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[strawberrycrepes]

[nohoney]

“What’s my favorite bread?” You ask your boyfriend during early morning cuddles. It’s warm inside the blanket and Bakugou’s hand is idly petting your hair.

“Croissants. Specifically almond and only from that bakery that’s 20 minutes from the house.” Bakugou answers without a beat of hesitation. “That and brioche. French bread only when you wanna have that gross balsamic dip.”

“How do I like my tea?” You fire off another question, waiting for him to see if he’ll get it right.

“Depends on the tea. Green tea, you’ll only do lemon and honey. Early grey and black tea, a little bit of vanilla creamer and some sugar. Oolong tea, you’ll have it plain.” Once again Bakugou answers your question without fumbling over any of his words.

It makes your heart fond over him but you still want to ask more questions. “What’s my favorite kind of chair?”

“Rocking. Baby, what’s with all the questions?” Bakugou asks gruffly but with no particular annoyance in his voice either. His hand still pets over your head and his eyes look up to the ceiling. Sunshine pours through the window and he sees particles of dust float in the air. “Feels like you’re testing me or somethin’ about if I know you.”

You shrug your shoulders and answer him, “Just wanna see if you pay attention to the things I like. Y’know the last guy I was with, I was with him for more than six months and he didn’t remember when my birthday was even though his and mine were literally a week apart. And then one time he got me flowers and he got me the ones that literally break me out in a rash even though I said a million times what to never get me.”

Bakugou’s hand stops petting your head and he starts to sit up in bed. You follow his movement, sitting back a little and finding the expression on your boyfriend’s face amusing. “What exactly did this loser know about you then? Since he was forgetting all the important things.”

“He knew my go to order for McDonald’s.” You answer as you pull your knees up to your chest and pull the blanket more towards you to cover yourself. “Medium fries and ten pieces nuggets.”

“That’s wrong because it’s actually large fries and twenty piece nuggets.” Bakugou corrects you and you laugh a little knowing that he got you. “And everyone likes nuggets and fries from McDonald’s, that’s hardly anything intimate.”

It makes you laugh that he calls you out but for Bakugou, he frowns a little that you had wasted your time with a guy that didn’t bother to know you at all. He leans back against the headboard and asks you, “What about me? How do I take my coffee?”

“At the agency, you’ll just have plain black coffee. When you go to coffee shops though, you’ll have a dirty chai with soy milk.” You answer him, remembering the first time you and him had coffee together.

He nods his head and asks, “What’s my least favorite vegetable?”

“Brussels sprouts. They’re basically mini cabbages and you hate cabbage too.” The answer comes out easily and as fast as he answered you too.

“Books? What do I like?” He asks, thinking this one might trip you up.

“Sci-fi books, but I know that you’re a sucker for classics literature. I see the Jane Austen books on your shelf.” You tell him.

Bakugou nods his head, equally impressed with your knowledge about him. Then he shoots back, “What’s my McDonald’s order?”

“Spicy deluxe McCrispy with two orders of medium fries. Bacon, egg, and cheese biscuit with three hash browns when you’re hungover.”

He smiles at you, reaching his hand out to ruffle your hair and chuckling when you smack his hand away. “I could take all this info and leak it, you know? Pro Hero Dynamight’s McDonald’s order: this is what he eats!” You laugh at your stupid joke, “Imagine the brand deal that comes your way.”

“First of all, that’s only for you to know.” Bakugou tuts and starts to leave the bed, reaching down onto the floor for his underwear he flung off his body when the two of you got frisky last night, “Second, the last guy you were with was a dipshit for not learning anything about you.”

“Yeah well, I was an even bigger idiot for staying with him for more than half a year.” You sigh as you also move to leave the bed as well. Bakugou’s shirt is found right on your side of the bed so you end up wearing it instead of finding your own sleeping top you intended to sleep in the night before.

Bakugou snorts and you round your way up over to him, giving him a big smile and bumping your hip against him, “Good thing I traded up.”

He leans down to kiss you, smiling into the kiss and not even bothering to hide how you stroked his ego just a little bit.

“My favorite breakfast?” You ask him,

“Aside from my dick?” Bakugou pretends to be hurt when you punch his arm before giving the correct answer, “Overnight oats and waffles.”

[trivialbob]

Last night Sheila and I went to a seafood place. For a cheeseburger.

Coastal Seafoods in Minneapolis is a fresh seafood market. It's a neat little place. When @littlerunnergurl visited us years ago she and I shopped there for ingredients of a seafood stew LRG made for us.

There's a small counter for hot food in back. Two four-tops and a small row of bars stools next to a cold window is the complete dining room. A Facebook page devoted to smashburgers had mentioned this place's burger recently. That's what got us over there.

We ordered one Coastal Burger. "Two 4oz Wagyu Beef Patties, Caramalized Onion Jam, Pickles, American Cheese, & Dijon Mayo on Toasted Brioche!" (images from the Coastal Foods website)

I also ordered the wonderful looking Connecticut Style Lobster Roll. "Warm Lobster & Seasoned Butter on a Toasted Tom Cat Bakery Roll"

The cook cut them in half so Sheila and I could try some of each. Both were fantastic. We didn't order French fries or any sides. The older I get the wiser I am about not ordering too much food. For sure if there had been a serving of fries in front of me I wouldn't have left until the plate was clean. As it was, we walked out feeling satisfied yet not needing to adjust the car seats back so we could fit in the Subaru.

I'd been wanting to see some dive bars. A block away is the Fraternal Order of Eagles #34. It's an appropriately dimly lit place where most of the customers seemed to know each other. We didn't order food, but I almost did just to purchase a cheeseburger for under ten bucks, a rare thing these days.

The bartender was friendly. She knew what to pour for people a few times without asking. I chuckled when she asked us if we'd be okay for a bit unattended when she went outside for a quick smoke.

It's located at the intersection of two similarly named streets. When I was a kid it was mind-blowing when I saw Minneapolis street signs with the same numbers. Sure, the Av and St make a difference, but it still seemed like division by zero to someone not yet accustomed to how cities named numbered east/west and north/south roads. Similarly, I was amazed when my dad pointed out the named streets in some places were in freaking alphabetical order.

After a bottle of beer (and a sunset) we drove south a short distance through the cold and dark night to the Schooner Tavern. It too is at an intersection of numbered streets.

It was a bit louder, but no less dimly lit, than the previous place. The two bartenders were very friendly. Sheila and I again sat at the bar for one beer.

We listened to conversations around us. It was only 5:30 PM but some folks appeared to have started the evening early. A frazzled looking guy (who was probably 15 years younger than he actually appeared) must have gotten the happy hour special on "fucks" which seem to have been a 20-for-1 deal. Whew, I got tired of hearing that word used as noun, verb, adjective, preposition, pronoun, article, and adverb.

The bottles behind the bar appeared to glow. If the bar had been quieter maybe I would have heard them hum.

Sometimes I want of those tiny Red Bull refrigerators with the glass door (as seen in the left side of this picture I took). Sheila doesn't think it would look appropriate on our coffee table no matter how well it fit. People would probably trip over the power cord she also claims. I still want one though.

We still enjoyed the atmosphere while we had one beer. After that we headed to the brewery by our house. It's at the intersection of one named and one numbered street, more to the sensibilities of my suburban mind.

