#moroccan roll

[jt1674]

[theatrepup]

"Brahim Jones left us, but we will never forget what he did for us."

The Musicians of Joujouka pay tribute to Brian Jones, from the book Tangier From the Romans to The Rolling Stones by Richard Hamilton.

[imanes]

absolutely nothing is bringing me joy today so i downloaded the menu of the nepalese restaurant i’ve been to twice near uni and i’m picking what i’ll have for lunch on friday before my lecture

[thebearer]

i looooove the way you wrote carmys casual dominance over the reader in the feeling. could you write something else that has that same vibe? like him being protective/ dominant over her while they’re around the rest of the crew?

ahhh thank you so much!!! the casual dominance was a must for me with carmy it just makes me weak in the knees lol.

"Why don't you let me help you?" You hummed, leaning over Carmen's shoulder, watching as he expertly cut the onions. "I can handle spaghetti sauce."

Carmen scoffed lightly, looking up at you under heavy brows, still chopping furiously- much faster than anything you could. "I got it." He nodded.

Your face fell slightly, stepping back to stand beside him. Carmen invited you to family every night before the restaurant opened, it was sometimes the only time you'd see him until that night when he'd collapse into bed next to you. It was the busy season, summer and tourist time, meaning everyone wanted to come to the infamous restaurant.

Carmen's chest flooded with a pang of guilt at your small frown. Fuck, maybe he'd been too mean. "'m sorry, baby. Here, I have prep to do. Can you put this in the pan for me? Start it."

The tiny smile that curled on your lips made Carmen's heart skip in his chest. "Yes, Chef." You hummed, pressing a kiss to his cheek, snagging the diced onions and sliding them into the pan.

You'd seen Carmen make it enough to know how to make this recipe. Canned tomato sauce, oregano, onions- you measured them, adding it all easily.

"Woah-ho-ho, look who we got here." Richie cackled, turning the corner, ignoring Sydney's screams to announce it. "We got a new chef on the roster?"

You rolled your eyes, snagging the can opener and pressing the handles together. "Yeah, I'm your replacement, Richie."

Richie's face fell slightly. He knew you were joking but a part of him worried. "Cousin, what's this, huh?"

"She's just helping, alright? Get outta the way." Carmen nodded, slicing the beef easily. His eyes watched you, flicking from his task back to you.

"Hey," Carmen called, a firm snap of the tongue that had you turning to him. "Put the hair back, baby. No one wants a hair in their food."

"Yeah, c'mon." Richie added, snickering as you snagged the hair tie off your wrist. "Gonna replace me and she don't even know how to cook right-"

"Hey, easy, cousin." Carmen's eyes were hard, glaring at Richie, the whirr of his knife sliding across the cutting board adding a dangerous edge.

Richie held his hands up in mock defense. "My apologies, your fucking majesties." He scoffed.

You rolled your eyes, moving onto the next step on the card, pouring the cans of sauce in easily and stirring, giving the side of the pan a firm tap with the spoon to get the excess off. Reaching for the knob to turn the heat up, Carmen's hands were on your waist before you could.

"Here, baby," Carmen rasped, pulling you back slightly. "Gotta loose shirt on, so you gotta stay back, alright? Tuck it in or something for me. I don't want it catchin' on fire." He muttered, hand sliding over the hem of your shirt, pressing it gently against you.

"Actually, go find an apron, ok? I'l get this started. I don't want you gettin' anything on ya." Carmen nodded towards the back.

"Yes, Chef." You saluted him playfully, passing the spoon to him.

Carmen watched you walk towards his office, stirring the ingredients before turning on the stove. He let the flame on a low flicker, reaching in his pocket for his own cigarettes, fishing one out and lighting it under the pilot light.

"Chef," Carmen called, catching Sydney as she turned the corner. "You got it?"

"I got it." Sydney nodded.

"Great, I'll be in my office." Carmen walked off, finding you in his office, lazily looking through the papers on his desk.

"Anything good?" He asked, leaning against the door, arms crossed over his broad chest.

"What is spicy Moroccan carrot salad?" You tilted your head, reading Carmen's sloppy handwriting scribbled on the notecard.

"A side Sydney thinks would go good with the flounder we're getting in." Carmen hummed, blowing the smoke out the door before shutting it behind him.

He sunk down in his chair, patting his lap for you to sit with him. "Thanks f' helpin' me with family tonight." Carmen muttered, arms around your waist, bumming the cigarette in the tray. "Shouldn't be too long tonight."

You hummed, leaning back into his chest, head lulling back so you could look at him. "Not too long like I should wait up for you or...?"

Carmen snorted lightly. "I'll be home before midnight. Sydney and Marcus are closing tonight." He sighed, pressing a tiny kiss on your shoulder.

