#coal fired oven

[urbanchats]

A Slice of Heaven: The Ultimate Times Square Pizza Guide!

Times Square Pizza Guide - Urbanchats

[alpaca-clouds]

How to cook in a medieval setting

Alright. As some of the people, who follow me for a longer while know... I do have opinions about cooking in historical settings. For everyone else a bit of backstory: When I was still LARPing, I would usually come to LARP as a camp cook, making somewhat historically accurate food and selling it for ingame coin. As such I know a bit about how to cook with a historical set up. And given I am getting so much into DnD and DnD stories right now, let me share a bit for those who might be interested (for example for stories and such).

🍲Cooking at Home

First things first: For the longest time in history most people did not have actual kitchens. Because actual kitchens were rather rare. Most people cooked their food over their one fireplace at home, which looked something like what you see above. There was something made of metal hanging over the fireplace. At times this was on hinges and movable, at times it was set in place. You could hang pots and kettles over it. When it came to pans, people either had a mount they would put over the fire or some kind of grid they could easily put into place there with some sourts of mounts (like the two metal thingies you can see above).

If you have a modern kitchen, you are obviously used to cook on several cooktops (for most people it is probably four of them), while in this historical you obviously only had one fire. Of course, as you can also see in the picture above, you could often put two smaller pots over the flames or put in a pan onto the fire additionally. But yes, the way we cook in modern times is very different.

Because of this a lot of people often ate stews and soups of sort. You could make those in just one pot - and often could eat from the same stew for days. In a lot of taverns the people had an "everything stew" going, which worked on the idea that everyone just brought their food leftovers, which were all put into one pot everyone would eat from.

Now, some alert readers might have also noticed something: What about bread and pastries? If you only have one fireplace and no oven, how did people make bread?

Well, there were usually three different methods for this. The most common one was communal ovens. Often people had one communal oven in a neighborhood. Especially in a village there might just be a communal oven everyone would just put their bread in to bake. (Though often this oven would only be fired up once or twice a week.)

The second version to deal with this some people used was a sort of what we today call a dutch oven. A pot made either of metal or clay with a lit you would put into the hot coals and then put bread or pastries into that, baking it like that.

There was also a version where people just baked bread in pans on the fire, rotating the bread during the baking process. At least some written accounts we have seem to imply. (Never tried this method, though. I have no idea how this might work. My camp bread was mostly done in dutch ovens or as stickbread.)

Keep in mind that the fireplace at home was very important for the people in historical times. Because it was their one source of warmth in the house.

🏕️ Cooking at Camp

Technically speaking cooking at camp is not that different - with the exception of course that you have to drag all your supplies along. And while in Baldur's Gate 3 and most other videogames you can carry around several sets of full-plate armor and several pounds of ingredients so that dear Gale can whip something up... In real life as an adventurer running around you need to make decisions on what to take along.

If you have read Lord of the Rings, you might remember how many people have criticized Sam for actually dragging all his cooking supplies along and how sad he was for not being able to cook for most of the time, because they were very limited in taking ingredients along.

So, yes, if you are an adventurer who is camping out in the open, you will probably need to do a lot of hunting and gathering to eat during your travels. You can take food for a couple of days along, but not for a lot.

A special challenge is of course, that while you can cook food for several days when you are at homes, you do not want to drag along a prepared stew for several days. So usually you will cook in smaller batches.

A lot of people who were journeying would often just take along one or two pots along.

So, what would you eat as an adventurer travelling around while trying to save the world from some evil forces? Well, it would depend on the time of the year of course. You would probably hunt yourself some food. For example hares, birds or squirrels. Mostly small things you can eat within one or two days. You do not want to drag along half a dead deer. In the warm months you might also forrage for all sorts of greens. You also can cook with many sorts of roots. Of course you can also always look into berries and other fruits you might find.

Things you might bring with you might be salt and some spices. A good thing to bring along would be herbs for tea, too, because I can tell you from experience that water you might have gotten from a river does not always taste very well - and springs with fresh water are often not accessible.

Now, other than what you can access the basic ideas of camping fires and cooking with them has not changed in the last few thousand years. While modern people camping usually have a car nearby and hence will have access to a lot of ingredients. But the general ideas of how to build a fire and put a pot over it... has not really changed.

So, yeah.

Just keep in mind that for the most part in historical settings until fairly recently, there was not much terms of proper kitchens. People cooked over an open fire and hence had to get at times ingenius about it.

[iamyourdailydoseofbi]

I WAS GONE FOR FIVE FUCKIN' MINUTES. ( HOTD x READER )

AUTHOR NOTE! This is short little drabble / thing cause I have the time during my finals. Thanks for all the love. <3 pairing: Aemond Targaryen x GF! Reader prompt : A couple bonding moment ends with burnt cookies. word count: 500+ words

It was Helaena who had suggested bonding time. You and Aemond were a little distant. Not that it was a bad thing. You had your college classes and he was attempting to break into his family's company, attempting to make a name for himself. It was natural and to be expected. You would still see each other and interact, just not have too much 'couple time'.

So, with both of your weekend's cleared. Baking was going to be the way to 'bond'. It would be like the cute little scene from those romance movies. You'd smear frosting onto each other and kiss. It would cute, in theory. Of course, it was never going to be like that. He was a Targaryen. They did not do 'easy' or 'drama free'.

Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. You left him unattended for five minutes. You left him unattended for five fucking minutes. Five minutes. In the course of five minutes Aemond had managed to ruin the cookies you were baking. You did not know what he did or touched, but they were now as black as coal and on fire. Pressing down on the handle of the fire extinguisher, you narrow your eyes hard, the kitchen filling with smoke as the fire gets put out. 

Coughing softly at the stench of smoke in the air, you put the empty fire extinguisher onto the countertop, opening the window up for fresh air. Placing your hands on your hips, you slowly turn around to look at him, lips curled into a displeased line. There was an obvious guilty expression on his face, looking like a puppy who had just been caught chewing on a piece of furniture. A part of you wanted to scold him. Yet another part of you was worried about how damaged the oven was from whatever he had done.

“I go pee for five minutes.” You start, tapping your foot on the floor. 

“To be fair, I didn’t technically touch the oven⎯”

“No, no, no, nope,” You shake your head, “Nope, we are not doing that. No excuses.” 

“I love you.” He weakly smiles, attempting to smooth things over. 

Running your fingers through your messy hair, you shake your head in disapproval, the charred remains of the cookies sputtering out in its last attempt of life. Snatching the fire extinguisher off the counter in the blink of an eye, you press the fire extinguisher handle one last time, the burnt cookies sizzling out. A soft scowl tugging at your lips. This was not the ‘cute couple bonding’ moment you had envisioned. You were supposed to smear frosting on each other’s cheeks and laugh, not murder the remains of cookies with a fire extinguisher. 

“You messed with the oven.” You mutter, it comes out more as a statement than a question. 

“I thought I pressed the little light button, I didn’t know that it would turn up the heat.” He weakly rubs the back of his neck, “The little symbols are hard to see from a distance.” 

“Mm-hm, wonderful.” 

“Don’t be mad.” He pleas, wrapping his arms around your waist. 

“I am not mad, just disappointed that this is what our night has come to.” You sigh, putting the fire extinguisher down. 

Staring at the charred crime scene sprawled out on the oven and countertop, you shake your head in pure disappointment, a soft pout on your lips. It was supposed to be cute. Not like this. Crossing your arms over your chest, you let out a pouty sigh, wanting to pout and sulk a little longer. Feeling him press gentle kisses on your neck and forehead, he softly sways you in place, like you're a grumpy cat. 

“Come on, let’s go order some take out. We’ll do those weird face masks that you have. Yeah?”

“Yeah..” You sigh, letting him drag you away from the kitchen.

---

[rollinouttahere-writes]

Yandere Frankenstein's Creature Zoro x blind baker reader

The amount of yearning in my heart while writing this was unreal. Oh, to be a humble baker in a cozy cottage with a misunderstood monster husband. I will probably come back to this to add more later.

Blind Faith

Frankenstein's Creature Zoro x Blind GN Reader

6k words

Summary: Life as a lone baker is difficult, but you luck out one morning when a stranger offers to do some work for you in exchange for food. Set in 1820's America.

Warnings: yandere if you squint but Zoro is subtle so it largely flies under the radar from reader's perspective, mentions of serious illness and death common to the era

Like many mornings, the sensation of sunlight filtering in through the windows and warming your face was what stirred you from your sleep. For a moment, you bask in the warmth of it while nestling deeper into your quilts as the crisp autumn air nips at your nose. You take a deep breath, then force yourself to rise from your bed. If you were going to get anything accomplished today, you needed to get up and get the fire going in the beehive oven outside now.

Before even attempting to get yourself readied for the day, you trudge outside to start the fire. Wind blows through your hair and whips at your clothes. It’s got some force behind it, but not to the point of being a hindrance. The path to the oven has long since been memorized, and your hand instinctively reaches for where the handle to the iron door is and pulls it open. You stick your hand in, and you’re happy to find that the embers are still warm. With any luck, you’ll be able to rekindle the fire and save yourself at least one hassle this morning. 

You hurry back to the cottage and feel around for the tools you’ll need. Your fingers brush over the bellow and poker and latch onto them. You exit your home, stopping briefly at the porch to grab an armful of firewood. Much to your chagrin, you’re reminded of how low your firewood supply has gotten when you’re forced to crouch all the way down to even feel any. You need to chop some more, but you’ll worry about that later.

Once you’re back at the oven, you push in one log, then stir the coals and embers with your poker, listening closely as they crackle gently. You drop the poker and switch to using the bellow to feed the embers the precious air that they crave. They pop and crackle louder, and you can feel more heat coming out of the oven. Then, finally, you can smell the wood burning. You load the rest of the logs into the oven one by one, prodding the coals and wood to encourage the fire to spread until a strong wave of heat is emitting from the opening. Satisfied that the fire will be able to keep itself going on its own now, you close the door and head back inside.

A similar process is repeated indoors with your fireplace, and after you have both fires taken care of, you finally focus on getting yourself ready for the day. While you fasten on your clothing, you go through a mental list of tasks that need to be done. While you wait for the oven to warm, you’ll have to get the bread dough prepared now so that it’s properly risen by the time it’s hot enough. Before that, you need to fetch some water from the nearby stream. Then you’ll tend to the chickens and cows outside. At some point today you’ll need to find the time to chop firewood, but you have no idea where exactly such time is hiding. So much to do, so little time, and absolutely no help.

You’re startled from your thoughts by a loud, firm knocking at your door. It gives you pause. The townsfolk knew that you wouldn’t have anything ready for them so early. When everything was done, you would load it into a cart to sell it in the town square, so you had no idea why someone would be here now, or frankly, at all.

Another series of knocks rings out from the front door, this time pushing you into action. You go to the door, a short trip given the small size of your cottage, wondering who could be here and for what purpose. You pull open the door, ready to greet them, only for whoever is outside to grab the handle and close the door again. For a moment, you’re stunned into silence from the unusual action. Before you can ask what on earth they hope to accomplish by shutting your own door in your face, your visitor speaks through the door.

“Don’t come out. Just listen to me.” The voice is deep and masculine. Based on how high up his voice is coming from, you can tell that this man must be awfully tall.

The request is odd, but you choose to indulge him. “Very well… Might I ask what you’re here for? I just awoke, I don’t have anything baked yet.”

“I saw you outside just now. I can see that you’re low on firewood, and I was hoping you might be willing to trade me food in turn for me chopping wood for you.”

His offer comes as a relief to you. What a perfect occurrence this was! Now you wouldn’t be fighting to make the time to do this task yourself. While you didn’t have the money to pay someone for such work, you could easily spare some food for this stranger.

“It doesn’t have to be much, I’ll take table scraps. Anything. Please consider my offer.” The man’s tone took on a hint of desperation this time around, making you feel a twinge of guilt in your heart for causing him unnecessary stress.