We met up with one couple we know and another couple who were on a second date. The guy is a regular, the woman is new to that crowd. At first she seemed like she wanted to move to a private table. Soon though she warmed up to us, and the six of us had a great conversation.

I'm going to start looking up some more dive bars for another weekend.

[blurredout10]

This Is Not A Date

Upgraded Connor (RK900) | Nines/ Reader fanfic

Rating: Mature

Wordcount: 5560

Tags: Friends to Lovers, Intimacy, emotionally curious nines, groping, smut, p in v sex, rough, kinda soft kinda not lil boi

Link to AO3 here or continue below cut:

You envied him, really.

Holding down a forefinger, the imprint fogging your phone screen, the victim of your poking quite literally quivered under your fingertips; a damn bloody dating app. Its cornered ‘x’ be the only good idea it gave you since its offered romantic prospects surely weren’t.  

It shakes a violent plead of mercy, like the castle clown prancing joyously, a jingle bell on its neck collar shaking its head desperate no’s where you snapped two fingers for its forthcoming executions. Disappointing. As per usual.  

But punishing the joker meant nothing if its replacement came from the same circus. You downloaded another app, pinky peach hearts pictured on a mobile symbol, your expectations had sunk passed the depths of hell.  

You were no less given the attention, a text ping except for a joker's bell. Despite Detroit’s ever-growing gene pool with the doubling population of both humans and androids, your huddle of situationships barely satisfied you, lacking a spark you so craved. Matches appeased your eyes, descriptions void of icky pick-up lines, but with every other text you were sent, something scrunched up your face worse than the last.   

“Why are people so boring?” you vented to the brioche-scented air, very much aware that fine-tuned android ears had spaced out. You’d grown to suffer alone.  

He didn’t have to worry about bearing the weight of carried conversations, he was perfect. Bloody hell looked it too.  

Nines envied you equally, but for the opposite reasons.  

There hadn’t been a day's rest of his HUD, notifications running haywire like sugar-induced children running laps in a playground. But even little humans collapsed in exhaustion — you did a lot of that — and energy was spent, Nines’ string of leeching matches never tired. 

“How tall are you?”  

“Glad we matched! My place or yours?”  

“How big did they make you?”  

“Boring indeed,” silencing the utter mess of thirsty texts, he turned his attention back onto you, a croissant half-stuffed in a stun where you hadn’t expected an answer. Flakes stuck to your lip as you chewed, fluttering eyelashes moaning for you at the fill of French delectables. Your reactions amused him. People were boring, indeed.

You, however, were quite interesting.   

Many months of a developed friendship had the both of you puzzlingly closer. Intending to better work efficiency, Nines fed into your friendly advances, but he hadn’t expected to actually enjoy your company. You two had clicked like polar forces, self-fashioned laws of physics in your own little world together.   

Nines, surprisingly, was a pretty handsome wall to talk to. You enjoyed every little teenage-like whisper of gossip you shared, to which the android’s sharp ears picked up on the latest in the DPD. You’d grown accustomed to his partially stiff persona as he did to your free-spirited one. The moon to your sun, and he surely brightened in your gifted happiness. Kindred souls hand-in-hand, shoulder-to-shoulder, you were there for him, and he was there for you.  

Nines scoffed at deleting another chat thread with a persistent match mate.  

It started as a joke. ‘I can get more bitches than you,’ though you knew you were speaking out of your ass. You did not, dare you say could not get more bitches than a man who mastered being a man, despite being made plastic and steel.   

Eyes blue like arctic winds, soft but intimidatingly focused in burning through flesh, his face sculpted unfairly to turn heads his way. Broad shoulders and a narrow waist that looked good in anything, even you could admit that. You were no stranger to getting asked about his romantic status.   

The sheer size of him shifted uncomfortably in the little bakery’s equally little seats, shoulders swallowing the back of his chair as if his steel spine served a replacement. Discomfort, albeit making him stir again to lean forward with a frustrating twitch of brows, was still foreign to him; a bitterness that squirmed deep in his chassis. It had taken a while to identify and label the feeling.   

Experience was the tutor in the study of emotional understanding. Experience was his guide to an emotionally coloured world and discomfort was by far the dullest, sluggish and unattractive hue he’d come across.  

Nines heard an audible moan deep from your chest, satisfaction making you lick buttered fingers clean. Your palate cleansed except for pastry bits on your plate, following a trail to your lap, above your chest and still on your bottom lip. You, however, were that bit of colour that sagged his shoulders, the bit of colour that made him agree to silently accompany your weekly brunch ravishment.   

His chest shook in a chuckle at seeing you no less a mammal in its habitat, wild and careless, waving away thrown looks at your poor table etiquettes. Hair frenzied in a mess, your posture slouched as if you owned the ground around you, you had a flair of contentment with everything you did. Interesting human, indeed.   

“I wasn’t aware wearing your afternoon brunch was socially acceptable,” he quipped and your eyes widened, patting hands rubbing away crumbs that doubled his laughter. Croissant bits projectile in his direction, ultimately landing on the table and his lap. 

Your phone announced itself, a text ping waking up your screen with the surprising icon of a newly downloaded dating app. Flat on the table, Nines perked in out of curiosity. Your spread grin was better at drawing his attention.   

It could only mean one thing.  

“I’ve got a date on Friday.”  

-.—.-  

It just happened.   

Somehow in some weirdly fated way, you and Nines had your dates aligned. When you’d dress up for a dinner evening, he’d be suited up for one couple of roads down. The forgotten competition falling into a routine of complimenting each other’s outfits, you pointlessly fixing his collar and escorting either into another’s hands.   

As expected, you’d gasp at the sight of his fitted dress shirt, threaded buttons pulled taunt to the rise and fall of his chest. Bigger biceps smoothed into the arms of his blazer, an icy pair of eyes that’d drop anyone to their knees; you watched appreciatively, blessing your eyes with what his dates would be so lucky to sit across.   

Dang, he looked good. Who needed dinner if desert sat inches away?  

And he’d eye you similarly, following the curves and dips of your dresses, a taunting hug of fabric an extension of your skin leaving little to the imagination, not that he had any. Loose silk that hung low, embraced your thighs just right, it was enough to have you smiling at your reflection. You liked to look like this, beautifully sexy, earning heart eyes from victims you’d never contact again.   

Nines was effortlessly attractive, but you sure believed you were too, and confidence was already half the charm. There was a reason your dating race lingered neck-and-neck, people wanted him and people wanted you.  

Still, you didn’t understand why serial dating was so damn hard.   

Nines excused his admiring as a friendly reciprocal to yours and then you interlinked arms, trotting in pretty shoes to leave some date awestruck.   

Struck, definitely, so much so they didn’t show.   

“Fucking flunked on me,” all of your hours getting ready wasted for nothing. A dangling table light held you in spotlight, the universe laughing at your misery. The waiter dared to make a brief visit, scurrying away when you shot daggers, Phone glued to your ear, you lined a fork with distracted fingers, “I went through all that effort, for what?”  

“He dodged a bullet,” Nines teased, a smirk leaking into your speakers. You groaned annoyingly, a tad bit hurt though you’d never mention it. Nines only chuckled, “are you not hungry?”  

“Of course, I am,” your volume had diners eavesdropping, you lowered it, “but I’m not gonna sit here and eat alone like some… loner .”  

An elderly woman leaned into your line of sight, doing little to mask her judgement.  