"Good," You grinned, turning so you were straddling him, your core rocking over his, covered by the aprons.

[tacosaysroar]

Last Sunday, NFA and I returned to the hotel after spending most of the day at the beach to find the place deserted. We speculated from the pool where the six French men staying there with us might be, and then they showed up on the terrace with champagne and songs. We’d forgotten it was Bastille Day. When they started interspersing their French with “woah” and “woooow” we climbed out of the pool to watch a pretty impressive firework display below us. Probably the first time I’ve ever looked down to watch fireworks.

The next morning, all of the other couples left and we really did have the place to ourselves. We went to a wonderful Moroccan restaurant and spent probably two hours eating and drinking and gabbing with the server about the music. (What you’re imagining but make it into house music.)

We’d made a thing of ending our evenings in the pool and hot tub before bed, and that final night we were in the water when the sky opened up and poured warm rain onto us. It was so romantic it was almost ludicrous. If you saw it in a romcom you’d roll your eyes. That’s how perfect it was.

Our first day back, we drove a little less than an hour from where NFA lives to again spend the day at the beach. The older woman at the checkpoint offered us her citronella spray when she found out we didn’t have any (biting fly season) and I thought about that quote I see here sometimes about how Northerners (which I am, despite where I currently live) sometimes aren’t nice but they’re kind. We had a little lunch, I spent some time in the freeeeeezing cold water (NFA said absolutely not) and then we both relaxed in the tent he bought to shield my skin-cancer-prone body from the sun. At one point, I heard light snoring and looked over to see NFA had fallen asleep with his book open on his chest.

I meet his children tomorrow for lunch, which I haven’t quite internalized yet. Which is probably good. No need to make myself nervous. Or to develop expectations. These are teenagers. They will take me in and likely give little back — keep their impressions close to the vest, as teenagers do. This is just the first of what will likely be many lunches.

[tessa-liam]

Turning the Page

Only You Can Love Me This Way 

Chapter 13 

Choices, The Royal Romance, The Royal Heir AU 

Series Premise: As Riley Brooks journeys through life as a single parent in New York City, an epiphany strikes as she contemplates the future for herself and her two-year-old son. 

Turning the Page Series Masterlist

My Complete Masterlist 

Main pairing: Liam Rys x F!OC Riley Brooks 

All characters belong to Pixelberry Studios, except William Brooks (Rys) and Matteo Magro, who both belong to this series. 

Category: On-going series, contains angst/fluff/depression. Cross-over fic with Choices, Perfect Match. 

Rating: M 🔞 - Warnings – Series will have crude language, weapons, NSFW material – not Beta’d - please excuse all errors. 

Words: 3624 

Only You Can Love Me This Way

Chapter Summary: Olivia continues to mentor Riley on how to adapt to Cordonian nobility. Maxwell, Bertrand and Savannah babysit William and Bartie, taking them on a Lythikan adventure. Liam and Riley re-connect and discover that their love story is stronger and better than ever. 

Music & Title Inspiration: Only You Can Love Me This Way, Keith Urban 

A/N1: In this alternate universe, after King Constantine orchestrates two individual scandals to humiliate and entrap Riley Brooks and Olivia Nevrakis in shame, Madeleine Amaranth secures her position as the Queen of Cordonia. Riley, as the King’s mistress and Olivia, in self-imposed exile. Tariq is never found.  

A/N2: Damien Nazario has been assigned as William’s personal bodyguard. (Series cross-over with ‘Perfect Match’) 

A/N3: My submission for choicesjunechallenge, prompts: spatial-hotel / temporal-beginning/   dialogue- “Up for a little trip?” 

El Alami residence, Rabat, Morocco 

With her ankles crossed delicately underneath her, Madeleine El Alami pulled out her cellular to check the status of the Uber driver. It was still incredibly early in the morning in Morocco, and time was of the essence. Her flight was scheduled to leave in ninety minutes from Rabat – Sale International airport and nothing and/or no one was going to halt her journey. Not even her husband.  

Peeking out from between the fence columns outside her home, she could see the city coming alive as the sun's first rays illuminated the horizon. The people who had been hushed moments before, now filled the streets, greeting each other and heading off to start their day. It was a side of life Madeleine had never experienced before, a stark contrast to the opulence and splendor of her former life at the Cordonian palace. It was a reminder of the sacrifices she had made to follow her heart to be with her lover, Eduardo.  

Now five months pregnant, the former queen, now the wife to the Moroccan diplomat, was leaving this world behind. While her husband slept, Madeleine, along with two hand servants were waiting for the Uber vehicle to roll to a stop at the estate’s front entrance. Her suitcases were hefted on board, as she sat down in the rear seat and buckled herself in. The driver shut the door and the car slowly rolled away, the servants went back inro the estate. 