“Oh, no, I couldn’t just give you scraps. I’ll make sure you have a proper meal and then some if you would do that for me.” You’re quick to assure him, not wanting him to think that you would be so unappreciative of his generous offer.

A sigh of relief comes through the door, followed by a dull thud from the top of the door, “Thank you, I promise you that I’ll cut as much firewood as you could possibly need. I just have one more request to make.”

“What would that be?”

The once desperate and wary manner of speech is gone, and has become much more stern, “You need to stay inside until I’m done, and you can’t look out the windows either.” 

For a moment, you’re left speechless by his request, but you quickly find your voice, “I apologize, but I simply can’t abide by that. I have duties today that require for me to be outside. I-”

He cuts you off, now sounding frantic, “I’ll do those for you, too. Just tell me what to do.” 

“Why are you so insistent on this? I can assure you that I won’t get in your way.” As much as you want to accept his help, his behavior was rapidly becoming ridiculous. 

“You can’t look at me. I won’t do this for you if you see me.”

Again, you pause. Then you laugh. “Well, if that’s all you’re concerned of, then you can rest your heart.” You chuckle again and take his silence as your cue to keep talking, “You must not be from around here.”

“I… I’m not. I don’t understand what that has to do with anything.”

Rather than using your words, you take advantage of his guard being down to wrench the door open. You can hear him stumble and catch himself on the doorway. The wood of the porch and door creak loudly under his weight, and you can hear his breathing stop as he freezes in place. You face where you believe his face to be, hoping that you’re “looking” at him.

“It does have something to do with this conversation. If all that you’re fretting over is being seen, then you have nothing to fear from me. I am quite blind, as you -and only you- can see.”

You stand in the doorway, giving him a chance to take in what you said. You can tell that he’s very close to you now, likely hanging over you. Not only can you feel his body heat radiating off of him, but your senses are flooded by his scent. Overwhelmingly, he smelled like musk and sweat, as if he had just finished a long, laborious day of work. Alongside that, his smell reminded you of the woods. Earthy, but also carrying the distinct smell of moss. Under all that was a much shaper, less natural scent. It stung your nose and tickled the back of your throat like a potent alcohol, but stronger. 

After a few seconds of silence between you two, you can feel the rush of air in front of your face, presumably from him waving his hand in front of it. A few more seconds passed, and you heard him quietly mumble, “You can’t see me…” It’s said as a statement rather than a question, but you nod in confirmation anyway.

Wood creaks again, and suddenly his voice is closer, now coming from above your head, “And it’s just you here?”

“That is correct. I’m not quite sure what it is you’re trying to hide by not being seen, but I can promise you that your secret is safe with me.” You make an effort to keep your voice jovial, not wanting to give this anxious man any reason to be doubtful or wary of you. You hold out your hand in front of you, “Now then, do we have a deal? Firewood for food?”

There is a moment of silence, then a surprisingly large hand encases yours. It’s rough and calloused, and you’re certain that you can feel scar tissue on it. His voice is quiet, “Yes, we have a deal.” He shakes your hand, and you find it to be a remarkably gentle handshake given his apparent size. It feels like he could easily shake your entire self with one hand if he so pleased, but he doesn’t. He releases you, and you can hear the doorframe groan as he pushes himself off of it, “I’ll get started on it now.”

“Wait,” Your hand blindly juts out to grab onto him, this time landing on his wrist. Your fingers ghost over what feels like even more scar tissue, and you briefly wonder if that is what he was so worried about being seen. You can’t be sure, but you figure it’s best not to call attention to it, so you continue, “I would like to know the name of the man helping me.”

“You… want to know my name?” The way he says it makes it seem like this is the first time he’s ever been asked for his name. You nod, gently encouraging him to share it. He pauses for reasons unknown to you, then speaks again, “Zoro… you can call me that.”

“Very well. Thank you, Zoro. Your help couldn’t have come at a better time. The ax is in the shed over where the chickens are. I need to go fetch some water now, but I’ll be around after that if you require any help.” With that said, you grab the pails by the door and slip past him to go to the stream.

The path to the stream has long since been memorized. As a child, you would tag along with whichever member of your family was sent to gather water that day. You even had your own much smaller pail to bring with back then so that you could participate. There were plenty of days where you would come back with an almost -and sometimes fully- empty bucket because you shook it about too much while walking, or because you tripped over an object you couldn’t see coming. Fortunately, you’ve gotten much better at keeping steady and catching yourself when you stumble over the years.

Insects and birds chatter and sing around you as you go deeper into the forested area behind your family’s home, and before long, you can hear the bubbling rush of water coming from the stream. You close in on it, taking smaller, more cautious steps to ensure you don’t walk past the bank and into the water. Once the ground becomes more soft and unsteady, you know that you’re close enough and hold out a pail while bending down, allowing the water to flow into it. You set the first one on the bank next to you, then fill the next. As soon as they’re both filled, you pick up one in each hand and begin the walk back home. The buckets are heavy now, but at least you don’t have far to go.

By the time you’re out of the woods, you can hear the familiar sound of wood splitting as an ax cuts through it. It’s quite nice to only be listening to such an act rather than doing it yourself for once. You’ve been alone for a few years now ever since your father passed from consumption. Your mother had died years prior after letting herself waste away when your youngest sibling suffered a fatal bout of scarlet fever. Your remaining siblings had filtered out one by one, searching for better opportunities elsewhere. While you missed them terribly, you couldn’t bring yourself to resent them for leaving. Life as a humble baker was a meager existence. Your father would often go to the city for long periods of time to work industrial jobs just to make ends meet while your mother baked for the town.

Your brothers and sisters tried to convince you to join them, no doubt fretting over how you would handle life on your own considering your condition, but you’re nothing if not resilient. Your parents taught you well how to survive on your own, and the local townsfolk are kind enough to help you with the odd task that does absolutely require sight.

From the sound of it, Zoro is doing just fine on his own, so you leave him be and go inside your home. The pails of water are left by the front door, and you go into the kitchen area to gather everything you’ll need to make bread. The oven outside still needs a couple of hours to reach the proper temperature, but the house is cold this time of year, so the dough will need extra time to rise. 

Using a small bowl, you scoop out what feels like the appropriate amount of water for your task, then set it in the hot embers in the fireplace to warm up so the yeast will be able to thrive in it. While the water warms, you slip back outside to toss some more logs into the oven. You crouch down to grab the few remaining logs that should still be there from this morning, but you’re surprised to find the pile noticeably higher than you remembered it being. Had you missed some, or had Zoro really made this much progress in such a short time? You feel around a bit more, and sure enough, the log store is half full.

Well then. He’s certainly earning his meal. You’ll have to get started on his food as soon as the bread dough is taken care of at the rate he’s going. 

Realizing that you’re working against the clock, you make quick work of hauling an armful of logs to the oven and pushing them inside. Once you’re back indoors, you mix together the flour and salt for the bread, then check the temperature of the water. Finding it suitable, you mix in sugar and yeast and leave it to activate. While it’s doing that, you make your way down to the cellar to grab some vegetables and meat. The cold air of the cellar chills you, prompting you to pull your clothes around you tighter. You use your apron to hold the vegetables you’ll need, then open the cask you had recently stored some brined meat in. 

While you don’t know what Zoro’s tastes are when it comes to food, you assume he can’t be picky if he was begging for scraps. You think he’ll appreciate a hearty venison pie after working so hard.

You exit the cellar, and you’re about to go back inside when you hear your chickens milling about and clucking. You curse internally and rush into the house to drop the ingredients on the table. The surprise of Zoro’s arrival completely threw you off your usual schedule and your duties to the farm animals slipped your mind. You feel around for the bucket containing yesterday’s scraps, then make haste to the chicken coop. While the chickens primarily forage for their own food by eating the weeds and insects on the property, you know that they enjoy the scraps.

The chickens crowd around you as soon as they see the bucket, clucking excitedly and pecking at your shoes and clothes in what you’re going to assume is an expression of affection rather than impatience. You turn over the bucket and scatter its contents as best you can, instantly making the birds disperse so they can get their fill. While they’re happily eating, you open the panels on the coop to gather any eggs laid since you last checked and place them in the now empty bucket. There weren’t that many eggs today, but you have plenty in the home already, so it’s hardly a problem.

Once the chickens are tended to, you go over to the barn housing your cattle. They’re largely fed by grazing in the pasture, only being supplemented with hay during the winter. All that you need to do pressingly is let them out into the pasture. You’ll have to come out and milk the lactating cows later because they most certainly won’t let you do that until after they’ve had a chance to graze.

Climbing over the fence is an easy task for you after years of repetition. The bucket is left on the other side, and you find your way to the barn doors and unlatch them, allowing them to swing open. The cattle waste no time and exit the barn, lowing quietly as they walk past you with little acknowledgment. At least until you feel something bump against your stomach with some force. Enough to make you sway, but not so much as to lose your footing. You chuckle and reach down to pet the excitable calf.

“Good morning. Is this your way of telling me that I took too long?” You scratch the calf’s head as it moos and bumps against you repeatedly. You only had three calves this spring, but this one by far was the most friendly. She always stops to try and get you to play with her before catching up with her mother after.

She nudges you a few more times before running off to either find her mother or try to get the other calves to play. You leave the pasture and walk along the fence until you can find the bucket, then finally head back to your cottage to resume your baking. The shortest path back takes you past the stump where you usually cut firewood, and you can clearly hear Zoro continuing to plug away at the task.

As you draw near, you call out to your helper, “Is everything going well out here?”

The consistent chopping ceases. His breathing is labored, and he takes a moment to catch his breath before answering, “Yes, everything is fine.”

“That’s lovely. I really appreciate what you’re doing for me. It’s hard to make time to do this myself.” You continue walking until you’re roughly in front of him. “I hope you like venison, I’m making a pie for you.”

You can hear his hands tighten around the wooden handle of the ax. “You… You’re making a pie? For me?”

His surprise confuses you. “Of course. That was our deal, was it not? You’re chopping my firewood, and I’m making you a meal.”

Zoro falls silent as he seemingly takes the time to mull over your words, then vocalizes why he was surprised, “I didn’t think you were going to make me something. I had expected to be given raw ingredients at best.”

“What kind of baker do you take me for?” Your hands settle on your hips and you huff indignantly. “I’m already making food as it is, why wouldn’t I take the time to make something for you?”

Grass crunches under his feet as he shifts between them, “I don’t have an answer for that. Sorry. I didn’t mean to insult you.”

The genuine confusion and remorse in his voice gives you pause and tugs at your heart. Just what has he been through to be so cynical towards people? You sigh and shift the bucket of eggs to your other hand, “Don’t apologize, I’m not truly upset.” You reach out and wave your hand around until it finds purchase on his arm, “I’m going to provide you a hot meal in exchange for your help. Not ingredients, nor table scraps, a meal. It will take some time for everything to be ready, but you’re welcome to come inside once you’re done out here until it’s finished, then we can eat.”

“We? You want to eat… together?” 

“Yes? I don’t see why not. Unless you have somewhere you need to be, in which case I’m more than willing to let you take it with you so long as you bring the dishes back.” You hadn’t even considered that he may have other commitments to tend to.

For once, his answer comes quickly. His voice is almost bashful, “No! I mean, no. I have nowhere else to be. I want to eat here if you’ll let me.”

“Of course I will. I wouldn’t have offered if I didn't really want to. I look forward to you joining me for dinner.”

Zoro says something else just above a whisper, though you can’t quite decipher it. He clears his throat, then speaks at a more audible level, “Yes. I look forward to it as well.” You can hear the scrape of wood being placed on the stump to cut it and take that as your sign to leave him be, and the chopping of wood resumes shortly thereafter. 