“It’s embarrassing,” you sighed, straightening up subconsciously. Nines remained silent, a little something nagged you, “tell me you have better luck than me.”   

He did. Unlike you, Nines was glad his date didn’t show.   

“Unfortunately, detective, I have been cancelled on too.”  

“No. Way.”  

So, obviously, the next step pretty much carved itself out. You were both in need of a nice dinner, dressed to impress, and without your respective dates. Nines took no longer than necessary to join you, filling in the void of an empty seat as you did for him.   

This happened again, from your silk dress to a casual getup, and again, from fancy dining to amusement parks. From black tie gallery visits to turtleneck picnic dates. You found it harder to believe Nines was getting cancelled on when he kept miraculously showing up.   

It wasn’t a date, even if it always looked like it and you’d get ready as such. Painted lips smiled at him rather than some other guy, and neither of you was complaining about it.   

Upon reaching the front of the queue to an ice cream cart, did someone first state the obvious.   

“Here’s one for you and a drink for your partner.”  

You stilled, “oh, we’re not- he’s not-"  

“Thank you,” Nines took your waffle cone, giving it a tasteful lick before handing it to you. He walked away before you could protest.   

“What was that?” You fell behind his longer strides struggling, Nines always found it amusing.   

“What was what?” Pale flickers of his eyes were a tell of his naivety, “are we not partners?”   

Work ones, sure. “Pretty sure she was calling you my date.”   

For his advanced prototype kinks, he hadn’t preconstructed that theory. It was his turn to freeze, the ice of his irises solidifying the rest of his body, the only tell that he hadn’t fallen stasis being an amber spin on his temple. His abrupt halt had you bumping into his back with a grunt.   

Though your complaints died into laughter at seeing him so… off guard.   

“It’s not so bad,” you nudged him, elbow meeting his midriff, its proximity to his thirium pump regulator pulled a heavy huff through his voice. You winked, “you’d be lucky to score with me.”  

Park attendees walked in their chatter, dogs let off their leashes, rolling in the glass with both furry flesh and synthetic plastic alike. Families shared inside jokes, children playfully screaming on the lake’s perimeter. Information coded everywhere in his scans, the broken grid of his deviancy reminding him of his freedom.

But he grew overwhelmed around you.

The past few mutual flunks hadn’t exactly been… mutual. The moment you’d text him your date was boring, or the guy left you hanging again, he’d be the one to disappear mid-mingling and scurry away to accompany you. Surely, that’s what it meant to be a good friend, right?  

He wasn’t looking to replace your flings. He just merely wanted to be there for you. Be a light of colour as you had been for him so many times before.   

Nines blinked erratically, warning ambers giving him away.   

“Jeez, I’m not that bad,” you joked but he caught wrinkled brows of concern, following another lighter playful nudge on his arm. The contact teetered on the edge of overwhelming his processors.  

Neither of you talked about it.  

On came another Friday evening, a ping reminding you of a ‘Tomas’ looking forward to seeing you. Your dressing table mirror applauded the artistry of makeup whilst you merrily shoed up, throwing a text back via that dating app 2.0.  

“I’m so sorry! Can we reschedule?”  

“No show again,” you sighed, lying out of your ass, “how’s that android with the green hair doing for you?” 

“I’m afraid she does not feel interested anymore,” also a lie, Nines had pretty much blocked the persistent woman.  

Getting comfortable in the back row of your local cinema, which was supposed to be Nines escapade for the day, he passed you a popcorn bag, one he’d already bought for you. Lights dimmed at the title screen, Nines sneaked a glance at you, silently admiring the palette of your makeup. Nines liked it when you played with pigments, orange and purples finely painted on eyelids, bringing out the colour of your eyes. It pleasantly stimulated him.  

“What?” Curving in a half-smile, you caught his ogling.   

“You look lovely, detective,” it was pretty much routine at this point, to compliment you. Though this time, the air hung heavier, the smile never making it to his lips, his thirium pump straining for a beat when your vitals jolted the slightest.

He said it so sincerely; why did he sound so different? Your retort wasn’t given voice, a prickle of shivers meeting your extremities in a blush, you were glad the darkness covered for you.  

You swallowed down. He cleared his throat. The movie went on. But the heat of your body, the subconscious leaning on his arm, close enough he could decode the product in your hair, the movie wasn’t plenty distraction.   

And as if rA9 evilly taunted him, a couple cornered in the cinema audibly moaned, latched onto each like horny teenagers. You bobbed your brows at him, ‘kids these days’, but your skin grew hotter, ultimately arising a glitch or two in his system.  

“The movie was great,” you gulped a smile when he walked you home, kicking lone rocks, eyes weighed to the pavement, “I guess, I’ll- I’ll see you.”  

“Yes-,” he spoke too quickly, nodding, “I wish you a good night, detective.”  

You blinked, “you too. Goodnight to you too.”  

“Thank you.” His feet shuffled, “I shall go now.”  

“Get home safe, alright? Goodnight, Nines.”  

“Take care, detective.”  

Awkward couldn’t even begin to describe it.  

-.—.-  

The competition was long gone, dating threads snipped weeks ago when you decided to delete the apps once and for all. Nines had pulled from the single scene even before you did, gulping down excuses as to why he decided to bail on all his prospects.   

“No, we’re friends,” you’d say. Friends that helped each other down a couple drinks. Friends that slow-danced at New Jericho’s fancy dress party, to which Connor had invited you both. Friends that publicly teased each other with a flutter of eyelashes and hot heavy breaths.  

“Since when were you two dating?”   

“This is not a date!”  

Said you at a party where Nines was your plus one, glued to your side like your extension.   

It was getting ridiculous.  

Eventually, neither of you spoke about seeing other people, just assuming the other would turn up. On paper, and even in person, you both looked pretty stupid in denial.   

But one night, clinking afters with your department crew, did the dusted line between friendship and something more sharpen, something that made sense in the entanglement of your not-dates with Nines.  

Officer Wesley was clear in the intention to woo you and have you in bed, playfully raking his gaze and hissing out a compliment. He leaned in closer, elbow atop the bar front with a daring smile. Admittedly, you missed the thrill of being a tease, slipping your tongue out to wrap around the straw but not enough to give him a show. Wesley caught on your game, and for the officer he was, he’d happily play cat and mouse.   

But this time, things felt different and flirting with the dirty-blonde man felt wrong. Flirting with anyone felt wrong. And you couldn’t understand why.  

You flickered in the RK900’s direction, only to find him already watching Wesley talk you up at the bar. A heartbeat thumped particularly loudly when he held your eye contact, leaning back in his booth whilst tonguing his straw similarly to how you had done it.   

Fucking hell.  

“So, how about that drink?” The officer reminded, thumbing at the display of bottles behind the counter.   

Holy shit. You didn’t want to be like every other victim to the reeling of those darkened blue eyes, you weren’t like that.   

With a double take, you caught that damn triumph smirk on his face, as if he could see exactly what that tongue did to you, being on the receiving end of it. Fuck him, you wouldn’t let him win.   

Nines’ smirk faded as soon as you gave the officer your undivided attention, edging your barstool. Your touch crawling up his arm, soft lips leaning closer to his ear and speaking just out of earshot. It had the android inexplicably grinding teeth.  

That was another thing about deviancy it had taken him a while to calibrate; urges. The urge to partake in conversation, or flee from it even, the urge to tease you to the point your cheeks were coloured tomatoes. It was this urge that had an added darkness looming over you, two icicles boring into the back of your head.   

