#Small Walnut Tray

[thejourneymanandco]

Walnut Rectangular Trays

Handmade and carved by artisans in Morocco from a high quality walnut wood is available in two sizes, these Walnut Wood Trays work just as well for serving antipasti as they do for keeping small items together on a bedside table.

Small | 10cm x 10cm approx

Medium | 10.5cm x 15.5cm approx

Maintenance: wipe clean

Available in two sizes, these Walnut Wood Trays work just as well for serving antipasti as they do for keeping small items together on a bedside table. Hand carved by artisans in Morocco from a high quality walnut wood.

Sold as a single unit.

Product Info

Ethically Handmade in Morocco

Walnut Wood

Small | 10cm x 10cm approx

Medium | 10.5cm x 15.5cm approx

Wipe Clean

[urfavfrenchgrl]

The Stalker

Draco Malfoy x F!Reader

ᥫ᭡ words: 5k

ᥫ᭡ warnings: 18+ | SMUT | MDNI | p in v

ᥫ᭡ summary: Draco offers his help after discovering you're the victim of a stalker Notes: been dreaming of this last night and had to write it lmao, enjoy ;)

You were on a week-long class trip for History of Magic, hoping that some distance from the castle would mean a break from the stalker who had been bombarding you with messages. But you couldn’t escape him—each message was more relentless than the last, and despite your efforts to ignore it, his words crept into your thoughts. Tonight, at dinner, the tables were packed with students buzzing with excitement. There was nowhere else to sit, so you set your tray down beside Draco Malfoy, trying to ignore the lively conversation between him and his friends. Draco Malfoy had captured your attention since fifth year, though he was never the type to be easily approached, always surrounded by his friends Mattheo Riddle and Theodore Nott. You had long given up on trying to connect with him, resigned to admiring him from afar and content yourself with short interactions, mostly concerning classes.

The noise in the hall buzzed around you, students from every house chatting excitedly, the usual house boundaries slipping away in the lively atmosphere. You sat quietly, listening to the flow of conversation from his side of the table, particularly between Mattheo and Theodore, who were engaged in what could only be described as a ridiculous debate.

“Listen, all I’m saying,” Mattheo was explaining to Theo, a confident smirk on his face, “is that if dragons had wingspans just a little wider, they’d be unstoppable in Quidditch.”

Theodore snorted, rolling his eyes. “Quidditch? If dragons wanted to play Quidditch, mate, they’d turn the whole pitch into a bonfire before the whistle even blew.”

Draco raised an eyebrow, watching them with a look of mild amusement as he leaned back in his seat. “Please, we all know dragons wouldn’t even care about Quidditch—they’d just chase the Seekers and call it a day,” he added, crossing his arms.

Unable to help yourself, you chimed in, “I think you three have really cracked it. I doubt any dragon wants to spend its time chasing a flying walnut.”

Your impulsive words slipping out before you could stop yourself and you already hated yourself for it. The three boys fell silent for a second before Mattheo grinned, not ready for a smartass comment from you.

Draco looked at you, a smirk curling at the corner of his mouth, a glint of interest sparking in his eyes.

“Is that right?” he drawled, his voice laced with intrigue. His gaze lingered, as though he were sizing you up, and you felt your face warm under his scrutiny. You opened your mouth to respond, but just then, your pocket buzzed with a new message.

You glanced down, and your stomach twisted when you looked at the screen. It was him. Another message, complimenting how you looked today. Your blood ran cold. He was here, somewhere in the crowd, watching you. 

The excitement and noise of the room faded as dread settled over you. Fingers trembling, you opened the message app, staring at the dozens of unanswered messages, each one more invasive than the last. Before you could stop him, Draco had leaned in, peering over your shoulder at the screen.

“What the hell…” he muttered, his eyes scanning the rows of messages. His expression darkened as he took in each line, his smirk replaced with a scowl. “Looks like you have an admirer.”

You couldn’t meet his gaze, suddenly feeling vulnerable, exposed under his sharp scrutiny. “Just… someone who won’t take a hint,” you replied quietly, hating how small your voice sounded.

Draco’s eyes flicked back to your phone, his jaw clenching. “And he’s here, isn’t he?” His tone was sharp, almost dangerous. He turned, scanning the crowd, and you could feel the tension rolling off him.

You nodded, swallowing hard. “He must be,” you whispered, voice barely audible. ”It’s nothing, he will stop at some point.”

Draco’s gaze softened for a fraction of a second, his jaw still tense. “I have an idea,” he murmured, his voice low and careful, as though he wasn’t used to offering help. And maybe he wasn’t.

Draco Malfoy was known for being distant, aloof, even spoiled, and he usually only involved himself in matters that benefited him. Everyone knew that about him. Yet here he was, offering a solution to a problem that wasn’t his.

Before you could process the surprise, he added, “Meet me in my room after dinner. We’ll sort this out.”

You managed a nod, stunned into silence. His gaze lingered on you for a moment longer, as if ensuring you understood, before he turned back to his meal, his face once more impassive. When you finally glanced around, you realized that Theo and Mattheo hadn’t heard a word of your exchange; they were already embroiled in another absurd debate, this time on the merits of using Hippogriffs in place of broomsticks.

The rest of the dinner passed in a haze, your mind reeling from Draco’s unexpected concern and the strange, silent understanding that had passed between you. You found yourself glancing around the room, half-expecting to catch the stalker’s eyes on you, but the crowded hall only seemed to amplify your anxiety. Whoever he was, he was here, and that knowledge sat like a weight on your chest, making it impossible to relax.

After dinner, you slipped quietly from your room, heart hammering as you made your way to Draco’s quarters. The long corridors seemed endless, each step filled with hesitation. It seemed so absurd that Draco would even care enough to intervene, let alone invite you to his room to discuss it. You barely knew him. You weren’t friends or enemies, just two people who had barely spoken before tonight. And yet, here you were.

Finally, you reached his door, hesitating before lifting your hand to knock. It swung open before your knuckles could connect, revealing Draco standing there, his expression unreadable.

“Come in,” he said quietly, stepping back to allow you through the doorway. You slipped past him, your nerves taut as you took in the unexpectedly tidy room. It was the same as yours but was simple yet elegant, every item in place, as if chaos had no place in Draco Malfoy’s world.

He closed the door softly and turned to face you, studying you in that unnerving way of his, as though he could read the tension in your posture.

You swallowed hard and broke the silence. “So… what’s your idea?”

A faint smirk touched his lips as he gestured for you to sit on the edge of his bed, then he settled into the chair across from you, leaning back with an air of confidence. “It’s simple, really. I’ll make sure he understands that you’re… off-limits.”

Your brows furrowed, uncertain what he meant. “How do you plan to do that?”

Draco’s smirk widened, a glint of mischief in his eyes. “I’ll make it look like you’re already taken. He wouldn’t dare go near you if he thought you were with me.”

Your eyes widened, heat rising to your cheeks. “You mean… pretend that we’re—”

“Precisely,” he cut in, his tone casual. “If he sees us together, he’ll know better than to keep bothering you.”

It was a bold, reckless plan, and yet, as you looked at him, the idea didn’t seem as absurd as it should have.

You shook your head, disbelief evident in your voice. "Nobody will believe this."

Draco raised an eyebrow, that familiar smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "You think so?" he replied, voice laced with quiet confidence. He leaned forward, his gaze intense, as if daring you to challenge him. "Trust me, Y/N. When I decide to make something believable, people fall in line."

You hesitated, feeling a mix of doubt and curiosity. "Even if they don’t believe it… this is still crazy. And what exactly do you gain from all this, Malfoy?"

Draco shrugged, unfazed. "Crazy works. I'm bored and need a good distraction and it’ll keep that creep off your back. Unless, of course, you have a better idea?" His eyes held a glint of challenge, as though he already knew the answer.

Biting your lip, you felt the weight of his gaze. "Fine," you muttered. "But you’d better be convincing."

Draco’s smirk widened, and he leaned back, clearly enjoying the moment. "Oh, I will be. Just try to keep up."

The next morning, you joined the group with your friends, ready for the day’s excursion. You hadn’t said a word to them about the arrangement you’d made with Draco. Explaining it would’ve raised too many questions, and you needed to focus on the task at hand—making your stalker believe you were truly off-limits. As reckless as it seemed, it just might work. Many people, even from other houses, avoided the trio of Slytherin boys like the plague.

As you gathered around with the group, listening to the professors give instructions, you tried to look relaxed. Your mind, however, was anything but. You were busy rehearsing what this new arrangement would look like, how you’d need to play it off naturally—anything to convince the stalker that you weren’t to be messed with anymore.

Lost in thought, you barely registered the footsteps coming up beside you until you felt an arm drape over your shoulders, freezing you in place. Heart pounding, you looked up to see Draco, casually standing at your side, his usual smirk gracing his lips. His arm around you felt firm, natural, as though he’d done it a thousand times before.

“Good morning,” he drawled, his voice low but loud enough for those nearby to hear. The casual intimacy in his tone made your heart skip a beat. He tilted his head toward you, his gaze locked onto yours with an intensity that made it clear he was committed to the role.

“Morning,” you replied, forcing yourself to stay calm, although every nerve in your body was buzzing with tension. 

He glanced around, as if daring anyone to look, his posture relaxed but his eyes sharp. Theo and Mattheo were a few steps away, talking to each other but clearly aware of the act Draco was putting on. He leaned in, his lips close to your ear as he murmured, “Just play along, yeah?”

You gave a small nod, barely noticeable, trying to steady your breathing. Your friends were now glancing over, wide-eyed, and you could feel their surprise even without looking directly at them. Draco straightened up, keeping his arm firmly around you as the group started to move forward.

As you walked, he continued to chat casually, his presence beside you both intimidating and strangely comforting. You could feel the eyes of other students on you, and though it was uncomfortable, you knew it was exactly what you needed.

One of your friends finally gathered the courage to ask, her voice laced with curiosity. “Um… since when are you and Malfoy… close?”

Draco chuckled, giving her a look that could only be described as smug. “What, can’t a guy enjoy his morning with good company?” He raised an eyebrow, his smirk widening as your friend stammered, glancing between the two of you.

You swallowed, trying to maintain your composure. “It’s… a recent development,” you managed, casting Draco a sideways look. He seemed to relish your friends’ reactions, his hand moving to rest more firmly on your shoulder.

As the tour continued, he kept you close, his presence undeniable. Every once in a while, he’d glance around, subtly scanning the crowd, as though daring anyone—especially your stalker—to challenge this new reality. 

Finally, during a break, he leaned in again, his voice low and almost amused. “Looks like they’re starting to believe it. And judging by the looks we’re getting, I’d say our friend might be getting the hint, too.”

You met his gaze, both relieved and slightly unnerved. “Let’s hope so,” you whispered.

The trip was nearing its end, and Draco had played his role flawlessly. A gentle kiss on the top of your head here, a protective hand at your waist there—just enough to keep up appearances but never enough to feel truly real. At least for you. You hadn’t received a single message from your stalker since the start of the arrangement, and for the first time in weeks, you felt a sense of calm, even safety. 

Tonight was the last night, and the teachers, worn out from days of guiding tours, allowed the students to gather and celebrate. They turned a blind eye to the alcohol discreetly brought by a few of the older students, letting the atmosphere stay light and carefree. The laughter was contagious, and for once, students from different houses were mingling effortlessly, the usual rivalries put aside for the night.

You found yourself sitting beside Draco, strangely comfortable despite the role you continued to play. You shared a drink, and the conversation between you became more relaxed, more genuine. Draco’s usual reserved demeanor had softened, and under the influence of the alcohol, he seemed more open, even smiling and teasing in a way you’d never seen.

At one point, he shot you a sidelong glance, his lips curling into a faint, amused smile. "I have to say, you’re a much better actress than I expected."

You shrugged with a laugh. “And you hide your true colors well. Who would’ve thought the great Draco Malfoy could be so… attentive?”

He raised his glass, a glint of mischief lighting up his eyes. “We all have our secrets,” he murmured before taking a sip, his gaze holding yours a bit too long. Under the influence of the alcohol, the words carried a different weight, and the air between you grew heavier, charged.

Feeling bold, a daring edge sharpening your words, you grinned. “You know, for a fake relationship, you’ve been surprisingly convincing, Malfoy. Almost feels real sometimes.”

He arched an eyebrow, his smirk deepening. “Is that so?” he murmured, his voice dropping slightly, as if the words were meant only for you. He leaned a bit closer, his gaze dropping to your lips for the briefest of moments before flicking back up to meet your eyes. “You want this to feel more real, Y/N?” His voice was low, challenging, the smirk slipping into something darker, more intense.

Without another word, he set down his glass and reached for you, guiding you onto his lap with a smooth, assured motion. His hands settled at your waist, fingers pressing firmly, as if he wanted to make sure you stayed close. His gaze held yours, his eyes searching, as though daring you to pull away.

But you didn’t move. The air between you was charged, and with your heart pounding, you leaned in, ready for whatever was about to happen.

“Does this feel real enough for you now?” he murmured, his voice rough and low, his hand slipping over your thigh, maintaining the firm, steady contact that sent heat rushing through you. You could feel desire building within you, but you couldn’t tell if he felt the same.

“Not yet…” you whispered, biting your lip, the alcohol making you feel bolder than ever. You wanted more, though you weren’t sure what exactly—just that you knew he could give it to you.

A smirk tugged at his lips as his hand pressed more firmly against your thigh. Without breaking eye contact, he leaned closer, his face brushing the curve of your neck, lips grazing your skin. Slowly, he pressed a gentle kiss to the sensitive spot just beneath your ear, a shiver rippling down your spine.

“And now?” he murmured before sucking lightly, drawing a soft sigh from your lips, the warmth of his touch making it impossible to think of anything but him.

