#bread and butter bread and butter bread and butter bread and butter bread and butter bread and butter bread and butter bread and butter

[ms-demeanor]

So due to food allergies and other nonsense, the standard "we're out of..." grocery store pads aren't helpful for me - they have a ton of stuff if them that nobody in my house consumes and because I have to do my shopping at 3 stores the organization of the pads isn't terribly useful.

So I made my own as a whiteboard and stuck it on the fridge.

It's divided into 3 main categories: perishable foods, shelf-stable foods, and foods for specific individuals in the house.

All of us eat veggies and eggs and peanut butter, but large bastard is the only one who eats frozen pizza and sandwich rolls. All of us eat tofu and carrots, but I'm the only one who needs bread from a specific store and eats lunch meat.

This makes it easy for me to tell at a glance where shopping needs to be done (if I need a bunch of stuff then we have to go to trader Joe's, but if all we need are staples we can go to aldi; if we're low on a lot of pantry items but don't need any produce we can go to walmart).

The way that I put together the board is by figuring out the stuff that had most often necessitated a trip to the grocery store for just that one item. I can't tell you how many times I have started getting ready to cook and then had to run out and get onions because I forgot that we were out of onions.

Now if I'm down to one or two onions i put a dot on the board and the next time i go shopping i get onions. When i open the last bottle of tamari or bag of coffee, i put a dot on the board.

It's also a really handy list to have while getting ready to shop because we can stand in front of it and use it as a reminder to *check* what we're low on. Do we need milk? Open the fridge and figure out if we'll run out before the next time we go shopping. Does tiny bastard need more peas to reward her for taking her insulin? Open the freezer before we gather up the shopping bags to find out.

Then it's super easy to take a photo and go shopping, and when we get back to erase the dots for stuff we got but leave the dots for stuff from another store or that was out of stock.

I've been using system for a few months now and it has been very helpful for preventing food waste and for reducing the number of trips we take to the grocery store, both of which save us money.

It's made out of a small whiteboard (about 9x14 inches) that i glued magnets to. The list items are written in permanent marker and the dots are dry erase marker. I put dots in the center of the boxes because if you overlap permanent marker with dry erase, it will wear away the permanent marker.

Anyway. This system has helped me, maybe it will be helpful for other folks as well.

[rosefinnigen]

COME TAKE A BITE

[theocddiaries]

Clark: Batman might be a little bit fragile after last night, so let's try to be sensitive. Hal: Oh, believe me-- I am going to be nothing but nice to Spooky from now on. If he snaps and goes on a rampage, who do you think he's coming for first? Diana: He's not going on a rampage. Barry: I bet he'd let me live. He likes me. Arthur: I'm just gonna say it-- I never trusted him. Clark: Stop. Ah, he's coming. Everybody just be normal. Diana: Yes, we're gonna treat her exactly the way we usually do. [Bruce walks in the Watchtower break room]. Barry: And there he is! Arthur: Hi, gorgeous. How'd you sleep? Bruce: …Fine? Hal: Is that a great new cape? Love! Bruce: … Where's the butter knife? Everyone but Clark: No! [Clark hands him the knife and Bruce spreads butter on a slice of bread]. Clark [Sighs]: Can you give us a moment, please? [Everyone but Diana leaves in a hurry]. Bruce: So, about my meltdown. Diana: Who? What meltdown? Bruce: I'm going to see a therapist. I did some research. Dr. Gregory is highly recommended. I booked a double session with him today. And since Robin was going to spend the day with Superboy, I told Nightwing if he could pick him up so it wouldn't bother you or your wife. Clark: Ah… Okay. Diana: That sounds good. Bruce [Hums and leaves the room]. Diana: Great Hera… Clark: I know, he's like one of those self-cleaning ovens.

[writtenonreceipts]

Rowaelin Month Day Twenty-One: Performers @rowaelinscourt

Month Masterlist // Hey Neighbor Masterlist // Ao3 Link

It fits the performers prompt because they’re putting on a show of lunacy.  <3

Warnings: just minor medical talk and references to bad hospital experiences right at the beginning, ~2.9k words

Hey, Lucky

Aelin could count on one hand the number of times she’d been in a hospital. 

Two when a grandparent passed away and one when she’d broken her arm.  She hated each and every experience.  Her grandparents’ passing had been traumatic to say the least.  All she could remember was seeing her Papa hooked up to an assortment of tubes and wires to the point that she couldn’t even see his face.  Gran was supposed to come right back out after a surgery to fix her heart…only she never had.  And when Aelin had broken her arm, she’d had to have surgery to resent the limb properly, the meds had made her sick and she couldn’t leave the hospital for over a week. None of the doctors had been nice, either. 

So, yes.  Aelin hated the hospital.

But here she was, sitting in an uncomfortable vinyl chair in a stuffy waiting room and nerves keyed up.  Her knee wouldn’t stop bouncing and she’d already destroyed a paper pamphlet citing the signs of diabetes and the importance of knowing preventative measures.  She’d found it on the side table beside her and, needing something to do with her hands, had folded and refolded the thick cardstock.  It was the only thing keeping her sane.

“You’ve got to eat some real food,” Elide said softly from next to her. 

The pamphlet was plucked from her fingers replaced with a sandwich.

Aelin looked at the sandwich.  It was a simple peanut butter and jelly, but it wasn’t hospital food.  Her stomach roiled.

“I’m fine,” she said.