Sixth sense tied a thick knot in your throat.  

Wesley cleared his throat too, sitting up straighter, “Nines, you ah - you good?”  

The android didn’t look it, stalking over your shoulder like he’d no less bite into your neck and suck you dry in one go. But if this officer be a conquest you wanted to take to home, Nines would personally help you put on a show.   

That’s what good friends did, right? Help each other?  

He slitted fingers between chunks of your hair, pulling your head aside abruptly, the contact freezing you in place. You gasped as he lowered his mouth, speaking to the shell of your ear but loud enough for Wesley to pick it up, “we know you want to fuck our little detective, officer.”  

Nines dragged his lips against heated skin, tongue peeking out to taste you. And just as he expected, his HUD blasted with paintballs of colour at the encoding, his pump fluttering when your lashes did so.   

His other hand dragged up your waist, curving at the shape of your breasts and ghosting over your nipples. Lips replaced his tongue, and a trail of android saliva burned into your skin in his venturing down your throat. You took a staggering breath, forcing your eyes open, not realising they had closed.

“Your advances could use some work,” Nines spoke to Wesley, the man’s larynx bobbing at the sight of you melting.   

Large palms curled inwards on your thighs, pushing them apart on display and kneading flesh through fabric. You held back a moan, biting down on the feeling of leaking arousal. God, when did Nines feel so good?  

Nines smiled against your skin, lipsing down the expanse of your neck whilst you pretty much leaned to give him more room. His tongue prodded and lined the length of your passing artery, tasting your fastening pulse, you shivered under him. Even if rendered speechless, your body did the talking.   

Wesley couldn’t decide where to look, Nines prompted further.  

“You just need a little push.”  

Fingers roughly pressing between your legs, one push of a massage that forced a moan deep from your chest, and Nines retreated, taking a large step back. Wesley looked half as shocked as you did, your jaw clenching in the realisation of what just happened.   

Nines leaned carelessly on the bar, unbothered in leaving you aroused. That was his intention, no? To give you and your prospect a push in getting things going? Which is why he blinked confusingly when you shoved him, a frustrated scowl leaving your lips before you stomped out. Wesley sat glued to his chair, still recovering. Nines ran out after you.  

Light patters of rain met his scalp upon catching up to you. You groaned when he called your name.   

“You can’t just- do that!” You yelled, frustration grating your throat, showers dampening your hair, “you can’t just-“  

The android remained still, attempting to understand you with a series of yellow circles.   

“You can’t just touch me like that, Nines!”  

But his touch had arisen positive responses, his brow furrowed in confusion, “why?”  

You stumbled, eyes widening, “why- why? What do you mean why? You can’t go around touching up random people! It’s- it’s wrong!”  

You weren’t random people. Nines processed for a moment, rain splatters snugging the fabric of his sweater against his skin. His scanners quickly caught your gulp, “did you not enjoy it, detective? I assumed he needed a little push.”  

You blinked again, dumbfounded. Who gave him the right to put on a show for Wesley? What on Earth goes on in that metal brain of his?   

“That’s not- I wasn’t going to go home with him,” water collected on your lashes, “I don’t want him.” 

A wave of understanding struck him. He had misunderstood you and his ‘help’ stood void of reason. And recalling the way he stalked over you, no reconstruction software helped in justifying what he did, because the urge didn’t do it for you, it did it for himself.  

The warmth of your chest invited him, kisses digging into the valley of your neck whilst he continually decoded the electrolyte contents of your sweat. It quite literally fuelled him.   

Deviancy was a strange thing, though the only explanation for why Nines wanted to taste you again; he wanted to hear you breathe out his name, shaking with need, begging for more.

You shivered under water pellets, the silence weighing down each of your breaths. And hidden in the muddle of conflicted feelings, you craved Nines to touch you again, give you a warmth in frozen winds. Neither of you moved, and the ghostly burn of his lips longed for his return.   

“I’m going home,” you muttered, straying away from his scanners.  

He wasn’t your date. You weren’t together. But hell, if the assumptions of such didn’t make your heart flutter, you didn’t know what will. Besides, Nines was the embodiment of allurement, poised and perfect, what would he do with the likes of you?  

Arms wrapped around to wade off the cold, teeth chattering, you blinked a few before turning away to walk to your car, the gusts of wind trying to push you back. Nines wouldn’t see you as anything more than a friend, you were sure of it, but your disappointment was cut short when a firm grip latched around your wrist.   

He twisted you, swallowing a squeak with a collided kiss. The colours returned, blinding him tenfold in pretty pinks and bubbly yellows, prompting him to press a hand firmly on the base of your skull and keep you there.   

The tension in your spine remained, but you quickly came out of shock and fervently returned the moulding of your lips with his, hand trailing the flex of his pecs, damp fabric squelching under fingertips.  

The hand on your wrist migrated to the small of your back, pulling you closer. His tongue poked into your mouth, making you gasp at the added anatomy whilst he curled around ravishingly, wet sounds amidst the ambient splashes of rain. Both of your minds dazed, Nines blinking ambers at devouring you and you suddenly patting his chest with a light push.   

He pulled back to let you breathe but returned mid-inhale, this time eagerly tilting his head to see what better fit. He made out the whisper of his name between kisses, responding with an approving groan.   

“Nines,” you tried again, water running streams down your back as it poured heavier. You wondered if hypothermia was worth it, “nines, wait-”  

He kissed you passionately, hoping to swallow the colour of lips and paint his innards as such. Though he eased, slowing to a stop and you panted onto his jaw. He took in the sight, mimicked tears streaking your blue eyeshadow and mascara under the rain, he fought the urge to prod his tongue in your mouth again.   

He awaited your rejection. As you loved to remind everyone, Nines wasn’t your date, always the friend accompanying you instead. He’d be lying if he said watching you with other people didn’t bother him.   

But you didn’t scold him, nor push him away in a fury. You smiled, a toothy grin that you failed to bite away and broke into a soft giggle, “we’re in the middle of a street,” you shook your head, leaning a fraction of an inch closer, “and I’m soaking wet.”  

Nines pulled into a smirk, “you’re welcome.”  

There, the cherry rouge of your cheeks, that was another part of you he wished to consume wholly, preferably with his tongue.  

Everyone else felt wrong, but Nines felt right.  

And upon passing the threshold of your home, Nines proved the feeling to be mutual by meeting your lips again, vocally praising you when your arms wrapped around his neck. Kicking the door shut, his biceps wrapped you tight, squeezing the air in your lungs and suctioning it straight into his chassis.   

He stepped you back, tongue dancing with yours, his fingers tucking away wet hair from your face. You gasped as you hit the wall behind you, his hip bucking into yours with a noticeable erection.  

Hands rummaged under clothing, your damp shirt peeling off your skin with a gust of cold, leaving your hairs on end. The foyer’s air, however, grew dense when Nines hungrily eyed your body. Calm blue of his LED blinked an amber and he suddenly threw you over his shoulder.   

“Nines!” You shrieked, your protests dying as he caressed the back of your thigh. He carried you to your bedroom, bouncing you onto the mattress with a look that kept you frozen. You gulped in anticipation as he undressed whilst you were only stripped of your shirt.  