It’ll take a few hours for all of the food to be prepared, so you get started right away. The bread dough is mixed together and set on the mantle of the fireplace to rise. After that, you prepare some pie and tart crusts, then focus on prepping the various fillings for them. Most of the fillings were fruit based, but then you also had to prepare the venison pie separately. 

A three-legged spider pan is set by the fire with some lard in it to warm up, and you fill a pot with water and potatoes and hang it over the fire with the pot crane. While waiting for the pan to warm and the water to boil, you clean and chop everything you need for the filling. Onions, parsnips, carrots, mushroom, and venison are all mixed together and seasoned in a bowl, then poured into the now sizzling pan with some beef stock. As it all cooks, your mouth waters from the onslaught of delicious smells within your house.

After a few minutes of searing the vegetables and meat, you remove the pan from the fire and scrape its contents back into the bowl. The filling is then poured into an empty pie tin and covered with the remaining crust. You carry it back to the fireplace and set your dutch oven over some hot coals before placing the pie inside. The lid is put in place and covered with additional coals and embers, and you leave it be to bake. Normally, you would use the beehive oven outside to bake your pies, but you chose to use the dutch oven today since the other one will likely be too full when everything else is set inside.

Once everything that you planned to sell was prepared, you begin carrying it out to the oven. The loaves of bread went in first, followed by the pies, and then the small tarts. Fire licks at your hands as you push everything in with your peel, but your skin has long since grown accustomed to such heat. You finish loading the oven and close the hatch.

You take a moment to listen to your surroundings and find that you can’t hear Zoro chopping wood anymore, so he’s likely finished by now. Dinner should be completed soon, so that works out well. You go over to where the log store is and stick your hands in to see how much wood he cut only to find it overflowing. Not only is it filled to the brim, you can feel logs placed on top of as well as around it. You had heard him coming and going to the log store while you were inside, but you hadn’t realized just how much it had added up until now. You’re beginning to question if one meal truly suffices for this much work. Perhaps you’ll let him take an additional fruit pie as well.

It’s unclear where exactly he is presently, but you’re sure he’ll make himself known sooner rather than later. In the meantime, you return to your kitchen to put the finishing touches on the meal. The pot containing the potatoes is drained and you set to work mashing them with some butter, salt, and pepper.

Heavy footsteps approach the cottage, stalling momentarily before climbing up the stairs. There’s a knock on the door, much softer now than it was this morning.

“Just let yourself in!” You call out over your shoulder.

There is some hesitation from Zoro, then the door is pushed open and he steps inside. The door falls shut behind him, and he remains close to it, not yet venturing into the small home. He’s an awfully sheepish man, you’ve noticed.

“Go ahead and sit at the table, dinner is almost ready.” The potatoes feel consistently mashed by now, so you switch out the masher for a serving spoon and walk over to the table to set it down.

Floorboards groan under each step he takes as he accepts your invitation to sit down. The legs of the chair scrape across the floor as he pulls it out, then sits down. You fetch some plates, mugs, and silverware to set the table with. Zoro remains silent as you get everything in place, so you decide to make an effort to converse with him, “Thank you for taking care of the firewood for me. I ought to be set for a while now.”

“It was nothing…” Zoro’s voice is quiet and somewhat tense.

“Oh, hush. You did a great deal of work for me, take credit for it.” You reach out to pat his shoulder reassuringly. Unfortunately, you failed to take his seemingly staggering height into account. Your fingers brushed against his chest, missing his shoulder by a wide margin. It would be polite to readjust and move your hand, but you’re struck by something. “You’re not wearing a shirt. Aren’t you cold?” Winter may not be upon you yet, but the autumn air was already quite chilly.

Zoro shifts in his seat, prompting you to pull your hand back. His fingers drum against the table as he answers your question, “Don’t have one.”

“You don’t have a single shirt? Oh, that won’t do at all, you’ll catch your death out there. One moment.” You excuse yourself to the other side of the cottage. Your home is one single large room. The kitchen that doubles as a living area is on the side closest to the door, while a couple of beds are pressed up against the wall on the other side. When the house was still full, your parents slept in one while you and all your siblings piled into the other. Now it was just you sleeping in your siblings’ shared bed while your parents’ bed was left empty.

Your father’s old clothes were stored under his bed. You crouch down and feel around until you can feel the basket they’re stored in. It’s pulled out, and you rummage through the clothes until your fingers skim over the coarse wool of your father’s shirt. You pull it out and run your hands over the article to confirm that it is indeed the one you were looking for. Nostalgic memories of clutching your father’s clothes while he carried you to and fro as a child flooded your mind, though you’re quick to dismiss them. Your guest is cold and you would hate to keep him waiting.

The basket is kicked back under the bed as you return to Zoro’s side and present him with the shirt. “Here, try this on. My father wasn’t quite as sturdy as you, but I’m hopeful that it will suit you.”

His hands brush yours as he takes it from you. The fabric rustles quietly as he pulls it on. After a moment, you hear him murmur to himself, “It’s warm…”

“So it fits? I’m relieved to hear that. You’re welcome to keep it.”

“You are okay with that?” There is an element of surprise to his voice.

“I am. I’m sure my father would have wanted his old clothes to find further use. It is yours to keep.” You place your hand on his shoulder, successfully this time, and squeeze it gently. The fabric of the shirt is taut on his frame, but you assume it must fit at least somewhat comfortably if he wants to keep it.

You release his shoulder and go over to the fireplace. The venison pie should be ready by now, and you don’t want to make him go hungry any longer than necessary. You use a hook to pull the lid off the dutch oven, then pull the pie out after covering your hands with rags. The pie is placed at the approximate center of the table. “I’ll get us something to drink, and then we can eat.”

The plot of land your family owns is rife with apple trees, so you’re never lacking in apple cider. You grab one of the bottles of alcohol from the cupboard, as well as something to cut the pie with, then return to the table. You feel for the mugs, then pour a generous serving into each. The plates are loaded with food next, with Zoro’s portion being particularly large after how hard he worked today. You set his plate in front of him, then sit down across from him with your own.

In the time it took you to sit down, he had already begun to eat. The speed with which his utensils scrape against his plate indicates to you that he was absolutely ravenous, as well as seemingly unbothered by how hot the food may still be. You eat your meal at a slower pace, enjoying the savory pie and potatoes. Making conversation now feels like it would be a wasted effort. Zoro is clearly not going to want to entertain one while he’s eating like a starved man.

As the scrapes and sound of chewing slow, then eventually stop, you speak up, “Was it to your liking?” The question is asked half in jest. Partially because he ate it in what felt like seconds, but mostly because you’re fairly certain that he hardly had a chance to taste any of it.

“That was the best thing I’ve ever tasted.”

The genuinity of the statement strikes your heart and warms it. A smile tugs at your lips. This was far from your first compliment on your food given your profession, but the sheer conviction and reverence in his voice made it feel different. You swallow your food, then respond, “I’m glad. You’re welcome to seconds if you’re still hungry.”

Much to your relief, he forgoes questioning you for once and simply helps himself to more. You can hear him resume eating again, though at a significantly less frantic pace. After a moment, Zoro clears his throat, “I wanted to ask something of you.”

“Yes? Is there something you need?” It’s relieving that he’s finally starting to be more forthcoming after getting some food in him.

“I… I don’t have anywhere to stay. I was wondering if you would allow me to sleep in the shed. I’ll work for it. I can do whatever you need me to do. I’ll cut as much firewood as you could ever need, I’ll hunt for you, do chores for you, anything.”

“The shed? Surely you noticed the hole in the roof.” You can’t see, but even you can feel the elements coming through where the roof caved in at.

“I won’t complain. Please… Please consider it. I swear on my life that I won’t burden you. I’ll stay out of your way.”

All that you can do is balk at his request. To be so desperate and destitute that you would plead and beg just to sleep in a dilapidated shed is a level of poverty that even your poor family hadn’t known. “I can’t in good conscience let you sleep in the shed.”

His protest comes immediately, laced with pain and desperation, “Please-”

“There is an empty bed in the home. If you’re willing to bunk with a stranger, I would allow you to stay here.”

The room falls silent, and then his voice shakes as he speaks again, “You’ll let me stay in your home? In a bed?” From the way he utters the words, you almost wonder if he’s never been permitted to sleep in a bed before. Your mind whirls with questions as to how such circumstances could occur, but you quickly realize that this moment isn’t suitable for such pondering. Zoro needs an answer, and it would be cruel, in your opinion, to make him wait for it.

“I recognize that it is unusual to offer this to a stranger, but you’ve been mild mannered thus far. That, and I would be lying if I said I wasn’t struggling to maintain everything around here on my own ever since my siblings left. Your help would be deeply appreciated if this arrangement is truly what you want.” You’re certain that your siblings would have a conniption if they were aware of the deal you’re making right now, but they aren’t here. The only interaction you have with them anymore is when you get one of your customers to read aloud the letters they send you. It’s unlikely that they’ll ever even know of him.

Both of your hands are abruptly encased in two much larger hands. Zoro clutches your hands like a lifeline, “That is what I want. I’ll be in your debt if you allow it.”

“There’s no need for such dramatic language. It’s hardly a debt if you’re working for your stay.” You gently squeeze his hand back.

“You don’t understand what exactly you’re doing for me… it means more than you know.”

“Then I suppose we have a deal, don’t we?”

Zoro lets out a shuddering breath as his grasp on your hands loosens, “Thank you. You won’t regret this.” He relinquishes your hands fully, and his chair creaks as he settles back into it.

Dinner resumes in a comfortable silence. This is certainly an interesting change in your life, but you have faith in this person. Zoro seems like an earnest man who has faced more than his share of strife, but you think that he’ll fit in well around here. He’s definitely most skittish about being seen, but you’re hopeful that as time goes by and he becomes more comfortable that you’ll be able to introduce him to the locals. You think the socialization would do him some good.

But, that will come at a later date. The excursion you’ll make into town after dinner to sell today’s goods will have to be a solo trip, but that’s fine. You’ve done such a task more times than you can count. The only difference today is that you’ll have someone to come home to. For now, you choose to focus on your new company and feel thankful for the positive change that you’re confident he will bring to it.

[audible-smiles]

eating salmon: an explanation

lox: thin cuts of salmon (traditionally the fatty belly meat) dry cured with salt, but not smoked. this results in a delicate texture and a very salty taste. lox originated in Scandinavia as a method of preserving fish prior to refrigeration, but the American English word is derived from Yiddish because Jewish delis in New York first popularized it as a bagel topping. since lox is a type of uncooked fish, it is not recommended for pregnant people, immunocompromised people, or seniors, due to the risk of contamination with listeria.

cold-smoked salmon: thin cuts of salmon brined (with less salt than lox) and then smoked below 90 degrees Fahrenheit. results in the same silky texture but a milder, more palatable taste. often called "Nova lox", referring to Nova Scotia but denoting a method of preparation rather than the fish's origin. this is usually what modern Americans are referring to when they use the term "lox". cold-smoking reduces but does not eliminate the risk of listeria.

hot-smoked salmon: salmon brined quickly and then smoked above 120 degrees Fahrenheit. results in a flaky, jerky-liked texture, a hard shiny surface, and a smoky flavor. (as a West-coaster, this is my preferred style!) hot-smoking eliminates listeria during the cooking process, but salmon can be recontaminated during the processing/packaging process if the facility is not sanitary. (really, this is true of all foods- vegetables, dairy products, etc).

salmon candy: a traditional Pacific Northwest hot-smoked salmon recipe where the brine is sweetened with brown sugar, and the smoked fish is glazed with a sauce containing birch or maple syrup.

salmon jerky: cured salmon hot-smoked for longer than usual or processed in a dehydrator until it is tough and chewy.

gravlax: a traditional Scandinavian raw salmon recipe where the brine contains sugar and dill. historically buried in the ground and lightly fermented. sometimes it is still pressed to give it a dense texture.