Elide didn’t look impressed by that statement, but she said nothing else and settled in her seat.

Setting the sandwich aside, Aelin grabbed her phone instead.  She looked at the text thread she’d started with Iona after the news thread of the avalanche.  With the weather and the Whitethorns living one town over, Aelin insisted that she go to the hospital at least until the roads cleared up more.

<<Aelin: No update yet, but the rest of the crew is here now.

She couldn’t help but send the message.  Maybe it would have been better if she had actual news.  It was the nerves, the need to do something.  And she supposed if she were a mother separated from her child she would want to know anything and everything going on.

She leaned back in her seat and took inventory of the waiting room.  It had calmed down quite a bit over the last few hours.  There were other family’s waiting for news, the bad weather brought in many other injuries and messes.  The rest of Rowan’s search and rescue team had also come now that the missing hiker was found.

Fenrys had also been injured, but not as extensive as what happened with Rowan.  He hadn’t been caught in the torrent of snow and ice, only enough to cut off his retreat back down the mountain.  After everything settled, Fenrys had gone in search of Rowan and the lost hiker.  He’d found them and even managed to get a signal for a rescue.  He was being treated for dehydration and a dislocated shoulder.

“Aelin,” Elide insisted, grabbing the phone from her fingers, “I am your emotional support human right now and I need you to eat.”

“You sure you’re not just here for a certain ranger?” Aelin quipped.

Elide glared. “Moral support.”

“Right.”

“I will force that sandwich down your throat,” Elide said.  For such a tiny unassuming woman, she was a bit feral.

Aelin took a savage bite.  It was a tasty sandwich; raspberry jam, creamy peanut butter, and fresh white bread.  Perfection.  She wouldn’t let Elide know though.

After forcing half the sandwich down, Aelin couldn’t stomach any more.  Elide seemed satisfied with her efforts and didn’t say anything when Aelin tucked the remains back in its baggie.

It was another few minutes until a doctor stepped through a pair of double doors that led to the operating rooms.  Aelin leapt from her seat, just as she’d done for every doctor or nurse that stepped through the doors.

“Whitethorn and Moonbeam?” The doctor asked, already walking towards the assembled rangers.

The captain, Gavriel, stepped forward. “How are my men?”

“Fenrys is on an IV and doing fine, he just needs rest,” the doctor said, she smiled reassuringly, “already asking to be released.”

Only a little bit of tension eased out of the rangers.

“And Rowan?” Gavriel pressed.

The doctor, Yrene Towers by her nametag, offered a strained smile that made Aelin’s stomach clench.

“He’s out of surgery,” Dr. Towers said slowly. “His left leg was broken in two different places and needed some titanium screws.  He’s got three broken ribs, a concussion, and severely sprained wrist.  Honestly…he was extremely lucky.”

“But he’s okay?” Aelin asked, “He’ll wake up?”

Dr. Towers’s smile softened, which under normal circumstances would have made Aelin’s hackles rise. “Yes.  Probably within the next hour or so.  You can see him now if you’d like.  He’s in his recovery room now.”

Aelin’s entire body vibrated and it took all her effort not to bolt down the hall.  She was overstepping, she knew she was overstepping.  Right?  Why was she so concerned, so insistent about seeing Rowan?  Especially when his friends and colleagues were right here.  It was ridiculous.

And then, much to her surprise, Lorcan was the one to speak up. “Go make sure Whitethorn doesn’t break out of here prematurely.  We’ll give Moonbeam hell.”

The rangers already started filing towards the ER where Fenrys was holed up.  Lorcan narrowed his eyes slightly while glaring down at Aelin.  She raised an eyebrow in challenge to which the larger man merely shrugged before following his squad mates.

Dr. Towers rested a hand on Aelin’s shoulder. “I’ll take you to Rowan’s room.”

Nodding, Aelin glanced over her shoulder to where Elide still sitting in her chair.  Her friend only waved her on with an encouraging hand.

“Thanks,” Aelin said, turning back to Dr. Towers. “That would be great.”

It was a quick walk to the elevator and trip up to the third floor.  The entire time Dr. Towers continued to talk to Aelin about Rowan.

“I’ve done a lot of trauma work and have seen a lot of tragedies,” Dr. Towers said, “and even though his injuries sound bad, he’s going to be alright.  Just a bit of recovery and physical therapy with his leg.  It’ll be a long road but he can make it.”

They came to a stop outside a room with the blinds drawn up to look in on the sleeping body.  Aelin’s heart skipped a beat as she took in Rowan’s prone form.  Thankfully, he didn’t have a respirator or any tube actually inside his mouth.  His warm skin had taken on an ashen pallor and his usually styled hair lay flat over his brow.  One of his legs was suspended in a sling and wrapped in white bandages.  His injured wrist was also wrapped in similar bandages and resting on his chest.

“Thank-you, doctor,” Aelin said.  She smiled at the woman. “Really.”

“Of course, just let a nurse know if you need anything find a nurse, find me, and we can help.”

With another hand on her shoulder, Dr. Towers headed down the hall to the nurse’s station.

Aelin looked back into Rowan’s room.  Just the sight of him lying there had panic racing through her body.  She didn’t know what to make of all the emotions she was feeling. She didn’t know where they’d come from or what to do with them.  She knew…well she knew she’d been attracted to Rowan for a while now.  Known she’d been willing to flirt with him and see if something more that could happen between them. 

With a steadying breath, Aelin pushed open the door.