You could feel him growing hard beneath you, pressing into you, a sure sign that he wanted you. Maybe it was the alcohol, but the heat of his touch and the growing bulge under you left little doubt about what was on his mind.

“Not yet…” you replied again, your voice barely above a whisper. You were playing with fire, but his lips moving against your neck, his hand slowly sliding higher up your thigh, sent a thrill through you that was hard to resist.

Draco’s smirk widened as he held you closer, his fingers tracing light circles on your thigh, inching closer and closer. His breath was warm against your neck, and he tilted his head, his lips barely brushing your ear as he whispered, “Careful, or you might get exactly what you’re asking for, Y/N.”

You swallowed, your own breathing becoming uneven, his words sending a shiver through you that only intensified the desire building between you. But you kept your composure, tilting your head to meet his gaze, your eyes challenging.

“Maybe that’s exactly what I want,” you whispered, surprising even yourself with the boldness in your voice.

That was all it took. Draco’s gaze darkened, his smirk fading as his hand slid further up, his touch firm, claiming. He leaned in, capturing your lips in a kiss that started slow, testing, but quickly deepened, his hand at the back of your neck pulling you closer, as if he didn’t want to leave any space between you. You could feel the heat radiating from him, his mouth moving against yours with an urgency that made your heart race.

His hands, once tentative, were now confident, exploring your body with a hunger that left you breathless. One hand stayed on your thigh, pulling you even tighter against him, while the other tangled in your hair, keeping you exactly where he wanted you.

He pulled back for just a second, his breathing uneven, a fierce intensity in his eyes.

Without a word, Draco lifted you effortlessly, carrying you down the corridor toward his room. His hold was firm, steady, and each step seemed to increase the tension pulsing between you. He pushed open the door, slipping inside and pressing you against the wall, his body pinning yours, a barrier between you and everything else. The only thing that mattered now was the undeniable heat radiating from him, the intensity in his gaze as he looked at you, almost as if he were savoring this moment he’d waited for.

His hands tightened slightly on your hips, his fingers splayed as he held you in place, his face inches from yours. His breaths were heavy, his gaze dark and intense as it drifted down to your lips, and then back up to meet your eyes.

“You’re really not afraid, are you?” he murmured, his voice low, filled with a mix of desire and restraint. His tone was almost a warning, as if he were giving you one last chance to turn back.

But you weren’t afraid. Not in the least. The desire in his eyes only fueled your own, and without hesitation, you brought your hands up, tangling them in his hair as you pulled him closer, leaving no room for doubt.

Draco’s smirk faded, replaced by something deeper, something raw. His lips captured yours, firm, urgent, and you could feel the need behind every movement, every touch. His hands roamed down, pressing you even closer as his mouth moved against yours with a fierce intensity that left you breathless. 

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his hand sliding up to cradle your face as he brushed his thumb over your cheek. “Tell me to stop,” he murmured, though his voice made it clear that stopping was the last thing he wanted.

You held his gaze, a small smile on your lips as you whispered, “I don’t want you to stop.”

Draco’s lips continued their path down your neck, leaving you breathless with each lingering kiss. His hand slid beneath your shirt, fingertips grazing your skin with an electric touch that made your body arch toward him instinctively. His hand moved with a deliberate slowness until it found your breast, cupping it firmly.

His thumb brushed over your sensitive skin, sending a spark of warmth through you as he began to massage, his grip alternating between gentle and possessive.

He squeezed, his fingers exploring, as if he were savoring every reaction, every subtle movement of your body. His mouth returned to yours, capturing your sighs and gasps, deepening the kiss as his hand continued its deliberate, teasing rhythm. His other hand remained on your waist, keeping you steady against him, each touch intensifying the pull between you.

Every movement felt purposeful, and with each squeeze and brush of his fingers, the heat between you built, leaving you breathless, your mind clouded by nothing but the feeling of him pressed against you, as if he were determined to learn every inch of you.

“Does this feel real enough now?” he murmured, his voice rough, a hint of dark challenge beneath his words.

You met his gaze, defiance glinting in your eyes, unwilling to give in so easily. “No,” you replied, your voice soft but daring, laced with a hunger that matched his own.

A low growl escaped his lips as he tightened his grip on your waist, his hand slipping under your skirt, fingers tracing a path along your thigh. Slowly, he reached the edge of your underwear, hooking his fingers beneath the fabric. With a swift, deliberate tug, he drew it down, letting it slide down your legs until it pooled at your ankles.

He leaned in, his mouth claiming the delicate skin of your neck, leaving warm, lingering kisses interspersed with gentle bites. He took his time, squeezing your breast with a blend of tenderness and possession, his thumb circling over your sensitive skin, drawing a gasp from your lips. His free hand slipped between your legs, fingers exploring your warmth with a deliberate slowness, tracing every inch of your skin with reverent attention.

A soft moan escaped you, and he leaned into your ear, his breath hot as he murmured, “Seems real enough to me, sweetheart. Look at how ready you are for me…” His voice was low, teasing, each word a seductive promise. "Such a beautiful mess."

Your breath hitched, heart racing, and all you could manage was a soft, pleading whisper. “Draco, please…”

But he merely chuckled, the sound vibrating against your skin, his fingers continuing their languid exploration, building the tension between you with every touch, every lingering caress. The night felt endless, and all that mattered was the intensity of his gaze, his hands, the feeling of him claiming you in a way that left no doubt in your mind—this was as real as it could possibly be.

Draco’s lips trailed down the line of your jaw, his mouth ghosting over your skin with maddening patience. His fingers moved with practiced skill, sliding inside and exploring the warmth between your legs in slow, measured strokes, each touch designed to draw out a reaction, to bring you to the edge while keeping you wanting more. 

“Still doesn’t feel real enough?” he whispered, his voice a low murmur, his breath hot against your ear. His teeth grazed your earlobe, sending a shiver down your spine. “Tell me, love… what do I need to do to convince you?”

The words hung between you, filled with a daring challenge, but all you could manage was a soft gasp as his fingers pressed deeper, his touch firm and unrelenting. Your hands gripped his shoulders, steadying yourself as he claimed you in every way, each movement of his hand calculated, purposeful.

“Draco…” you breathed, his name slipping from your lips, almost a plea. You could feel your body responding to him, the heat building, your pulse quickening with each touch, each soft kiss he trailed down the curve of your neck.

“Not yet,” he whispered, a faint smirk tugging at his lips as his fingers slowed, keeping you right on the edge. “You wanted more… so I’m giving you more.”

He pressed his lips to yours again, deepening the kiss, his hand never faltering as he continued to tease, to draw out the tension until every nerve in your body was attuned to him. Each touch, each kiss, was a testament to his control, his desire to make you feel everything, to leave no doubt in your mind that this was real, that he was as consumed by this as you were.

Draco’s mouth pressed against yours, deepening the kiss, his hands moving with purpose as they explored the curves of your body. His fingers found the hem of your skirt, brushing over your thigh, before reaching down to undo his belt with a swift, practiced motion. The quiet click and rustle of fabric as he unfastened his trousers sent a thrill through you, anticipation building with every second.

With a firm hand on your waist, he pulled you closer, pressing you back against the wall as his gaze locked with yours, intense and dark with desire. He leaned in, his lips brushing over the sensitive skin of your neck, trailing kisses as his hand guided your leg to wrap around his waist. His fingers gripped your thigh to raise it, pressing into your skin as he aligned himself, his other hand steadying you.

“You wanted this to feel real?” he murmured, his voice low and rough. His words sent a shiver down your spine, and you met his gaze, nodding, unable to find the words.

With a slow, steady motion, he pressed into you, filling the space between you with a heat that left you breathless. His movements were controlled at first, each thrust deep and deliberate, giving you time to adjust to his size, to feel the closeness, the intensity of every inch. Your head fell back against the wall, a soft gasp escaping as he began to move, his rhythm building, more urgent with each passing moment.

His hand moved up, wrapping up around your neck, and his mouth captured yours in a series of kisses that alternated between tender and fierce, each one conveying a blend of desire and possession.

Draco’s grip on your thigh tightened as he pressed deeper, his movements growing bolder, each thrust sending waves of sensation through you. He pulled back slightly, his grey eyes meeting yours, his breath heavy as he whispered, “Look at me, Y/N.” His voice was a mix of command and vulnerability, as if he wanted you to see every emotion he was hiding beneath his usual guarded facade.

You opened your eyes, meeting his gaze, and the intensity there made your pulse quicken. His hand slipped up, brushing a strand of hair from your face, his fingers lingering against your cheek.

“You feel this?” he murmured, his voice low, almost reverent. “It’s real, every damn inch of it.”

Your lips parted, the words catching in your throat as he leaned in, his mouth capturing yours in a kiss that was both gentle and fierce, a contrast to the urgency in his movements. The heat between you intensified, his rhythm steady but unyielding as he drove you closer and closer to the edge.

His hands traveled down, gripping your waist firmly as he moved, pulling you against him with a need that left no doubt in your mind. The tension, the build-up between you two over the past week, all of it seemed to culminate here, now, with every touch, every breath you shared.

Your head fell back, and he pressed a line of kisses along your jaw, his voice a rough whisper in your ear, “Fuck Y/N, look at the mess you’re making.. Moaning so loud for me.”

A shiver ran through you, his words only adding fuel to the fire already consuming you. His hands moved again, his touch both firm and careful, as if he was savoring every moment. You could feel the restraint he held, the control he was fighting to maintain, as though he wanted to draw out every second, make it last.

“Draco…I-” you breathed, voice laced with both urgency and longing. 

He met your gaze, his expression softening just a fraction. “Say my name again,” he whispered, his voice barely above a murmur. 

“Draco, I’m so close..” you whispered back, your voice trembling as his hand moved to cup the back of your neck, pulling you closer, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that left you dizzy, fully enveloped in the moment.

As the intensity between you reached its peak, Draco’s movements grew more urgent, each thrust more demanding, as if he was determined to close any remaining distance between you. His forehead pressed against yours, his gaze locked with yours, his breath mingling with yours as he whispered, punctuating his words with every thrust inside you, “You’re driving me fucking insane, Y/N. Fucking. Insane.”

Draco’s lips found yours again, and this time, his kiss was possessive, almost reverent, as if he was savoring every second, every reaction he drew from you.

The rhythm between you intensified, each thrust drawing you closer to the edge, the tension building and building until it was impossible to hold back. His name slipped from your lips, soft at first, but growing louder as the wave of pleasure washed over you, consuming you completely. “Fuck Y/N, I’m gonna-” Your breath caught as his gaze held yours, his eyes dark and filled with a tenderness that took you by surprise. You felt yourself let go completely, your body responding to his, surrendering fully to the moment, and he followed, his own resolve breaking as he buried his face against your neck, shooting his hot seed deep into you.

As you came down, Draco’s hand slid up to cradle your face, his thumb brushing over your cheek as he looked at you, his eyes softened in a way you’d never seen before. He leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead, his breath steadying.

For a moment, neither of you spoke, the silence thick with the weight of what had just happened. Finally, he broke the silence, his voice a low murmur. “Still doesn’t feel real enough?”

You shook your head with a smile, leaning into his touch. “More than real.” 

[rorylovesangst]

A Burning Hill

construction worker/underground fighter simon riley x waitress

mood board

song of the chapter is How To Disappear Completely by Radiohead

tws: death of a parent, suicidal ideation, abuse/harassment, self inflicted burn (sh), trauma

chapter 1 -> next chapter

word count: 1.2k

Even when you were nestled in your mother's warm belly, coddled by her own blood and flesh, you could tell you were a burden. A miracle, the doctors said when you were born. Your mother's heart stopped beating for 4 minutes while in labor��vital to a fetus and its host. The miracle was the baby bathed in blood and mucus, not the lifeless mother, puckered and pearl.

You didn’t cry when you were born, too occupied trying to get your walnut-sized heart to betray you, set you free of the hell you’d just begun.

You were never a child who cried for attention. Instead, you swallowed your sounds, held your breath, and watched the world through the lens of someone who wasn’t meant to stay. The hole in the shape of a woman you never met was always there, a mark left in the silence—a picture on the wood-paneled wall. Belly swollen, smile wide. No stories to tell, no lullabies, no warmth from the one person who was supposed to make you feel like you belonged.

Instead, it was just the quiet hum of a broken home, where nothing was ever whole enough to be considered sound.

The nurses said you were a fighter, wrapped in white cotton and a pink cap. You survived the nightmare. You were strong.

But strength doesn’t mean survival, does it? It just means you keep waking up. And waking up—day after day—feels more like a punishment.

You spilled coffee down your shirt today. It seared into your skin and left it hot and freckled. Ronny coughed a whiskey-smelling bark into your face when you stammered into the kitchen with water in your eyes and a half-empty coffee pot trembling in your hand. You felt the pull, the familiar flicker in your neck—small but sharp, like a wire snapping in your spine. It tugged your head to the side before you could stop it. Ronny’s face twisted, his lip curling around the cigarette as though your body’s rebellion were some kind of offense. You watched through blurred vision as he slapped a damp rag against your chest and snarled Clean yourself up, bitch through his cigarette before brushing past you, too close to be accidental. You keep your eyes on the streaked linoleum and mutter an apology.

“Blue, honey,” Olive gasped through the doorway, rushing in and plucking the pot from your shaking hand as though it might shatter, “Are you alright?”

You nodded, shallowing back shards of glass. If you tried to speak, you knew it would come out warbly and wet. The buzz radiated under the damp rag like it wanted to remind you it was there, that you were here. Alive, maybe. Existing, at least.

She steered you into the employee bathroom, the fluorescent light hissing overhead like an unwelcome witness. Perched on the cold, cracked toilet seat, you felt her fingers hastily unbuttoning the top four pins of your blouse. When she saw the angry red blooming across your collarbone and down to your breasts, she winced as if the burn had somehow reached out and burned her too.