kippered salmon: thicker cuts of brined salmon hot-smoked above 150 degrees Fahrenheit. results in a texture similar to baked salmon.

salmon sushi/sashimi: completely raw fresh salmon. this didn't exist in traditional Japanese cuisine, where salmon was always cooked, possibly because the local wild salmon had a high burden of parasitic worms (anasakis nematodes). Norwegian fish sellers convinced them to try farmed Atlantic salmon raw in the 80s, and it really took off.

poached salmon: salmon cooked on the stove while submerged in liquid (often white wine with lemon). results in a moist, soft, cooked fish with a pale color. can be bland without sauce.

baked salmon: salmon cooked in an oven, often wrapped in aluminum foil with seasonings to retain moisture and flavor. can result in perfect, flaky fish (as long as you don't overcook it).

dishwasher salmon: look, sometimes white people wrap salmon in aluminum foil like they're going to bake it and then poach it in their dishwasher instead. this can work but is stupid because the temperature dishwashers run at isn't standardized, so you have no control over the process and it's easy to over or undercook.

pan-fried salmon: salmon cooked in oil on a stovetop. I've never done this and frankly it sounds wrong, but I bet it makes the skin crunchy.

broiled salmon: salmon cooked under a broiler. as with all broiled foods, you will have to stare at it the whole time or it will burn to a crisp while your back is turned. results in a caramelized exterior.

grilled salmon: to grill salmon people often put it on a Western redcedar plank pre-soaked in water, which supposedly infuses the salmon with a smoky, aromatic flavor while it cooks. I've seen the technique variously credited to the Haida, the Salish, and the Chinook. it seems to be a modern variation of the traditional "salmon on a stick" style of slow-cooking salmon by spearing it on branches and leaning it over the coals of an above-ground pit fire.

deep-fried salmon: this sounds absolutely awful but I simply cannot stop thinking about it

[cameronspecial]

Let Me Eat It, Angel

Pairing: Frat!Rafe Cameron x Reader

Warnings: N/A

Pronouns: She/Her

Word Count: 0.5K

Summary: Just because Y/N has a cooking fail doesn't mean Rafe won't try it.

A/N: Inspired by this post.

Masterlist

Y/N isn’t the worst at cooking and baking, but it doesn’t mean she is the best either. Like most people, she has her successes and her failures in the kitchen. Today, it appears her the latter is the one in favour. She really didn’t think that leaving the cookies in the oven for five more minutes would leave them this burnt. In hindsight, the burning smell coming from the kitchen should’ve told her to go to the kitchen earlier and as she opens the oven door, smoke rushes up the oven vent. She begins to cough as some of it enters her lungs, fanning the fire alarm so it doesn’t go off. Luckily, she is the only one at the Frat house to witness this disaster. She just jinxes her luck because, with the beeping of the alarm, Rafe comes into the room in a panic. “Angel, are you alright? Are you hurt?” he questions, reaching up to turn the alarm off before rushing to his angel. He takes her into his arms to give her a once over and she nods to reassure him. “I’m okay. Only disappointed. I wanted you and the boys to come home to the smell of freshly baked cookies, not me burning the house down. I mean look at those. They look like coal,” she dismays, gesturing with an open palm to the tray in the oven with black lumps. Rafe sighs, takes out the tray and turns the oven off, “It’s okay. They still look great. I bet it’s just the outside that is burnt and the inside tastes great.” He picks up the cooling burnt cookie, giving it a few blows and bringing it to his mouth. “Rafe, I don’t think you should-” she is interrupted by her boyfriend. 

“Let me eat it, Angel,” he insists. He takes a massive bite of baked goods. Immediately, he is overcome by a bitter sensation. His eyes dart to Y/N, who has a hopeful look, and he tries everything in his power to hide his true emotions with a smile. However, she notices the twitch in his right eye. She frowns, “Damn it. Don’t eat it anymore. I don’t want you to get sick or something. I just don’t know what I did wrong.” Rafe tries to hide his happiness of not having to finish it and puts it in the green bin. He places his hands above her elbows. “I’m sure you did everything right. There must be something wrong with the oven. I’ll get it checked out. I bet it’s the oven,” he persists. She nods, “Maybe, Let me look at the recipe again. Maybe I put it in way longer than I should’ve.” Her eyes glance over the recipe and she finds the culprit right away in the form of an F. Realization sets in. “I forgot the oven you guys have is in Celsius because you had it brought over from England, so when I set it to 350 Celsius, I was making way hotter than it was supposed to be,” she explains. Rafe gives her a small smile, “See, it isn’t your fault. It’s the stupid oven. I’ll get rid of it right away and get an American one so it doesn’t make you make that mistake again.” He kicks the oven, cursing up a storm against the inanimate object. She giggles at his actions and pulls him into an embrace. “Thank you for making me feel better, Rafe. You always know what to say.”

Taglist: @winterrrnight @loves0phelia @thelomlisrafecameron @wickedlovely121 @thepatriarchykeychain @drewsmusee @starkowswife @maybankslover @forstarkey @loving-and-dreaming

[merrimentsmight]

I could be persuaded to read some cute domestic fluff with Cicero x Listener 🥺

I could also very much be persuaded to read any kind of NSFW about Cicero. Literally doesn't matter what kind, whether he's alone or with Listener or anyone. And bonus point if he's a sub 👀🙈 but honestly anything goes with my funky little jester man, he is so versatile in terms of NSFW, like is it just me?

The common area was hot, the oven full of coals, and Cicero and his Listener were baking boiled cream treats together. He had the jacket of his motley off and draped over a chair, and stood in his undershirt constantly stirring a pot of hot sweetened cream and egg yolks over the fire, sweat glistening on his forehead.

Conversation had fallen into a comfortable lull, but unless he was focused, sneaking, hiding, Cicero could never let silence stretch on too long. “I once met a man, a fair sailor,” he mumbled to himself, half singing half talking, “who thought of his wife as his jailer.” The custard was starting to bubble, it would be done soon. “Well, I took him to bed, left a hole in her head, and we both sailed away feeling haler.” Cicero giggled, and gave the pot a final stir before grabbing it with a thick cloth and removing it from the fire.

“Hmm, is that one true?” asked the Listener, looking up from where they were cutting dough into careful squares. Cicero came up behind them and placed the pot of boiled custard onto the table, where it would probably burn a circle into the unfinished wood.

“Wouldn't you like to know, my jealous Listener?” he asked, standing on the tips of his toes to tuck his face in the crook of their neck, which smelled like spring and powder. He watched them fold in the corners of each of the squares and place them onto a baking sheet, and unhooked himself from around them before grabbing the pot again and dolloping custard into the centers of each folded pastry. 

The Listener raised an eyebrow and picked up the full baking sheet; the raw pastries sliding around as they moved. “You’ve never killed my wife,” they scoffed, and slid the sheet onto the grate over the hot coals, “you've never even offered.” 

Something sparked in Cicero’s eyes from under the cloth he used to wipe his forehead, and he watched them as they bent, watched the shape of their back, the curve of their ass through their clothes. Accosted by a softness inside of him, like his insides were necrosing, full of a neediness that felt like weakness and was weakness but that he would never be free of, he was sure, even when he was dead and in the void, Cicero realized that he needed them now. Not when they were done cooking, or later after they retired to bed, or even in the couple of moments it would take to bring them to somewhere closed off and private. 

By the time they turned back around he was kneeling in front of them, pressing his face into their apron. Crazed, sycophantic, cloying. “Cicero is sorry! He would if you had one! You wouldn’t even have to ask.” Soft lips pressed to the back of the Listener’s hand, and Cicero followed, pivoting on his knees as they readjusted to lean back against the cooking table. 

They looked around. Babette was off killing a healer in Markarth, and the rest of their siblings were, well, dammit, they were adults. More significantly, none of them were immediately present, and Cicero was. He was very real and making himself known, two fingers sliding slowly back and forth beneath the waistband of their pants.

“You're insatiable, aren't you?” they said, feigning annoyance, untying the apron and lying it on the table next to them with a puff of flour.

Cicero nodded, looking up at them with wide eyes, like he was about to start salivating. “Oh, I’d do anything for you, kill anyone for you, please, please, please let me make it all better, show you how I need you...” His voice leveled off into a whine, and sent arousal rolling down the Listener's spine. 

Face hot already, the Listener played along with their overeager fool, “if the food burns I'll be terribly, terribly upset.”

“Mhm,” he laughed, lusty, stupid, lovesick, unbuttoning the Listener's pants as fast as he could manage, and only pulling them down to their thighs before his face was buried in their cunt. His nose pressed into their clit, tongue laving against their labia before he drew back. 

“The Listener has nothing to be jealous of,” said Cicero, pressing his hand up to tease their entrance, “nothing at all.” He jammed two fingers up inside, curling them forward, and his cock throbbed at the choked gasp they made. He dove in, too enthralled for moderation, for buildup, lapping at their clit fast and hard, pushing the Listener’s hips up onto the table so that they could kick off their pants and lock their legs around his shoulders. 

“The sailor didn’t moan like you, my sweet Listener,” said Cicero, fingers anchored and thrusting inside, the Listener starting to fall apart around him already. “He didn't taste like you, didn't follow our Lady.”

They were gripping the table with both hands, squeezing hard, occasionally looking around. It was silly. Cicero would not have stopped no matter who walked in; not until his job was done. It wouldn’t take all that long. The Listener had started to rock their hips, and when they breathed out his name, harsh, like a warning, he knew they were nearly there. 

“He didn't love Cicero like you do,” he said. Simply, finally. He leaned back in to wrap his lips around the Listener’s clit as they cried out, legs shaking, hand shooting out to grip Cicero by the hair and hold him in place as they rode out their orgasm against his face. They couldn't see it, probably couldn't even feel it, but he was grinning. His cock was so hard it was starting to hurt.  

The Listener had to let go of Cicero’s hair to lean back against the table, afraid that if they didn’t prop themselves up they would collapse backwards. “Where did you get so good at that,” they said, and then, “oh, gods, the oven.”

Cicero was able to get to his feet first, and looked over the still baking pastries. “No worries my love, they look perfectly fine,” he said smugly, “Cicero thinks they might even be a little undercooked.”

[smuthospital]

⭐️Pirate! Tomura x reader⭐️

Premise: A certain pirate really thinks you're pretty

Warning: NON CON, kidnapping, gn reader

MINORS DNI

"Now for the sponge cake!" You crack an egg and separate the yolks from the whites in two seperate bowls. You're making strawberry shortcake! You stop in your tracks when the sharp smell of smoke leaks into your airways. You drop everything you're doing and run to the bread oven. Your bread almost burned! Momo would kill you! You work at her little bakery and this bread was requested by a frequent customer. You sigh as you place the bread on a cooling rack and put out the fire in the hearth.

You live in a beautiful little port town by and it's what you call home. It's right by the sea so most men in town work at the docs, work at sea or sell goods. You just work in a little bakery. It's moderately popular. Everyone adores the pretty little bakery girl. You have countless old women asking you to marry their grandsons and countless men trying to pry into your life to win themselves a pretty wife to cook for them. You deny all marriage proposals because you're waiting for your true love to sweep you off your feet. And although your sweet little sea side town is everything to you, you hope to one day leave and explore the world. Your friends and family would be fine. You'd come back and show them all the nice things aquired on your travels.

You smell smoke again. That's odd. You could have sworn you turned the hearth off. Maybe a piece of bread fell onto the coals below the heat rack and now it's burning? You peak in the hearth you had just put out and see that it is Infact empty, but the smell of smoke remains. You then hear a scream from outside followed by people running around. You hear gun shots and the sound of distant laugter getting closer. You run outside to see a row of houses on fire, the fire spreading more and more. Momo amung the crowd, yanks you back into the bakery and roughly places a key in your hand. Her skin is as white as a sheet, her body drenched in sweat..and blood? "W-what happened to you? M-Momo? Wh-whats goin-"

"P-Pirates."