The was strangely quiet.  Even with the soft hum of the equipment and steady beat of the heart monitor, there was a stillness occupying the space.  She hated it.

Aelin crossed the room to take a seat in the chair beside the bed.  She debated taking a picture of Rowa to send to Iona.  In the end she decided there was something distinctly creepy about that so she settled on an over simplified text. 

<<Aelin: Sitting with Rowan.  Doctor said he’s doing well.  He’ll need physical therapy for his broken leg and he has a concussion, but she said it’s all going to be fine.

>>Iona: Thank-you dear.  The storms blown over so the roads should be cleared by tomorrow.

That was good. 

Aelin sighed, tucking her phone back into her purse.  She leaned forward, hand hovering over his own.  The action felt strangely intimate.  She withdrew her hand and looked at Rowan’s face.

He appeared peaceful.  Even with the gash on his forehead and the bandage trying to cover the worst of it.  He was paler than Aelin was used to him looking too.  Really, this entire situation was a nightmare.  She wanted to wake up.  Desperately.  She wanted him to wake up and scowl at her.  Wake up and roll his eyes.  Wake up and just be him.

“I am so mad at you right now,” she muttered.  She sat back in her seat scowling at his unconscious form. “You were supposed to be careful and not get hurt, Rowan.  Nox Owen said he’d be dead if it wasn’t for you.  You risked your life up on that mountain and scared the shit out of me.  You’ll be lucky if I forgive you.”

His heart monitor beeped in response.

“And you know, that’s not even the worst of it,” she continued.  Now she was picking at her nails, too upset to actually look at him.  “What’s worse is that I thought there was something more between us.  I thought…Did you even eat those cookies I baked you?”

She glared at him now, still disgruntled over how flat his hair was lying.  It made him look so much younger, soft.  She had to swallow down the lump forming in her throat.

Emotions were the worst.

The literal worst.

Taking a long breath, Aelin straightened.  She leaned forward again and did her best to channel the old Aelin.  The irritated Aelin.  The Aelin who used to have dance parties at two in the morning to rile Rowan up.  The Aelin who tried to trick Rowan into drinking a RedBull.

“You are going to wake-up and you are going to take me on a date,” she said. “Do you hear me buzzard?”

To emphasize her words, she took Rowan’s hand and entwined their fingers.  There was nothing to indicate that he could hear her.  Nothing to indicate he was waking up soon.  Which was fine.  She knew Dr. Towers had said he was fine, that he’d only just gotten out of surgery and wasn’t going to wake up for a while yet.  But she was Aelin Galathynius and she was not patient.

She squeezed his fingers.

“You’re an idiot if you think you can get rid of me that easily,” she added.  Sniffing, she rose from her chair.  She may as well let the other rangers filter through to see their friend.

She tried to pull her fingers from his grasp only to find that his grasp had tightened.  Aelin froze.

“Rowan?” She nearly fell over herself to lean back over Rowan. “Rowan Whitethorn.”

His eyelids fluttered and he took a deep, rattling breath.  His mouth twitched, trying to form a word. 

“Buzzard?”

And then his eyes opened.  Glazed and unfocused but open.  It took a few blinks and then those gloriously green eyes landed on her.

“Fireheart.”

Tears that Aelin hadn’t even known were brewing started pouring down her cheeks.  She raised her other hand to cup his cheek, feeling the stubble there.

“Hi,” she whispered, staring into his eyes, eyes she hadn’t realized she’d missed so much.

“What—” Rowan began, but he tried to move too much of his body at once and broke off with a wince and a curse. “Damned hell, what happened?”

“Lay back and stop moving,” she ordered him.  “You were in an accident; do you remember that?”

Groaning, Rowan actually listened and leaned back into his pillow. “Yeah, yeah I remember.  Nox?  Fen?  They okay?”

“They’re fine,” Aelin assured him.  She ran her thumb over his jaw, refusing to stop touching him for at least a little longer. “Nox had some frostbite and scrapes.  I think I heard he broke his ankle.  Fenrys just got some bruises, he somehow missed the worst of it.”

Rowan’s eyes shuddered closed.  He took a few breaths before looking at Aelin again.

“And are you okay?”

Aelin just stared at him. “I’m not the one who fell down a mountain.  Y’know, I think you’ve got me beat now for doing stupid things with this.”

“I was saving a life, doesn’t count.” His mouth quirked up into a half smile.

Aelin didn’t have a good response to that.  Because really, all she wanted to do was kiss him and call him a fool.

He must have seen something in her eyes because he tried to move.  She had no idea what his intentions were—he was still stiff and loopy from his medication.  Whatever he was trying to do sent a spasm of pain crawling over his features.

“Stop moving,” Aelin insisted. “You’ve got some broken ribs and a broken leg and your wrist is sprained.”

“I—then why does my head hurt?” He asked.

Poor, silly man.

“That would be the concussion.”

Rowan huffed, squeezing his eyes shut.  “Right.”

“You’re in pain,” Aelin said, trying to pull away again. “Let me go get the nurse, they should know you’re awake.”

Shaking his head, Rowan snagged her hand again and tightened his grip. “No.  It’s fine, just stay.”

Aelin didn’t like that.  Not at all.

“You are literally gritting your teeth in pain,” she said.

“Aelin.” Rowan tugged on her hand, his index finger hooking with hers. “I’m fine.”

She ducked her head, suddenly unable to meet his gaze.  She had too many thoughts and emotions rolling inside her, too many things she couldn’t define well enough.  Especially not now. 

