restaurants and online shopping. On BeanFruit’s website, you can purchase coffee, coffee subscriptions, crucial gear, and nice merch, plus learn from a range of brew guides and discover more from their vendors.

You will love this coffee! And while sipping, check out a feature on Paul Bonds and BeanFruit from 2016.

Paul Bonds has passed along the following note to Sprudge readers: “Please support your local public broadcasting system. Our current focus is on the protests, as it should be. However, we are still experiencing a pandemic, and children are relying on these free, accessible educational tools more than ever.” To find a list of public broadcasting stations to donate near you, click here.

Photo courtesy of LaNisa Williams for Sprudge 20, nominated by Michelle Johnson.

Barista Life LA

Barista Life LA is the full sevice training, education, consulting, private event and home demonstration brand from Los Angeles barista LaNisa Williams. On Instagram BaristaLifeLA is a strong must-follow, profiling Williams as she works with a broad range of cafes and consulting clients around the LA area, making beautiful drinks and educating along the way. A new launched initiative called #BlackInBrew highlights Black excellence across the specialty coffee industry.

LaNisa Williams is a member of the Sprudge 20 class of 2020 and you can read more about their work here. If you’re interested in supporting BaristaLifeLA, contact BaristaLifeLA directly via Instagram.

LaNisa Williams would like to recommend Sprudge readers consider supporting Pink Money Powerhouse, “a female owned and operated space for women to work and grow.” BaristaLifeLA’s forthcoming coffee kiosk will be located at PMP. Look for more on this on Sprudge in the coming weeks.

Drip Coffee Makers — Brooklyn, New York

Nigel Price (from Build-Outs Of Summer: Drip Coffee Makers In Brooklyn, NY)

One of the most dynamic and interesting coffee brands in the country right now, full stop—Drip Coffee’s Nigel Price is a coffee name you should know. Start with this recently released promo on IGTV to learn more about Drip and the work they’re doing, then follow them on Instagram for updates and hit their online shop to support (including gift cards). We’re thrilled to see the ongoing growth of Drip, whose transition to brick and mortar in 2020 follows their earlier work as a coffee cart, profiled as part of the 2019 Build-Outs Of Summer series.

Drip Coffee founder Nigel Price would like to recommend Sprudge readers consider supporting the ACLU.

Getchusomegear — Durham, North Carolina

View this post on Instagram

oh ya know just two coffee homies with three bags of finca nuguo to giveaway at the throwdown TOMORROW! thanks @blackwhiteroasters

you coming to the #uglysweatershowdown? swipe for the lowdown

#blackandwhiteroasters #coffeehomies #getchusomegear #specialtycoffee #weouthere #themoreyouknow #baristastuff #durham

A post shared by @ getchusomegear on Dec 19, 2019 at 12:37pm PST

Getchusomegear founder Chris McAuley is dedicated to passing on support to marginalized baristas. Their project compiles used and no longer needed coffee gear and gifts it to baristas around the country, a laudable action that feels increasingly essential in the current shared moment. Learn more about this project in Chris McAuley’s guest spot on @FullBodiedSweetFinish and click here to learn more on how to support Getchusomegear’s mission, including donating gear.

This feature is incomplete, imperfect, and updating. Additional businesses and business owners will be added to it in the hours and days to come.

Support These Black-Owned Coffee Companies [Updating] published first on https://medium.com/@LinLinCoffee

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shebreathesslowly · 4 years

Text

Support These Black-Owned Coffee Companies [Updating]

Original print by Cxffeeblack—pre-order now available.

If buying a bag of coffee is the beginning and end of your activism, that’s not enough. Don’t let it be where it ends.

This story is updating—we will continue adding businesses to it in the hours and days to come. Want to get in touch? Reach out via the contact form.

BLK & Bold — Des Moines, Iowa

Rod Johnson and Pernell Cezar of BLK & Bold (Photo via BLK & Bold)

Here’s more info from the official BLK & Bold website:

Rod Johnson of BLK & Bold would like to recommend Sprudge readers consider supporting B&B’s national and local pledge partners, No Kid Hungry and By Degrees Foundation.