Your heart stops. This can't be. What would pirates what from your cute little town? "W-what? O-oh god." You cover your mouth as tears seep from your eyes, knowing this might be the end of your little happy town and maybe your life. Nothing will be the same by days end. "Listen, I need to get to my family. Stay here and hide in the back. Please be safe!" With that, Momo runs off. You waste no time hiding in the bakery, but not before locking the doors and turning off all the lights. You hide in the backroom and pray for a hero. You're covered in a cold sweat as you hear heavy footsteps outside the bakery. They seem to linger for a few moments around the display window. You hear them fade into the distance and sigh in relief.

A rock smashes through the bakery door glass and a hand shoves through the hole created to unlock the door from the inside. You begin to crawl to the back door as the person let's themselves in through the front. You hear the persons feet crunching the glass and the sound of them collecting your baked goods in a sack. You can image that baked bread and sweets are a delicacy to pirates.

You slowly open the back door and your breath is caught in your throat. "Ey captain, we got a live one!" A man wearing black shouts. From behind him, a tall, white haired man comes into view. He ducks his head under the door way as he enters. "Ah and a pretty one. I'm gonna have some fun with you, sweetie."

The cocky grin on his face tells you that he doesn't mean a board game. Fear like no other settles in your gut. He looks absolutely over joyed to see that expression on your face. Your eyes dart around for any escape. His frame covers the entire doorway.

The man smiles down at you wickedly. You try to run back into the bakery, but a pirate in dark clothing stands there, eating the bread you'd just baked. You feel a wall press into your from behind, two hands landing firmly on your shoulders. "Hey, pretty lady, no need to be frightened. We're customers. I'd like to have a cream puff. You got any of those?" The white haired pirate asked, his warm breath tickling the shell of your ear, his chest pressed against your back and...somthing else. "Huh?? No!? I-I can make some..just please..don't hurt me." You turn to him and hold your hands together.

Dread washes over you as you feel his eyes drag up and down your body with that same shit eating grin on his face. His eyes stop at your chest, your cleavage poking out from the top of your apron. You feel naked in his eyes. "No..I can help you make them...it's my specialty." He says right before he grabs at you. You let out a short scream as he picks you up by the waist and forces your body onto a counter, ass up and legs dangling over the edge. He pushes your dress up over your hips and marvels at the sight. He kneeds your ass like dough, your kicking and screaming only egging him on.

As he pulls down your underwear, you spot a wooden mallet you had been using earlier and grab it. He picks up your underwear and brings it to his nose, taking a deep inhale before pocketing it. You can feel his twitching erection poking your thigh. Before he can do anything else, you swing the mallet at his body with all your strength, managing get him in the side. You scramble off the counter and out the back door that he left open, narrowly missing his hand grabbing for your hair. "YOU FUCKING BITCH! I'LL GET YOU!" His words sends shivers like cold water down your spine, but only boost your adrenaline, further encouraging you to run even faster. He recovers from the hit almost immediately and bounds after you. You can hear him quickly catching up from behind you. You don't dare look back.

You feel all hope drain out of your body as a heavy hand land clamps around your wrist. He slams his body into yours, sending you tumbling onto the gravely path with him on top. Black spots cloud the corners of your eyes from the impact. He yanks you by the collar towards his face. You hear his shouting grow farther. He backhands you across the face, momentarily bringing you back to your senses before you succumb to sleep. "You're just a little cock tease. I'll show you how to treat a man." Are the last words you hear before passing out in the mans grip.

You hear the sound of waves, then heavy footsteps on wood. You slowly open your eyes to see that you're on a mattress in the corner of a small, dark, dust covered room. You have a massive headache that has you wanting to close your eyes again, but you do your best to resist. The only light source coming from a small round window. You whimper as you rub your hand on your face, trying to sooth your swollen cheek. You begin crying again. Your town..its gone and you're gonna die. It's like a dungeon in here. You quickly examine yourself just incase you were defiled in your sleep. Your dress is torn, revealing more of your chest and there's a vertical slit up your skirt that goes up to your hip. You shift a bit in your spot, uncomfortable. Your pussy feels..tampered with? The door swings open and you gasp. You scoot to the farthest corner of the bed. "I like that look on you..but you know, you shouldn't have hurt me earlier. That's no way to treat your captain. Now I have to discipline you. I'm captain shigaraki, but you can call me Tomura." He steps closer, taking off his coat and tossing it aside.

"No-no wait. You don't want me..I-Im no good..I...I'm on my period!" You struggle to come up with more excuses. He chuckles at this. "Sweetheart, I know that you're not. I had a taste earlier and even if you were, I'm a pirate. A little bloods never stopped me before." Your expression reflects your disgust. So he did do something to you. "You're a monster!" Your words only seem to make his smile bigger. He gets down and crawls into the bed infront of you like a lion inspecting it's prey. You scream as he grabs you by your ankle and drags you under him. He leans down, his white hair tickling your face, your foreheads almost touching. You feel his throbbing cock under his pants rub against your stomach, begging to be released. He grinds his hips back and fourth along your pelvis, making you feel every inch of what's going to be splitting you open real soon.

He drags his tongue from your neck to your cheek bone. "Feel that? All for you. every since I first laid eyes on you, I couldn't calm down. I've been meaning to get a little cabin wench and I think you'll do the job quite nicely. A pretty little thing to keep my cock warm while out at sea. I'm sure you'd like that." He bucks his hips once, a whimper leaving your mouth. "And you have your uses. You can cook and bake your sweet little bakery things for me and my men. We'll have someone watch you incase you think you can get away with using poison...and if you try...well... don't." His face is only a cm from yours. You can't recoil any further without breaking your neck.

"I'm gonna fuck your mouth first. Then I'm gonna pound your holes into dust. Make you all nice and full. I'm gonna fuck you until you bleed. That is if you're not a virgin. Make sure to beg for me to stop." His large hands grasp your dress and yank it off your body, making sure to keep it intact. Your wailing seems to add to his enjoyment. "You know, sweet heart, If I ripped up your pretty little dress, nothing would stop my men from raping all your holes bloody." One of his hands crawl towards your cunt and plays with your clit, his wide grin mocking you. Your face is completely red in shame. He surprises you when he suddenly shoves a finger into your unprepared cunt.

You hear the clinking of metal and see he's unbuckles his belt as you struggle. You try to push his hand away from your cunt with your free hand when he quickly pulls out away, instead replacing it with his heavy cock. Your breath catches in your throat as you look at the ginormous thing laying on your stomach.

"Y-you can't...be serious. That won't fit! You're gonna kill me!"

You grunt as you struggling with all your strength. "Get off of me! Get off!" You hear a crack and stop stop moving, confused. What was that sound? A fiery sting slowly spreads across your cheek. "Shut the fuck up, meat. I'm sick of your whining. Beg me to stop. Beg me for mercy. And say my name too?" He growls. "P-please, Tomura." He rubs the cheek he just smacked as a form of reward, rubbing away the tears with his thumb.

"That's a good girl..now get on your knees." You do as he says immediately, coming face to face with the monsters monster. To you, it's disgusting. A pirates down below area..who knows where it's been. The tip is already shiny with pre cum. It's thickness seems life threatening. You really don't want to put that stinky pirate prick in your mouth so you instinctively try to pull away and you kinda You like breathing. He anticipated this tangles his hand in your hair and presses your face into his groin, his cock pressing against your cheek and nose. You clench your eyes shut and whimper. You can feel his cock radiating heat. "Common. Show your new owner that you're sorry for hurting him." You don't open your mouth fast enough for his liking so he yanks your hair. The feeling is excruciating. You scream in pain he slides his cock in as soon as your mouth opens.

You immediately gag as it reaches the back of your throat, the taste making you try scrunch up your face. It's salty. It's not even all the way in yet and you're fighting for air. He laughs as you panic. "Never given head? Dont worry, I'll teach ya. Start by sucking. No teeth." You do as he instructs, closing your lips around his shift and suctioning as hard as you can. He lets out a deep, gutteral groan and thrusts his hips back and fourth. "Oh fuck. You're a natural."

He continues thrusting, his cock sliding in and out with ease, now coated with your saliva. Pre cum and saliva leaks from the corners of your mouth and down your chin and onto your awaiting tits. Your breathing has adjusted to his rythim a bit now. His pace quickens and you try to pull away harder than before, not wanting his nasty children in your mouth. He presses his hips to your lips and grunts, his pubic hair smuthered against your nose and mouth. Your mouth burns as hot, thick lava like cum pours down your throat and out your mouth. It's all coming so fast that you can't swollow fast enough to breath. You have a hard time taking it all, some of it spills from your nose. He slowly pulls out with a sigh, his hand still firmy clasping your hair. Your mouth hangs open for a few moments. You think it's over, but his cock is just as hard as it was before he assaulted you. You think you're constant whimpering is doing something for him.

He shoves you on your stomach and lifts your hips up. You try to lift yourself on your elbows, but he shoves your face into the mattress. "Stay down."

His cock prods your entrance. He tries to shove in, but you're too tight and he's too big, causing it to just slip onto your clit. You can still feel the heat coming from it, burning your skin with every contact. He grumbles in frustration when you try to move away. He lifts his heavy hand and smacks your ass. His cock prods your entrance again. "I'm warning you." Your whimpers get louder and more desperate as he slowly stuffs the head of his cock into your cunt. You're in too much pain to think properly. The head pops in and you scream. "Ah. Finally. You're cunt is like a fucking boa. Got me in a chokehold. I might get stuck." He groans out. All you can do is cry, unable to respond without sounding like a blubbering mess. He leans over your back, caging your body with his.

"This might hurt, sweety so just brace yourself." His warning would have been comforting if you couldn't tell how excited he is to hurt you. He shoves the rest of his cock into your cunt, you muffle a cry into the mattress. He presses his hips to yours, rolling in a few circles to rub it in. He licks his lips. "Yeah. Keep crying." He thrusts in and out of your hot cunt. You can hear the wet sounds of your blood and your body desperately trying to create some sort of lubricant. "Hah...maybe I'll put a baby in you. Have you be my exclusive bitch."

"P-please. I'll do anything, Tomura..no...please-" he cuts you off with a loud moan. "You look so fucking pretty like this. Cry more!" He slams his hips into your ass, forcing your spine into an uncomfortable position. Your eyes cross and you you gasp in pain. He snacks your ass again, harder than the first time. You sob loudly, feeling like you're gonna die. You feel his arm reach under you and trail his hand from between your breasts, down your mid section and then down to your tummy. He feels his cock bulge our from you slightly each time he bottoms out. He pushes down on the lump. You whimper, the feeling an indescribable amount of pleasure. You can't help but tighten around his cock even more.

You hate it, but it feels so good. You can't help yourself. Your cunt squeezes his cock as he speeds up, his pace battering your womb without a care, just as a pirate does. You try to crawl away one last time, he puts all his weight on your back and slams his hips harder than ever before, sending ripples down your body. He snacks your ass twice in a row. You're sure his strikes are to leave welts and bruises. You feel a hot gush as his cum flows into you. Your eyes cross, the feeling too pleasurable to bare. You release your juices around his cock and his face comforts in pleasure. "Ah fuck!" Your tummy bloats slightly, and cum spurts out from around where his cock is buried deep inside you. He thrusts gently, riding out his orgasm. He leans over your shoulder to whisper in your ear.

"You're gonna be my little wife now. No complain'in. You cook, you bake, you clean, you sit on my cock and when it's time, bare my children." You can't believe the direction your life took. This morning, you were happy in your little bakery, now you're a pirates concubine or something. He slowly pulls out with a lewd 'pop' sound and rolls you over to face him. He almost tenderly kisses you o the lips. "I enjoyed this raids bounty today. I found a beautiful treasure." His lays himself next to you, hugging you closer to his body.