“I was really scared, Rowan,” she whispered.  “I saw the newscast of the avalanche and thought—I thought…”

Aelin cut off as another wave of tears clogged her throat.

“Aelin,” Rowan said.  He pushed through the pain that he was so obviously in and pulled on her hand so she had to lean in closer. “I’m sorry.”

That should have dried up any and all tears that Aelin was fight back. “You’re what?  What do you have to be sorry for?  You fell off a cliff.  You broke your leg.  Don’t you dare try and sit up, I will go get a nurse, don’t try me.”

“For the bar, for the cold shoulder,” he said, only partially speaking over her. “For not talking to you.”

Aelin sank down on the side of the hospital bed, careful of any wires or tubes she might disrupt.

“Yeah,” she murmured. “I am still mad at you about that too.”

Rowan, to his credit, looked chagrined. “Sorry.”

Aelin squeezed his hand. “You don’t have to tell me everything, not now anyways, but I—I want to know.”

“My last girlfriend couldn’t handle the job,” Rowan told her, hardly waiting for her to stop speaking. “Not all the calls in, the long trips I’d be gone for, not the potential danger of it all with storms like this one.  She kept showing me other jobs to apply for, telling me to get a real degree at a real college…eventually she told me to make a choice.  So I came to Terrasen.”

That had been almost three years ago at this point, if Aelin did her math correctly.

“It didn’t seem fair to put anyone else through that,” he concluded.

“That doesn’t seem fair,” Aelin said, “not fair of her, not fair to you, to anyone.  Not if you love the job.  Not if your partner loves you.  And it’s not fair of you to make that choice for me, either.”

She brushed away the remnants of her last round of tears.  Heart hammering in her chest, Aelin fixed Rowan with a stare she only reserved for Fleetfoot.  A mix of amused disappointment.  It seemed apt for the Buzzard.

“I like you, Buzzard.  But you can’t keep acting like a fool.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he conceded.

Aelin nodded resolutely and then, before she could lose her nerve, leaned forward and planted a kiss on his forehead.  She thought it perfectly reasonable to leave it at that but then Rowan shifted beneath her and before she could pull back, his mouth collided with hers.

Even drugged up and concussed, Rowan knew how to kiss a woman.  Aelin certainly wasn’t one to pass up on this opportunity.  She kissed him deeply, feeling the spark of something flare in her chest and spread like wildfire through her blood.

Aelin pulled back far sooner than she wanted to, but she knew he was still recovering.

“Took you long enough,” she told him.

“Sorry, had a mountain fall on me.”

“Ass.”  Aelin forced herself to pull away from him for good this time.  She went back to get her phone from her purse. “I need to let your mom know you’re awake.”

Rowan made a strangled noise. “You’re talking to my mother?”

“Mostly just texting right now.  But she did invite me to family dinner next Sunday, so you’ve gotta be out of the hospital for that.”

“We don’t do family dinner.”

“Now we do,” she planted another kiss on his forehead and dialed into FaceTime. “Hi, Iona!  Guess who’s awake!”

.*.*.*.*.

epilogue next

[hisnhers]

my shiny honey butter slice of bread

[woso-dreamzzz]

birdie quickly turns into a typical french child and requests bread with butter and chocolate from mary on her walk home from school

Mary standing there like 'how about just a packet of crisps?' and Birdie's like 'do I have to, Mummy?'

[colin-crossing]

got a candle that smells like banana bread cuz obviously but after 2 days this shit is too damn much, like i understand why ppl buy normal smells now. my room always smelling like warm banna bread and cooking butter is just too damn much all the time

[cometchasinglove]

mousey...how'd u feel abt tfone....

I am already making a SONA, dude.

I LOVED it. It waters my crops, and it butters my bread. I am enthralled, obsessed even, absolutely adoring.

I cannot wait to watch it again!

[sadiegirl2021]

The One with the Illyrian Sponge Cake

Elain’s attempt to embrace her new life in the Night Court takes a turn when she hosts a thank-you dinner for Rhysand and her new Fae family. Guided by an old Illyrian recipe that defies all logic (and taste), her culinary adventure spirals into a dinner party filled with chaos and laughter.

💛 A one-shot to celebrate our girl, Elain Archeron 💛

@elainweekofficial

READ ON AO3 or Under the Cut

3.7k words

Elain pressed her lips together, staring down at the recipe in her hand, trying to be sure she’d deciphered it as best as possible. Something about this list of ingredients just felt... off. But who was she to question a centuries-old Illyrian traditional dish? Food in the Fae courts was quite unusual compared to the human food she was used to, so she just had to trust the process.

Her heart clenched at the thought of her old life, and the start of her new one.

She had come a long way since those first days in Velaris, when everything felt foreign and terrifying. After the war, she'd thrown herself into learning new skills—gardening, baking, and now cooking. And tonight, she wanted to make something special for Rhysand, to thank him for helping her and Nesta settle into their new Fae lives.

She glanced at the recipe again, pen in hand, taking down the ingredients. Some of the lettering had faded and smudged in the original cookbook, so she was replicating it. She recited them as she wrote them down.

"Flour, butter, sugar, eggs, strawberry jam, chantilly cream, and mildly spiced lamb...?" she muttered to herself, frowning. A small voice at the back of her mind warned her that something wasn’t quite right, but who was she to question it? Tradition had to count for something, even if it sounded like a culinary disaster waiting to happen.