Red Bay Coffee — Oakland, California

Photo by Amir Saadiq.

Read a 2019 spotlight feature on Red Bay Coffee and founder Keba Konte.

Keba Konte would like to recommend Sprudge readers support the Dream Youth Clinic in Oakland, California whose mission is “Youth informed. Youth-led. Youth engaged.”

Cxffeeblack — Memphis, Tennessee

Bartholomew Jones (Photo by Erin Kim)

Bartholomew Jones would like to recommend Sprudge readers support the BLM Memphis chapter.

Deadstock Coffee — Portland, Oregon

Ian Williams (Photo by Zachary Carlsen for Sprudge)

Black & White Coffee Roasters — Wake Forest, North Carolina

Co-founder Lem Butler competes in the 2016 US Barista Competition. [Photo by Charlie Burt]

Buy coffee, merch, and gear from Black & White Coffee Roasters today, shipping nationwide.

Lem Butler would like to recommend Sprudge readers consider supporting the Freedom Fighters Bond Fund.

Bloom & Plume — Los Angeles, California

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Maurice Harris (@bloomandplume) on May 15, 2020 at 2:10pm PDT

Visit the official Bloom & Plume Coffee website.

Bloom & Plume founder Maurice Harris would like to point Sprudge readers interested in donating to The Okra Project, and included this brief statement on the organization’s work:

Vagrant Coffee — Baltimore, Maryland

View this post on Instagram

We solemnly swear we’re up to only awesome things. Despite the mischief on display from these fellas.

#fuelthehustle #vagrantcoffee

A post shared by Vagrant Coffee (@vagrantcoffee) on Sep 16, 2019 at 9:38am PDT

Southeastern Coffee Roastery — Baltimore, Maryland

Candy Schibli (Still from Black Coffee DC)

Candy Schibli would like to recommend Sprudge readers support the All African People’s Development and Empowerment Project.

BD Imports — Atlanta, Georgia

Phyllis Johnson speaks at the SCA Coffeewoman Panel in 2017 (Photo by Zachary Carlsen for Sprudge)

Phyllis Johnson would like to recommend Sprudge readers consider supporting the Equal Justice Initiative.

BeanFruit Coffee Company — Jackson, Mississippi

Paul Bonds (from BeanFruit Coffee: The Best Dang Coffee Roaster In Mississippi by Evan C. Jones)

You will love this coffee! And while sipping, check out a feature on Paul Bonds and BeanFruit from 2016.

Photo courtesy of LaNisa Williams for Sprudge 20, nominated by Michelle Johnson.

Barista Life LA

Drip Coffee Makers — Brooklyn, New York

Nigel Price (from Build-Outs Of Summer: Drip Coffee Makers In Brooklyn, NY)

Drip Coffee founder Nigel Price would like to recommend Sprudge readers consider supporting the ACLU.

Getchusomegear — Durham, North Carolina

View this post on Instagram

oh ya know just two coffee homies with three bags of finca nuguo to giveaway at the throwdown TOMORROW! thanks @blackwhiteroasters

you coming to the #uglysweatershowdown? swipe for the lowdown

#blackandwhiteroasters #coffeehomies #getchusomegear #specialtycoffee #weouthere #themoreyouknow #baristastuff #durham

A post shared by @ getchusomegear on Dec 19, 2019 at 12:37pm PST

This feature is incomplete, imperfect, and updating. Additional businesses and business owners will be added to it in the hours and days to come.

from Sprudge https://ift.tt/2U7npma

#Sprudge

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margsld · 6 years

Text

Outlander Epi 3.07 Recap

Crème de Menthe mixed with lemonade is dreadful.

This week's episode saw an unfamiliar writers name on the title cards, for fans. Karen Campbell is credited and by the surname, sounds like she comes from good Scottish stock! We like her already. It was another difficult part of the books to cover which drew mixed reviews but I actually enjoyed this episode.

We start in the middle of the previous episode’s cliff hanger which had our fresh-from-the-clouds lass Dr Claire, in da house or kittle hoosey to be exact. She was scarily caffeine deficient and fighting that accountant thug for her life! To distract him she asked what Pi times 3,562 was and while he couldn’t resist such a juicy random calculation, she grabbed the nearest knife. Go Claire!

