#cherry bakewell tart

[vegan-nom-noms]

Vegan Cherry Bakewells

[jackbatchelor3]

A whole cherry in my cherry bakewell.

That's twice as much cherry to not eat.

🍒🍒🍒

[fullcravings]

Iced Bakewell Tart Tray Bake

[morethansalad]

Vegan Cherry Bakewell Tart

[diabhalin]

and if i said lidls own cherry bakewells are infinitely better than mr kipling

[sonofthepear]

Mr Kipling

Carrying on from spooky season with Mr Kipling's clever scary cherry bakewell face. Using a half-cut cherry bakewell that makes the perfect angry eyes. In addition to the bakewells, the main copy is curved to form a smile and this with the half-cut bakewells forms the scary face synonymous with Halloween. I like how food companies use their products in ways like this as a simple nod to the spooky season whilst showcasing the product.

[imayooshi]

Little Jack Horner Thomas Hartnell Sat in a corner, Eating a Christmas pie Bakewell tart; He stuck in a thumb, And pulled out a plum cherry, And said, "What a good boy am I!"🍒

My cover for @theterrorpinup calendar 2025 - get yours here NOW and help us support the Qaujigiartiit Health Research Centre!

[nestingtendencies]

We interrupt our regular service for something a bit different! Did you know that as well as being a keen, buddying crocheter, I'm also a keen buddying baker?

Sometimes I think that the older I get, the more domesticated I become 😅. So here are just some of my recent bakes, because I'm quite pleased with how they came out 😊

All of the above have no flour, no sugar (except naturally occurring in fruit) and minimum fat.

I have clearly learned one (1) new trick: decorate everything with fresh spring flowers, and now I'm using it on everything that comes out of the oven, lol! 😅

[crashdown]

happy pride to disaster lesbians only

(red valley — aubrey wood)

[Image ID: A drawing of several versions of Aubrey Wood from Red Valley throughout her life: she has red curly hair and is white. In the top right, she's wearing a red sweater and blue hat with a pom-pom, which she's holding the ear flaps of. It covers her short hair and she looks tired. Beside this is a lesbian flag with a cherry bakewell tart. In the middle, Aubrey is older with longer hair that falls down her back, and we see a side profile of her frowning at a small white BlueSky hologram machine (a bit like a google home machine) with the letters "BS" in the hologram. A speech bubble comes from the machine with the words “Hello, Aubrey.” She has a white lab coat on. In the bottom, there’s a younger Aubrey working for Overhead. She has a lab coat on again as well as a visor that covers her eyes, and she’s holding up a vial of red liquid. She has a name tag that says “Wood”, and wears a blue collared shirt under her coat. Her hair is shorter and tied back in a low, puffy ponytail. Beside her is another image of a young Aubrey in her lab coat with a ponytail, this time facing away from us with a slight side profile visible. There’s a light splattering of blood over her face and coat]

[jomiddlemarch]

While You Were Sleeping

Hermione took a deep breath. The breeze that came through the open windows smelled of both night-blooming jasmine and cherry Bakewell tarts, at least to her, though she wasn’t about to ask his opinion. Before she glanced across the room again, she remembered standing in the office at the Ministry with the Head of International and Interspecies Diplomacy, the way her robes had just grazed the ground because the Hemming charm was finally working properly, the glow she’d felt when Godiva Canon-Crisparkle had announced Hermione had been specially requested for the assignment and that Chief Canon-Crisparkle expected that once again, Hermione would live up to her informal title as Brightest Witch of Her Age (a title Hermione rather loathed, but had to put up with as otherwise she seemed to be either sneeringly dismissive or falsely and sickeningly humble) and conduct herself in such a way as to bring further honor and glory to the Ministry and also lock down the trading rights, embassy site, and the official and magically notarized alliance with the Eguzkiko. Hermione had nodded smartly, acquiesced as graciously as she could when told she would be accompanied by a member of the Ministry legal department, and screamed silently when she was told who it would be.

Draco Malfoy.

Correction: Draco Black Malfoy, Esq.

(Part of the silent scream was triggered by the fact of his training and employment in Legal, when she’d pegged him as Potions or an Architect, either of which she could have accepted better given his past and family background and his decision shortly after his father was sent to Azkaban to feature his mother’s family name as the heir to the House of Black. This, however, was not new information, only data she had been struggling to accept for the past fifteen years.)

(Ginny and Padma had a theory to account for the remainder of the silent scream, but it was one Hermione categorically refused to entertain, even when Luna asked if she would entertain it non-categorically and how exactly would that be different? There was a second silent scream at the combination of frustration of only getting challenged by Ravenclaws at this late date in her life when years to dealing with Harry, Ron, and occasionally stubborn Neville had left her ill-equipped for actual debate.)