Illyrians have a very strange palete, she thought to herself with a shrug.

Nuala and Cerridwen were absent, so she couldn’t double-check with them. She had told them to take a day off and let her focus on the cooking. They had prepped all the vegetables and made her some bread before agreeing. So, she certainly wasn’t going to get Rhys or Feyre to contact them for one silly question. It would be fine.

She grabbed her list and shopping basket before heading to the foyer of the River House to fetch her cloak. She loved this house, even if it was a little darker than she’d like. The floor-to-ceiling windows weren’t enough to flood the house with light in the Night Court, but that was okay. She was making peace with the life she had, and this thank-you feast for her newfound family was just another step in accepting it all.

With a reassuring nod of her head, she grabbed all her belongings and made her way to the market.

●◦❀◦●◦❀◦●◦❀◦●◦❀◦●

She had been caught up at the market, having casual chats with some of the older Fae she gardened for, and local vendors who knew her well from her trips with the twins, so she was a flustered mess as she placed her basket onto the kitchen counter.

Dinner was only five hours away, and she’d need to stew the lamb for most of them. She grabbed the diced lamb, spices including mint, cumin, and ground coriander, along with a drop of oil, and massaged the meat thoroughly. Once that was ready, she seared it off before adding vegetable stock and tomato paste, then placed it in a medium-heated oven for four hours. She had a few other simpler meat dishes to prepare as well, to go with the roasted vegetables she had planned. She worked away, preparing those dishes before moving on to the traditional Illyrian sponge cake that the lamb would be layered into. She would need to get the sponges cooked and cooled before assembling.

She grabbed the scales and a mixing bowl and whipped up the cakes in no time. This was one thing she felt confident with. Baking was her favourite part of cooking, probably because desserts were her favourite part of eating. She couldn’t help but lick some of the batter off the spoon as she waited for the cakes to cook.

“That doesn’t seem very sanitary,” Nesta teased from the doorway, startling her.

Elain threw a tea towel at her, and Nesta caught it with ease, laughing. “You scared me!”

"Something smells amazing. Did you really cook all this yourself?" her sister asked next, half impressed, half suspicious.

Elain smiled proudly as she nodded. "Well, most of it. The twins helped with some prep. But the main course—it’s a traditional Illyrian dish. I’m making it from scratch."

“Very impressive,” Nesta said with a delighted smirk. “Still haven’t discovered my hidden talents... unless reading counts?”

“I see great things in your future, it will happen,” Elain replied cryptically. Nesta shrugged her off. Her sister didn’t like talking about the powers they’d gained from the transformation, and Elain didn’t want to push. One day, they would open up about their traumas, but it wouldn’t be today.

No.

Today was for celebration, and good food.

“I’ll be done here soon! Go join the others. I can’t wait to see everyone’s reactions," Elain beamed, as she shooed her sister out the door.

Nesta gave her a grateful smile before disappearing up the stairs with a dancer’s grace, and Elain took a deep breath before finishing up a few more bits.

●◦❀◦●◦❀◦●◦❀◦●◦❀◦●

When the meal was ready to serve, Elain rang the dinner bell from the kitchen to alert her family. Azriel and Cassian appeared in a flash—or rather, a swirl of shadows.

“You rang,” Cassian teased, posing like a waiter ready for orders, with one arm behind his back and the other bent stiffly in front.

Elain just rolled her eyes before showing them the dishes she needed brought upstairs.

“It looks delicious, Elain. Well done,” Azriel said in his usual stoic tone, but Elain couldn’t stop the blush creeping up her cheeks from the compliment. She smiled politely as she handed him some dishes.

Before she could thank him, Cassian asked, “Ugh… what’s this one?” He held up the Illyrian sponge cake, spinning it as he inspected it with a concerned gaze. Elain’s heart caught in her throat.

“It was in Rhysand’s mother’s cookbook… I wanted it to be a surprise,” she explained, moving to take it from Cassian’s rough hands. She was terrified he’d drop it before her brother-in-law could even see it.

Cassian gave her a nod, with the ghost of a smile. “It’ll be a surprise, alright,” he almost laughed, before earning an elbow from Azriel.

“As I said, it all looks great. We’ll get these upstairs for you,” the Shadowsinger chimed in, giving his brother a stern look. Elain wasn’t sure what was happening, but they couldn’t delay any longer. The food would get cold. She grabbed the last two dishes and hurried up the stairs behind them to the dining room.

●◦❀◦●◦❀◦●◦❀◦●◦❀◦●

It was a full house for dinner, except for Amren, who was visiting the Summer Court with Varian. To her slight annoyance, Lucien had accepted Feyre’s invitation and was now seated at the opposite end of the table—thankfully. She caught him glancing at her every now and then, and she tried not to blush under his gaze. She chided the mating bond in her chest for glowing brightly from each look.

That was a part of her Fae life she was not ready to accept, no matter what her visions suggested. She had to have some control over her destiny, even if all signs pointed to that being woefully untrue. For now, she would just do her best to ignore him and his ever-assessing gaze. She turned her attention back to the meal in front of them.

Rhysand, ever the unconventional High Lord, took it upon himself to serve everyone. He started with some of the meats, then the vegetables, before spotting the surprise cake she had made.

“Oh, what’s this?” he asked, a touch of curiosity in his voice.

Elain panicked. Didn’t he know?