Twenty-five minutes and half a roll of gauze later, you were back on your heels, tray in hand, weaving through the diner like a ghost. Grease clung in the air, mixing with the sting of antiseptic rising from your skin. You didn’t glance at Ronny as you passed, but the weight of his eyes was enough of a reminder that he was there.

By 11, the diner was mostly empty, its silence broken only by the occasional clatter of a spoon against porcelain. Three regulars slouched over the bar like wilted plants, nursing their coffees and bacon, while two new faces lingered in the shadows of the back corner.

Olive had locked out at 8, leaving the newcomers to your care. Their eyes snapped to the bandages the moment you approached, their stares like tiny spotlights burning through your sticky skin.

You tugged at the puppet strings of your face, drawing your lips into a smile that felt brittle enough to crack. “Hi. What can I get for you guys?”

Their dirtied hands moved in unison, flipping through the laminated menus with a sound like shuffling paper. Both men hummed, low and indecisive, until the one with the prickly, dark mohawk spoke first.

“I’ll tek ah ham n’ cheese toastie, and some orange juice, bonnie,” he chirped, his voice thick with a Scottish accent, coarse as gravel. His crooked smile curled like a frayed ribbon across his chapped lips, his eyes lingering on your bandages for a beat too long before snapping back to the menu.

“And I’ll jus’ ‘ave a cuppa, light an’ sweet,” the blond huffed in a British accent, his dirt-covered palms sliding the menus across the counter.

“Those will be right out for you,” you say with a small smile before retreating to the back to put in their orders.

Rain taps a steady rhythm on the metal roof as you wait for Tony, the cook, to finish. Glancing out the window, you watch the downpour drench the empty lot. The walk home is going to suck. Of course, you don’t even have an umbrella.

The food bell rings and you're quickly balancing a plate in one hand and their drinks in another. The toastie sizzled on the plate as you slid it in front of the mohawk man—Johnny, you decided, based on the stitched patch on his jacket. The mug landed gently in front of the blond, whose tag says Riley. His eyes flickered up at you as if weighing something, but he said nothing. Johnny didn’t bother hiding his stare.

“Yer chest,” he started, jerking his chin toward the gauze peeking from your blouse. “Looks nasty. Burn?”

Your hand hovered on the edge of the table, fingers tightening around the curve like it might anchor you. For a moment, the words sat heavily on your tongue, like pills you were too afraid to swallow.

“Just an accident,” you muttered, the smile on your lips wilting at the edges.

“That so?” Johnny leaned back, his yellow construction jacket creaking as he shifted. His accent softened, as though he was testing the weight of your lie. “Guess this place gets rougher than it looks, eh?”

You huff out a laugh that makes your sternum stutter like a kindergartner on the first day of school.

Riley—the blond—stirred sugar into his coffee with slow, deliberate motions. His gaze is like a dagger, the blade barely nicking your skin. Johnny’s stare doesn't let go either. He’s waiting for more, expecting more—like it’s not enough. You can feel the tick of the words in your neck, the way they press against your skin like a bruise.

Before you can stop it, you feel the familiar flicker—a twitch, a sharp pull that catches your breath. Your head jerks sideways, and you hear the strange, strangled sound of a laugh—an involuntary, sharp noise escaping you, even though it isn’t funny. You want to shove it back down and swallow it back inside you, but it’s out there, splintered in the air between you.

Riley doesn’t seem surprised. His eyes flicker between you and Johnny, an unreadable expression passing over his face. You know he’s noticed. They both have.

But then the tension, thick and bruising, is broken by the shuffle of feet behind you as another customer slides into a booth. You feel the burn of their stares fade just as quickly as it came, but the heat in your cheeks doesn’t fade. Still, your hands shake as you back away, your smile a brittle thing you have to patch together before you disappear back into the shadows of the diner, pleading for Tony to hand them the check.

[najia-cooks]

[ID: Two plates of cookies, one oval and topped with powdered sugar, and the others shaped in rings; one cookie is broken in half to show a date filling; two glasses of coffee on a silver tray are in the background. End ID]

معمول فلسطيني / Ma’moul falastini (Palestinian semolina cookies)

Ma’moul (also transliterated “ma’amoul,” “maamoul” and “mamoul”) are sweet pastries made with semolina flour and stuffed with a date, walnut, or pistachio filling. The cookies are made tender and crumbly with the addition of fat in the form of olive oil, butter, or clarified butter (سمن, “samn”); delicate aromatics are added by some combination of fennel, aniseed, mahlab (محلب: ground cherry pits), mastic gum (مستكه, “mistīka”), and cinnamon.

“مَعْمُول” means  “made,” “done,” “worked by hand,” or “excellently made” (it is the passive participle of the verb “عَمِلَ” “‘amila,” "to do, make, perform"). Presumably this is because each cookie is individually filled, sealed, and shaped by hand. Though patterned molds known as طوابع (“ṭawābi’,” “stamps”; singular طابع, “ṭābi’”) are sometimes used, the decorations on the surface of the cookies may also be applied by hand with the aid of a pair of small, specialized tongs (ملقط, “milqaṭ”).

Because of their laborious nature, ma’moul are usually made for feast days: they are served and shared for Eid, Easter, and Purim, a welcome reward after the Ramadan or Lenten fasts. For this reason, ma’moul are sometimes called “كَعْك العيد” (“ka’k al-’īd,” “holiday cakes”). Plates of the cookies, whether homemade or store-bought, are passed out and traded between neighbors in a practice that is part community-maintenance, part continuity of tradition, and part friendly competition. This indispensable symbol of celebration will be prepared by the women of a family even if a holiday falls around the time of a death, disaster, or war: Palestinian food writer Laila El-Haddad explains that "For years, we endured our situation by immersing ourselves in cooking, in our routines and the things we could control."

Other names for these cakes exist as well. Date ma’moul–the most common variety in Palestine–may be called كَعْك بعَجْوَة (“ka'k b'ajwa”), “cakes with date paste.” And one particular Palestinian variety of ma’moul, studded with sesame and nigella seeds and formed into a ring, are known as كَعْك أَسَاوِر‎ (“ka'k 'asāwir”), “bracelet cakes.” The thinner dough leads to a cookie that is crisp and brown on the outside, but gives way to a soft, chewy, sweet filling.

[ID: An extreme close-up on one ka'k al-aswar, broken open to show the date filling; ma'moul and a silver teapot are very out-of-focus in the background. End ID]

History

Various sources claim that ma’moul originated in Egypt, with their ancestor, كحك (kaḥk), appearing in illustrations on Pharaonic-era tombs and temples. The more specific of these claims usually refer to “temples in ancient Thebes and Memphis,” or more particularly to the vizier Rekhmire’s tomb in Thebes, as evidencing the creation of a pastry that is related to modern kahk. One writer attests that this tomb depicts “the servants mix[ing] pure honey with butter on the fire,” then “adding the flour by mixing until obtaining a dough easy to transform into forms” before the shaped cookies were “stuffed with raisins or dried dates and honey.” Another does not mention Rekhmire, but asserts that “18th-dynasty tombs” show “how honey is mixed with butter on fire, after which flour is added, turning the substance into an easily-molded dough. These pieces are then put on slate sheets and put in the oven; others are fried in oil and butter.”

Most of these details seem to be unfounded. Hilary Wilson, summarizing the state of current research on Rekhmire’s tomb, writes that the depicted pastries were delivered as an offering to the Treasury of the Temple of Amun; that they certainly contained ground tiger nuts; that they presumably contained wheat or durum flour, since ground tiger nuts alone would not produce the moldable dough illustrated; that the liquid added to this mixture to form the dough cannot be determined, since the inscription is damaged; that the cakes produced “are clearly triangular and, when cooked are flat enough to be stacked” (any appearance that they are pyramidal or conical being a quirk of ancient Egyptian drawing); that they were shallow-fried, not cooked in an oven; and that honey and dates are depicted at the far left of the scene, but their relationship to the pastries is unclear. There is no evidence of the honey being included in the dough, or the cookies being stuffed with dates; instead, Wilson speculates that “It appears that the cooks are preparing a syrup or puree of dates and honey. It is tempting to think that the cakes or pastries were served [...] with a generous portion of syrup poured over them.” Whether there is any direct lineage between these flat, fried pastries and the stuffed, molded, and baked kahk must also be a matter of speculation. [1]

Another origin claim points to ancient Mesopotamia. James David Audlin speculates that ma’moul are "possibly" the cousins of hamantaschen, both being descended from the molded "kamānu cakes that bore the image of [YHWH’s] goddess wife Inanna [also known as Ishtar or Astarte]" that were made in modern-day Syria. Other claims for Mesopotamia cite qullupu as the inspiration: these cakes are described in the contemporary record as wheat pastries filled with dates or raisins and baked. (Food historian Nawal Nasrallah writes that these cookies, which were offered to Ishtar for the new year festival in spring, may also be an origin point for modern Iraqi كليچة, "kleicha.")

The word "määmoul" had entered the English language as a type of Syrian farina cake by 1896.

In Palestine

From its earliest instantiations, Zionist settlement in Palestine was focused on building farming infrastructure from which Palestinians could be excluded: settlers, incentivized by foreign capital, aimed at creating a separate economy based around farms, agricultural schools, communal settlements, and research institutions that did not employ Arabs (though Arab labor and goods were never entirely cut out in practice).

Zionist agricultural institutes in Palestine had targeted the date as a desirable crop to be self-sufficient in, and a potentially profitable fruit for export, by the 1930s. Ben-Zion Israeli (בנציון ישראלי), Zionist settler and founder of the Kinneret training farm, spoke at a 1939 meeting of the Organization of Fruit Growers (ארגון מגדלי פירות) in the Nahalel (נהלל) agricultural settlement to discuss the future of date palms in the “land of Israel.” He discussed the different climate requirements of Egyptian, Iraqi, and Tunisian cultivars—and which among them seemed “destined” (נועדים) for the Jordan Valley and coastal plains—and laid out his plan to collect saplings from surrounding countries for planting despite their prohibitions against such exports.

In the typical mode of Zionist agriculture discourse, this speech dealt in concepts of cultivation as a means of coming into a predestined ownership over the land; eating food suited for the climate as a means of belonging in the land; and a return to Biblical history as a triumphant reclamation of the land from its supposed neglect and/or over-cultivation by Palestinian Arabs over the past 2,000 years. Israeli opened:

נסתכל לעברה של הארץ, אשר אנו רוצים להחיותה ולחדשה. היא השתבחה ב"שבעה מינים" ואלה עשוה אינטנסיבית וצפופת אוכלוסין. לא רק חיטה ושעורה, כי אם גם עצים הנותנים יבול גדול בעל ערך מזוני רב. בין העצים -- הזית [...] הגפן, התאנה והתמר. לשלושה מהם, לזית, לתאנה ולתמר חטאה התישבותנו שאין היא נאחזת בהם אחיזה ציםכר של ממש ואינה מפתחת אותם דים.

We will look to the past of the land [of Israel], which we want to revive and renew. It excelled in "seven species," and these flourished and became densely populated. Not only wheat and barley, but also trees that give a large and nutritious crop. Among the trees: the olive, [...] the vine, the fig and the date. For three of them, the olive, the fig and the date, it is the sin of our settlement that it does not hold on to them with a strong grip and does not develop them.

He continued to discuss the benefits of adopting the date—not then part of the diet of Jewish settlers—to “health and economy” (בריאות וכלכלה). Not only should the “land of Israel” become self-sufficient (no longer importing dates from Egypt and Iraq), but dates should be grown for export to Europe.

A beginning had already been made in the importation of about 8,000 date palm saplings over the past two decades, of which ¾ (according to Israeli) had been brought by Kibbutz Kinneret, and the remaining ¼ by the settlement department of the Zionist Commission for Palestine (ועד הצירים), by the Mandate government's agriculture department, and by people from Degania Bet kibbutz ('דגניה ב). The majority of these imports did not survive. More recently, 1000 smuggled saplings had been planted in Rachel’s Park (גן רחל), in a nearby government plot, and in various places in the Jordan Valley. Farms and agricultural institutions would need to collaborate in finding farmers to plant dates more widely in the Beit-Sha’an Valley (בקעת בית שאן), and work to make dates take their proper place in the settlements’ economies.

These initial cuttings and their descendents survive in large plantations across “Israel” and the occupied Palestinian territories. Taher Herzallah and Tarek Khaill write that “Palm groves were planted from the Red Sea in the south along the Dead Sea, and as far as the Sea of Galilee up north, which has given the Israeli date industry its nickname ‘the industry of the three seas’” Since Israel occupied the Palestinian West Bank in 1967, it has also established date plantations in its illegal settlements in that portion of the Jordan Valley.” Today, these settlements produce between 40 and 60% of all Israeli dates.

In 2022, Israel exported 67,042 tons of dates worth $330.1 million USD; these numbers have been on a steady rise from 4,909 tons worth $1.2m. in 1993. Palestinian farmers and their children, disappropriated from their land and desperate for income, are brought in to date plantations to work for long hours in hazardous conditions for low pay. Workers are lifted into the date palms by cranes where they work, with no means of descending, until the crane comes to lower them down again at the end of the day. Injuries from falls, pesticides, heat stroke, and date-sorting machinery are common.

Meanwhile, settlers work to curtail and control Palestinian production of dates. The Palestinian population in the West Bank and Gaza is used as a pool of cheap labor and a captive market to purchase Israeli imports, absorb excesses in Israeli goods, stabilize Israeli wages, and make up for market deficits. Thus Palestinian date farmers may be targeted with repressive measures such as water contamination and diversion, destruction of wells, crop destruction, land theft, military orders forbidding the planting of trees, settler attacks, closing of checkpoints and forbidding of exports, and the denial of necessary equipment or the means to make it, in part to ensure that their goods do not compete with those of Israeli farmers in domestic or foreign markets. Leah Temper writes that these repressive measures are part of a pattern whereby Israel tries to “stop [Palestinian] growth in high value crops such as strawberries, avocados and dates, which are considered to be ‘Israeli Specialties’.”