No caffeine makes Claire very nasty so he had to dodge her viper-like advances which sent him tripping, smashing into the fireplace’s stone hearth like a pumpkin falling from a great height. The resulting thunk meant Mr H&R Block was not going to be lodging any returns anytime soon.

The cavalry arrive too late as usual. Jamie, Fergus and Madame Jean/Jan burst into the room after hearing the kerfuffle. Claire was sipping her cup of Joe by then calmly declaring "He’s dead, chillax!"

Suddendly Mr H&R Block aka Blockhead stirs on the hearth and Claire rejoices that he hasn’t died. She's like a cat playing with a half-dead mousey.

Now fully caffeinated and firmly under the Hipocratic Oath, examines him and diagnoses a severe swelling on the brain. Hitting stone from a height will do that to a head, Claire. Much to Jamie's chagrin, she's determined to give him a second chance and knows it will kill him if she doesn’t do something fast.

#AccountantLivesMatter!

Jamie can’t hang about and watch though as the excisemen who hired Mr Blockhead, will be looking for him soon. He organizes the last of their smuggled casks & barrels hidden in the basement to be moved. He then sends Fergus and Young Ian to negotiate their sale on his behalf so that he can pretend nothing is going on if/when they are raided.

Claire races to the local apocothary for brain surgery supplies and pushes in like a two year old waiting to get on the jumpy castle. Another customer, a Mr Archie Campbell takes opposition to her impatience and she offers to pacify him by visiting his sick sister (as an experienced healer or killer in the next few minutes, if you don’t move). He accepts this offer and Claire leaves with her supplies, keen to dig her scalpel into Mr Blockhead’s smashed-in noggin. Party on!

Ian (all of 16, making him a master negotiator) talks their customer into buying all the barrels for a good price and throws in 3 Crème de Menthe barrels to sweeten the deal. As you do. Nothing dodgy about Crème de Menthe sold by a 16 year old. Nope.

Back in the Brothel, Claire is prepping for building a shed. Errh sorry, saw a drill and jumped to conclusions. No.... she’s drilling a massive hole in her assailants head. Mayhap so he can get better Wifi or you know...live. Same same.

Downstairs Madame Jean is pulling out her hair and all her charm school knowledge as the shifty Sir Percival arrives with his henchman, the freaky Mad Eye Moody doppleganger. Creepy much?

Claire is like a ghoulish kid in the candy store and is soon drilling a hole in Mr Blockhead’s block head. Yi Tien Cho is her surgical assistant/cheer squad through the process. Eventually and after some classic grinding/sucking sounds, blood gushes out and we assume Mr Blockhead will live to ride the excise wagon again. *Cheer!

In the basement, Sir Percival is unhappy to find the floor is bare apart from some spilled water. At least we hope it was water. I'm not touching it.

With the coast clear, Jamie heads back to check on Claire. Unfortunately, Mr Blockhead will not be lodging his tax next year and has died. That bed needs to be burned now surely?

Claire is unhappy to lose her patient because her God complex is firmly ingrained after saving people for 14 years. Jamie is his usual supportive self and says she can save someone else another time. Moving on. Whisky anyone?

To celebrate their successful barrel clearance sale, Fergus and Ian chug a few coldies down at the pub. Soon it’s clear that Young Ian has goo-goo eyes for the barmaid Brighid. Fergus calls her over and leaves Ian with her to get cosy. Fergilicious is the best wingman ever!

Ian is a virgin and inexperienced with women but followed Fergus' advice even though he was nervous af. Bridhid is taken with his cuteness so agrees to have a drink with him. In the background Mad Eye Moody quietly watches on giving Ian serious side-eye. Not the good sort either. Ominous music alert.

Claire is still sulking about the dead guy in her bed. Building a bridge, she decides to go find another patient that needs her and is not likely to pop their clogs before sunset. She goes to visit Archie Campbell and his ailing sister Margaret.

Like my husband in his cave on a Wednesday night, Margaret isn’t in the mood for company. Archie introduces Claire to Margaret and Margaret unexpectedly springs to life, ranting wildly about blood and Abandawe. I love her, she's fun.