“It’s one of your mother’s recipes. I wanted to make it as a thank you for everything you’ve done for me and Nesta,” Elain explained, moving to take the knife from Rhys so she could serve them all a piece instead.

Rhysand’s eyes flickered with confusion, but it was quickly replaced with warmth. “That was very thoughtful, Elain. You shouldn’t have,” he said, placing a hand over his heart as if he was truly touched by the gesture.

Cassian, in an almost inaudible whisper to Mor, said, “She really shouldn’t have,” earning yet another dig in the ribs from Azriel. Luckily, Elain hadn’t heard it.

“Please, sit. Let me fix your plate,” she insisted, cutting into the sponge cake and dishing up a hearty slice for the High Lord.

Rhysand accepted it graciously.

Elain watched with hopeful eyes as he took the first bite.

"Wow! Very interesting… flavours," Rhys said carefully. Elain let out a breath and smiled. She quickly moved to offer a piece to everyone else.

“Oh, I’d better not,” Lucien said when she reached him, raising a hand to stop Elain from offering him a slice.

“Why?” she asked in confusion, annoyed that she felt a sting of rejection.

Lucien gave her a charming smile though, and she wished she didn’t find him so irrevocably attractive. Distracted, she almost missed his reply.

“Because that’s how mating bonds are accepted,” he explained with a wink.

Elain snatched the plate back so fast the cake almost toppled over. Lucien only laughed as she moved on quickly, placing that piece in front of Mor, who gave her a concerned look. Maybe she didn’t like Illyrian food.

Feyre poked at her piece. "It looks very... traditional," she offered, shooting Nesta a warning look when she opened her mouth to retort.

Elain looked around at the table one last time, making sure they had everything.

"Oh, I forgot to bring up the bread the twins made for us. I’ll go grab it quickly. Please don’t wait for me, I will only be a moment," she said, gesturing for everyone to start eating as she dashed to the kitchen.

As soon as Elain disappeared out of the room, chaos erupted.

●◦❀◦●◦❀◦●◦❀◦●◦❀◦●

"Are you insane?" Nesta hissed at Cassian, watching him shove a second bite into his mouth.

"It’s not that bad!" Cassian protested, though his grin looked a little forced. "You should try it, sweetheart."

Nesta’s sharp gaze landed on him, and she leaned back in her chair with a lazy smirk. "I have standards when it comes to what I put in my mouth."

Cassian eyes widened and opened his mouth to make what she assumed was a smart-ass response, so she gave him a glare that promised death if he did.

He laughed and went back to finishing his piece of cake.

Beside them, Azriel poked his portion with a fork, frowning at the bizarre combination of lamb and jam. This can't be right, he thought. With a final glance around the table, he knew there was only one solution. Summoning his shadows like a covert operation, he whispered to them, "Get this out of here." The shadows swirled around his plate until his piece vanished into thin air, hopefully to a dimension where taste didn’t exist.

He thanked them for their help, but before he could relax, Mor gave him a wide-eyed, desperate look.

"Please," she mouthed, gesturing at her untouched slice. Her deep brown eyes were wide with desperation, and he was powerless against them. Azriel sighed and nodded, sending the shadows to collect hers as well.

Mor practically sagged with relief when her piece disappeared, giving him a grateful smile as if he’d just saved her from certain death. He gave her a tight-lipped smile in return, his heart beating just a little faster knowing he’d pleased her.

Feyre hadn’t failed to notice the exchange happening at the other end of the table. She nudged Rhysand and whispered, "Can’t you send this disaster into one of your pocket realms?"

Rhysand raised an eyebrow, leaning back in his chair with a mock-affronted expression. “I’m not contaminating that realm with this… abomination,” he said, gesturing towards their plates.

Feyre’s eyes went wide, her lips pouting just so. She batted her eyelashes, a move that had brought him to his knees on more than one occasion.

Rhys sighed, rolling his eyes dramatically. "Fine. But you owe me, darling." With a wave of his hand, their slices vanished in a swirl of star-kissed darkness.

"You’re the best," Feyre whispered sweetly, leaning closer to him.

"I know," he purred back, taking her hand and pressing a kiss to it.

Nesta stared at her plate. Everyone else had somehow managed to either finish or "disappear" their portions. She couldn’t let Elain think she didn’t like it—it would hurt her feelings, and upsetting Elain was like stabbing herself in the heart with a rusty dagger. No, she had to do this. It’s just food. One bite at a time, she chanted, psyching herself up.

She grabbed her fork with grim determination, cutting a small bite of the cake. The lamb jiggled beneath the thick whipped cream, so at odds with each other. Steeling herself, she brought the fork to her mouth and took a bite.

Instantly, her body revolted. The combination of spiced lamb, sweet jam, and now curdled cream made her gag, and she fought to keep her composure. Don’t spit it out, don’t spit it out. It was unladylike to spit at the table, no matter how much this cake tasted like betrayal to her taste buds.

Somehow, she managed to swallow. But there was no way in hell she could take another bite.

She glanced around the table at all the proud, unhelpful faces waiting to see what she would do next. Safe to say, no one was coming to her rescue. Until her gaze landed on Cassian, smirking devilishly at her.

"Cassian—" she started sweetly, so at odds with her usual clipped tone.

"No chance, Nes," he said before she could even ask.

"Oh, is that so?" she retorted, swearing flames ghosted over her silver eyes. She leaned impossibly close to him, making sure her ample breasts pressed against the corded muscles of his arm. She heard him audibly gasp at the contact.