At other times, Palestinian farmers may be ordered to grow certain crops (such as strawberries and dates), and forbidden to grow anything else, when Israeli officials fear falling short of market demand for a certain good. These crops will be exported by Israeli firms, ensuring that the majority of profits do not accrue to Palestinians, and that Palestinians will not have the ability to negotiate or fulfill export contracts themselves. Nevertheless, Palestinian farmers continue to defy these oppressive conditions and produce dates for local consumption and for export. Zuhair al-Manasreh founded date company Nakheel Palestine in 2011, which continues production despite being surrounded by Israeli settlements.

Boycotts of Israeli dates have arisen in response to the conditions imposed on Palestinian farmers and workers. Herzallah and Khaill cite USDA data on the effectiveness of boycott, pressure, and flyering campaigns initiated by groups including American Muslims for Palestine:

Israel’s exports of dates to the US have dropped significantly since 2015. Whereas 10.7 million kilogrammes (23.6 million pounds) of Israeli dates entered the US market in 2015-2016, only 3.1 million kilogrammes (seven million pounds) entered the US market in 2017-2018. The boycott is working and it is having a detrimental effect on the Israeli date industry.

Date products may not be BDS-compliant even if they are not labeled as a product of Israel. Stores may repackage dates under their own label, and exporters may avoid declaring their dates to be a product of Israel, or even falsely label them as a product of Palestine, to avoid boycotts. Purchase California dates, or dates from a known Palestinian exporter such as Zaytoun or Yaffa (not “Jaffa”) dates.

[ID: Close-up of the top of ma'moul, decorated with geometric patterns and covered in powdered sugar, in strong light and shadow. End ID]

Elsewhere

Other efforts to foreground the provenance and political-economic context of dates in a culinary setting have been made by Iraqi Jew Michael Rakowitz, whose store sold ma’moul and date syrup and informed patrons about individual people behind the hazardous transport of date imports from Iraq. Rakowitz says that his project “utilizes food as a point of entry and creates a different platform by which people can enter into conversation.”

[1] Plates from the tomb can be seen in N. de G. Davies, The tomb of Rekh-mi-Rē at Thebes, Vol. II, plates XLVII ff.

Purchase Palestinian dates

Donate to evacuate families from Gaza

Flyer campaign for eSims

Ingredients:

Makes 16 large ma'moul and 32 ka'k al-aswar; or 32 ma'moul; or 64 ka'k al-aswar.

For the dough:

360g (2 1/4 cup) fine semolina flour (سميد ناعم / طح��ن فرخة)

140g (1 cup + 2 Tbsp) white flour (طحين ابيض)

200g (14 Tbsp) margarine or vegetarian ghee (سمن), or olive oil

2 Tbsp (15g) powdered sugar

1 1/2 Tbsp (10g) dugga ka'k (دقة كعك)

1/2 tsp (2g) instant yeast

About 2/3 cup (190mL) water, divided (use milk if you prefer)

1 tsp toasted sesame seeds (سمسم)

1 tsp toasted nigella seeds (قزحه / حبة البركة)

Using olive oil and water for the fat and liquid in the dough is more of a rural approach to this recipe; ghee and milk (or milk powder) make for a richer cookie.

To make the bracelets easy to shape, I call for the inclusion of 1 part white flour for every 2 parts semolina (by volume). If you are only making molded cookies and like the texture of semolina flour, you can use all semolina flour; or vary the ratio as you like. Semolina flour will require more added liquid than white flour does.

For the filling:

500g pitted Madjoul dates (تمر المجهول), preferably Palestinian; or date paste

2 Tbsp oil or softened margarine

3/4 tsp dugga ka'k (دقة كعك)

3/4 tsp ground cinnamon

5 green cardamom pods, toasted, skins removed and ground; or 1/4 tsp ground cardamom

Small chunk nutmeg, toasted and ground, or 1/4 tsp ground nutmeg

10 whole cloves, toasted and ground, or 1/4 tsp ground cloves

The filling may be spiced any way you wish. Some recipes call for solely dugga ka'k (or fennel and aniseed, its main components); some for a mixture of cinnamon, cardamom, nutmeg, and/or cloves; and some for both. This recipe gives an even balance between the pungency of fennel and aniseed and the sweet spiciness of cinnamon and cloves.

Palestinian date brands include Ziyad, Zaytoun, Hasan, and Jawadir. Palestinian dates can also be purchased from Equal Exchange. You can find them online or at a local halal market. Note that an origin listed as "West Bank" does not indicate that a date company is not Israeli, as it may be based in a settlement. Avoid King Solomon, Jordan River, Mehadrin, MTex, Edom, Carmel Agrexco, Arava, and anything marked “exported by Hadiklaim”. Also avoid supermarket brands, as the origin of the dates may not be clearly marked or may be falsified to avoid boycots.

Instructions:

For the dough:

1. Melt margarine in a microwave or saucepan. Measure flours into a large mixing bowl and pour in margarine; mix thoroughly to combine. Rub flours between your hands for a few minutes to coat the grains in margarine. The texture should resemble that of coarse sad. Refrigerate the mixture overnight, or for up to 3 days.

2. Add dry ingredients to dough. If making both molded ma'moul and ka'k al-aswar, split the dough in half and add sesame and nigella seeds to one bowl.

3. Add water to each dough until you get a smooth dough that does not crack apart when formed into a ball and pressed. Press until combined and smooth, but do not over-knead—we don't want a bready texture. Set aside to rest while you make the filling.

For the filling:

1. Pit dates and check the interiors for mold. Grind all ingredients to a paste in a food processor. You may need to add a teaspoon of water, depending on the consistency of your dates.

To shape the cookies:

Divide the filling in half. One half will be used for the ma'moul, and the other half for the bracelets.

For the ma'moul:

1. With wet hands, pinch off date filling into small chunks about the size of a walnut (13-16g each, depending on the size of your mold)—or roll filling into a long log and divide into 16-20 even pieces with a dough scraper. Roll each piece of filling into a ball between your palms.

2. Divide the dough (the half without seeds) into the same number of balls as you have balls of filling, either using a kitchen scale or rolling into a log and cutting.

3. Form the dough into a cup shape. Place a ball of filling in the center, and fold the edges over to seal. Press the dough into a floured ma'moul mold to shape, then firmly tap the tip of the mold on your work surface to release; or, use a pair of spiked tweezers or a fork to add decorative designs by hand.

4. Repeat until all the the dough and filling has been used, covering the dough you're not working with to keep it from drying out. Place each cookie on a prepared baking sheet.

For the ka'k al-aswar:

1. With wet hands, divide the date filling into about 32 pieces (of about 8g each); they should each roll into a small log about the size of your pinkie finger.

2. Divide the dough (the half with the seeds) into as many pieces as you have date logs.

3. Take a ball of dough and flatten it into a thin rectangle a tiny bit longer than your date log, and about 3 times as wide. Place the date log in the center, then pull the top and bottom edges over the log and press to seal. Seal the ends.

4. Roll the dough log out again to produce a thin, long rope a little bit thinner at the very ends than at the center. Press one side of the rope over the other to form a circle and press to seal.

5. Repeat until all the the dough and filling has been used, covering the dough you're not working with to keep it from drying out. Place each cookie on a prepared baking sheet.

To bake:

1. Bake ma'moul at 350 °F (175 °C) in the center of the oven for about 20 minutes, until very lightly golden brown. They will continue to firm up as they cool.

2. Increase oven heat to 400 °F (205 °C) and bake ka'k al-aswar in the top third of the oven for about 20 minutes, until golden brown.

Sprinkle cookies with powdered sugar, if desired. Store in an airtight container and serve with tea or coffee, or give to friends and neighbors.

[hrrtshape]

things i always have on set in my FAME DR.

✶ PERSONAL TOUCHES. 

⋆  custom director's chair. my, my, !!!my!!!! name embroidered in gold script on blush velvet, with a small pocket on the back for scripts and personal notes.

⋆  signature scent: a soft, alluring perfume (i’m a sucker for nina ricci’s bella perfume. the rhubarb, mandarin, lemon thing going on mushes my brain in astronomical levels) fills the set wherever i go, making my presence (hopefully) unforgettable.

⋆  lucky charm. my stuffed elephant, donnie (named after, yes, donnie darko), perched on a nearby table as a comforting presence during stressful moments.

⋆  vintage polaroid camera. always taking candid snaps of the cast and crew for those everlasting memories.

✶ SNACKS ’n’ DRINKS.

⋆  parisian-inspired snacks. a tray with macarons, pain au chocolat, and fresh berries is always available. or. or, or, or, if iyky, those brain-mushing walnut-shaped cookies with caramel filling (russia mentioned 💣🔥)

⋆  coffee. freshly brewed lattes with soy milk (i continue spreading soy milk propaganda) and a drizzle of honey in ceramic mugs.

⋆  chocolate truffles & candied fruit. a little dish of artisanal treats that rotates flavours weekly (berries, pistachios, and champagne-infused ! i'm a fun gal).

⋆  herbal teas. picking the most soothing blend of chamomile, lavender, and rose available for calmer, slower filming days.

✶ MOOD-SETTING MUST-MUST-MUST HAVES.

⋆  playlist for the set. gooottta curate the vibe with dreamy indie tunes (twin peaks soundtrack, solange, or upbeat parisian jazz). 

⋆  bouquet of flowers: a fresh arrangement of peonies, roses, and lilies decorates my trailer or desk, adding romance to the chaos.

✶ TRAILER ESSENTIALS. 

⋆  throw blanket. a soft blanket in a muted shade for quick naps or moments of reflection. besides, a very big essential when i’m in the make up chair for two hours. 

⋆  skincare station. dior prestige skincare and hermès lip balm to stay glowing between takes.

⋆  my kindle. which, by now, is almost ruined to death. but also very much an essential when my location for the past 3 hours has been the hair 'n' make up chair.

[once-upon-an-imagine]

Saw you are taking 9-1-1 requests. Would you maybe write one with Eddie x reader where she is preparing some food for Christmas (maybe desserts to take to Bobby and Athena's) and she manages to cut herself. Eddie helping clean it and assess the damage before deciding she needs stitches. Buck comes over to hang out with Christopher. Maybe some fluffy cute stuff while they sit in the waiting room and then with the reader trying to walk Eddie through finishing the dessert when they get home because she can't really use her hand.

hello, love! this was so cute! sorry it's past Christmas but hope you're still in the Christmas spirit and like this little story 😊 Happy Holidays everyone! Warnings: reader gets cut and is scared of needles; I think that's it, this is also my first time writing for 9-1-1 and Eddie Diaz so, I hope you loves like it! I have a few more in my inbox Disclaimer: I don’t own 9-1-1 😊 gif isn’t mine 😁

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

Christmas Cookies

“Would you please just let me help you?” Eddie asked for about the twentieth time.

“No, I’ve got it” you insisted. “Besides, you can go take care of our guest-”

“Buck is not our guest. He’s practically our other kid” Eddie laughed.

“I heard that!” you heard from the living room where Buck was playing video games with Christopher.

“I meant you to!” Eddie said, before looking back at you and smiling at you covered in powdered sugar. “What is that?” he asked as you put a tray of cookies in front of him.

“Chocolate Peppermint cookies” you shrugged. “They are Athena’s favorites” you explained. “For tonight's Christmas party?” you said, when you got no response.

“I thought you were making brownies” Eddie said confused.

“I am” you told him. “Chimney loves brownies” you continued.

“What else are you making?” he asked, leaning on the counter and looking at the endless amount of ingredients.

“Well, gingerbread cookies for Bobby, lemon bars for Maggie, Linzer cookies that Hen and Karen love” you smiled, pointing at the tupperware containing them. “And chocolate chip cookies with M&M’s” you said, grabbing one.

“Oh, yeah, those are Chris’ favorites” Eddie said, grabbing a few M&M’s.

“Yep… all the kids love them” you smiled.

“And…?”

“Buck and Al” you added.

“There it is” Eddie chuckled. “Sweetheart, you did not have to do this many desserts” he insisted. “Athena literally asked you to bring one dessert” he said.

“Don’t worry, I have your buñuelos too” you rolled your eyes.

“No, love, that’s not the point” he chuckled.

“Well, what was I supposed to do?”

“That? Just make one dessert” Eddie said as you started chopping some walnuts for the brownies.

“Yes, but if I make one dessert, I still have to make enough for everyone, so I thought it would be best to have a little bit of everything knowing that there’s something that everyone enjoys” you explained.

“Look, I know you’re the one who owns a small bakery-”

“Small?”

“Those are your words” he defended himself. “But I still think you are spoiling everyone by bringing a hundred desserts” he continued.

“It’s not a hundred” you said, looking back at him.

“Sweetheart, you’re overworking yourself-”

“I’m not-!”

“Yes, you are, I mean, you are making about ten different kinds of desserts, and none of them are even your favorite” he said, walking closer to you.

“I like all of these desserts!” you insisted.

“You are allergic to nuts, and you don’t like gingerbread cookies. Or Linzer cookies” he reminded you.

“Ugh, look if you’re just going to be all rational about this, and keep bugging me, why don’t you just go play video games with Buck and Chris in the other room?”

“Oh, I’m bugging you? You’re kicking me out of my kitchen?”

“Yes, Eddie, I am kicking you out of your kitchen because you’re distracting me, and you’re gonna make us late-” you stopped when you felt a sharp pain on your hand. Eddie’s smug smirk disappeared when he saw the expression on your face and you both looked at your hand. Your hand, which was now entirely red thanks to the spot you had just cut. “Shit” you muttered under your breath.