With that, you couldn't stay awake any longer. Your lower half is completely numb. You have no feeling in your ass and you sure sitting will not be an option for awhile. Maybe one day you'll come to enjoy being a pirates love.

Maybe you'll get used to this. Maybe if you behave.

[angronsjewelbeetle]

Okay uh, it turned into a fic??

I don't...have an excuse. My brain just. Uh. I'm sorry?

First kisses: Mortarion exclusive ~♡

Probably out of character so um. Apologies for that.

“Clumsy,” he mutters, but  you can hear the way his tone lifts with amusement. He shakes his head, some of his long hair slipping out from the bun he’s pinned it back in as he lifts you upright with ease, dusting off some of the flour from your arm. He gives you a quick once-over, you playfully wipe some of the flour off on his shirt. He scoffs and reaches over to take the screaming kettle off the stove, “it should be ready soon,” he says, right as the timer chimes insistently. Mortarion passes you the oven mits and you lean down, the familiar smell of chamomile wafting up with the steam as he slips the ceramic lid onto the teapot and you bring the small loaf out of the oven, setting it on the counter. “Normally it’s cooked in the coals of a fire,” he says, “you were saying that earlier. And once it’s cooled down a bit, you eat it with syrup, right?” you reply, watching as the taps the base of the loaf and nods. “Hollow,” you say to the noise, “that’s how you know it’s cooked,” he hums, looking pleased, scarred lips twisted into a little smile as you pour yourself some tea, “where did I put that bread knife?” he asks himself, turning around to survey the kitchen. He spots it by the sink and potters back over to the loaf, slicing off a piece and watching the puff of steam rise from within. He picks up the jug of syrup and pours it over the slice, offering it to you as a bit of the dark golden liquid drips over his hand. You take a bite. The syrup is thick and sweet and the bread is thick and warm, you can feel your cheek getting sticky and hear Mortarion scoff again affectionately as he cuts a thick slice for himself. Both are demolished in mere moments and you find yourself chuckling at him as he licks his hand like a cat. “Let me get that for you,” he says, glancing around before sinking to one knee, wincing as his rear thuds against the cabinet as he slouches down close enough to reach you. He grasps your chin gently and turns your face to the side, leaning in. He licks the sticky syrup off, tongue hot against your cheek. He licks across the corner of your lips and pauses. He pulls away a little, you look at him, breath caught in your throat. “May I kiss you?” He asks, voice quiet. You nod. His lips are soft but dry, and all you can smell is syrup and chamomile.

[pagsys-writings]

a thoughtful disaster

a codywan fic Rated T Fluff, attempt at baking, modern au, obi-wan goes by Ben 543 words

AO3 Link

Make it stop! Make it stop! Cody thought as he frantically waved the hand towel above his head. The incessant beeping of the smoke detector seemed to get louder and louder with each passing second and Cody feared it would wake up Ben at any moment.

He didn't know where he went wrong. Ben had sent him a recipe for apple muffins two weeks ago, saying he wanted to make them together the next time he had off, but being in his residency meant significantly less time off than he had hoped. Cody figured he could surprise his overworked and exhausted boyfriend by making the muffins himself. Then Ben would have something to grab on the go as he rushed to and from the hospital.

His intentions were good, so why did the fucking oven have to betray him like that? 

Cody knew he followed the directions carefully. He'd triple-checked the ingredients making sure all the measurements were correct. He knew he set the oven to the correct temperature and the timer on his phone still said there were five minutes left before the muffins were supposed to be done. So why were the muffins sitting on the stovetop looking like large lumps of coal?

"For fuck's sake!" he hissed but fell into a coughing fit when he accidentally inhaled some of the smoke. The burnt smell of the food caught in his throat, making it hard to breathe.

He was going to rip the damn fire alarm off the fucking ceiling. If that thing woke up Ben, he was going to be even more pissed than before. Two more waves of the towel in the direction of the open window and the smoke detector finally went silent.

Cody felt his shoulders sag. He dropped the towel on the counter and walked over to the stove. It was definitely an older model - much like the rest of the apartment they lived in. Maybe it needed to be replaced, but he'd have to talk to his landlord about it later. Right now, he needed to figure out what he was doing with his failed baking attempt. 

He surveyed the damage, poked at the blackened lumps, and sighed. There was no saving this disaster. His only option was to throw all of them away. Tilting the pan, Cody watched in defeat as the charred muffins fell into the trash. This is what happens when you try to be cute, he told himself as he walked away from the kitchen.

Poking his head into the bedroom, Cody checked on his boyfriend. Despite all the chaos and noise, Ben was still fast asleep. His face was pressed firmly against the pillow and his auburn hair stuck up in every direction. Cody could even hear the soft snores Ben made when he was in a deep sleep.

Cody smiled and carefully shut the bedroom door. He still had about an hour before Ben's alarm would go off. That was plenty of time to run to the store, buy some apple muffins, and get back to clean up the mess in the kitchen. The muffins might not be homemade, but they would still be a thoughtful gift, and Cody was nothing but thoughtful, especially when it came to Ben.

[urbanchats]

Times Square at Night: The City That Never Sleeps Shines with Positive Energy

[writersmilex]

Cooking Lesson

Toki Wartooth X Fem Reader

Summary: Toki is not the best at cooking and after one more mishap during making snacks, (Y/n) decides to teach him how to cook a meal.

_______________________________________

(Y/n) turns up her nose at the smell of burning plastic once she enters the very large kitchen in Mordhaus to get a snack and a drink.

"stop burning the plastic Toki! " she scolds as the burning smell whiffs through her nostrils. "ai!" Toki yelps in surprise as he is snapped out of his daydreaming. Rushing over to look in the oven, which's once again ruined by molten plastic at the bottom of the heat source.

"nei, nei! Nots agains! Fucks!" he yells in frustration and tries to take out the mess from the oven to get rid of with charming pink oven mitts.

"I thought you were in charge of the snacks around here?" (Y/n) wanders over to the double-door fridge to get a cold soda and then approaches the kitchen part where Toki is located. If a fire breaks out, she would be here to help, (Y/n) eyes the fire extinguisher that is hanging in the corner. Not to mention that there are sprinkles installed in the kitchen after a few too many incidents. 

"Toki ams in charges of snacks! But the others don'ts wants to eat the greens!" he explains sadly, throwing away the still smoking and charted piece of plastic with the black-as-coal corpse of some food inside.

"at leasts you dos…" he sighs and looks away almost out of shame. (Y/n) is not a picky eater at all and would eat all the exotic fruit salads that Toki is good at making. It’s cooking foods that he wasn’t very good at, or he loses his patience with cooking foods most likely. (Y/n) opens her can of soda, takes one chug of it and thinks hard. Despite having her own room in Mordhaus, (Y/n) still lives in her own place in a dingy apartment in the nearest town. Completely self-sustainable and independent for years since moving out. The band is fascinated with the fact that (Y/n) is an adult who owns a license and can cook her own food. "you know what Toki? I can help you make snacks. In fact, I can even teach you how to cook." she suggests and helps the rhythm guitarist with cleaning the leftover mess up a bit. Upon the suggestion of assistance, Toki looks at (Y/n) with wonder "You can cooks?" He asks in astonishment, causing (Y/n) to chuckle. She never fails to surprise the band member every time with her domestic skills. "Sure I can!” (Y/n) smiles at him. “And I will teach you the basics if you wanna make good snacks." Toki nods excitedly in response to (Y/n). It is a great opportunity to spend more time with his friend, and she gets to teach him her ways of cooking food! That’s a double win for him. 

"Great! How about we start right away. We're in the kitchen right now anyway. " (Y/n) grins and takes the moment to drink the rest of her soda and throw the can away to get started together with the rhythm guitarist.

~~~~

"First things first, we gather the tools we need to cook. You know pot pans and a spatula of sorts." (Y/n) explains to Toki, opening a low cupboard and taking out the pans that she would need for a dish that she plans to teach Toki. A very simple meal that shows the basics, should be right to teach for the first cooking lesson.

"Okay." Toki inspects (Y/n)’s movements before following and opening a drawer to get some cooking tools.

"We are going to make something basic, just some pork and cooked veggies and potatoes, that should be nice for the very first lesson." (Y/n) says, picking up the ingredients from the fridge that she needs for the tutorial that she is about to perform for the rhythm guitarist.

"If you can get a cutting board for me?" (Y/n) requests politely, Toki goes to look for a cutting plank to cut the green beans. He finds one and brings it over back to her, the smile on his face never fading as he places the cutting board before her dutifully.

"Okay, Here. I'm gonna let you cut the vegetables."(Y/n) instructs while handing Toki a kitchen knife to cut and then places the green beans on the cutting board. "Can you cut these, carefully?" She asks him and he nods in response. Toki stands before the cutting board and gets to work, gingerly cutting the green beans into niche little pieces, just as she had asked. (Y/n) watches for a moment and then retrieves a pot to fill it with water and let it boil for the green beans and potatoes.

(Y/n) lets the water boil while taking a moment to stare at the back of the guitarist’s head and takes notice of something. She digs into her pocket and takes a hair-band from her pocket, she stands behind him and gently gathers his hair in one hand.

"Hm? Whats are you doings." Toki questions while momentarily stopping the knife, trying to turn back to see what (Y/n) is doing with his locks.

"Pay attention Toki! You’re holding a knife.” (Y/n) scolds in a  rather playful tone. We don't want hair in the food do we?" She says, taking the hair-tie and putting all of Toki's hair in a loose ponytail that falls down his back neatly.

"There." She smirks at her accomplishment. It took a lot of trial and error for her to figure out why there was always hair in her food, long hair should remain tied while working with food. Toki is now sporting a low ponytail and It looks rather cute.

(Y/n) turns back to her own work of her own work, gathering the pork burgers and some oil to put in the pan. The stoves in Mordhaus are pretty brutal and they heat things up a whole lot faster than (Y/n)’s own stove at home. 

"Ouchies!" Toki suddenly yelps in pain, the knife clatters on the metal counter as he drops it instinctively. Flinching back from the counter and clutching his right wrist tightly.

(Y/n) jumps at the sound of her friend yelling, seemingly in pain. She already concludes that Toki must have accidentally cut himself while cutting the vegetables. She feels partly responsible for this incident now. 

"Toki, I told you to be careful!" She scolds quietly and gingerly grabs his hands to make him let go of his own wrist to take a look at what he did. It’s not the worst thing in the world that (Y/n) has seen. Then again, a musician’s hands and fingers are sacred. There is only a single cut, that slices over the back of his index and middle finger. Toki hisses as it’s bleeding quite hard.

"Hold it." (Y/n) turns back away and gets the first-aid kit that should be lying around here somewhere. Luckily she was able to find one under the sink. Turning back to a panicked-looking Toki, she waves him over. "Come here." She orders him and Toki doesn’t think twice. She grabs his wounded hand, Opening the water tap and holds his hand under the cold water to clean the cut, letting the water wash it out.

The guitarist hisses in discomfort as the water makes the cuts slightly sting. Once the blood is a bit cleaned up, (Y/n) gets two band-aids and wraps each injured finger up, dressing the little wounds up neatly. 

"There, see? You're still alive." (Y/n) jokes, noticing how sad Toki looked at his now bandaged fingers.

"Shall I cut the vegetables?" (Y/n) asks and Toki nods in response, inspecting the bright blue band-aids on his fingers and stepping aside to let (Y/n) do the cutting and he simply watches. (Y/n) resumes Toki’s work, slicing the green beans into pieces, then she picks up the board and slides the vegetables into the pot with boiling water to the knife.

"I didn'ts knows cookings had so manys steps." Toki looks in awe at what (Y/n) is teaching him, peering into the pot to see the green beans be enveloped by the bubbling hot water. "This is actually a pretty basic thing to know." (Y/n) replies casually, stirring the vegetables with a spoon before returning to the cutting board to get the pre-peeled potatoes to boil as well. Toki manoeuvres around (Y/n) to keep watch, getting out of her way when she turns around. 

"My parents taught me how to cook, they’re supposed to teach you everything. Didn’t yours?” (Y/n) is a little too focused on her cooking to really filter herself. And once she realises what she says, she kind of pales. Turning to look at Toki, he is staring back with a completely empty look. It’s really scary how Toki can suddenly lose all life in his eyes like that. “Oh my god! I’m so sorry. Fuck…” She quickly apologizes for being so insensitive. Toki blinks a couple of times and the life to his pale blue eyes returns, (Y/n) looks back to her cooking out of embarrassment. 

(Y/n) is slightly aware of his childhood, which explains his behaviour today. But she has a hard time relating to him, her own childhood was great. Loving parents and loving siblings, still in contact today. 

"Here." (Y/n) breaks the uncomfortable silence and gently takes Toki's hand, placing the spatula into his hand. "make sure that everything is cooked evenly." (Y/n) instructs as steps aside for him to take charge. motioning for Toki to try and flip over the piece of meat. "see?"

Toki successfully flips the patty over, hearing the meat sizzle from the searing heat. The guitarist smiles brightly a his accomplishment. “Looks! I dids it!” He points at the pan. “Very good! You’re getting the hang of this." (Y/n) praises with glee, patting him on the back of his shoulder. The guitar feels a sense of pride upon receiving praise from his friend. There is nothing like quality time together. "This is funs." Toki replies with a smile, cooking the patty by himself now.. 

"I know right. Eating a meal feels a lot more rewarding when you made it yourself. It's a handy skill to possess." (Y/n) explains, lifting the lid of one of the pots to check in on the boiling vegetables, it’s going good so far.

(Y/n) smiles, blinking at the steam that hits their face. "Alright, it's almost ready." She drops the lid on the pot. "I'll get some plates and then dinner is ready." She then moves away to gather the items she said she’d get. After the plates are prepared for a dinner for two. After baking the potatoes and the green beans were cooked, and The meals were complete. 