"If you ever want to get in my mouth, you’ll make this disappear," she whispered seductively into his ear, her breath hot against his skin, as she slid her plate towards him.

Cassian visibly shivered. His grin faltered, and without another word, he scraped her portion onto his own plate and handed her the empty dish.

For the first time in months, Nesta smiled at him—really smiled. She squeezed his hand, and for a moment, Cassian looked completely dumbfounded, like he didn’t know whether to pull his hand away or drag her to the closest bedroom.

She didn’t think too much about it, she was just thankful she didn’t have to eat the horrid cake.

Soon, they heard Elain coming back towards the room, and they all pretended to be finishing up their servings as she took a seat, placing the basket of sliced bread on the table and throwing everyone a delighted smile.

“Wow, it must be really good!” Elain exclaimed, taking in all the empty plates around her, pride swelling in her chest. She couldn’t wait to taste it, to see all her hard work come to life in a burst of flavour. She gathered a hearty amount onto her fork and took a bite with unguarded excitement.

That excitement faded rapidly as the jam and spices fought for dominance in her mouth.

Her face twisted in disgust, and she barely managed to force the bite down. She had never tasted anything so foul in her life.

“Oh gods!” she gasped, finally ridding her mouth of the offending flavours. She glanced at Rhys, who was staring at her, wide-eyed.

“I mean… it’s an acquired taste,” she added quickly, trying to salvage the situation—and hoping not to offend her High Lord’s culture.

Laughter erupted around the table, Rhys almost doubling over, smacking the table as tears of amusement welled in his eyes.

Elain looked at them, utterly confused.

Rhysand, still chuckling, finally took pity on her.

"Elain, I’m sorry to tell you… this is not a traditional dish. I mean—well, it is… technically. It’s two traditional dishes combined, but they should absolutely not be eaten together!" His laughter continued as he wiped at his eyes.

Elain's face turned bright red with embarrassment, her hands flying up to cover her mouth. "I knew lamb didn’t go with strawberry jam."

The table erupted into laughter again, and this time, Elain let herself join in.

Cassian, seemingly oblivious to the revelation, continued eating the Illyrian Sponge Cake. Elain’s giggles caught his attention.

“What?” he asked, taking another bite. “I kind of like it! It’s got all the important food groups: protein, fats, carbs… It’s pretty balanced!”

Elain laughed, shaking her head. "Well, maybe I’ll make it again for Solstice—"

"NO!" came the resounding cry from everyone at the table, except Cassian, whose mouth was still full.

Elain nodded in agreement, chuckling at the thought. There was no way she would ever be making this again.

“Let’s just finish the rest of the food. I swear, it’s completely safe,” she suggested, and her family continued to laugh as they dug into the rest of the feast before them.

●◦❀◦●◦❀◦●◦❀◦●◦❀◦●

Later that evening, after everyone had eaten their fill and headed off to the livingroom for a drink, Elain found herself alone in the kitchen, cleaning up the remnants of her culinary catastrophe. She wiped down the counter and began moving the remaining dishes towards the sink when a deep voice interrupted her thoughts.

“Well,” Lucien said, leaning against the doorframe, “despite the, um… unique dish, tonight has been delightful.”

Elain rolled her eyes at him, but smiled. It was rare that he sought her out, but his company wasn’t entirely unwelcome in the quiet of the Night Court kitchens.

“Well, aren’t you lucky you couldn’t try it?” Saved by the bond, she thought.

Lucien narrowed his eyes, his expression playful. “I might have lied, just a little.”

Elain’s mouth dropped open in surprise. “What?”

“There’s a bit more to it than a food offering. You’d actually have to want to accept the bond.” He gave her a smile that almost looked sad, but it quickly morphed into a laugh, like he was brushing off something heavier. “But can you blame me? Sponge cake with lamb, Elain? Really? What were you thinking?”

Elain laughed, shaking her head. “Yeah, I’m not going to live that one down for a while, am I?”

“Not a chance,” he said, stepping closer, his smile warm and teasing.

As he pushed off the door and moved closer to her, his gaze softened. “But… for what it’s worth, Elain—I think you’re doing just fine. Better than fine, actually. And I know Rhysand and Feyre really appreciated all the effort.”

Her heart fluttered at the unexpected sincerity, her smile faltering for a moment. She hadn’t expected that from him. Before she could find the right words to respond, he added, “Let me clean up. The cook shouldn’t have to do the dishes.”

She glanced at the mess all around them, a pang of guilt tugging at her. “Are you sure?”

But he smiled, reassuring and gentle. “Of course. Your sisters are upstairs waiting for you. Go relax and have some fun. You deserve it.”

Elain hesitated, surprised by the softness in his voice. Slowly, she removed her apron, glancing around once more before convincing herself to accept his offer.

“Okay,” she finally said. But as she reached the door, she paused, noticing how Lucien had begun rolling up the sleeves of his white shirt. His golden skin seemed to glow, even in the candlelight, and for a moment, she thought it was one of the most beautiful sights she’d ever seen.

Thankfully, he didn’t notice her staring. She lingered for a moment, then whispered, “Lucien?”

He looked up, an intensity in his gaze that made her breath catch.

“Thank you.” For everything. For being patient. For being kind. The words hovered on her lips, but she wasn’t ready to say them aloud.

Lucien dipped his head in a courtly nod, his expression as warm as ever. With one last look, Elain turned and made her way to her family.