“Baby, are you okay?” Eddie asked, running over to you.

“Why is it bleeding so much?” you asked, getting a bit more anxious. You had cut yourself before at work, but it was never this big of a deal, usually a bandaid would cover it.

“Stay calm, okay?” he said, gently grabbing your hand. “Let me look at it” he said, walking you over to the sink.

“What happened?” Buck asked coming into the kitchen with Christopher on his back. “Whoa!”

“You’re bleeding a lot” Chris pointed out.

“Oh, honey, I’m sure it looks worse than it is- OUCH!” you complained as Eddie cleaned your wound.

“Sorry” he said, with a small smile. “It does seem it’s as bad as it looks though” he said. “It’s pretty deep, love. I think you need stitches” he instructed.

“W-what?” you asked, feeling your heart stop a little.

“You sure? Let me see” Buck said, putting Chris down and walking over to the two of you. “Oh yeah, you definitely need stitches” he agreed.

“N-no, I don’t” you chuckled nervously. “I’m sure I can just clean it up and put on a bandaid” you said, trying to take your hand away from Eddie.

“Sweetheart, you need stitches” he repeated.

“W-why?”

“It’s too deep” he insisted.

“B-but I don’t want stitches” you said.

“She’s afraid of needles” Christopher said from his spot.

“What? No, she’s not” Eddie chuckled, looking at his son and then back at you. “Are you?”

“Don’t look at me as if I’m crazy for not liking someone stabbing me with a needle” you glared at him.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“You never asked” you shrugged.

“How come Christopher knows?”

“He asked me!”

“Okay, let’s just go” he said, putting something to apply pressure on your hand.

“B-but my desserts-”

“Sweetheart, you need stitches, you can’t even move your hand at this point and you’re bleeding a lot” he said worriedly. “Let’s go!”

“Yeah, don’t worry, we’ll finish up in here” Buck said.

“Don’t touch my desserts!”

“Don’t go near my kitchen!” Eddie yelled out at the same time as you.

“Okay, fine. Geez, you try to be helpful for once” he rolled his eyes as Christopher laughed at him.

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

“Hey” Eddie said, holding your good hand and making your leg stop shaking once you were in the waiting room. “It’s gonna be okay, sweetheart. I promise you won’t even feel it” he smiled encouragingly.

“Easy for you to say. You practically see and do these kinds of things every day at work. Plus, you have tattoos. You are clearly okay with someone stabbing your skin with a needle-”

“Nobody’s stabbing your skin with a needle, okay? You will just feel a small pinch, I promise” he said, kissing your hand. “How come you hadn’t told me about this?”

“About what?” you frowned.

“You not liking needles. I mean, Christopher knew” he pouted.

“I don’t know, it’s not something that comes up a lot” you shrugged. “It’s not like spiders where you can just find one randomly crawling around somewhere. It’s easy to avoid needles. I told Christopher when he was having nightmares and I said everyone’s afraid of something, so he asked what I was afraid of” you explained. “Plus, it’s… kinda dumb” you said, looking down.

“What? It’s not dumb” he insisted.

“Yes, it is. You and everyone at the 118 face so many things every single day which are a lot scarier than a dumb needle-”

“Bobby’s scared of needles too” he interrupted.

“What?”

“Yeah” he smiled.

“Bobby? Your captain, Bobby? Captain Robert Nash?”

“Yes” he chuckled. “He suffers every time he donates blood” he explained. “Apparently, he has a rare type of blood that can cure pregnant women and their babies of rhesus disease” he continued.

“Honey, I know you’re trying to make me feel better, but you’re honestly making it worse” you pouted.

“What? How?”

“Because of course, Bobby can power through it and still donate blood! How does this apply to me?”

“You can too!”

“Edmundo, I am certain that you are not comparing me to your captain. He��s like the bravest person that I know!”

“Hey!”

“Aside from you!” you insisted.

“Look” he said, squeezing your good hand. “I know that you’re brave. Not Bobby brave, according to you, but you are” he insisted. “Plus, I’m going to be here and I promise to hold your hand the entire time, okay? You can squeeze it as hard as you need to” he said before kissing your temple.

“Thanks” you smiled, resting your head on his shoulder.

“And besides, you’re right. Everyone’s afraid of something. You have nothing to be embarrassed about, okay?” he said, giving you a peck on the lips.

“Okay” you smiled, still a little nervous. “So… what are you afraid of?”

“You know that” he chuckled.

“No, no. I don’t mean a meaningful fear, like something happening to Christopher, that’s rational-”

“Something happening to you is on the list as well-”

“I mean a dumb fear, like needles” you ignored him.

He sighed, looking away and then finally caved. “If you tell Buck-”

“My lips are sealed, love. I promise” you smiled.

“Snakes” he muttered.

“What?” you frowned.

“Snakes” he repeated a little louder.

“Hold on, is that why you squished my hand when Buck told us about that girl who was being strangled by her own snake? That he later hooked up with?”

“Well, yes!” he said as if it was obvious.

“Well, that’s a little bit more rational” you insisted. “I mean, snakes can be venomous and- ouch!”

“What is it your hand?”

“Yes!” you said, ungluing your good hand from his. “You’re squishing it!”

“Sorry, love” he apologized.

“It’s okay” you said, pulling him closer and kissing him again. “Thanks for letting me know” you smiled. “And thank you for being here for me” you said, kissing his cheek.

“Always, sweetheart” he smiled. "I love you" he kissed you.

"I love you too" you said, resting your head on his shoulder again.

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

“OH MY GOD! You are doing it all wrong!” you yelled as Eddie glared at you.

“I cannot believe this is the thank you I get for trying to help you!”

“This is not thank you. This is the opposite of thank you! You burnt my cookies!”

“That was Buck!”

“Hey!” Buck said, pointing the fire extinguisher at the oven. “You didn’t tell me they were ready and I was busy over here doing the stupid lemon bars that nobody even likes!”

“Maddie likes them!” you argued.

“Well, if you don’t like it, you come here and do it!”

“She can’t move her hand!” Eddie, snapped at Buck, as Christopher laughed at the whole scene while he ate chocolate chip cookies.

“Yes, I can!” you insisted. “And obviously, I have to if I want to bring something tonight” you said, trying to grab one of the trays, but Eddie stopped you and carefully grabbed your bandaged hand.

“Out of my kitchen, love!” he said as you glared at him. "You are on mandatory rest until I say so" he reminded you.

"I hate you" you said, rolling your eyes and going to sit next to Christopher on the counter.

"I love you too" he smiled, kissing your forehead.

“How are you two firefighters, and you have burnt down half of my desserts!?”

The End

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

A/N: I hope you liked it :D

[ixhadbadxdays]

K it's pumpkin bread season so here's my Granny's recipe for your eating pleasure:

The Stuff:

2 cans of pumpkin; 15oz cans

4 eggs

1c canola oil

1/2tsp salt

2/3c cold water

3 1/3c all-purpose flour

3c sugar

2tsp baking soda

1/2tsp baking powder

1tsp cinnamon (or more if you want, I'm not your mom...I'll usually add a little more when I make it bc I love cinnamon)

1tsp nutmeg

About 1c of crushed walnuts (optional)

How to Make It:

Beat the eggs in a mixer.

Add the water, pumpkin, and oil and beat on low until mixed.

Add the dry ingredients (walnuts included) and stir well. It's going to be hella wet, that's fine.

Spray small loaf pans. These are like, 2x4-ish inch sized pans that come in a tray like one would find as a muffin pan.

Bake them at 350°F for 30-40 minutes. You’ll have about 3 pans worth of these. Make sure you have friends or neighbors to share them with because you’ll have about 3 dozen of these little guys. We've never not made them as anything other than minis so I'm not sure about the cook time if you make a large loaf.

Anyway, y'all enjoy the pumpkin bread.

[adarkandmagicalforest]

Good Mouse

she was new to the red keep

and the white worm had advised that she keep her head down and just listen

however, the queen's master of whisperers had other plans for her

Larys Strong/Reader

Keep your head down, the White Worm had told her. 

Keep your head down and listen, keep your head down and wait, keep your head down and learn.

So she did. She did all the Lady Mysaria asked of her. She tidied rooms, she cleaned floors, she brought meals up from the kitchens and the dishes back down to be washed. The other serving girls told her the best ladies to serve, the old men to avoid and where the most handsome knights liked to do their practice. Talia was the most severe of the older ladies-in-waiting, who gave the rest of them quick orders and expected them done before any other, as hers were usually directly for the Queen. Dyana was quite soft and kind, and occasionally needed a reminder of what she was doing, but her lady was the Princess Helaena, so her needs were always taken care of next now that the Princess Rhaenyra was away from the Red Keep.

And after the royal family, it was the members of the council whose needs were tended to after that. 

The King's Hand and Lord of Harrenhal, Lyonel Strong, was an gruff but polite man who accepted the meals she chose for him with good-natured complaints at the plain porridge or herbed fish she brought for him, citing the orders from the Grand Maester that he should avoid pink and red meats during this stage in his life. 

But the Hand's son, Lord Larys Strong, was a very different man than his Father entirely. 

The first time the new serving girl attended to the Master of Whisperers was when she brought him his supper one autumn evening. His rooms were in a far off part of the Red Keep, one that she had to walk for a full ten minutes to get to after retrieving his supper of pigeon pie and vegetable stew. 

The only lights that had been on in his rooms were on the walls, which she had taken as a sign that the Lord in question was not present. 

And so, she had taken a moment to relax within the unfamiliar chambers which were so different than her own, where she had to share with nine other girls. These rooms were nothing like those cramped quarters. These were larger, with big windows by the wall which were covered with thick velvet curtains to shelter out the glow of the moon outside. The rest of the room was well spaced, with well-made wooden furniture nothing like the rickety end table and squeaky collection of cupboards where all of her little possessions existed inside one of the small spaces. 

Lord Larys' meal was placed neatly onto the dining table. His plate of pie was set down on a woven mat, his container of stew set onto the metal cage that hovered above the trio of fat candles that would keep it well heated. 

His wine, a Dornish blend, had only just finished being decanted before the Lord in question nearly scared her out of her wits with the sound of his cane.

"Oh!" she'd gasped, hurrying to pick up her tray and make herself scarce. "My lord, I'm sorry, I was just on my way - " 

Lord Larys Strong's nickname was Larys Clubfoot. An unkind if true one, the man was born with a foot that was formed wrong in the womb. As a side effect of such a deformity, the man was forced to use a heavy walnut cane and wear a thick leather boot on his foot. Which typically was not what made a particularly sneaky man, and yet somehow it wasn't until the nobleman's cane clacked down against the stone rather than the carpet did she become alerted to his presence. 

"No no, please." Lord Larys immediately said, holding out his hand to stop her escape. She could have still left of course. Even with a hand on his cane, he looked unsteady standing upright. But he was also a lord. Her superior. And Lady Mysaria told her to listen, wait, learn. 

"My apologies, my lord, I've brought your supper for you and I was just on my way." She explained, staying put as his square-shaped hand was still held out to her. Even when it lowered to rest on top of his cane, relieving the weight off his leg and giving the man a slightly taller stature. 

"Why, thank you." Larys said, approaching the dinner she had just set out for him. Then, he reached out and lightly touched the lid of the small stewpot, where it sat still hot thanks to the candles that burned beneath it. "How thoughtful," He then mused, lifting up that lid and observing the flow of steam that floated out of the little pot. "And clever of you." 

The serving girl looked to the little iron cage he gestured to. It seemed rather unremarkable to her, just something that her Mother had always used to keep dinner hot on the table. The one on Lord Larys' table was actually crafted from a scrap piece of iron that she'd found in the kitchens that was just large enough to set the pot on top of. 

"I thank you, my Lord." She said, looking up at him, resisting the urge to flinch when she saw that he was now within mere feet of her, all without her noticing. 

Perhaps without his deformity, he might have grown into his height or bone structure - but as he was, he looked thin and strange, with dark brown hair and rather beady eyes that seemed to peer into her with a disturbing lack of shame. But then, he was a Lord. If he wished to stare at her like that, he had every right to. 

listen, wait, learn sweet girl

"Hmm. Not enough for two, however." Lord Larys noted then, his eyes finally separating from hers to look upon his supper again with a disappointed shake of his head.

"Oh - I did not know you would be having company, my Lord. I could leave for the kitchens now and come back - ?" She attempted.

"No no, this is fine." The noblemen dismissed easily, resting his cane against the back of the chair as he lowered himself into it. "Tomorrow evening, you will bring enough for two."

"As you wish it, my Lord." 

"And you will be dining with me." He said, just as at ease, as if this was a perfectly normal command to his ears, even as he pulled his perfectly heated stew forward and dipped his spoon inside it. Larys was a very delicate eater, careful with his utensils and making sure that no drop of broth nor any food dripped onto his lap nor dribbled down his chin. Where his foot was rotten, his hands were extremely steady. Seated, he was as confident as any other lord. 

So she repeated herself. "As you wish it, my Lord." She said. 

But this was all the man seemed to want from her for now, as he smiled at her in a way that did not reach his eyes and dismissed her with a playful wave of his spoon.

She told the White Worm of this development as quickly and covertly as she could. 

Attend the dinner, my girl, the Valyrian woman had written back. Do as the rat commands, whatever he commands. Learn.

So she had obeyed. 

Supper on that second night was glazed duck, roasted onion rice porridge and plenty of cooked breads and cheese. The wine that night was a rosy one from Highgarden and even smelt a bit like rosewater as she was decanting it. She had never smelled anything like it and the pitcher was radiating the fragrance even after she put the wineskin away. Soon, it was even smelling like peaches and apples, and as she set out the dishes of duck, she found herself wishing she could try it even before Lord Larys arrived. 