~~~~

Once the dinner for two is done and served. Toki and (Y/n) sit down at the nearby table to try the dish that they just made together. In all honesty, for Toki the meal is amazing, probably the best meal he can remember having. he eats the pork patty with glee and (Y/n) looks upon her guitarist friend with amusement as he finishes his meal. he seems to really love it.

Of course, (Y/n) is enjoying the meal herself as well. As she had mentioned before, a meal is way more rewarding when eating. Some people think cooking is a waste of time because eating it takes about 15 minutes. Whoever thinks like that doesn’t take pride in their own creations, which is very sad.

the the green beans are perfectly boiled and the potatoes are well baked and have a crunch to them, in (Y/n)’s opinion, that’s a good thing.

"Wowee! This is so greats (Y/n)!" Toki cheers with a mouthful of food. "Be proud of yourself Toki. We made this together." (Y/n) replies with a smile, taking both hers and Toki's plates and utensils to clean them up.

"cans we do this agains sometimes? Then yous can helps me makes snacks for the others." Toki asks rather sheepishly, standing up and following (Y/n) to help her with the dishes.

"Of course, we can do this again! I'll help you become just as good at cooking as me. Maybe even better!" (Y/n) winks at the guitarist playfully, smiling cheekily at him. Toki turns cherry pink in the face at (Y/n)’s gesture, and then returns the smile.

"it's a deal then."

___________________________________________

I like this one a lot. And I hope you do too! It’s really cute and it doesn’t have a lot of plot to be honest. It’s a simple story. 

Thanks for reading.

- Smilex

[sheafrotherdon]

Nicky wakes up early. It’s still dark as he climbs out of bed and picks up yesterday’s discarded t-shirt and jeans from the floor, pulls them on, and pads out into the shadowed hallway. Everyone is sleeping and will stay that way for a while, attuned as they are to the specific silence of the safe house. The scent of coffee will tell them when it’s time to wake.

The kitchen floor is cool beneath Nicky’s bare feet as he pulls flour and sugar from the cupboard, and finds his favored mixing bowl. He selects two oranges from the platter on the kitchen table. They’re a pleasant weight in his hands as he rinses them at the sink, and he smiles as he gently peels long strips of rind from each fruit, orange oil dampening his fingers.  He chops the rind into tiny pieces with a kitchen knife he keeps predictably sharp, and lets his mind wander.

They all came into this long life with midwinter rituals, rituals that pushed aside the darkness and kindled light. Andy’s rituals were, by the time Nicolo met her, casual habits and scraps of poetry from more places than she could name. Quynh would find the means to make lamps from whale oil and tallow, beeswax in later years, but always she would meet winter with the industry of her hands. Yusuf leaned toward fire, kindling and branches, logs or turf, more than once the pungent blaze of cow shit. Always he would smile; always he would sing. Always Nicky fell a little more in love.  And then came Nile, with traditions that ran from Santa to mass, to knitted stockings for each of them when she had the means, and Catholic rituals that Nicky recognized as echoes of his own. Last Christmas she had given Joe coal, and he had thrown back his head and roared with laughter, and called her fond and obscene names.

But it was solstice where Nicky felt most grounded, where the patient observation of darkness in its fullest expression brought quiet joy. Thus the oranges, the creaming of butter and sugar, the addition of flour that he never quite manages to avoid spilling on his shirt. Dropping the orange rind into his bowl, he turns his attention to chopping sweetened cranberries into small, tart bites, and mixing everything into a dough.

By the time the dough is chilled and the cookies cut into small, precise rounds, the oven is ready, and the coffee has been set to brew. Andy shuffles into the kitchen as the first of the solstice sweets are cooling on a rack, and Nicky smacks her hand away from the still-too-hot cookies, a ritual in and of itself.  She accepts coffee in lieu of food, pulls her knees up to her body, heels resting on the seat of the chair, and hunches inside her oversized sweater that has seen better days but is worn and well loved.  Nile follows, and after a time, Joe, and only then does Nicky slip the cookies onto a plate and set them on the table.

The sky outside turns from black to morning grey, and the people Nicky loves eat the best expression of sunlight he knows.  He wipes his hands on a towel and fills a mug with coffee, pulls out a chair and as Joe rests a hand on his knee, covers that hand with his own.

[visit-new-york]

What are some of the popular dining options or food vendors in or around Brooklyn Bridge Park?

Nestled against the stunning backdrop of the iconic Brooklyn Bridge and overlooking the Manhattan skyline, Brooklyn Bridge Park offers not only breathtaking views but also a diverse culinary landscape that caters to every palate. Whether you're craving a leisurely brunch, a quick snack, or a romantic dinner, the area surrounding Brooklyn Bridge Park has something for everyone. In this article, we'll explore some of the popular dining options and food vendors that enhance the overall experience of visiting this picturesque location.

Van Leeuwen Ice Cream:

If you're strolling through Brooklyn Bridge Park on a warm day and craving a sweet treat, make your way to Van Leeuwen Ice Cream. This artisanal ice cream shop, located nearby, is renowned for its high-quality, made-from-scratch ice creams. With a commitment to using natural and organic ingredients, Van Leeuwen offers a delectable range of flavors, from classic vanilla to unique options like honeycomb and earl grey. Enjoy a cone or cup as you take in the stunning views of the park and the surrounding waterfront. The irresistible combination of creamy textures and distinctive flavors makes Van Leeuwen a favorite among locals and tourists alike.

Juliana's Pizza:

Situated just a stone's throw away from Brooklyn Bridge Park, Juliana's Pizza is a beloved establishment with a rich history. Known for its coal-fired brick oven pizzas, Juliana's serves up delicious pies with a perfect balance of crispy crust and fresh, high-quality toppings. The cozy ambiance and friendly staff make it an ideal spot for families and friends to gather and enjoy a classic New York slice.

Gran Electrica:

For those seeking a taste of authentic Mexican cuisine, Gran Electrica is a must-visit restaurant located near the park. With a vibrant atmosphere and a menu featuring traditional dishes prepared with a modern twist, Gran Electrica offers a unique dining experience. From flavorful tacos to handcrafted cocktails, this eatery seamlessly blends Mexican flavors with a contemporary flair.

Smorgasburg:

Food enthusiasts and adventurous eaters alike will appreciate the diverse culinary offerings at Smorgasburg. This open-air food market, located in DUMBO, features a rotating selection of food vendors offering everything from international street food to innovative and Instagram-worthy desserts. From crispy Korean fried chicken to decadent ice cream sandwiches, Smorgasburg is a food lover's paradise just a short stroll from Brooklyn Bridge Park.

Grimaldi's Pizzeria:

Another pizza gem in the vicinity, Grimaldi's Pizzeria, is known for its coal-brick oven pies with a thin crust and fresh mozzarella. This legendary pizzeria has been serving up classic New York-style pizza for decades. With its prime location under the Brooklyn Bridge, diners can enjoy their meal while taking in the scenic views of the bridge and the Manhattan skyline.

Time Out Market:

For a curated selection of the best local eats, head to Time Out Market in DUMBO. This food and cultural market features a variety of stalls offering gourmet dishes from some of the city's top chefs. Whether you're in the mood for artisanal burgers, sushi, or artisanal pastries, Time Out Market provides a one-stop culinary adventure for foodies.

Conclusion:

Brooklyn Bridge Park not only offers a serene escape from the hustle and bustle of the city but also serves as a gateway to a culinary journey through some of Brooklyn's finest dining establishments. From historic pizzerias to modern food markets, the area around the park presents a diverse array of flavors and experiences for locals and visitors alike. So, the next time you find yourself in the shadow of the Brooklyn Bridge, be sure to explore the gastronomic delights that make this waterfront neighborhood a true epicurean destination.

[vespaer77]

Pairing: Gale x Named OC/Tav Author play through, making it up as we go =) Rating: Eventual smut 'cause you know they bone. Cosmically.

Link to read on AO3

Summary: Tempest Tidewater's Terrific Teas, Tonics, and Tinctures had been her whole life. She'd built her little shop from nothing but an empty shack and a dream, turning it into a household name in Neverwinter for all things aches and ailments. But at the height of her success, a mystery had begun to unfold. Her supply chain had suddenly run dry, amongst strange rumors of troubles brewing near Baldur's Gate. Left no choice but to leave her life's work shuttered and dormant behind her, Tempest embarked upon a journey south seeking answers, never anticipating the wild adventure she'd soon be set upon. This is a story of friendships and struggles, of mindflayers and cultists, but mostly… of how an artificer and a wizard fell in love.

Tempest Tidewater could hear the rush of the river behind her. And if she kept her eyes closed and stayed very still, she could almost imagine she was back in Neverwinter, gathering mergrass by the shore and waiting for a ship to arrive from Baldur's Gate carrying herbs that were found in greater abundance near the Cloakwood. And though the fabled market district in Waterdeep would claim the greater bulk of the supply, she could still rely heavily on trade to bring her things like mugwort, belladonna, and autumncrocus. Even balsam and daggerroot. If she could've sourced the quantities she'd needed from the surrounding hillsides, she would never have left. But the latitudes just weren't as favorable.

And the shipments had begun to dwindle. She'd even started struggling to make simple healing potions.

She hadn't been the only shop owner to feel the pinch. The Chionthar was a huge artery, carrying a heavy and widely varying flow of trade goods down from the continent and out through Baldur's Gate, to seek foreign ports all along the Sword Coast. The fall of Elturel had only been the beginning. Soon after came troubling rumors of hoards of devilkin roaming the surrounding forests and villages. Then there were tales goblins and gnolls, raiding tollhouses and terrorizing towns and fishermen.

And then it was drow.

And then it was cultists.

But now it was like a dream.