Still, the key bit was that she’d been able to hold her tongue and appear to keep her temper and channeled the string of obscenities and full body tantruming she wanted to indulge in into preparing most thoroughly for the mission, though the relative lack of information on Euskara left some holes which Hermione had to hope were not gaping. She altered her trusted blue beaded bag to appear as a slim chocolate leather portfolio and agreed to pack a swimsuit and some actual cotton nighties rather than relying on Transfiguration, since her Transfigured clothes were never cut quite as well as she liked, rather what Ginny flat-out described as dowdy enough for that cow Umbridge. 

She spent a week brushing up on language charms, stocked up on coconut oil conditioner at Boots, and accepted the bottle of Glenmorangie that Minerva pressed on her during their monthly tea. She’d planned to use it as a guest-gift it that suited the mores of the Eguzkiko but she found herself reconsidering, given the its utility in becoming black-out drunk. 

She looked across the suite at the wide bed with its plump embroidered pillows, its billowing linen curtains tied to each post, the nosegay of blossoms overflowing a small vase on the bedside table.

The singular bed.

She breathed in slowly through her nose, counted to five. 

There was only one bed.

“There’s only one bed,” she announced, sounding half-strangled to herself. Draco Black Malfoy, Esq. had an impassive expression, so she couldn’t tell if she sounded half-strangled to him or whether he didn’t care or whether he was losing his aristocratic shite in the most stiff upper lip Pureblood manner.

“Yes,” he replied. “Only one. They must have made some assumptions about us—"

“Why?” she said. “Why can’t you simply Transfigure a second bed? It doesn’t have to be another one like that, a cot would do—”

“Didn’t you read the brief, Madam Granger?” he asked. He used her formal title, which was a vast improvement over both Mudblood and you, which were the only other ways she could recall hearing him address her. He still sounded entirely superior.

“I did but do go on,” she said. “I can tell you’re simply dying to.”

“It would be the height of bad manners to Transfigure anything in this suite. Everything here has been specially chosen and conveys the regard of the Eguzkiko. Furthermore, they have a prohibition on using magic in the bedchamber. And finally, I don’t think you want to begin your talks by telling them they have made a grave error about the nature of our relationship. It was indicated that anything construed as a significant loss of face would very likely not be surmountable,” he explained. He smiled and it wasn’t as snide as it could have been. It wasn’t a smirk. She knew his smirks of old. This was something else, an expression she couldn’t say she’d seen before on an adult man, let alone Draco Black Malfoy. “You are the diplomat here, not I.”

“Yes, well, that’s obvious,” she huffed. 

“Indeed?” he said, more civilly than she would have expected.

“You had to rub it in, about the brief and the rest of it,” Hermione said, glossing over his assessment that the Eguzkiko saw them as bedfellows, married or otherwise engaged to each other. “A diplomat isn’t trying to take every chance they can to assert their dominance and make the other person embarrassed. For the record, I don’t feel embarrassed, just annoyed.”

“I wasn’t—that is, I didn’t intend to,” he said. His cheeks were faintly pink. He was…flustered? Irritated? Apologetic?

“Forget it,” she interrupted. “What we really need to do is decide what we’re going to do about that,” she pointed to the bed.

“You may take the side closer to the bath,” Draco said, raising an eyebrow when her mouth dropped open. “Did you think I was going to offer to sleep on the floor for the next month and a half?”

“A gentleman would,” she said. Might. And then she would have waved her hand and said it didn’t matter, they were both adults and colleagues and would have had the upper hand (previously waved) and the moral high ground and he would be the one feeling…wobbly. The rosiness in his cheeks had disappeared as if it had never been present and she’d hallucinated it. She would have preferred hallucinating the single bed.

“But Madam Granger, I am a Wizard and a barrister. Neither qualifies me as a gentleman,” he replied, smiling again, a little wry, amused. Attractive, if she could forget he was Draco Sodding Black Bloody Malfoy, Esquire Thorn In Her Side. 

“Don’t hog the blankets,” she said, walking around to what was now her side of the bed. It was nicer to be close to the bath and it put him nearer to the door, which was the defensive position in the room. Much good that would do them, as they couldn’t use their wands or even do wandless magic and also, they were being welcomed as a diplomatic party and shouldn’t have to anticipate intruders or rogue Death Eater sympathizers. She set her portfolio down. Ordinarily, she would unpack, hang up some robes, arrange her shoes in a row in the wardrobe, but that seemed too personal with Draco standing there watching her. 