Thankfully, there was too much to be done to become too distracted by the temptation of wine, including the lighting of the many candles in the room and setting out the two place settings at the table - of which, she'd already changed twice, as she hadn't known where the Master of Whisperers wanted her to sit. She'd settled for on his left. 

"Ah, how dutiful of you." Larys commented when he'd arrived, immediately coming forward, leaning on his cane as he limped to his seat. His hardened boot bumped slightly against his chair, the odd turn of it making it a nuisance. She didn't comment on it nor offer to assist him. Lords did not like to be helped without prompting. "Sit, won't you?" He then added once he was settled, now in his element, his slightly greasy hair pulled back out of his face and his posture slightly less hunched as he reached for the wine that had been so tempting her.

She obeyed his request, sitting down comfortably on his left as she watched with anticipation as Larys filled his wine goblet and then hers. 

"Drink." He commanded gently, the sound accompanying a slight smile. He was freshly shaved that day. 

He needn't have to tell her twice. She reached for the goblet eagerly while Larys watched. The smell was even more lovely up close, and she took the moment to take it in before she sipped it.

"A connoisseur?" The lord inquired with amusement as he started to serve her from the dishes. 

"No, my Lord." She said with some embarrassment, putting the goblet down. 

"Now now, lying is a sin, my Lady. You can tell me." Larys scolded her good-heartedly, but she heard the warning within it regardless and it made the wine taste suddenly not as sweet on her tongue. Sin indeed.

"I enjoy categorizing them, my Lord. Just from the scent mostly... I think this one is one of my favorites." She explained, feeling unnerved yet again by how directly he looked at her. It made her feel like she was naked rather than dressed in plain cotton. 

"Is it?" He leaned forward, interested. He did not reach for his own goblet yet. "Tell me what you smell." 

The girl swallowed lightly and smiled nervously before reaching for her goblet again. She shut her eyes and tried to obey. "Well - this is a blush wine. It's pink, sweet. But it also smells of roses, fruit... I can even smell the wood of the barrel they aged it in - apple." 

"My, all of that you can catch from a mere smell. What a clever nose you have there, little mouse." Larys said bemusedly, like she was exactly that, an entertaining little mouse in a maze of his own design. It made her wonder exactly why he had commanded she dine with him that evening. The other girls had never reported that he was that sort of man, and they were never shy about that sort of thing, not with Prince Aegon and his proclivities being an open secret. If the Master of Whisperers preferred to have servants in his bed, she would have been told. But her Mistress had told her to obey, whatever he wished. 

He was not too repulsive looking. He looked rather like his Father, but far thinner, and had only shared the coloring and a few cursory features of his more handsome brother Ser Harwin Breakbones, like the shape of their noses and the ridge of their brows. She would not need to pretend too badly, it was not as if he were the ancient Maester with his hound dog face or Lord Beesbury who preferred young girls with yellow hair to strike at him when he least expected them. 

"Thank you, my Lord." She said, picking up her utensils at his silent gesture. "It is from years of practice is all. You learn to recognize the best wines from what you can, especially when serving those who drink so much of it." 

This made Lord Larys chuckle and finally pick up his own goblet, waving it under his nose in a bit of a show before sipping it himself. "Hmm... I'm catching - grapes?" 

The serving girl giggled. "That is the jist of it, Lord Larys." 

The nobleman speared a piece of duck on his plate. "Mm. I rather enjoy the sound of that from you, little mouse. Though 'rat' was unkind I found it very inspirational. Rats are everywhere, as I am." The enjoyment she had dried like ashes in her mouth, even while Larys hummed with pleasure at the taste of the meat in his mouth, cutting the flesh neatly with his knife, the threat almost too much for her to bear, even with how calm a disposition he held. 

"Ser - " 

"I'm not a ser." Larys corrected immediately, lifting a piece of meat up and inspecting it. "And you're not eating. Are you frightened of me now?" 

She wasn't sure how to answer that. She wasn't even sure what she should do. She could have run, but his implication of 'rats' had left her unable to move. Her supper was getting cold there without any candles for her plate to rest above. 

The lord sighed gently then, putting his own utensils down. "There's no need to be frightened. I could not possibly harm you, could I? You could stand up and leave, right now, and I could do nothing to stop you." 

Oh certainly she could leave that room without being stopped, that much she did not doubt. It was a matter of what happened afterwards that she feared. No matter how she exited that room, death would be waiting for her. Now the only question was by whose will her life would end. By the rat or by the worm. And so her pale hand reached out and picked up her wine again. She drank from it deeply, and the sweet nectar of roses, peaches and apple swirled within her mouth. If she was to die, she would at least enjoy her last cup of wine. Neither Master nor Mistress could take that away. 

"Oh now... That is a decision I respect." Larys commented, his dark, imploring eyes lit with approval as he watched her savor her wine. 

"If this is to be my final action, I would like to enjoy it fully, Lord Larys." She explained shortly, pleased that her voice did not shake. 

"'Final action?'" The Lord echoed. He picked up the pitcher and refilled her cup. "Oh no, little mouse, this won't be your final action at all. Far from it." 

Startled, she put her goblet back down. But he did not wait for her to question him before continuing with his line of thought. "Tomorrow evening, bring another wine you enjoy. Something complicated, from the Arbor perhaps. And dessert as well. Whatever your favorite it, I imagine with your taste in wine, you'll have fine taste in sweets as well." The rat said with a wry grin, the compliment nearly lush even while she looked at him bewildered. 

"I don't understand, my Lord." 

"Larys." He corrected her.

"Larys." She repeated agreeably, seeing this perhaps as a way out, a way forward, a way that she could still use to listen, wait, learn. 

"I think you do understand me, mouse." Larys then said. It was then that the lord revealed his true wants to her, something that honestly relieved her more than she thought. Because this - this drifting of his dark loom-y eyes over her body, from down her pale neck and over the curve of her breast within her dark cotton dress. This made sense, this was something she could do. "But I understand that you need more from me than just a mere insinuation, little mouse. I'd like you to continue to keep faith with your... confidant. I'll allow you do to as you will, continue working as you wish for whomever aging lords and rude ladies wish it from you... Or, you can join my own service, permanently - and be allowed a few more liberties." 

He wanted her to serve both of them. Serve both and live. Serve both and survive. 

She would not assume that his second suggestion was a mere suggestion at all. Her only choice was to join his own service - and from his look, she knew what such a thing would entail. But this did not worry her, not when she could imagine far worse under more violent hands. Though the darkness she saw in Larys Strong's face was one that she could not take lightly. But what could he possibly desire from her other than a warm cunt and a pretty face? 

"What would your service entail, Larys?" The mouse inquired nervously, looking at him as if she could discover his proclivities through his face. Anticipation was written there, but satisfaction too. He knew she had nowhere else to go. 

"Undress, if you please." He said softly, his eyes moving over her body.

Despite expecting something along these lines, she could not help the way her heart jumped with horror at the order. But she would not disobey - she stood, lifted up her skirts and pulled them over her head. Her shift, plain stays and her small clothes followed, surprisingly the easiest thing to remove - as once her clothing and her shoes were kicked away, the noblemen seemed to become shy himself, as he was now staring down at her feet. 

Then, he was staring to such a degree that she had to follow. She still wore her stockings, plain ivory ones. They were tight and slightly sweaty from where they clung to her feet from the long day's work. 

She reached down to them.

"No." He commanded, finally looking upon the rest of her, his gaze roaming her small, pale breasts, down her soft stomach and down her thighs where the cinched ribbon kept her stockings in place. "You've been working since dawn, haven't you? Your legs must be sore." 

"I - yes, they are." The mouse eventually said, when she realized that his question was one he expected to be answered. 

And once she had, he seemed quite pleased with her. As then, he was pushing his supper out of the way, making a space there. This was quite a strange action to her, especially as she was standing there quite naked, a little cold, frightened and very confused. 

His wide, square hand then laid itself onto the fresh space he made. "Come, sit here... I'll rub them for you."

This was not an offer. It too, was another command masked in a polite tone.

"Don't be afraid. Come now, let me help you." Larys the Clubfoot urged warmly, lightly patting the wooden table.

So the naked girl drifted in and obeyed, lifting herself up onto the table so she was seated in front of him. Even with the slight height she now had over him though, she did not feel secure, even as she silently waited for him to spread her legs and do as he would to her.

Except he didn't. Instead, he reached for her left ankle, wrapping his warm hands around the delicate bones there. His fingers smoothed slowly over the cotton, slipping up and down while his eyes devoured the sight with a hunger that was bewildering. 

The rat tutted then once his hands reached her foot, the imprint of his thumb against the soreness there willing some of the ache awake. "Poor thing. These are worn so thin... Look at how dirty they are here - and here." He said, pressing his fingers in and rubbing where the most throbbing existed. The bottom of her stocking was a bit dirty thanks to her shoes, which she would need to replace and soon. 

The lord rubbed his thumb in a circle into the arch of her foot then, making her sigh lightly at the relief it gave.

Which ultimately seemed to be what Larys Clubfoot desired from her.

"Now let's remove these, hm? You'll feel much better once they're off." He said easily, eagerly. Larys' hands reached up to her thighs, pulling the ties before pealing the cotton away from her. It relieved the pressure on her legs for a moment before the lords burning hands clasped at her again.

That was when she noticed the tent in his trousers.

She'd guessed as much. And yet, she was stiffening up, all too aware of herself now.

"Now now, none of that." He whispered, his voice hoarse and heady. "No fear here, little mouse. Come now, I can show you." He moved himself closer within his chair, bending her knees up and placing them on the arms of the chair. This new position left her cunt quite open and spread to the cool air and it took a reminder to herself to not flinch nor squirm to cover herself shyly.

"What a pretty pussy for a mouse to have." The lord said playfully. "Now let's see here." He mused, taking her leg and folding it, trapped, between her thigh and his chest as he leaned in to inspect her. "Shy pink petals, just like a little rosebud, if you pardon the analogy." He said with an amused smile before turning his head to kiss briefly at her ankle. His lips were warm and dry. Then, his wide hand went between her open thighs and laid itself upon her cunt, encompassing it completely with a comforting wave of heat that made her gasp lightly.

Larys rubbed his hand over her at the sound, the friction moving over her sensitive center until pleasure started to build within her, that familiar bud above her core giving her the urge to roll her hips boldly against his hand for more of that delicious friction.

"That feels good hmm?" He said, slowing his movements. Then, he ran his thumb between her petals, swiping down and briefly slipping it inside her, swirling it around and thrusting inside until he had gathered some of the slick moisture there, spreading it. "That's good. I want you to feel good. Come here, now. That's right, on my lap." 

She hadn't needed to move very far. Just to move a few inches down to sit on top of his knees, but she kept her elbows on the table behind her for balance  something that Larys appreciated as it gave him the ability to bend her legs back, as if she was an open dinner plate for his eyes to devour. 

Already, his kisses had returned to her legs, always kissing from her calves down to her ankles and then finally to the bottom of her feet, which was when his cock became most noticeable beneath her and when his hand started to rub insistently at her cunt again, making her moan and tremble at the sudden rush of pleasure. 

Soon, the lord did as all lords did eventually, and took out his cock.

It seemed a fairly regular cock, though it was particularly veiny from where she saw it before Larys sank her on top of it, his left hand digging into her hip while the right continued to swipe over her, his rapid fingers making her voice grow breathier and breathier while her peak built up within her until she was close, so so so close.

"Oh my little mouse, look at you. Look at you, look at you, oh how could I not keep you?" He murmured ecstatically, his hand never stopping, even as she began to grind herself back, back against his cock which was now well inside her. "And people always said I was too difficult to buy for... Oh my mouse, yes, you can cum for me, that's right, just like that. Such a good little mouse." His praise made her cunt clench desperately around the cock inside of her, her mind dizzy from confusion and arousal and then the peak that overcame her, making her shake and moan quite loudly while her arms and legs shook and her head fell back against the wood. 

It was then that he began pulling on her hips in earnest, fucking her with what strength he had in his arms, but he didn't appear to require more than a few thrusts before she felt his release shoot inside her, joining her own dripping arousal slipping out onto the lord's clubfoot and the stone floor when his cock softened and slickly slipped out of her wet cunt.

"Very good." Larys praised again, looking delighted as he took her by both ankles, kissing the tops of her feet, before spreading them wide again and kissing her directly on her cunt, making her breath hitch unexpectedly. "Yes, very good... Run along now, mouse. Get dressed and inform your Mistress that you've made the lord rat fall hopelessly in love with you. If she asks for details, I'll hope you be discreet." He punctuated this ominous order with another kiss to her cunt, a lingering one that she rather liked, which made her sigh and want to squirm against his mouth.

But he parted from her regardless, wiping their mixed spend from his mouth, it not appearing to bother him at all as he smiled.

"I will see you tomorrow evening." He promised as she left. The door shut behind her heavily, and when she looked down to check if she was presentable enough to sneak back to her crowded chambers, she realized too late that she had forgotten her stockings.

[askwhatsforlunch]

Apple and Nut Parcels

These Apple and Nut Parcels, filled with deliciously Autumnal flavours, make a beautifully seasonal dessert to end your Sunday Lunch. Have a good one, friends!

Ingredients (serves 3):

5 medium Ribston Pippin apples, rinsed

1 teaspoon Mixed Spice

1 1/2 tablespoon unsalted butter

1 heaped tablespoon good Chestnut Honey

1/4 cup pecans

1/4 cup hazelnuts

6 brik pastry circle (paper thin Tunisian pastry discs resembling filo)

6 tablespoons good Chestnut Honey

Peel, core and dice Ribston Pippin apples, and place apple dices into a medium bowl. Sprinkle with Mixed Spice, tossing well to coat; set aside.

