#apfelessig

[enchi-elm]

Étoile Zine 01 - "And Learn Nothing"

First Étoile Zine! Based on lyrics from "Shakespeare" by Fink and text from Shakespeare's "Romeo and Juliet". Wasn't meant to be Jack x Cheyenne but if the shoe fits... Enjoy!

[AO3 link here]

[inceptionpositivity]

@enchi-elm (Apfelessig) - I'm so glad you joined our little fandom group! It's been wonderful having you in the Discord, and I'm excited to see more analysis and meta from you.

[dietmar44]

Appfle zeit in Bretagne !!!!

Apple time in Britanny !!!!!

ur wezh an amzer avaloù !!!!

Le temps des pommes en Bretagne !!!!!

Variété : Reine des reinettes !!!!

[myradvasquez1]

Millionen von Frauen in Europa und den USA haben mit Matcha Slim schon abgenommen. Studien zufolge nahmen 96,7% aller Anwender in drei Wochen 12-17 kg ab!

Nach nur zwei Wochen war ich überrascht. Ich hatte 6 kg abgenommen! Die Schwellungen waren weg und meine Haut sah viel besser aus! Mein Bauch und meine Hüften waren wieder schlanker und natürlich war ich auch besser gelaunt! Ich glaubte wieder an mich und dass ich ohne Diäten und Sport fit werden konnte. Also machte ich weiter und aß alles, was ich wollte. Ich hatte die Diäten und das Training so satt...

Am Ende der dritten Woche hatte ich weitere 12 kg verloren! Ich wurde richtig fit und entschloss mich sogar, statt den Fahrstuhl wieder die Treppen zu nehmen. Was einst eine Qual war, ist seitdem eine Freude. Ich kann es ja selbst kaum glauben. Ich habe nur den Anweisungen der Verpackung gefolgt. Das kann jeder! Nach nur zwei Monaten hatte ich 31 kg abgenommen!

[saisonalchoche]

Rezept #106: Rüebli-Pickles mit Thymian & Whiskey

Eine weitere Zubereitung für eingelegtes Gemüse. Diesmal mit Rüebli, die in Kombination mit dem Thymian und dem Whiskey zum Hochgenuss werden. Beim Einlegen ist wichtig, darauf zu achten, dass alles möglichst steril abläuft. Gläser müssen ausgekocht werden und am besten man arbeitet mit sterilen Einweghandschuhen.

Zutaten für 2–3 Gläser: 700g Rüebli 4 Zweige Thymian Apfelessig Ahornsirup Lorbeerblätter Zimt Whiskey

Die Rüebli in Julienne schneiden und darauf zusammen mit dem Thymian in die Gläser stopfen. 250ml Apfelessig, 2 EL Meersalz, 2TL Ahornsirup, 500ml Wasser, 3EL Whiskey, 1TL Zimt und 2 Lorbeerblätter aufkochen lassen und darauf über das Gemüse giessen. Die Gläser gut verschliessen, auf den Kopf drehen und abkühlen lassen.

[enchi-elm]

Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers. Let's spread the self-love 💗

...Good lord, when was the last time I posted a fic. *hops onto AO3* February?? And before that it was last July??

Oof. I was just thinking, too, when I first read this, that I can't rec anything I haven't rec'd before: a combination of having not written much more and honestly, not written leaps and bounds better. Or maybe I just feel stagnant in my fandoms--I can't claim to be writing a new and exciting pairing, either. My own novel has taken up all my time and creative energy, and that sucker won't be ready for years :(

But let me scroll through this AO3 list, maybe something will stick out...