“Of course not,” he said. “I hope you don’t snore, as I won’t be able to cast Quietus or Septum Stabilis—”

“I don’t,” she snapped.

“Weasley would have complained, I gather,” Draco said. It was clear he relished a chance to disparage Ron, even at a slight remove.

“He wouldn’t dare. He spent most of that time on the run on the run from Harry and me,” Hermione said. Draco’s brow furrowed in a more appealing confusion. “When we were hunting Horcruxes, Ron scarpered off. Harry never said I made any noise at night, said he sometimes checked on me to make sure I was alive. Lavender and Parvati never mentioned anything when we shared a room at Hogwarts and they had plenty to say about my hair. I think you’re safe.”

“I very much doubt that,” Draco said under his breath. Approximately. She didn’t have especially good hearing and she heard him, just as she was supposed to.

“You have appropriate pyjamas?” Hermione said, preparing to send him off to fetch some, preferably in a dull plaid, as every other color seemed like it would set his grey eyes and fair hair to perfection. She regretted the dressing gown she’d brought, thinking no one would see it but herself.

“I came prepared for every eventuality, Madam Granger,” he said. It sounded like he didn’t regularly sleep in pyjamas then. She would not think about Draco Black Malfoy naked in her bed. She would not.

She did and sighed. He noticed. Misconstrued.

“Perhaps it won’t be so bad,” he said. “We’ll likely be knackered by long days of negotiation, all the visiting and meetings that are required—we’ll probably drop off instantly and the bed is big. You won’t even know I’m in it—”

“I’ll know,” she said, shrugged. “I’ve survived worse.”

“I know,” he said softly.

[gay-dorito-dust]

Hi!! I loved the piece you just wrote, tysm :D I’d like to request another George Karim x reader where the reader lives next door & brings the group lots of baked goods. They’re very friendly but a huge airhead. They love listening to the groups ghost adventures and new finds even if they don’t understand it. Thank you !! 👾

“What’s in the tuppaware?” Lucy asked as she lead you into kitchen, practically hovering over your shoulder as you placed the container onto the table. “Look at you being all nosy.” You teased, barely needed to look over your shoulder because of how close she was that all you needed to do was glance out from the corner of your eye and there she was. “I wouldn’t be so nosy had you just opened the bloody thing.” Lucy whined, the weight of her head now pressing down upon your shoulder, eyes transfixed on the white container with tissued insides acting as cushions for whatever was inside.

It was entertaining, seeing your friend this desperate to get a good gander inside the container that you had brought into 35 Portland Row with such care and caution, that it must’ve planted an idea inside her head that whatever it was, it must’ve been of great value. Lucy doubted it was anything like an family heirloom and even if it was, why would you carry it about with you inside a container used primarily for food and such? So when you finally cracked open the container, revealing the contents to Lucy and what she saw didn’t disappoint as she groaned in euphoria when the sweet smell of baked goods came up to tempt her senses.

Inside the container was an inlaid assortment of tarts, lemon cakes, white chocolate and raspberry cookies, scones, cherry bakewells and mini muffins. All of which mingled together smelt sickly sweet but in the most pleasant way possible. “When did you have time to make all of this?!” Lucy exclaimed, not knowing where to put her eyes as all of the treats before her looked just as appealing as the one before and the one before that; there was so many choices and she wanted to try them all if she weren’t going to be forced to share them with two other boys who had just now walked into the kitchen from the library after having heard Lucy’s exclamations.

“Y/n why is Lucy screaming like a dying chicken?” George asked as he loomed over your other shoulder just as Lucy gave his arm a firm smack. “Hey, I do not sound like a dying cow.” She defended herself before looking back to you, “do I?” Your eyes widened as you were quick to pluck a treat at random from the container and placing it in her hand, leaving Lucy a little confused as to why you put a cherry bakewell in her hand. “Try it.” You tell her with a smile, nudging George firmly in the side when you heard him snort and shooting Lockwood an glare when seeing him trying not to laugh before looking back to Lucy who ate the cherry bakewell in just two bites. “This is so fucking good.” She groans, licking the crumbs from her fingers. “What’s the occasion?”

You shrugged, “no occasion, I just wanted to do something nice for all of you considering the cases you guys had been taking on lately have only become increasingly more dangerous…I just don’t want you doing anything or getting into you’ll regret later on.” Lucy, Lockwood and George’s eyes softened at your words, they understood where you were coming from. Lately the trio haven’t been able to take proper care of themselves, so much so that they were frequently skipping breakfast so often that they had to nab something to eat while they were out as a substitute; Their sleep schedules didn’t fare any better either, only getting at least a couple hours in before they were out the door again.