“Your body temperature has dropped to lower ranges,” he knelt between your legs, clasping your wrists immobile and kissing you into the sheets. You arched into him, gasping at the skin-to-synthetic contact. His lips ghosted to tongue at your jaw, a wet pad of the plastic muscle running up just below your ear.  

“I must heat you.”  

“You’re as cold as they come,” he pulled back to meet your remark, a teasing glimmer in your eyes. Nines kissed your collar, the sound of compensatory breaths prompting him to lower to your bra, unclasp it and swirl a perked nipple with his tongue.   

The moon slitted through blinds, painting him a blue that matched his temple. A warm breath breezed over your lower abdomen, fingers gripping the hem of your pants and shimmying them off. Wet skin made you sensitive to his touch, a tingling working overtime where he wrapped around your thighs, his lips hovering over your remaining underwear.   

Of all your dating partners, specifically those you had slept with, only a handful of them had been androids, and it never made it passed foreplay. Whether that be inexperience or hesitance, flings would be done after a touch-up.  

Nines had his fair share of sexual partners, learning what got people going and what fed his desires. But your unfiltered storytelling exposed you of kinks and likes that a curious android like Nines couldn’t help fantasising about.   

What would you look like under him? How did you sound when forced a rolling orgasm to ripple through you?   

A devilish smile made his lips before he took your undergarments in his teeth, lust-blown eyes watching how you shivered at the sight of him dragging them off. Wrapping around you twice as tight, he gave you a flat lick from slit to bud, pushing down your hips to stop your squirming. He was glad to find you were, indeed, soaking wet.  

Having him right there, head of brown bobbing up and down, experimentally sliding his tongue in places you didn’t know existed, the sight of him had you biting your lower lip, trying to chew down an embarrassing whimper.   

His tongue made circles around your clit, flickering left and right at a gasping pace. Your hands found his scalp, splitting his hair into sizeable chunks, holding on like the handlebars of a rollercoaster; and the way he looked at you, pupils swallowing icy blue into a predatory black, a shiver ran down your back, clenching your thighs against his biceps.  

Wet muscle prodded into your slit, eliciting a moan. You almost squealed when his thumb continued to press patterns on your clit whilst tongue-fucking you into the sheets. You pulled at the root of soft, chestnut hair, and he only picked up the pace, having you pant in line with his pace.   

You tipped over unexpectedly, crying out your orgasm with an abrupt push against his mouth. Nines crawled above you again, making you taste yourself with a deep, sharp kiss.  

To see you like this, body quivering for his touch, an undertone of pink blushing your skin, his field of vision saturated in the colour of you. He wanted more. He wanted to see you come undone again, paint you an orgasm that would stain him for the rest of his android existence. Maybe he understood why Markus created art so often, maybe abstract understanding was closer than he realised. Nines wished for nothing more than to place you high on a pedestal or pin you against the wall for reasons other than framing you a painting. 

“Every date you were bailed on,” he whispered confessions on your skin, gently lipsing your shoulders, “I cancelled mine to join you.” You stiffened under him, muscles taunt under his lips, he clarified, “I’d much rather have you than anyone else, detective.”  

Of course. You were right. Nines wouldn’t get bailed on that often, it was impossible. You mustered up enough air to speak, “if we’re confessing, I deleted the apps weeks ago.”  

Like the robot he was, he halted mid-kiss, a shifting yellow giving him away as it did back at the ice cream cart. You were both lying to each other, simply to be in each other’s company.  

You added with a tease, “you don’t have to lie to score a date with me, Nines.”  

“I thought I was ‘not a date’,” blue-greys accused you.  

“Yeah, I guess we’re both pretty stupid then.”  

Your smile brightened the room, despite moonlight barely filtering through your windows, corners bordering darkness. Nines mirrored the grin, dipping down to kiss you with a newfound heaviness in his chest. He pulled off his briefs, lips never leaving yours, and lined himself between spread thighs.  

Your breath hitched at the stretch of muscle when he pushed in, barely giving you time to adjust and pushing in further until he bottomed out. Or at least you hoped he did, you weren’t sure if you could take any more of him.   

Breathing in each other's pants, he rocked slowly, fingers bruising your wrists, lips bruising your neck. Nines grew desperate to see you in the colour of his lips, turning purples in broken blood vessels. His pelvis smacked again your clitoris, grinding an added stimulation, your head rolling back, moaning his name right into his ear.  

Setting a brutal pace abruptly, swallowing squeals in messy lip-locking, Nines stretched you to the teetering line of pain and pleasure, the head of his cock driving into a sensitive spot that jolted your nerves in bliss. He rutted like an animal, resting his forehead on yours, fucking you with a harsh snap of hips, your legs could only hold on for dear life. He loved to see the dip between your brows, raccoon-faced from messy makeup. It made him twitch inside of you.

“You feel so good. You look perfect,” he praised, bringing two fingers under your jaw to prompt eye contact. You met his darkened expression, his rouge curl tickling your forehead. Thumb shaping your lips, he pushed in knuckle-deep, pressing down on your tongue. You gave an instinctive suck as he growled, “you’re mine.”  

Every thrust brought about a new sound from your throat, and with your mouth forced half-open, there was little you could do to stop them. Your eyes rolled back, toes curling at a rolling orgasm, the sounds of sex driving you to buck into him as he did you.   

You were desperate, needy, and what was left of Nines’ restraint was snapped. He fucked hard, muttering profanities as he edged closer, seeing you at the mercy of everything he gave you flipping him inside out.   

He wanted to see you like this, again and again. His thumb subconsciously retracted his simulated skin, a ripple in your mouth that diverted your attention, and a glowing blue lit up from below the whites of his hand. An interface, the both of you realised. You moaned at his display of intimacy. 

Nines staggered into you, losing his rhythm. 

You looked good in blue.   

“Come for me.”  

And with sharp thrusts, you arched into a mind-blowing orgasm, limbs shaking as he continually dragged in and out to chase his own. He spilled with a throb, panting at the chance of painting you inwards as you did to him, and watched the slowed pumping of where the both of you connected.   

Though upon spotting a trail of blueish white leaking out of you, his hips bucked involuntarily, eager for another round.   

You moaned in euphoria, and that was enough for him to keep going.

It was no surprise Nines adored the sight of you decorated in his markings, growling in every painted colour you presented. So, the next steps carved themselves, and you had a great idea for your next date.   

Painting.

[aestian]

are you an audio drama fan? if you are can you please listen to Achewillow? It's an audio drama podcast available free wherever you prefer to listen to podcasts, including Spotify. Unlike many audio drama podcasts, this is a single person narration and there is no meta component — it is like listening to a story being told with enhanced elements rather than a play being enacted or the recording being a known aspect of the story.

If you like T. Kingfisher (I'm specifically thinking of Nettle and Bone) Achewillow has a similar vibe to it. I hesitate to use the term "cozy horror" as it is only a little bit horror and I don't particularly like cozy as a genre modifier but I'll have to stick with that for now. The brief synopsis is that a very young french canadian woman with a passion (or as she might put it, a destiny) for cooking stumbles into a strange inheritance from an unknown long lost great aunt — a small coffee shop and bakery and the building it occupies, now hers if she chooses to accept living in the strange town of Achewillow that somehow rests exactly along the US-Canadian border, noted by a visible line drawn through town and through the little shop itself and without any kind of border security. This is somehow not the strangest part of Achewillow, and neither are the demon-fearing raccoons that keep breaking in to steal both her salt and her brioche.