Alright, alright. Skipping the big ones I've discussed before, here's the new list:

Diaries of the Court Poets (Series) [Arthur/Eames, Eames/Saito, G-, T-, and E-rated, 14.5K] in particular: to sleep in dry grasses [Arthur/Eames, E rated, 8K]

A lot of love and labour went into this one. I have a big soft spot for Saito and I thought he and Eames would make the best conversational partners in the group. From there, it grew into an earnest exploration of what a three-part harmony between him and Arthur/Eames could look like. The final installment, to sleep in dry grasses, took most of a year to write. It's one of the most well-crafted things I've done and I still glow with quiet, firm pride whenever I read it. That and the research for it was a true joy. From architecture festivals in Shodoshima to the Old Quarter of Mombasa, through the famed court poets of the Heian Period...

planifolia [Inception, Yusuf/Other, E-rated, drabble]

Okay, look, sometimes you just need to lean into feeling petty. Knowing you're not going to win a round of an erotica-writing contest can be very freeing. You may as well write something with the aim of appealing to yourself and only yourself, if only to be amazed at the number of people who contact you privately afterwards. Individual feedback ranged from polite, vague praise to messages saying things like "wtfFUCK omg jesus christ"😂 I have no regrets. It's still one of the hottest things I've ever written. 🌿🌸

The Lighthouse [Turn: Washington's Spies, Gen fic, T-rated, 11K]

Written with @meretriciouslyloquacious, my co-creator, editor, and partner in metaphysical crime. My dear friend, this was a joy to work on with you, as you know since I never pass up the opportunity to tell you. A terrifying mix of folk horror and Greek tragedy, The Lighthouse AU serves up a horrific ecosystem in which every participant feeds on another's misfortunes, only to collectively perpetuate the status quo they all battle. A full cast of fighters stuck in the mire, and here comes bonny Ben Tallmadge, newly washed up on shore... We also wrote a DVD Commentary, interviewing ourselves about each chapter.

won't you cast yourself on me [Turn: Washington's Spies, Caleb/Ben, E-rated, 4.3K]

Drag Queen AU with maximum pain. The middle part of a trilogy that I never finished, nor ever wrote the first part for. I brought us right in the thick of it instead: Caleb and Ben post-break up, both hurting, coming together for one night in the mess they've made of themselves. I still love this for the complexity of pain it holds, and how proud I was of holding up an uncomfortable moment between these two people to look at from all sides.

Her Right-Hand Man [Vera, Aiden Healy/Vera Stanhope, G-Rated, 2K]

I love when people leave kudos here. I love when anyone finds this story. It's another one of the complicated relationships, and I love love love exploring this moment between Vera's past and Vera's present: a conversation between her former subordinate, Joe Ashworth, and her present one, Aiden Healy. They each feel the same way about her for different reasons, but neither one is designed to reach out for camaraderie or support. I just love what I pulled off here, it makes me so happy when people comment on it. I picture all these lovely, older Vera fans going on AO3 for the first time and finding this, and it always makes me smile.

This was a lot of fun, so thanks for passing this along!

[enchi-elm]

Inception Fanzine - "I Go Wild" by Apfelessig

Based on text from the song "Wild" by Poe and the shooting script for Inception by Christopher Nolan.

This is a fan-made zine that is not to be redistributed for profit or reproduced without permission! That bit's really important because I don't want to get sued for copyright infringement and neither do you! *thumbs up*

Also, if you want a PDF of this, come find me on Discord!

Read the whole “Haunted” Zine series on AO3!

[enchi-elm]

✨ weekend wip exposure club ✨

rules: post 7 sentences/a snippet of an unfinished work

I will do you one better, I will just post the whole thing as I'm not planning on taking it anywhere. Thanks, @strangegeology, for the tag!

Unbeta'd, unedited, etc. etc.

tagging @tortoisesshells, @ladysarai, @thenwhatthefukcisthis, @valerileygreen because I thiiiink you weren't tagged yet!

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one - love

Eames comes across Arthur at the tennis court. He wants to stay back, observe the man from a distance, but Arthur spots him as soon as he’s within view. His game face doesn’t change—if he’s scowling at Eames’ appearance, Eames can’t tell. He might be hitting the ball a little harder and his opponent stumbles as he lunges, sprawling flat against the court as the ball hits the chain-link fence.

Arthur walks to his bag and grabs his towel, holding up a finger and nodding at his opponent. He wipes his face, walking over swiftly to where Eames stands.

Before Eames can make a comment about his tennis whites, or even ask what the hell Arthur is doing playing at a country club, Arthur cuts him off.

"What are you doing here? Whatever this is, I don’t have time for this right now.”

Hello to you, too. But fine, if he wants to get right to business.