●◦❀◦●◦❀◦●◦❀◦●◦❀◦●

“Here she is, the female of the hour!” Rhysand cheered as Elain entered the room. Everyone raised their glasses in unison, their faces flushed with laughter and mirth. Even Nesta’s usual sharpness had softened into something resembling joy.

Azriel, ever the silent shadow, stepped forward and handed her a glass of champagne, his expression unreadable but his eyes holding a quiet glimmer of amusement. Elain took it with a grateful smile, lifting her glass alongside the others.

“To Elain,” Rhysand announced, his tone teasing but full of affection. “For her bravery in the kitchen and—for our sakes—her commitment to never making that dish again.”

Laughter echoed through the room, light and genuine. Elain couldn’t help but join in, the embarrassment of the evening beginning to feel less like a burden and more like a shared memory she could cherish.

“I make no promises,” she teased with a playful tilt of her head, earning groans from Mor and a chuckle from Feyre.

Nesta smirked from her seat and patted the empty cushion beside her, inviting Elain to sit. She sank into the soft, velvet couch with a sigh of relief, the exhaustion of the long, eventful day finally catching up to her.

“I’m so proud of you,” Nesta whispered as she sipped her champagne. Elain turned to her sister, giving her a grateful smile. Words were hard to find as a yawn fought to escape, so instead, she squeezed Nesta’s hand in thanks. Her sister seemed to understand, pulling her closer until Elain rested her head against Nesta’s shoulder.

Elain watched in amusement as Cassian burped, patting his slightly swollen stomach while Azriel looked on in horror. Mor and Feyre were dancing in circles, while Rhys played a jaunty tune on the piano. This—this—was all she wanted. Her family, close and happy, enjoying themselves.

Maybe next time, she would leave the Illyrian dishes to the experts. But one thing was certain: there would be a next time. This was just the start of her culinary journey.

●◦❀◦●◦❀◦●◦❀◦●◦❀◦●

[oh-no-another-idea]

WIP Extract tag

The wonderful @eccaiia tagged me way back when, and fresh off the presses, here is a little breakfast party from Invisible Girl, written today! I have a quiet day, and it is so cozy -- I'm lying on the carpet writing, ah...

For any inquiring minds, this scene actually happens before any mentions of sandwiches. Antonio's warmup act, we'll call it ;)

She was saved by the arrival of their breakfast which indeed looked appetizing, vibrant fresh fruit sliced into chunks, fried eggs with their yolk a golden disc and peppered lightly with green herbs, bread toasted warmly and served with several dips and spreads. The soup was in two tureens, and Velia lifted the lid of one to find cloudy broth with cubed vegetables and some sort of sausage. “Heavens,” Antonio said, speaking her thoughts for her. “What a spread. Thank you, my good man.” The waiter bowed his head. “I’ll leave you to it. We’ll be stopping in Boulder in three quarters of an hour, sir.” “Thank you,” Paris echoed. Antonio passed them each a small bowl and plate. “Dig in. Except for that piece of bacon there, that one I will duel you for.” “Since you’re the one packing a pistol,” Paris said, with a small smile, “I won’t challenge you this time.” “You’re too kind,” Antonio said, picking up his claimed piece of bacon. He tapped Paris’s coffee cup with it. “Cheers.” Paris rolled his eyes. Antonio held out his bacon in Velia’s direction. Thrown off guard, Velia picked up a piece of toast and tapped with him. Then she had to peruse the different spreads. There appeared to be marmalade, two other berry jams, butter molded in the shape of a carrot, and the soup for dipping. She would simply have to dip in a bit of everything to try it out.

Gentle tags for @vsnotresponding @space-writes @sleepyowlwrites @writernopal @talesofsorrowandofruin and anyone else who'd like to share!

Putting my taglist below the cut :)

@a-sunflower-at-night @blind-the-winds @drippingmoon @elgringo300 @thats-my-type-writer

@sleepy-night-child @writing-is-a-martial-art @viskafrer @croctears @talesfromaurea

@necros-writings @ashen-crest @conundruminprogress @teaflint @princeofthecactus

@imaginationxlost @fiercely-raging-writer @memento-morri-writes @josephinegerardywriter @jellybeanswriting

@stuffaboutwriting @outpost51 @reneesbooks @charlesjosephwrites @yejidoesthings

@sparrow-orion-writes @somealienquill @ember-writer @theunboundwriter @lady-grace-pens

@thescatteredscribbles (ask to be added or removed!)

[problematic-polls]

Which price of a sandwich would you eat by itself

Bread-top

Bread-bottom

Lettuces

Tomato

Mold

Cheese(American)

Cheese(Swiss)

Crust

Bacon

Grease

Butter

Nuance

[clefadrylcorner]

Obsessed with lovers and piners calling the object of their affections their best friend. Like yessss blur the lines between platonic and romantic love. show how important they are to you in a multifaceted way. Cover up your feelings with another kind of love that is just as true. One type of love does not negate the other and but tragedy can rip both out from under you single handedly, and it will hurt so much more that way. Losing a friend and a lover. Gaining both and not needing any labels for what they are. Using labels but having it be so much more than a title. Were they friends before they were lovers? Or were they lovers whose friendship grew inside of their love? Unclear! Who cares!

[scoutingthetrooper]

yeah

[potato-lord-but-not]

and our next course: Michael Shelley

[lustingfood]

Roasted garlic cheesy bread (x)