Archie explains she is known as a Seer and people pay well to hear her visions. Seems Scotland had a lot of cray crays errhh, I mean Seers in this era.

Claire provides the recipe for some wicked herbal teas before suggesting another visit tomorrow. Archie declines her self-invite explaining they are catching the red-eye to the West Indies on the ‘morrow, to see a rich client. Oooh la lah!

Young Ian has turned the Printshop into his private Love Shack and is wooing his new GF with songs and kisses. Stop! You are killing us with cute.

Claire returns to the Brothel to find Jamie at the table. The king was in his counting house, counting out his money.... along came a frustrated Claire and said it’s time to move. Burning the bed wouldn’t be enough for me either, Claire.

As always, they are interrupted by a knock at the door announcing Ian Murray Senior is down stairs. Stuff a duck, it's peg leg! I've missed him so much.

Ian is very happy to see Claire but he’s frantically looking for Young Ian. He’d run away from home again, the wee pest. Jamie lies to him and Claire is trying to think of England so Ian can't see she knows something. Ian is really distraught and it tugs at all our heartstrings. Jamie promises to bring him to Lallybroch if he turns up.

On the way out Ian asks Jamie if Claire knows the big SECRET. She doesn’t. OMG to the max. Ian runs/hobbles all the way home to share the gossip with Jenny McHappypants.

Over in the Love Shack, Ian’s cherry has been carefully popped, stuffed and mounted on the mantelpiece for prosperity. They have company though and hear someone breaking into the shop.

Ian sends Brighid scarpering and goes to confront the intruder - Mad Eye Moody. MEM is looking for the smuggled barrels and is searching high and low. Ian tells him there is nothing to find and to leave but as happens, a fight breaks out. After a bit of shovey-lovey, MEM bumps a secret door and out pops some hot-off-the-press seditious pamphlets. Bugger.

Ian struggles to grab the pamphlets off him. MEM pushes Ian off, pulls out his pistol and shoots at Ian, missing him but accidentally starting a fire. Things soon escalate into a scene from a Burning Man festival in Carfax Close. Oh Lordy there's a fire! *pass the marshmallows Young Ian finding himself trapped, waits for help.

After Ian has left, Claire confronts Jamie about lying to his family. She's upset that Jamie thinks he knows what’s best for Ian Jnr instead of letting his parents know he's ok. Claire tries to reason with the stubborn gingernut but he thinks she should be used to lying, having lied their way around Paris. Typical bloke logic to bring up something that happened 20 years ago. Ugh.

Claire throws the “you aren’t his parent” line at him and he returns a volley of bitterness for having missed Bree’s upbringing. Turns out Jamie is jealous of Frank too. Duh, Frank was a sexy spy!

Before they can throw ashtrays and start slamming doors, Jamie is alerted to the fire and races to the Printshop with Claire close behind.

On arrival at the Printshop and finding it ablaze, Jamie realises Ian is still inside and goes to his rescue. We all love the nod to Batman as Jamie jumps from the top level down to young Ian with full super hero drop slow mo. Rounds of applause please.

Checking Ian is breathing and looking for a way out, Jamie finds the miniature of Willie and stuffs it in his pocket. Sentimental fool, there's a fire! Get out now! Throwing Ian over his shoulder like a Santa sack, he climbs a press, squeezes through a window, down the front stairs to safety. Just in time to see the Edinburgh fire department squirt a tiny water pistol at the inferno. Good job fellas.

Knowing his life in Edinburgh is now cooked. *pun intended Jamie instructs Yi Tien Cho to go pay Leslie and Hayes for their work. Fergus is sent to try and intercept Mad Eye Moody before he can give the pamphlets to Sir Percival and make Alex Malcolm a very wanted man. After that, he instructed Fergus to then round up Ned Gowan (Solicitor from Season 1) and get him to Lallybroch. Jamie wants him to help sort out the fact he has another wife there. Confucius say WHAT!!!! That is a pretty yucky Secret Mr Fraser.

The End.

Can't wait for next week! Thanks for reading.

#ANZOFs OutlanderFanRecap

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