Her parents' disappointment and dismay had only grown when she told them about her unborn baby on their last visit. Her father coaxed her to pack up and return to his duchy in Karlington, England and start over. Her mother wanted her to move back home to Krona, Cordonia. As usual her parents were worlds apart when it came to their only daughter and her well-being, but they were united against Eduardo. 

However, she was done with being controlled by Eduardo.  Done with her father's demands and her mother's nagging. This time, she was going to do what she wanted to do. And what she wanted to do was to spend the rest of her pregnancy alone. 

As she Uber drove to the airport, Madeleine left her husband, forever closing that chapter, watching the world go by; but not seeing anything. Her mind turned to the letter she had left for her husband. She had no regrets for her actions but hoped her words would provide solace for him. 

She felt nothing. No sadness. No loss.  

She had already mourned her former life and the loss of her title as queen. In its place was a new sense of freedom. And with that new sense of freedom came the hope for a new life, with the baby growing inside her. 

Nevrakis Lodge, Lythikos, Cordonia 

"Are you excited to see Uncle Maxwell and Aunt Savannah today, William?" Liam spoke as he was getting his little prince ready for the day. William giggled. "Yeah!" 

"And you get to ride in a carriage! You have never ridden in one before, have you?" Liam smiled as his son's excitement grew. "YES! Horsies!" the little boy replied enthusiastically, his eyes wide with excitement. Liam chuckled. "Let's go get some breakfast and then we can go and wait for Uncle Max.” 

"Okay, daddy!" William beamed; his excitement shined brightly from his big blue eyes. 

As they entered the hallway, they heard a familiar voice call out, "William! Look at how big you are!" 

"Unca Max!" William cried out, running towards his favorite uncle. 

Maxwell scooped the little boy up in a bear hug, smiling widely. "We're going to have so much fun today, little man!" 

"Where's Bartie?" William was concerned, his eyes searching for his newfound best friend. 

"I'm over here," Bartie replied, popping out from behind his mother. "I wanna play with the horses, too. Can we, Mommy? Pleeease?" 

Savannah gave her son a loving smile. "Well as long as the two of you eat your breakfast first." William bounded over to his little friend. "YAY!" The boys both cheered. Liam strolled over, "Savannah, hello. You look well this morning," Liam kissed her cheek. 

"As do you, your majesty," she replied with a curtsy, bowing her head. “Liam, I am so happy and excited for you and Riley.”

"Thank you, Savannah."

Liam clapped Maxwell on the shoulder. "It is good to see you both, too, Lord Beaumont, Duke Ramsford." 

“Your majesty.” Bertrand bowed and smiled, then stepped back to join his wife. 

"Good to see you too, Li." Maxwell grinned at his childhood friend, as the men watched the boys follow Savannah as she grasped their hands. 

Liam shook his head, a grin on his face. "Those two are inseparable. It's a good thing Bertrand has gotten over his fear of children." 

Maxwell laughed. "Bertrand loves kids, he just has to be the most uptight person on the planet." 

Liam chuckled. "I suppose that's true." 

"Hey Max, are you ready?" called out Savannah from down the hall. 

"Ready to eat always, Savvie ... as I"ll ever be," Maxwell replied, turning to Liam. "So, what's the plan for today?" 

Liam gave a mischievous smile. "Well, I thought you could spend the day with William and Bartie, giving Riley and I a chance to have some alone time." 

Maxwell grinned. "Hah ... sounds like fun," he winked. "You're going to owe me, though." 

Liam rolled his eyes. "Yeah, yeah. Whatever you want." 

Maxwell chuckled. "Alright, let's get this show on the road. The kids and my stomach are waiting." 

Liam turned back to adjust his tie and reached for his suit jacket which was draped over a wing chair. He walked to the foyer to meet with Riley and Olivia, Bastien following discreetly behind him. 

"You're dismissed, Damien," Liam said. "I appreciate your vigilance. 

“Of course," Damien bowed and took his leave, joining the other members of the Royal Guard in the hallway. As he closed the door, his eyes wandered across the hallway, where he watched Olivia wrapping William in a hug before turning toward the foyer and the waiting limo outside. 

Damien had been captivated by Olivia from the moment they were introduced. As he watched her wrap the little crown prince in a hug, his mind wandered. 

He could not help but admire her grace and elegance, the way her fiery hair shone underneath the chandelier or when her eyes sparkled when she laughed. 

Damien knew he could never have her, but the thought of being able to spend time with her, to make her laugh and see her smile, was enough to fuel his dreams. 

He wondered what it would be like to hold her in his arms, to kiss her soft lips and feel her body pressed against his. 