They weren’t given the time to stop and think about how you were effected in all this, being forced to seeing your friends practically running themselves ragged on a daily basis to the point you rarely saw them. “I’m sorry you have to see all that y/n/n.” Lockwood said softly but you waved him off with a smile, “it’s fine, it’s not your fault,” you then look to Lucy and George, “it’s none of yours fault for simply doing your job. I just didn’t want you guys going hungry. So please indulge yourself.” You finished, gesturing to the container as George and Lockwood picked out a lemon cake and strawberry tart respectively.

“You’re a saint y/n.” Lockwood said through a mouthful, earning a sharp nudge from Lucy. “Did nobody teach you that it’s disrespectful to talk with a mouthful?” She hissed and Lockwood just shrugged before reaching for a mini muffin, Lucy sighed and turned to you and George with a look that clearly read ‘do you believe this guy?’ Only to then reach for sneaky seconds herself. That gave you a little chuckle. “Lockwood’s right you known, they’re really good.” George said, finishing off the rest of his lemon cake. “I’m sure you could’ve made them a lot better then I did.” You told him, feeling a little overwhelmed by the compliments you were receiving.

“Are you kidding? I know I’m a greet cook and all but at least give yourself some credit.” He told you, holding out a lemon cake in his palm for you to take -which you did out of curtesy- as you both watched as Lucy and Lockwood filled their cheeks with baked goods; trying your hardest not to burst out laughing when George whispered to you cheekily that they looked like chipmunks stuffing their cheeks with nuts for the winter, which made you let out a hearty laugh much too Lucy’s and Lockwood’s joint confusion. Only someone like George could withdraw a laugh like that from you but whether he knew that or not, you’d refuse to tell him in fear of inflating his ego.

With the container of baked goods now emptied with the exception of a few crumbs, you, Lucy, George and Lockwood moved to the seating area with your respective mugs of tea and a packet of pre-bought biscuits, exchanging funny stories concerning past cases. Your talents weren’t on par with theirs but that didn’t mean you weren’t ignorant towards their work. Besides it was kind hard to be ignorant or blind to it all, considering the fact that the problem was still a conversation still being had to this day, long after it’s original emergence. Yet you weren’t as well versed as Lucy, George and Lockwood were, seeing as they were pushed into it by the adults in their lives while you got a semi-normal life experience.

“Remember that case with the type one over at mrs Jacobs?” Lucy asked from beside you on the sofa, watching with a sense of amendment when Lockwood and George groaned, synchronising their bodies sinking into their deep armchairs. “What happened at mrs Jacobs?” You inquired, looking between the trio, curious of the context. Lockwood pinched the skin between his brow as though to relive himself of an headache as he began to iterate the story. “Basically we got called up to investigate what was suspected as a type one in the case file but as it turns out it was just raccoon in the attic making all the ruckus. We went home empty handed that day.”

“Ha!” You balked, feeling the need to put your mug down on the coffee table to away the tears from your eyes. “A raccoon?” You asked as your voice took an octave higher then normal from how hard you were laughing over a small misconception. “Yep. A raccoon.” George echoed, “didn’t help that the little guy was rummaging through some storage boxes and when he heard us coming. Poor guy was stuck beneath a magicians hat… it took us a total of five minutes to get it off and escort it out of the house.” He added, smiling when he saw you holding your stomach, probably visualising your friends trailing after a raccoon scampering across the attic misguidedly from underneath a magicians hat for a majority of the night.

“Oh! What about that one time Lockwood slipped in a puddle of ectoplasm.” Lucy jumped in, wanting to see how hard they could make you laugh before you called it quits because your ribs and stomach were hurting from continuous laughter. “You did!” You and George exclaimed, both looking over at Lockwood who looked about ready to die on the spot from the sudden attention brought his way. “Yes I did.” he sighed, mentally wondering where he went wrong for Lucy to spill a secret he thought they promised to keep in confidentiality. “Besides what about the time that ghost knocked George’s glasses off?” He then added when the memory came to him so suddenly, causing George to sink further into his deep arm chair when he felt your overly curious eyes turn on him.

“You’re only bringing that up because you’ve got nothing embarrassing against Lucy!” He exclaimed, not wanting to recall how Lockwood has to keep the type two occupied whilst he rummaged for his glasses; especially not in front of you of all people. This continued another while longer before it became past curfew for you to go home until Lucy insisted you’d sleep the night up in the attic with her upon the air mattress they kept…somewhere. Over all the day was well spent and there was nowhere else you’d rather spend it then with your dearest of friends.