If she stayed very still, she could imagine that she would just wake up, safe at home. That she would open her eyes and step out of her bed, warmed by the first rays of sunshine that spilled past her windowsill. Like the ones washing over her even now. She would dance down her creaky little staircase, humming a tune as she donned her cured leather apron to begin sorting her ingredients and measuring caustic solvents. She would eat scones with honey and start boiling the kettles to brew the tea.

And if she stayed very still, so still, deadly still and just kept her eyes closed, she could smell it. The tea. Lavender to calm, mint to soothe, rosehips to heal, and currant for a smile. And of course her prized morning tea - a black blend, lively and bright, yet also acrid and smoky. Heady, like the wood coals of a bread oven. Or a campfire. Or like smoldering flames.

Like ashes falling all around her.

Flesh burning, still on fire.

And then a sound came from behind her, or above or all around her. Large chunks of detritus, groaning before falling and splashing into the water. Sounds of fragile wreckage crackling with heat before submitting to the forces of gravity. She was not safe.

Her eyes flew open and she sat up straight.

It was real, all of it. The gangplank bouncing beneath her knees as she boarded the ship without looking back. The beautiful, hazy blue mirage of Blackstaff crowning the horizon as her ship passed Waterdeep. Even her capture by a nightmarish nautiloid ship. And finally, her infestation with an illithid tadpole. All of it. It was no dream, and she would not be waking up. Her life's work - the entirety of her savings, her education, and her efforts, the whole sum of all her meager accomplishments - lie shuttered and dormant behind her to collect cobwebs and late fees and tax penalties, possibly in perpetuity.

Tempest Tidewater's Terrific Teas, Tonics, and Tinctures.

Yes. Terrific, indeed. A terrific loss. The latest in a lifelong string of them. How could she ever rebuild?

How she longed for one more piece of Tangy Tidewater Taffy. How she ached for one single, soothing cup of tea. She could just lay back down and mildew into the wet sand instead, never open her eyes again and become as sun-bleached as a sand dollar before sinking away forever. But she'd made a promise to herself, long ago, when she left her childhood home. When she spent so long languishing in inadequacy at the top of a wizard's spire. When she felt so lost and so alone - a feeling that had never left her, if she was honest.

She'd promised herself that she would not let this world beat her.

So, she groaned and slapped her knees, and summoned the strength to stand up and brush herself off. She wanted to scream. She wanted to weep. She wanted to take this hurt that sat in her belly like a blade and wrench it out. Oh, how she yearned to find that stupid fucking marid that cursed her family line and punch that bitch in the throat. After all, woe betide anyone who dared to be born genasi. At least, in the pastoral communities that worked the land and fed the breadbasket of Neverwinter.

Already exhausted into apathy by her anger, she chose to inspect herself for hidden injuries then she turned a slow circle to get her bearings.

Despite the black smoke still pouring out of the purple, tentacled abomination lying crushed and dead on the beach, the sky was warm and blue and cloudless, letting cheerful sunlight glitter across the water. An insect buzzed past her nose to land on plump, abundant blades of mergrass swaying in the light, gentle breeze of late afternoon. It was a perfectly lovely day, all things considered.

Wherever she was.

To ground herself and wash the grime of battle from her skin, she took off her boots and waded out into the river for spell. There was time for aimless wandering later. The daylight was already fading, and she wouldn't get far before she'd need to forge together some sort of camp for the night. So she allowed herself a moment of peace to float on her back and let her hair billow and fan all around her. She let the water cradle her like the mother she never had. One that wanted her. She listened to the river as it filled her ears and she dug her heels into the gravel, heeding the mild, placid current as it filtered through her toes. It renewed and replenished her, feeding her courage and a connection to the world around her, a direction forward like the needle on a compass.

Which she found she needed immediately when she stepped out of the water and slipped her feet back into her boots. Ahead of her, twisted and face down where they fell, lie the crumpled forms of those who were less fortunate than her. The poor souls who did not survive the crash, or possibly even the circumstances of their capture to begin with. Their blood soaked the dirt in dark puddles beneath them, and insects had begun gathering to feast. Clouds of them hung heavily in the low, orange shafts of afternoon sun.

But then she saw something move. Something so small she nearly missed it.

It was a foot, just ahead, along the trail of the scar the nautiloid had carved into the earth. And then Tempest thought she heard a moan. Someone was alive. With any luck, it was one of the women she'd met while still aboard the ship. The githyanki had been a skilled fighter, and if one could forgive her ruthless demeanor, she was clearly beneficial to have as a traveling companion. And Shadowheart, while cagey and mysterious, was a cleric. It was possible the girl's skills in the healing arts could even rival her own.

So she finally moved forward. Solid strides with purpose, one foot in front of the other, and with each step she felt that purpose grow. With each step, faces and words and memories circled through her mind like water down a drain. A wizard who preferred her as a pet rather than an apprentice - a meal ticket, as long as her mother's monthly tuition kept rattling in his coffers. A mother who couldn't wait to sell her once she finally came of age, and at last could pretend her family curse did not exist.

And a kind mentor, the first and only to see beyond the places where planar elements had marked her, who had the courage to nuture an untapped spark of potential, and whose only crime was to simply die of old age, happy and fulfilled.

She wondered if Mister Henry would still be proud of her, now that she'd lost everything. Now that she'd conflated her own courage with foolishness. But then his voice called to her from the depths of her own memory, steeling her nerves as she knelt beside the dark-haired cleric who stirred in her slumber on the sand. It was something he'd told her when he'd first taken her in, when no one else would.

"Look for the light in the darkness, girl," he'd said. "It will always be there. They may be at odds, but they are still sisters. Where one ends, the other surely begins. Look for the light, do not fear the dark, and be ready to begin."

In many ways, her life had begun the day she'd met him.

And it would not end here on this shore.

"Okay," she murmured to herself, reaching to shake Shadowheart's shoulder. "It's okay. I'm okay.

"I'm ready to begin."

[sirenjose]

Analysis of Norton's dish: Roast Beef with Pudding

The pudding is likely Yorkshire Pudding/Plum Pudding

Roast beef with Yorkshire Pudding are traditional dishes in Great Britain, especially in Northern England

Eaten by a variety of people, from the lower classes to the higher classes, and could even be found on the royal family's menu. Commonly served on Christmas day to workhouses/poorhouses.

“roast beef served with plum pudding is the most evocative of past traditions of hospitality. It was once Britain’s prime celebration dish and a potent symbol of the nation’s character and cohesiveness.”

Roast Beef

The history of roast beef dates back to King Henry VII in 1485. Henry’s bodyguards (Yeoman of the Guard) received part of their salary in chunks of beef. This practice took place up until the 1800s and allegedly they earned the title ‘beef-eaters’. The story goes that King Henry’s guards started the Sunday roast beef tradition by cooking the meat (usually fillet, sirloin or shoulder) in the morning before going to Mass. The practice became a habit during the 19th century.  Women would leave the meat to cook in their village baker’s oven, which closed on Sunday, and pick it up when back from church, perfectly roasted.

Eating beef was reinforced by a tradition outlined in William Kitchiner’s 1871 volume “Apicius Redivivus: Or, The Cook’s Oracle”.  In his book, the author recommends eating about 3 kilos of meat per week to stay healthy. This underlined the central role that meat played in the British diet and described the practice of cooking beef sirloin for at least four hours over a spit.  Sunday was the one day of the week when people had four hours to spare to roast beef. Fortunately a massive lump of meat could feed the family.  They would then use it again in stews, pies and as cold cuts for the rest of the week.  As the cost of meat and coal began to plummet working people continued the habit of roasting beef every Sunday.

Yorkshire Pudding

Traditionally, the word “pudding” referred to homely and rustic desserts that were commonly eaten by the lower classes. These could be either sweet or salty. Pudding dishes are mainly made with flour and have a cake-like consistency. But originally, pudding was a meat based, sausage-like food in Britain (ex: black and white puddings). However by the late 1700s, the contemporary puddings were no longer meat based and this change incidentally coincided with the first published mention of the batter pudding.

The Yorkshire Pudding is a baked pudding made from a batter of eggs, flour and milk or water. It has become a common British side dish which is versatile and can be served in many different ways – although mainly recognized as an accompaniment to a roast dinner.

It has been suggested the pudding was given the name “Yorkshire” due to the region’s association with coal and the high temperatures this produced that helped to make crispy batter.

The 1st recorded Yorkshire Pudding recipe appeared in a 1737 book titled "The Whole Duty of a Woman"and was listed as "Dripping Pudding". Wheat flour had come into common use for making cakes and puddings, and cooks in the north of England had begun baking batter puddings while their meat roasted to make use of the fat that dropped in the dripping pan. Batter was placed in a hot pan over the fire with a bit of butter, then placed under a shoulder of mutton in the oven in place of a dripping pan to collect the fat.

The next recorded recipe launched the pudding from a local delicacy to Britain's favorite dish. It appeared in "The Art of Cookery, Made Plain and Easy" by Hannah Glasse in 1747. Glasse was one of the most famous food writers of the time, and the popularity of her book spread the word of the Yorkshire pudding. This distinguished the light and crispy nature of the batter puddings made in this region from batter puddings created in other parts of England. Back then, the puddings were flatter than they are served today and would be served as a first course filled with thick gravy to help to suppress the diner’s appetite for expensive meat with cheap, plentiful ingredients. The main course of meat and vegetables would traditionally be served with a white sauce, as the gravy used up for the pudding. Poorer households couldn’t afford meat, and would use dripping, flour, eggs and milk to make puddings which would be served with gravy as the only course. Then there was another recipe by Mrs. Beeton, another of Britain's famous food writers of the 19th century, but her 1866 recipe omitted one of the fundamental rules for making Yorkshire pudding: the need for the hottest oven possible. The recipe was also erroneous in instructing the cook to bake the pudding for an hour before placing it under the meat. Yorkshire folk supposedly blamed her error on her southern origins.

The point of traditional Yorkshire pudding was identified in its previous name, dripping pudding. The batter was placed in a large pan into which had been allowed to drip the fat and juices of meat roasting on a spit over the fire. Once the pan had been heated in the fire and the fat was bubbling, the batter was poured into it and placed under the roasting meat as it continued to turn on the spit, thus catching all the remaining drippings. Meat was very expensive through much of the eighteenth century, and none of it was wasted, even the drippings produced when it was roasted. The fat from the meat drippings provided crucially needed calories, particularly for men doing heavy manual labor. The drippings also imparted a rich flavor to the Yorkshire pudding, and the high heat needed to roast meat was necessary to ensure the pudding would rise and had a light and crispy texture.

Traditional Yorkshire pudding was not served with the roasted meat, it was served before, as an appetizer or starter course. The pudding was cut into smaller pieces which were served drenched with the gravy made from the roasted meat. It is generally believed that this was done to take the edge off the diners’ appetites so that they would be satisfied with the small portions of the much more expensive meat which would be served during the second course. In poorer households, the children would receive only Yorkshire pudding and gravy, while the adults were served both the pudding with gravy and the roasted meat. Since the gravy was usually all consumed with the first course on the Yorkshire pudding, the meat and vegetables which typically comprised the second course were served with parsley or a cream sauce. Though Yorkshire pudding could be made with any roasting meat, the eighteenth-century Englishman was very fond of his roast beef. Thus, by the turn of the nineteenth century, roast beef and Yorkshire pudding had become a quintessential traditional meal throughout England. Even before the Regency, roast beef and Yorkshire pudding were a favorite Sunday dinner, especially among the middle and upper classes. There were even many among the aristocracy who enjoyed such a meal.

Going back to the mention roast beef with yorkshire pudding as common in workhouses on Christmas Day, a ballad was written by George Robert Sims for the Christmas of 1877. It served as a criticism of the harsh conditions in English and Welsh workhouses under the 1834 Poor Law

Regarding the in-game dish, from the looks of it, the roast beef is being served in a large Yorkshire pudding, which isn't too abnormal either (ex: places in Yorkshire sometimes might serve your dinner in a large pudding)