I listen to a lot of audio dramas, radio plays, audio books, etc. I always have since I was young which l believe helped trained me into listening and focusing skills that are otherwise difficult. I've listened to poetry recitations on tape, old time radio plays over AM stations, and heaps and heaps of the glut of drama podcasts that have come out. After finishing the first season I think Achewillow is a particularly good listen. The narrative doesn't meander, the narrator is pleasant to listen to, and the audio quality is high so it never takes you out of the listening experience. If you like audio fiction please give it a listen and then post about it on Tumblr so I can see your thoughts, this is a selfish post in the end after all 😈🖤

[fodlansbestmom]

Anonymous asked:

Got a headcanon for Sothis and her diets/preferred food?

I don’t think Sothis has an actual diet, except maybe pescatarian? The only meat she can, and will eat, and can stomach, is fish. Fish is what she eats, but not as often as the rest of her family.

As for preferred foods? Bread. Lots and lots of bread. French, brioche, sourdough, pumpernickel, rye, wheat, you name it. As well as plenty of fruits and vegetables as well! But with fruit, the more exotic, like dragonfruit or kiwi or passion fruit, the more likely she’ll eat it than the more common, like strawberries or apples.

Sweets in general she likes. Baked goods is higher on the scale more than actual candy. So it’s not uncommon to find Sothis in a bakery or a cafe for such treats.

Another thing she often consumes and likes is ambrosia, the food of the gods. Paired with nectar, of course.

[starwarsmum]

Almost forgot it was Wednesday! So, chapter 4 of Introducing: Mousinette

Marinette stared at the architecture in the entry hall, fingers twitching with the urge to sketch a new dress idea. She barely registered Penny chattering to Dick and Babs, as she ran a hand along one of the banisters. 

She did notice, however, when Jagged launched himself at her, knocking her off her feet. He caught her up, twirling her around as he cackled. They were only interrupted when the butler, Alfred, announced that the others were waiting in the dining room, and that dinner was ready to be served.

As she entered the dining room, she tried to place faces to the names Babs had given her in the months they had been chatting. The tall man with the white streak in his hair was easily identified as Jason, which meant the one cradling a mug was probably Tim. There was a woman with black hair sitting quietly and watching her back, and a blonde who was chatting animatedly with Tim. Cass and Steph, as Babs had said that Cass was more comfortable with sign language than spoken words.

Which left a tall Arab boy, who had slicked back black hair. He was glaring at everyone else in the room, a haughty expression crossing his face as she met his eyes. They were a startling green, but he turned away abruptly, a slight sneer on his mouth.

Marinette bristled immediately. She had had enough of snooty rich people to last her a lifetime. She had learned how to hold her own against them - after all, the only thing evil requires is that good people do nothing. She had been goddamn Ladybug, she had wielded nearly all of the Miraculous at once as Multimouse and she would be damned if she let this stuck-up pretty boy snub her.

She sat down in the empty seat next to the boy and chirped a ‘hello’. She then proceeded to ignore him in favour of the quiet woman with the dark hair. She made sure to be warm and friendly to everyone else, making jokes and sharing her own anecdotes, but became inconveniently deaf when he made his own statements.

They moved to a parlour after the meal, Jagged insisting that they play games. It led to an argument as to whether they should play video games (Marinette said yes) or the classic of charades (Dick was overly enthusiastic for that one). Unfortunately, Dick won that argument which meant they started picking teams. 

Being the last one to be picked, Marinette was forced onto Damian's team - Dick was weirdly insistent that ‘lil D’ join in and be a team captain. Before they got started, their father, Bruce, said he needed to speak with Alfred about something and it couldn't wait, which left the group to chat and crack jokes.

“Those desserts were incredible, by the way, Mari,” Barbara said, smiling over at the girl. “I almost wish I'd told you to leave them at mine so I didn't have to share.”

“Aww, Babs, you don't mean that! After all, you'd never want to cause me pain,” Dick chortled, using the French pronunciation. He had been delighted to hear that Marinette grew up in a bakery, and clearly he was ready to start in on the infamous puns. Marinette rolled her eyes and groaned. 

“Dick, if you tell another bread pun, I will find a toothpick so that I can poke your eyes out and serve them on a brioche,” she said, voice completely level, her expression serious. “And that is not an invitation to tell other puns. Repeat after me: we can do better than awful wordplay to make our friends and family laugh.”

“Ouch, what a visual! Well, I certainly don't want to croissant you!” He grinned as she leapt from her seat, shoving her finger into his face. Barbara cheered her on as she proceeded to make him cross eyed in an attempt to keep her finger in sight.

The joke, of course, was that he should have been watching her other hand, which took hold of his foot and shoved him roughly off the back of the seat he was perching on. He squawked, catching himself with his hands and righting himself with a back spring. The room erupted in laughter, except for the brooding boy who merely made a loud click with his tongue and called them both children.

Marinette responded by sticking her tongue out and turning away from him. She complained loudly to Barbara and Penny that she wished she'd known there would be awful baking puns, because she never would have come if she had. This made Dick gasp loudly, placing a hand to his chest and pouting.

When she finally left, many hours later, Marinette had charmed all but one of the inhabitants at the manor. She gave them all warm goodbyes, promising to come back and see them during her two week holiday. On the way back to the apartment, she leaned back in her seat, feeling tiredness wash over her again.

She woke briefly to stumble into the apartment and into her room before passing out on the bed. But two nights of good sleep was too much for her, and she woke just past 2am, wide awake. If she had been in Paris, she would have transformed and done a route past the Eiffel Tower but, in Gotham? She couldn't risk the connection, especially as she had shared quite a lot about the situation with Barbara.

So, instead, she slipped quietly out of the apartment via a fire escape, and made her way to the roof. She scouted the rooftop before settling on a ledge, a sketchbook in her lap. She had been itching to design since she had arrived, and in the quiet she finally felt settled enough to allow her need to create.

She would have stayed there until morning, but after half an hour late she was interrupted by the thud of boots hitting the roof. She glanced around to see two of Gotham's vigilantes gazing curiously down at her.

“Um, hi,” she said, waving feebly up at them. “Nice night for some hero work."

“...sure,” the one with the red helmet said. She had done research on the vigilantes before, of course she had, she was planning to go to university here. But it had been a while since she had reviewed her notes and she couldn't remember the blasted names. “Is everything alright, miss? It's unusual to see other people on roofs at this time of night.”

“Oh, right, I'm fine,” she said cheerfully, waving her sketchbook to explain. The other vigilante leaned forward and she caught a glimpse of a garish yellow, like green and circus red. This one she remembered. Hard to forget the vigilante who voluntarily dressed as a traffic light. He scrutinised her book, before turning his face back to hers. The whited out lenses of their masks made her feel uneasy - the Miraculous magic made it rare for her not to be able to see her teammates' eyes. “I fell asleep earlier than I meant to this evening and when I woke…”

“I see,” Robin said, though Marinette had the sinking suspicion that they both thought she was crazy. She could hear how carefully he chose his next words. “It would be helpful if you could take yourself back inside.”

“Thank you for your advice, but I am happy where I am,” Marinette said pleasantly, which made the one with the helmet snort. When Robin scowled, she merely smirked up at him, refusing to back down. “You are not the first little hero to try and intimidate me, and you don't even have magic powers.” A lie, it had always been villains and akuma victims who had tried to scare her, but that seemed like an unnecessary amount of information.