[patrickbatewoman]

my first class is tomorrow and i'm nervousss. i think i'll reward myself with a cherry bakewell tart and some glitter eyeshadow...

[beloved-child-of-the-house]

@thehoneybeet tagged me to post a WIP snip, which I love tysm!!! i've been kicking around this 8th year fic for like. many months. it's coming out a very little at a time, and i'm just trying to chill and enjoy the process. anyway this snip is very near to where i left off.

-----------------

To Draco's utter surprise, when they reached the room, Potter dropped his rucksack on the floor, extracted a tent from its depths, erected, and Disillusioned the tent. 

"So no one will see us, if they look in," he explained. 

"Are we not meant to be here?" 

"Well. Probably not, but that's not really it," said Potter, but he vanished into the tent without explaining further. 

Draco didn't think much of the furnishings once he was inside. The little space was dominated by an oversized faded pink chintz sofa with a dust ruffle. Spilling off the sofa was an enormous, moss green knitted blanket, which Potter rolled up into a ball and tossed into a wooden chair in the corner. There were three mugs on the coffee table, which looked comically miniature in comparison with the huge sofa. Potter took them all up and brought them to a sink, which formed about half of the smallest kitchen Draco had ever seen. The other half comprising of a tiny stove and cupboard in which, presumably the remaining store of dishes or perhaps comestibles was kept. 

"Sit down," Potter called over his shoulder, seeing Draco was still standing. After considering the only chair, which was taken up with the blanket, and a pouffe with very dubious structural integrity, Draco perched himself on the sofa. Satisfied, Potter began to wash the mugs--only two, Draco noted, and leaving the third to sit in the sink--then filled the kettle and put it to boil on the stove. "You said you didn't have pudding," Potter remarked absently and began rummaging in the cupboard.

"I want to have a word with your decorator, Potter," Draco said, his eyes on what he considered to be a very objectionable lurid pink china vase, standing on top of an equally objectionable doily, sitting on top of a ridiculous spindly little table too small to hold anything else. "I suspect he drinks, whoever he is."

Potter laughed, returning to the sofa Hovering a tray in front of him, "I borrowed the tent from Bill Weasley a bit back. I expect his wife has been using it to stash the things his mother gives them so she doesn't have to put them in her own house." 

"Seems like good sound sense to me," said Draco, reaching out to take a tart off the tray as it landed in front of him on the little coffee table. "What's this?" he added, through an undignified mouthful of tart. 

"Cherry bakewell," said Potter modestly. "Do you like it?"

"I'm going to eat both of them," Draco announced.

"I made them," said Potter with the hint of a gloat in his voice, like he'd played rather a clever joke on Draco and Draco had walked right into it. 

"Ergh," said Draco and took another bite. "Where'd you learn to do that?" 

"Ron's mum taught me," Potter told him. 

Draco had an uncomfortable recollection of a number of very unpleasant things he had said about Weasley's mother, "The woman's a genius. Even if you're poisoning me, I don't care. It's worth it." And he ate the last of his tart, chasing the sweet bits of cherry off his fingers with his tongue, though of course it was abominable manners. He did not think Potter would mind. "I don't know anyone who can cook."

Potter looked rather shocked and then sorry, but all he said was, "I'm not poisoning you." 

Draco wanted to say something witty in response, but when he opened his mouth, what came out was, "Why are you doing this?"

--------------

I tag @citrusses, @geesenoises @stationintern @vukovich @skeptiquewrites and anyone else who feels like sharing!

[meanwhile-at-the-coffeeshop]

Today, Nina selected cherry Bakewell tarts as the featured pastry. Lately, she felt like her shop was lacking a particular combination of red and white.

[recipe]

[deltoidlover]

dr kleiner would not eat crisps (or chips for you americanos out there) he absolutely would not he would eat cherry bakewell tarts and you know it imagine kleiner working at his desk typing on his typewriter. he has a short break to take a little bite out of his cherry bakewell then place it back on the plate he takes the cake and plate around the lab with him but gets too caught up in his work and accidentally leaves it somewhere and forgets then hes like 'dohh blast! where did i leave that cake?' and he looks everywhere for it but when he finally comes across the plate, it is empty assumes lamarr ate it, wherever she may be

[kins-gather-at-the-table]

Foods for a Sylveonkin

mossy branches

lilac cream tarts

fairy bites

mini cherry bakewell tarts

garlic parmesan herb cruffins

dandelion pesto

creamy cucumber salad

tamagoyaki