In a small saucepan, melt butter over a low flame. Once melted, remove from the heat, and stir in Chestnut Honey. Set aside.

In a small frying pan over a high flame, toast pecans and hazelnuts until just browned and fragrant. Remove from the heat and allow to cool, before chopping the nuts roughly.

Preheat oven to 180°C/°F.

Line a baking tray with baking paper. Set aside.

Lay a brik pastry circle onto your work surface. Brush generously all over with Honey butter. Lay a second brik circle on top, pressing gently.

Spoon a cup of the spiced apple dices in the centre of the pastry disc. Sprinkle with chopped pecans and walnuts, drizzle genenrously with 2 tablespoons Chestnut Honey, and wrap the pastry to form a parcel. Place it onto prepared baking tray, seam and edges down.

Repeat with remaining brik pastry circles, spiced apple dices, chopped nuts and Honey, saving a few of the chopped nuts, until you have three beautiful parcels.

Brush them with a little of the Honey butter, and place baking tray in the middle of the hot oven. Bake, at 180°C/360°F, 20 to 25 minutes, until a nice golden brown colour.

Remove from the oven, and brush parcels with remaining Honey butter.

Serve Apple and Nut Parcels hot, sprinkled with chopped pecans and hazelnuts.

[scarlettjohanssons-mistress]

hello bestie how are you? I want to make a request

I wanted something where wanda and reader are best friends but everyone thinks they date because they just so cute and affectionate with each other and then nat gets jealous about it and asks the reader why she isn't good as wanda and after that reader tells nat that she is perfect in her own way and that he is in love with her and they confess their love ,and if u can make a very soft ending where nat falls asleep on reader's lap while he caress her hair 🤍🤍🤍🤍

You prefer her

Warnings: Natasha jealous, fluff, funny

Word count: 1.0 K

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Reader, Wanda Maximoff x Fem!Reader (Platonic)

Requests: OPEN

[Main masterlist] [Marvel masterlist]

'There is no good influence; all influence is immoral, immoral from the scientific point of view. To influence a person is to transmit our own soul to him…'

The scandalous laughter of Wanda and Y/N interrupted Natasha's reading for the eighth time, so the redhead couldn't do anything other than close her book and walk towards the irritating sound.

Her path ended in the kitchen, where ehe found both women playing with the flour, laughing outrageously.

"May I ask, what the hell is going on here?"

The thick and strong voice of the Russian made both Wanda and Y/N put aside their flour battle and their laughter stopped ringing, both of them turning to see the older girl's green eyes

"Oh, hi Nat," Wanda commented.

"What the hell are they doing?" asked again

"Cookies" it was Y/N's turn to answer "Do you want some?"

Natasha absolutely loved Wanda and Y/N's desserts, but she was too stubborn to admit it, so she just gave a little nod and crossed her arms, walking over to the kitchen.

"what flavor are the cookies?"

“Y/N I suggest making them walnut and cranberry”

Ok, so Natasha absolutely LOVED Y/N's special cookies, they were the most delicious she's ever had.

"And then we plan to have a movie night" Y/N spoke while putting a tray of cookies in the oven "Do you want to join?"

Natasha had to feign indifference by shrugging her shoulders and making a face.

"Yes, of course" both girls squealed with excitement "Anything but disney"

I hear how Wanda complained, causing a sweet giggle from Y/N, in turn, causing a small grimace, similar to a smile to Natasha.

——————————————————————————— 

Apparently, Natasha's demands were listened to, but, she didn't get away from watching some animated movies that Y/N had begged to see.

Truth is, it wouldn't take long for Natasha to fall for Y/N's beautiful eyes.

Out of the corner of her eye, Natasha managed to see how Wanda's head was resting on Y/N's lap, causing her to start playing with the younger redhead's mane, causing Natasha's blood to begin to boil.

And just when he was about to drop a sarcasm-filled comment, Sam's voice beat him to it.

"If at any point, either of you tell me you're in a relationship, I wouldn't be surprised at all."

Natasha thought that nothing could get more angry did with that stupid comment, until she heard the response from both girls. Or, NOT listen to the response of both girls.

I only hear small giggles from both of them, not even daring to deny the assumptions of Sam's idiot.

Natasha snorted tiredly and only dared to get up to storm off to her room.

"What's her problem?" asked y/n

Both Sam and Wanda only managed to raise their shoulders, as a sign of uncertainty.

——————————————————————————— 

Y/N was totally bored, just flipping channels in boredom.

They had all gone on an emergency mission. Everyone except Natasha.

But she had been locked in her room, leaving Y/N all alone and bored.

After going through channel 5 for the third time and not finding anything to watch, Y/N decided to turn off the TV and walk over to Natasha's door, just to do a little tapping.

I don't hear an answer, but seconds later, the door was opened, finding Natasha in black sweatpants and a simple red sweatshirt. With her hair a little tousled and her eyes with a little glimmer of boredom.

"What's the matter?"

Natasha asked tiredly.

“Well, I'm bored, so…I thought maybe you'd like to watch a trashy show with me so we can have fun together” Y/N asked as she played with her fingers, quite nervous.

"Why do that?"

"Maybe because… are you my friend?"

Natasha let out a deep laugh from her throat.

"Friend? I thought your only friend was Wanda"

"What? Of course not… you are also a great friend"

"Then why do you ignore me every time you're with Wanda?"

"What? Of course not…"

“Come on, Y/N, don't lie. I know you prefer her, she is your favorite"

"Of course not… you are also important to me"

"Don't lie to a liar"

"Nat, you're not a liar."

"Is that why you prefer Wanda to me?…" The ex-spy's eyes began to fill with tears. "Why didn't Wanda have to lie to save her skin…?"

The Russian's cries were interrupted because her Y/N's lips had collided with hers in a small and simple kiss.

Moments after the shock both women pulled apart, Natasha wide-eyed.

“Do you love me… like that?”

Y/N just managed to laugh lightly and caress Natasha's neck with her right hand.

“Natasha, you don't have to be like Wanda to deserve love. Every human being deserves some affection, especially if it is someone as noble, brave, intelligent and beautiful as you."

Now it was Natasha's turn to kiss her partner's cheeks and lips, showing that the love was reciprocated.

"Well… is the plan to watch trashy series still on?"

But although Natasha was never very good at showing her love with words, the facts were more important than these. What other show of love than watching trashy movies with the girl she loved?

———————————————————————————

The minutes passed, and with them the day; so, little surprise, Y/N looked away from the screen to see a redhead fast asleep with her head in her lap, and just as Y/N was about to start trying to wake her up for bed, she heard how the boys had arrived from their mission

"I'm very tired!"

"Shhh!" Silence Y/N Sam's screams

“Is Nat? …asleep on the floor?” Tony asked

Y/N nodded

“Cuddled up in your leg?” plugin steve

Y/N nodded again

"Did it finally happen?" Wanda asked with a smile, Y/N felt how the blush began to rise until it reached her face. She nodded again. "Finally you two are together"

"Y/N and Natasha?" Sam asked. "But…what about you and Y/N?"

"Sam, just shut your mouth."

Note:

Hi dear, thank you very much for sending me the request. My life at this point sucks, so I hope yours is MUCH better. Happy New Year.

I hope you enjoy it

I appreciate the reblogs, the likes and the comments

taglist: @littlebitchsposts // @xxsekhmet

message me or send an ask to be added to my taglist!

[thejourneymanandco]

Walnut Rectangular Trays

Handmade and carved by artisans in Morocco from a high quality walnut wood is available in two sizes, these Walnut Wood Trays work just as well for serving antipasti as they do for keeping small items together on a bedside table.

Small | 10cm x 10cm approx

Medium | 10.5cm x 15.5cm approx

Maintenance: wipe clean

Available in two sizes, these Walnut Wood Trays work just as well for serving antipasti as they do for keeping small items together on a bedside table. Hand carved by artisans in Morocco from a high quality walnut wood.

Sold as a single unit.

Product Info

Ethically Handmade in Morocco

Walnut Wood

Small | 10cm x 10cm approx

Medium | 10.5cm x 15.5cm approx

Wipe Clean

[bagerfluff]

Stress Baking

Older Takaishi Takeru x Male Reader

Prompt - Baking

When you entered your apartment you were hit with the smell of sweets.

It was thick, almost like a wall of cookies was stopping you from entering your home.

You took a minute to process before fully entering your house. You closed the door behind you, already getting slightly sick from the sweet smell.

You loved sweets, but this was a bit too much.

You could also smell a hint of fruit, vanilla, and mint. You took off your shoes, switched them for slippers.

You knew Takeru was supposed to be home before you today. When you got past the walkway in front of the door you saw the kitchen.

All over the counters were tons of dishes and desserts. You mostly saw cookies, bowls, spoons, baking trays, and ingredients.

You also noticed that there were a handful of different types of fruit around the counter.

There were even dishes in the sink and around the sink. Now you know where the small came from, but who did it?

“Takeru!” You yelled out as you walked closer to the kitchen. You heard a hum.

So you followed it till you peaked behind the island in the kitchen. You didn’t see anything at first, just a different angle of all of the dishes.

Until you looked down.

When you looked down you saw Takeru leaning against the island with a tray of cookies in his lap.

He was currently looking straight into the oven with a dead stare. “Takeru?” You said.

Takeru looked over at you, that’s when you noticed that his eyes were a little red along with his nose.

There were also slightly visible tear tracks on his face. You moved to sit next to Takeru, “so, you did all of this”, you said

Looking around at all of the dishes and trays of cookies.

“Yeah”, Takeru said before taking a bite out of a cookie he was holding. “Everything okay?” You asked, referencing the redness of

Takeru’s face and the tear tracks. Takeru looked down at the cookies. “I don’t know, I felt off all day and when I got home it all just bursted”, Takeru explained.

“I felt stressed and I wanted to take my mind off everything so”, Takeru looked around, gesturing to what he did to take his mind off everything.

You nodded, “so, what did you want to take your mind off?” You asked. Takeru took another bite out of a cookie.

“I just feel sad, I miss Patamon and I’m stressed about everything”, Takeru said before taking another bite.

You nodded, you also missed your Digimon.

They had to go back to the Digital World for most of the time. Not being able to stay in the real world for long.

You also knew that Takeru was working really hard to become a writer, and not maybe end up like his mother.

You reached over and grabbed a cookie from the tray. You took a bite out of the cookie, “mm, what did you put in this?” You asked.

“Walnuts, found some in the back of the cabinet”, Takeru said. You took another bite out of the cookie, “You’re really good at baking”, you said and Takeru nodded.

“My mother used to do it a lot, I always helped. It always made me feel better to bake with her”, Takeru said.

So that’s why Takeru baked all of these cookies.

He was stress baking.

Well, the cookies are good, the mess however. “Do you feel better?” You asked before finishing the cookie.

“Yeah, a little”, Takeru said before taking the last cookie on the tray. He then placed the tray to the side and started to eat the last cookie.

“Well, next time you feel like that, call me”, you said. Takeru looked over at you to find you already looking at him.

“Or maybe you could go to the Digital World, I’m sure Patamon would love these cookies”, you said.

Takeru let out a laugh, “I’m sure they would”, he said. You turned to face Takeru and pulled him into a hug.

Takeru was confused by this and was about to ask you what you were doing when you beat him to it.

“But, next time you feel like that, talk to me. I'm your boyfriend, that’s what I’m here for”, you said.

“It makes me feel bad that you were here crying and I didn’t even know, I didn’t help”, you explained.

Takeru pulled away from the hug and wrapped his arms around your neck. “Okay, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, Next time I will”, Takeru said.

You smiled and leaned down to kiss Takeru.

You could taste the cookies on Takeru’s lips. You tasted more than walnuts, it seems like Takeru had a lot of cookies.

When you pulled away you had a question, “what are we going to do with all of these cookies?” You asked and Takeru started laughing.

“I’ll grab some bags, we'll give them to the others”, Takeru said before standing up.

“Okay, but I can keep some, right?” You asked as you stood up. Takeru let out a giggle, “sure, pick which one you want”, he said before turning the corner.

When Takeru returned he yelled, “I said pick one!

[necros-writing-stuff]

YOU WANT TI HEAR ABOUT THE RECIPE I WANNA BAKE FOR EDEN??? 👁️👁️👁️👁️👁️👁️

ALRIGHT FOLKS, I hope y'all are ready for my fav seasonal treat.

I hope Eden would like it too

TODAY'S TREAT ISSS *drum roll*

NUSSECKEN BABY!!

It's a german, cookie-like treat whose name roughly translates to "corner nuts." I'll be using grams and mls because I don't know any other measurments.

INGREDIENTS!

For the topping

200 grams of butter

150 grams of sugar (I usually put less sugar, do as you like tbh)

15 grams of vanilla powder

4 tablespoons of water

400 grams of whatever nuts you like! Almond, hazel, walnuts, you name it. I personally really like almonds, sometimes mixed with hazel.

For the cookie base

300 grams of white flour

1 teaspoon of baking poweder

130 grams of sugar (again I usually use less)

2 eggs

15 grams of vanilla powder

130 grams of butter

extra ingredients

Dark chocolate (you'll need this one to garnish the topping)

Jam (traditionally you use apricot or orange marmelade, but you can use the jam you like most.)

PROCEDURE!

Start with the mixed nuts topping, because it'll have to cool down before you can actually put it together.

For the topping:

- take yor nuts of choice and blend them. Cut them up enough to have a rough crumble. You want them to be crunchy, not creamy. But definetly not big chunks. A crumble consistency.

-in a pot, put in the butter, sugar and water, and melt them.

- add your crushed nuts and cook them for 5-10 minutes MAX. Just enough to combine it all and be a little sticky.

-let it cool down a little.

For the cookie base:

-in a bowl, put all the ingredients together, and start working them with your hands.