“You make a habit of getting on the wrong side of heroes and vigilantes?” Robin said, and Marinette was sure that if she could, she would see a raised eyebrow. He seemed like the kind of guy who would do that. She remained sitting out of stubbornness but waved a hand. She could almost feel him bristling at the dismissal. “I do not know what you think you know of Gotham but you should not be out on rooftops at night.”

“But you are allowed?” She gave him a raised eyebrow of her own. She took a moment to re-centre herself, realising that she had become overly snarky. “Never mind, I'm sorry. I had…an overwhelming evening, I hurt a friend by accident and spent  the remainder of the night with strangers. I was using the quiet up here to clear my mind, but if you think it unsafe, I shall return to my room.”

Apparently startled by her sudden shift, Robin shared a glance with his teammate. Said teammate shrugged but didn't say anything and the silence stretched on a beat too long to be comfortable. She stood and reached her arms skyward, careful not to drop her sketchbook over the edge of the building.

She could hear the other vigilante - what was his name? It was going to irritate her until she found out - murmur something and Robin made a tutting noise. She chose to ignore them both in favour of paying attention to the fire escape. She was well past her clumsiest days but when she was nervous, she tended to fumble a lot more. And two vigilantes, watching her climb down after she sassed them? Nerve-wracking.

Tikki buzzed up to her as she slid back into her room quietly. She held her fingers to her lips and ushered the Kwami out of sight. 

Back up on the roof, Red Hood glanced at Robin who shrugged and moved silently away from the fire escape. They had stopped because it was unusual to see anyone out at night, but it had been Robin's choice to move closer when he had recognised the girl from earlier that evening.

“Well that was weird,” Red Hood said, his delivery deadpan, but Robin could hear the vague amusement. “She's an odd one, do you think O knows about her tendency to wander the rooftops?”

“Tt, how would I know that?” Robin retorted, running an eye over the skyline. “She did not seem quite as compliant earlier in the evening - I anticipated her refusing to vacate the roof, at least for as long as we were here. Nightwing did mention the unpleasant interaction Oracle experienced with her earlier, that could be contributing.”

“She's a cute little thing, huh,” Red Hood continued, his voice taking on a teasing quality that Robin did not understand. Deciding that he did not want to understand he ignored the remark, which made the other man sigh for some unfathomable reason. “Come on, dude, you have to have noticed she's pretty. Isn't that the reason you were so wound up tonight?”

“I do not know what you are referring to. If I was uncomfortable during dinner, it was because we had unknown individuals in attendance, one of which behaved far too much like Nightwing. As for her appearance, I do not think my opinion is relevant and therefore shall not be sharing it. It is late, I shall be returning to the batcave and then to sleep. Try not to get yourself killed between here and your home, Hood.”

Robin left Red Hood behind, ignoring the exasperated sigh and complaints that issued from his comms. What did it matter if he did not behave around this girl as other boys his age? He was far superior to others his own age, and so that was to be expected. 

And so he endured the teasing from various members of his family as he always did when they introduced him to females his own age. But it was a relief when he reached the batcave and was able to turn off his comms, silencing their comments. Pennyworth was the only one bar his father who did not reference the young woman, for which he was grateful to the man.

Even his dreams seemed plagued by the girl with the dark hair and an almost intriguing fire burning in her eyes. When he woke the next day, he wondered if she had somehow placed a spell on him that made it impossible not to think of her, although it very well may have been more to do with the fact that his family would not stop talking about her.

Over the next few days, he learned random facts about her - she was a native Parisian, she was not Jagged Stone's blood related niece, she was planning to attend Gotham University…he would not admit it, but he was intrigued by the tidbits that slipped from his brothers. Grayson in particular seemed to be spending more time with her as she was friends with Gordon.

He hoped that when she returned to Paris, he would be able to put her fully out of his mind.

[justforbooks]

Garlic Butter Four Cheese Grilled Cheese is a gourmet sandwich stuffed with melty mozzarella, cheddar, provolone, and Parmesan cheeses❗ 😋😋😋🥪

Garlic Butter Four Cheese Grilled Cheese is an adult upgrade to a nostalgic childhood favorite! You can keep it simple with the garlic butter and four cheese combination, or add more seasonings for an even fancier sandwich. Even upgrading the type of bread from white bread will make this Garlic Four Cheese Grilled Cheese extra special. Try day old brioche or Challah or another crusty, thick cut bread from the bakery or one of our suggestions in the variations section.

For a cafe-style lunch, serve these grilled cheese sammies with popular deli sides like Broccoli Salad or Macaroni Salad. If you have some extra time, homemade French Fries are an indulgent side, especially with tasty dipping sauce, like Fry Sauce, for your sandwich and your fries. And of course, there’s always the perfect pairing, a hot bowl of soup.

Daily inspiration. Discover more photos at Just for Books…?

[rabbitcruiser]

National Cake Day 

From choc to cheese, bundt to butterfly – share a slice with friends, try your hand at decorating or ask the local bakery to whip up a gorgeous gateau.

“Qu’ils mangent de la brioche!” or, “Let them eat cake!” Perhaps the most famous quote about cake ever were the words of a great French princess. Typically attributed to Marie Antoinette herself upon being informed that the peasants were so poor that they had no bread to eat during one of the famines that occurred in France during the reign of her husband, Louis XVI.

Needless to say, the ignorance and arrogance of that disdainful statement did not win either Marie Antoinette or her husband any respect or sympathy from their people, who then proceeded to behead both of them during the French Revolution!

However, none of this changes the fact that cake is arguably one of the most delicious baked goods that humans have ever made to eat, and its numerous varieties continue to astound every cake fan. For that reason, it is obvious that cake is more than deserving of its own little holiday.

The History of National Cake Day

The history of cake dates back to ancient times, and the first cakes are thought to have been made in Ancient Greece and Egypt. These first cakes were rather heavy and flat and were eaten at the end of a meal with nuts and honey.

Nowadays, this type of cake has evolved into baklava, a traditional Greek dessert and a must-try for any fan of sweet stickiness. In later years the ancient Romans also created their own version of this sweet treat, which was rather creamy and rich. However, like in many cultures around the world, this cake was often reserved for the gods and was offered to them at their temples as a sign of respect, love, and reverence.

The Oxford English Dictionary traces the English word cake back to the 13th century. During the Great Depression, it was necessary to provide easy, relatively cheap food to millions of Americans who were living in poverty, and the boxed cake mix was born. The idea turned out to be pure gold, as millions of housewives all over the United States took advantage of this way to make their lives easier.

Cakes started being used to celebrate birthdays in 19th century Western Europe and eventually earned their candles on top. But cakes are also a delightful addition to a variety of other meals and functions, from a simple family dessert to a huge catered party. Whether chocolate or black forest, angel food or the pineapple upside-down version, pretty much everyone enjoys a slice of cake.

And now, National Cake Day is celebrated throughout the world!

National Cake Day Timeline

1200s First recorded use of the word “cake”

According to the Oxford English Dictionary, the word “cake” can be traced back to this time. The word is likely of Viking origins from the Old Norse language.

1600s First modern cakes are baked

With advances in technology of ovens, and the use of whipped eggs (instead of yeast) for leavening, the predecessor to modern versions of cakes began. These cakes are typically round and topped with icing, often containing dried fruits and nuts.