“I have a job for you,” Eames says.

“I don’t work for you.”

“No, but I thought you might deign to work alongside me again. For the right price.”

Arthur gives him a wary look, then glances at his opponent, who’s subtly trying to ingest as many glucose tubes as Arthur’s brief distraction will let him.

“I’m busy,” he says, turning away.

“I’ll be at the bar,” Eames calls out, without acknowledgement from the point man.

Arthur goes back to his position, tossing his towel aside en route. His opponent wipes his mouth and gets into position to serve, already grimacing.

Eames watches Arthur return the serve as if he’s decapitating someone.

Eames knows little about tennis and can’t gauge the length of the game before Arthur shows up at the country club, racket and gym bag slung over his shoulder. Eames is deep in conversation with another patron—swindling him blind and leading him on besides—but he gives a thin smile at the younger man’s approach.

“So what do you want?” Arthur asks, and Eames can tell from no tell at all: he won his match.

“Arthur, let me introduce you to Mr. Ian Thorpe. A financier from Atlanta.”

Arthur shakes hands, just this side of civil.

“Pleasure.”

“Your friend’s been spinning me quite the yarn,” the financier says. He’s a forgettable sort of rich—the right colour suit, but the wrong cut. “He’d have me believing in the investment of a lifetime.”

“He’s a crook,” Arthur says, to a chuckle from Eames. “And a liar. But he gets results.”

The man laughs and rises. “Well, maybe I will give you a call then. I’m sure we can find a way to do business.”

“The pleasure is all yours,” Eames says, greasily, packing everything into the lift of his lips that might otherwise be transmitted in a wink. Arthur watches the man leave and takes the other chair at the table.

“He’s not worth your time,” he says.

Eames casually flashes a black leather wallet—not his. “He already has been.”

“I doubt he’ll miss the cash.”

Eames flips it open and pulls out the driver’s license, perusing it. “It’s not the cash that interests me.”

“He’s your target.”

Eames puts away the wallet. “Or maybe just a person of interest.” He focuses on Arthur, a transparent smile on his face. It could mean anything.

“What are you doing here?”

“I’m here to recruit you. If such a thing is even possible—you must be booked well into next year.”

“What’s the job?”

“An oil man. Bit of a twisted one.”

“Let me guess. Inception?” It wouldn’t be the first offer Arthur’s had this month. It wouldn’t be the first of the week. Whoever blabbed—and Arthur has his theories—made sure that their little reverse-heist was on the lips of every extractor in the industry. Not because they’d tried—God, lots of people had tried—but because Fischer Morrow had folded within six months after Fischer Sr.’s death. Even Arthur hadn’t expected such a swift return.

Eames hums, sympathetic to Arthur’s irritation. He must be hearing a lot of it, too. “You know that the men’s world record for the 100 m dash was at a stalemate for 12 years before it was broken? All it took was one man to crack it and it got beat twice again in four years.”

Arthur pushes down the urge to correct him. It was 14 years, not 12. And it took another five years for it to get broken again. But he knows what he’s saying. For the longest time, Inception was only theory.

“Why, did someone else do it?” That would be interesting.

“A sucker born every two weeks, if the rumour mill is to be believed. Personally, I doubt it.”

“Why, ‘cause you weren’t involved?”

“I was going to say,” Eames says, lifting his glass, “because you weren’t.”

The flattery works, for one unexpected second—Arthur feels a warmth in his neck. He pulls out his water bottle and drinks deeply.

“So what is the job? Extraction? I’m not doing more than two levels. I’m not exactly keen for another one of Yusuf’s concoctions.”

“That’s a shame. I can’t get him off my phone. Says he’s never had such a willing test subject. I think he’d work for free if it meant he got another whack at you.”

“Not a chance. Why aren’t you answering my question?”

“Because I’m savouring this time together before you storm off to annihilate some other poor sod on the court.”

Arthur narrows his eyes. “Why would I storm off?”

“Because you’re not going to like how much you’ll want to do this.”

Arthur listens as Eames tells him the job. He gives it ten steady seconds before he stands and walks away without another word.

“I’ll be in touch!” Eames calls and Arthur gives him the finger without looking back.