-You have to work it like a pie crust. If you don't have experience, here's sone tips:

-don't use electronic tools. Your hand's warmth will melt the butter and combine it better.

- at first, it'll feel dry and crumbly and you'll be tempted to put liquid in it. DON'T DO IT. trust the process. Believe in the slowly melting butter.

-keep working it until a solid dough forms. It has to be firm and the ingredients must be well combined.

-don't overmix it.

COMBINING THE INGREDIENTS

-Take a solid tray, put some baking paper on it. Slap the cookie base on it and start flattening it. Ideally you'd put it in a rectangular shape to cut the cookies better.

-The cookie height should be around 0.5 to 1 cm tall. Depends if you want a tall cookie or not, or if you simply prefer quantity over quality.

-Slap the jam of your choice on the cookie dough. Distribute it on the whole surface. Use more jam than you think you need: it'll help to stick the cookie and the nuts together.

-slap the nut topping directly on the jam. Don't care to keep the layers clean, smear the jam with the nuts if you have to. That shit has to stick together. Distribute the nuts evenly.

-shove the bad boy in an oven at 200 degrees Celcius for 20-25 minutes. Check the sweets, if you want the nuts to be a bit toasty you can put on a grill mode at the last minute. NO MORE THEN A COUPLE MINUTES. Otherwise the nuts might burn.

- let the bitch cool down to room temperature.

- once it's cold, cut it up into triangles. (That's the traditional shape, squares work too)

chocolate topping:

- take a large pot, fill it with water and put it on the heat to boil.

- take a smaller pot, put in enough chocolate to coat the cookies in, and submerge the small pot into tue warming water.

- this is a pretty safe way to melt chocolate without burning it. Just be careful to not splash yourself with the boiling water.

- once the chocolate is melted, take your cookie triangles and dip the corners into the chocolate. Then put them on a tray with baking paper and let the chocolate cool down.

-alternitavely, take a sac-a-poche, fill it with the chocolate and just pipe it on the crumbled nuts. A spoon works too.

Let the chocolate cool down and VOILÀ! NUSSECKEN!

They're not too difficult to make, the only bore is the waiting time for stuff to cool down. Hope y'all like this recipe! ;)

I want to feed it to Eden snsbnansn

OK BEFORE I FORGET:

What kinda sweets do you think Eden likes? I thought about the Nussecken because the nuts remind me the forest(?) somehow and it feels very homely to me. If you have headcanons, oh Maestro of Eden, please share >_<

-💜

1) thank you so much for the recipe, I'm gonna try it at some point and I'll let you know how badly I do at it lmfao.

2) I think you're right that Eden would like this a lot because we see them enjoying roasted chestnuts in game. Which makes me think they'd enjoy those chocolate bars with nuts in them.

Also, scones with fruit jam! Both made by PC! Black Berry jam piled on Eden's shelf in the seasons they grow, ingredients for scones on every shopping list.

Keep Eden away from anything resembling warheads or sherbert. If it's sour they'll die. Just nice and sweet things, but not artificial flavours.

[oigimi]

. cookies .

. silvio x reader . 892 words . fluff one-shot .

Christmas was always my favorite time of year. Snow covering the world like powdered sugar on a pastry, peppermint and chocolate scents greeting my senses like an old friend, the surge in joy the entire world experienced at once. It was just beautiful. A time to share with your family and friends, a time to celebrate and eat good food, a time to remind everyone in your life how much you love them. Why wouldn’t I love something so magical?

Something else magical was the fact that I actually had a boyfriend this holiday season! His name was Silvio Ricci, and when we first met, I don’t think either of us actually envisioned dating one another. His initial pompous, bratty attitude made me angry, and he treated me like a nuisance. Time, however, shoved us forward into one another’s arms, and a feeling of understanding was born. Something within us shifted, and in the span of weeks we’d gone from bickering in each other’s faces to making out in his bedroom. He was my first in a lot of ways, and now he’d be my first holiday boyfriend.

Silvio confessed to me he’d never really done a lot of holiday things with his family. None of the Christmas decorations, or movies, or light viewings, or anything most people did around this time of year. This, obviously, could not stand. As long as Silvio was with me, he was going to celebrate the holidays the way they should be! He was going to have fun and feel that warm feeling in his chest when someone thanked him after receiving a special present. Some activities would be a lot of fun, like Christmas movies, but I had one particular idea in mind.

In front of me was a tub of dough balls that I had made the previous night. Silvio and I were going to make cookies together, and he was going to love it just like I did!

“Ay! I’m here!” Silvio called, opening the door. “(Y/N), you here?”

“Yeah, I’m in the kitchen! Come on!”

Silvio entered the kitchen and widened his eyes. “Are we gonna be using that whole thing?” he asked, staring at the dough.

“Of course! I made it. We might as well use it, right?” I turned around and rummaged through the drawer, pulling out an apron. “Here, put this on.”

He wrinkled his nose. “Huh?” Taking the apron, he looked at it and slipped it over his body. “Like this?”

“Yeah, just like that. Have you never worn an apron before?”

“No,” Silvio grumbled. “Never had a reason to.”

Nodding slowly, I led him towards the kitchen table. “Well now you have a reason. Alright, so you’re gonna need this.” I handed Silvio a kitchen roller, and he inspected it closely. We sat down and I plucked the dough balls out of the tub.

“So what you’re gonna do is roll the dough flat and hand it back to me. I’m gonna put this walnut mixture in it and fold it! Your only job is to roll the dough.”

He looked at the dough ball and put it on the tray in front of him, starting with the roller. “Uh…”

“Ah, too thin. Don’t flatten it too much!” I advised. “Here, let me show you.” I put some sugar on the roller and the tray, gently grabbing his hands and rolling the dough with it. “There you go! Not too much pressure, but just enough.”

Silvio turned to me and gave a small smirk. “Well thank you, baby.” He wrapped his arm around my neck and pulled me in for a kiss. “Alright. Let’s make these.”

I kissed him on the head and sat back in my seat, watching him attempt to roll out some dough. “Ah, that one’s good! Here, hand it over!”

He did so, and I finished it, putting a nut mix in it and pinching it closed. “Our first cookie done. Alright, let’s keep going!”

The both of us kept at it, working our hands until they cramped and making a mess of dough and confectioners sugar. Every time I looked up, Silvio’s brow was furrowed in serious concentration. He rolled the dough with care and routinely powdered the tray and roller with sugar so as to keep it from sticking. I couldn’t help but smile, and I let out a small chuckle.

“Hm? What are you laughing about?” he responded, growing a smile of his own. “Is there somethin’ on my face?”

“No, not at all! It’s just that you’re doing really well for a complete first-timer. And you’re taking this so seriously. It’s… it’s really nice. I didn’t know if you’d enjoy this or not.”

“Tch, what are ya talking about?” Silvio’s face pinkened a little. “I mean, if it’s something you wanna do of course I’m gonna wanna do a good job.” He looked back up at me. “You get so happy talkin’ about these things, you know.”

“Do I?” I grinned and shrugged. “Well I get even happier talking about you.”

He stood up from his chair and pulled me up with him, lifting me up onto the counter. 

“Silvy!” I laughed, hugging his shoulders. “Come on, we still have cookies to make!”

“We’ll get back to them in a second. I’ve got my eyes on somethin’ sweeter.”

[femchef]

Risu took me out to a really, really lovely restaurant for my birthday last night - so if anyone wants to know what tasting menus are like buckle up and sorry about the blur on some of the pictures.

The place we went to is in Charleston, it’s called Zero Bar and Restaurant located at the premises of the Zero George hotel (name is from the street location, which is at 0 George St., how do you end up with the zero?).

We were early, and sat at the bar for a drink while we waited for the restaurant to open up seating. This is a tasting menu restaurant - that means you don’t really choose what to eat, and you are sitting down to experience a lot of courses. There are a few choices, but everything is determined by the chef and staff. It’s also the type of restaurant where if you tell them you are celebrating something (in this case a birthday), everyone on staff knows and knows who and makes a point of quietly acknowledging the occasion, from the point you walk in the door to the point you leave.

Risu had a vodka-based cocktail with calamansi and mint, I had a bourbon cocktail with leather and walnut syrup, and cherry.

We were seated on time at 6 and the server walked us through the menu and our options (we chose to add on the caviar service, I chose black truffle with my pasta and Risu chose to forgo the truffle, Risu chose the wagyu instead of duck for the entree), and the beverage manager checked in with us about our options for pairings (we decided not to do the full wine pairings since we weren’t spending the night, but he offered to do two half-cocktails to pair mid-meal for me with some of the dishes).

The first round of courses came out about 15 minutes after seating - I like the format they use here! Instead of a long train of singular dishes, you start off with rounds of small bites eaten in order before the main points of the menu:

The first set was 5 dishes. The first, which is not pictured, was an interactive dish. You place fresh shiso leaf on the palm of your hand and the server then gently scoops a round sphere of white, nitrogen frozen meringue perfumed with a fruity, savory interior on the leaf. As you eat it, the ‘smoke’ from the frozen meringue puffs out of your nose.

The dishes in the picture above were eaten counter clockwise starting from top-right: delicate, fresh oysters sauced and garnished with vanilla bean seed, chestnut mousse on a kelp cracker (it was a little concerning how they had to keep telling people not to eat the rocks, but I get it), a half-smoked ‘cigar’ that’s a crisp filo shell filled with beef tartare and cigar ash made from mushroom powder, and a ‘potted plant’ of young radishes rolled in butter and potted in a soil made of mixed grains and seasonings.

(Again, sorry for the blur, it was starting to get dark) The second round was 4 small dishes. In the first photo of three, these were eaten counter-clockwise starting from the top-right corner: small, dressed quail century egg served in a teaspoon, a sweet, donut fritter, and shrimp toast (I think that one was both our favorite). The fourth was a buñuelos with squid ink and passion fruit.

At this point the house manager checked in and also swept the table with a brush to clear off some of the debris from the various presentations, and to set our first round of silverware.

Not long after the plates cleared, the caviar. Service was brought out - the server portioned the caviar on our hands, at the join between thumb and index finger - this allows caviar to warm with the natural heat on your hand so that you can enjoy the briny sea flavor and creaminess - and prepared two shots of a nice Japanese vodka that was icing on the service tray - yeah I didn’t take a picture of the caviar part, since it was interactive, but the glasses were very pretty! The caviar was salty, oceany and creamy and the vodka was some of the smoothest I’ve ever tried.

The first singular dish out was a tuna tartare with crispy fried sunchokes. This was lovely and creamy, nice balance of textures and a pleasant balance between salty, sweet and fattiness.

After the setting were reset with fresh silverware, the second dish was a pasta dish - tortellini with tender, caramelized garlic bread and a sweet, citrusy cream sauce. This was the part of the meal that came with the truffle service, so you can see the plates with and without in the pictures.

(They offer both white and black truffles - personally I prefer black because they are nutty and warm in flavor, where white truffles are a bit too pungent for me)

I’ve reached the picture limit so consider this Part 1

[samirant]

a damned good chocolate chip cookie

ingredients:

12 oz all purpose flour

1/2 tsp baking powder

1/2 tsp baking soda

1 tsp kosher salt (not table, that’s all wrong for this)

cinnamon to taste

dash of nutmeg

1 cup light brown sugar

1/4 cup white sugar

1 cup brown butter, softened to room temperature

2 eggs, room temperature

1 cup toasted walnuts

1 cup chopped chocolate

the method (which is BY FAR worth the effort):

first, toast the walnuts and let them cool. how much walnuts? measure with your heart. my heart says one cup. chop them up big and small and set aside. (don't know how to toast walnuts? put them on a baking tray, stick them in the oven at 400F for three minutes. take them out and give them a good toss and put them back in for three more minutes. that's it. keep an eye on them in case your oven runs too hot. nobody wants burned walnuts)

second, chop up some good 60-70% chocolate bars. splurge on guittard or ghiradelli. don't do nestle. fuck nestle. they're bad. i mean, the chocolate tastes fine, but the people behind the company are terrible. so fuck nestle. chop about a cup of hopefully morally superior chocolate into little slivers and big chunks, the variety is good. want more chocolate? do it. (sometimes I’ll also use chocolate discs or chips to vary the final look of the cookie because why not?)

next!

get onto the brown butter. don't know how to do it? watch and learn

okay, got that? cool. brown the butter. let it resolidify before you keep going. sometimes i prep it a day or so in advance.

blend the butter and sugar until that stuff is whipped. turn it pale and fluffy and gorgeous with little brown specks. takes you more than 5 minutes to get there? awesome. makes it even better.

Look at how fluffy!

(if you use melted brown butter at this step, i don't know what will become of you, because i only did that once with messy results. go with god if you choose to make that decision, but i won't take any responsibility for it. also, having a stand mixer would help here, but handheld won't hurt you)

is it fluffy and beautiful? excellent.

add the two eggs one at a time, whip it really well. great, that part is done.

dry ingredients:

whisk them together. that’s pretty much it.

the dough:

add the dry ingredients to the wet. in two or three separate batches, mixing slowly, that's a good approach.

add your mix ins. i hope you toasted the walnuts. infinitely better that way. my apologies to those with nut allergies.

once it barely comes together (even if it's a little crumbly), stop.

the next important bit, the really, really important bit, is:

rest.

the.

dough.

some will say for an hour in the fridge, i say overnight. at least 6-8 hours. i've eaten stuff just after mixing the dough or waiting the single hour and it's just not the same.

(little tip: i smush the dough into a quarter sheet baking tray and wrap it with plastic before putting it in the fridge; this step takes care of the crumbly bits and then i just cut it into little squares when i'm ready to bake. round off the squares between your palms and it comes out pretty well)

(Like this!)

bake at 350F for 14-16 minutes, depending on your preference of doneness

there you have it. the best chocolate chip (walnut) cookies i've ever made.