1700s Cakes become part of birthday celebrations

In Germany, the “Kinderfest” is the celebration of a child’s birthday. Though no gifts are given, there is a cake that is decorated with the number of candles corresponding to the child’s age. Later, the industrial revolution makes the tradition even more accessible and popular.

1894 Cake recipe published in London

One of the first recipes for cake published in a cookbook appears as a Layer Cake in The Cassell’s New Universal Cookery Book.

1929 First cake mix appears

Sold in a can instead of a box, the first cake mix contained not only flour but also dried molasses, dried eggs and some other ingredients that water could be added to at home. New flavors developed and making cakes became even more varied but rather simple.

How to Celebrate National Cake Day

Everyone loves to celebrate National Cake Day! Whether making, eating or sharing this delicious dessert, this is the perfect day to enjoy a treat with ideas such as these:

Enjoy a Slice of Cake

Of course, the best way to celebrate National Cake Day is by eating cake with family and friends. It is possible to buy a number of different types of cakes to celebrate the event. Many cafes and bakeries sell cake pieces by the slice, so it’s easy to try a few different flavors.

Grab a few friends, head on over to a bakery, and fill up your plates with several different kinds. Pass the forks around and tuck into a bite of each of them. Cinnamon coffee cake, pound cake, bundt cake or strawberry shortcake. It really doesn’t matter which kind, as long as it is appreciated and enjoyed on this important bakery day.

Bake a Variety of Cakes

Have fun making your own cakes at home to mark the occasion. There are many different kinds of cake to choose from. Yeast cakes are one of the oldest types and are pretty similar to bread in texture, due to the yeast content.

Cheesecake is another type of cake that is unique and also delicious. It’s easy to find many different types of cheesecake, starting with the rich and creamy New York-style cheesecakes baked in a graham cracker crust and drowned in cherry syrup. Or, try out the healthier varieties made from cottage cheese and filled with orange and lemon peel and raisins that are lower in calories and fat and higher in protein.

Sponge cakes rely on the air trapped inside them during baking for their light texture, and are famously paired with rich butter or cream cheese-based icings for balance; however, these icings tend to be a bit complicated to make and are easily ruined, so if for those who are novice bakers, perhaps go for something a bit simpler.

Red Velvet Cakes, Carrot Cakes, and Lemon Drizzle cakes are all delicious varieties of cake that can be made with a myriad of different recipes and ingredients. So pick a type of cake that suits the needs of your family and friends the best–and then get started baking! The experience will be both fun and educational.

Take a Cake Decorating Class

Cakes are delicious to eat, but an equally exciting part of a cake is the way that the outside can be decorated in all sorts of ways. From icing roses to fondant shapes, decorating a cake with sugary sweetness is an art form all its own. Check at a local library or hobby store to see what types of cake decorating classes might be on offer. Those who get really good at cake decorating might even choose to turn it into a delightful business opportunity!

Share Cake with Others

Inherent in its size, cake is almost always meant to be shared! That means that National Cake Day is the perfect opportunity to buy (or bake) a large cake and then find some people to share it with. Coworkers, neighbors, the mailman or the teacher at the kids’ school. Anyone will feel delighted and thankful to be given a piece of cake on this day. Many of them might not even know that it’s National Cake Day, so be sure to share the news so they can get on board with it too!

Find National Cake Day Discounts and Deals

The deals tend to change each year, so pop into local bakeries to see if they are offering any freebies or discounts in honor of National Cake Day. The Cheesecake Factory, Boston Market, Mrs. Fields and Baked by Melissa are just a few of the companies who have given discounts in conjunction with past cake days. Check them out!

Source

[frugalkubal]

The earliest recorded introduction of the kipferl to France occurred in 1839, when Austrian artillery officer August Zang founded a Viennese bakery in Paris. Parisians fell in love with the kipferl (and with Viennese baking as a whole), and imitated the bread in their own shops. The name "croissant" also began appearing in historical record, referring to the crescent shape of the bread. 

In 1915, Sylvain Claudius Goy recorded the first-known French version of the croissant recipe. Instead of brioche dough, as August Zang used, Goy transformed the recipe to use a laminated yeast dough. Lamination involves folding butter and dough to create thin, flaky layers of pastry. [info source]

[laytonnpcbracket]

ROUND 1 POLL 30 SIDE A

About the NPCs (may contain spoilers -- proceed with caution!):

Patty Eclaire runs the bakery in Labyrinthia. She is also Phoenix and Maya's boss.

Otherwise known as: クロワ (Japanese); Mme Madeleine (French); Tante Beckie (German); Doña Tomasa (Spanish); Madama Michetta (Italian); Patty Brioche (Dutch)

Chief Engineer was the head of the factory in Misthallery until Evan Barde's layoffs.

[dato-georgia-caucasus]

A cottage loaf is a traditional type of bread originating in England.

The loaf is characterised by its shape, which is essentially that of two round loaves, one on top of the other, with the upper one being smaller: the shape is similar to that of the French brioche and the pain chapeau of Finistère.

The origins of the name and shape are unknown but possibly extend back hundreds of years. Elizabeth David, who described the cottage loaf in her English Bread and Yeast Cookery, surmised that the shape may have arisen as a way of saving 'floor space' in old-fashioned bread ovens. The name, however, did not first appear in writing until the mid 19th century. It was formerly possible to find an oblong version, known as a "cottage brick", and common in the London area.

Cottage loaves, while formerly common, are now rarely found in bakeries, as they are relatively time-consuming and difficult to make, and in common with other round loaves are less convenient for slicing.

[spaciousreasoning]

One More Bridge

The overnight low was a few degrees away from freezing, depending on which site you consult. There was frost on cars, lawns and roofs in the area. We kept the heat on in the study, which seems to keep the cats warm enough that they don’t wake up too early and come bug us for their first meal of the day.

My morning blood sugar was down to 104, a significant drop, most likely due to the relatively healthy dinner last night and the lack of sugar afterwards.

Following our morning coffee and brain games, we had oatmeal for breakfast. On a cold morning like today, it’s a nice warm meal, and it feels good to hold the bowl in your hand while eating it.

Because of the cool and overcast morning, it felt like it would be a very dull day. I almost wanted to crawl back into bed and sleep more. Then Nancy suggested we drive down to the Creswell Bakery for more sourdough bread. I said, sure, and chipotle brioche sandwiches, too. She agreed, and then I suggested that after we ate we could head down to Cottage Grove and see the only covered bridge in Lane County we had not visited yet.

Located on the south side of Dorena Reservoir and spanning the Row River, the Dorena Covered Bridge was originally constructed in 1949. The 105-foot bridge was bypassed with a concrete span in 1974 and renovated in 1996. It is also known as the Row River Bridge or Star Bridge, because it provided access to the nearby Star Ranch, once a large private estate that is now only about 100 acres.

On the way back to Springfield, Nancy took over driving because I was getting tired. When we got home, we both took a nap for about an hour, then I went out for a walk of 3.34 miles. It took just under one hour, and even with the day’s high temperature of just 59 degrees I still worked up a bit of a sweat.

For dinner, we heated up some leftover tomato soup and made grilled cheese sandwiches. Then I went to the Thursday evening recovery meeting, where the reading and much of the sharing was about responsibility.

After I returned home, we tuned into Colbert and then watched the most recent episode of “High Potential,” the new American version of the French series we discovered a couple of months earlier.

[shopseranobakery]

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