But that was all it could ever be, a fantasy, a dream. 

‘What would a Duchess ever see in a guardsman? Olivia is a rare beauty,’ Damien mused. ‘She's not like any other noble, and she doesn't seem to care about the status or title.’ 

His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the door opening, and he straightened up, adjusting his uniform. 

As Damien thoughts went back to his post, his eyes drifted back to Olivia, and he could not help but wonder if there was a chance, however small, that his dreams could become a reality. 

*** 

“Olivia, why are you being so secretive?”  Riley inquired again, after spending the morning shopping for clothes and accessories in the city center, the limousine rolled to a stop at the Nevrakis lodge entrance. 

Bastien opened the limousine door as Olivia stepped out. Glancing back to Riley, she smirked, “You are one lucky lady”. Riley’s eyebrow lifted in question. “You, my dear have a final challenge to endure." 

Riley sat and blinked as she took in her words. After reaching for her bags Riley turned her attention to exit the limo after Olivia, when she heard a deep baritone voice, "...Hi." 

Riley looked up to see a six-foot, 4-inch-tall familiar man looking at her with a huge smile. Dressed in a crisp, sleek suit overtopped by an Armani topcoat 

"Liam? ...What are you doing here?" Riley’s eyes went wide as she looked up at her lover. 

"...And dressed like that?”  

“Love, I wouldn't dream of being underdressed for your final challenge." Liam smirked and then chuckled softly watching Riley’s look of disbelief. 

"So, you're here for the challenge too?" 

"You bet. I've been waiting for this moment since you came back to Cordonia." 

"Liam, what is going on?" 

 “This is our final destination. According to Olivia, I am the challenge.” 

"And that would be?" 

Liam smiled wide, not giving out any clues.

"Oh my, this isn't a game show, right?" 

"Not to worry, love. All I know is that Olivia has prepared something for us and it's a surprise." 

"Okay. So, what is this surprise? Please tell me."

"Oh, I wouldn't want to spoil the fun." 

"Liam, I don't like surprises." 

"Love, I know ...I can see that. But, I think you will like this one. This is our last day in Lythikos; I've already been briefed and we're going to have a blast." 

Olivia’s watched their exchange and added, “the last thing you need to get back into fighting form is to reconnect with what you are fighting for. 

...And you have always been driven by your love for Liam; for your family.”

Liam slid his arm around Riley’s waist pulling her close to him. “Which was an unusually sentimental thing to hear Olivia say.” 

Olivia sighed, “a bit saccharine for my tastes, but to each their own. I always thought love was a weakness, but you seem to actually draw strength from each other.” 

Riley’s scrunched her eyebrows, “Just to be clear, my last challenge is to spend time with King Liam Rys?” 

“The whole day, actually. Olivia is taking us into town.” 

“Everyone else will help me take care of William while you’re away.” Olivia added.

“Sweet! Free daycare! I’m really warming up to Lythikos hospitality.” 

“It’s a circumstantial offer. Cherish it while it lasts.” 

Liam kissed Riley’s cheek, “believe me, we plan to.” 

“But Olivia, you’re supposed to be looking into our Madeleine problem....and the press.” 

“Damien and I will dhave everything covered; I promise. 

And you have your marching orders. Reconnect and start fresh, that you may crush your enemies on the morrow.” 

Liam grinned, “Ah, Romantic.” Placing his hand on the small of her back, Liam steered Riley back into the lodge to change into the evening wear that she bought in town. 

Standing at the entrance of the dining room, along with the other guards, Damien Nazario stood vigilantly watching the crown prince. His eyes were sharp and ever watchful. As a trained ex-secret service agent and bodyguard, he knew when people were watching. 

His attention was suddenly drawn to a smattering of voices outside in the main hall, and a moment later, Duchess Olivia Nevrakis entered the dining room, and Damien felt his breath catch. 

She was stunning. She had been stunning the night before, but he had not noticed her beauty fully. This morning, the Duchess wore a form fitting black and grey suit. Her vibrant red hair was done up in a chignon. Damien was entranced by her, but he knew better than to stare. He tore his eyes away from her and glanced down at the floor, taking in the shiny black patent leather of her boots. He swallowed, wondering how they would feel around his neck. He shook his head, trying to clear the image from his mind. He looked up, and his eyes once again caught sight of her, this time her stormy blue green eyes were looking straight into his. 

She arched an eyebrow and tilted her head as she regarded him. Damien's cheeks warmed. 

"Good morning," a voice sounded beside him. 

"Morning," he mumbled, glancing back to where the Duchess had been, only to find her gone. 

Drake chuckled. "See something you like?” 

***

Inside the limo, Liam and Riley arrived outside an upscale restaurant in the city center.

Bastien opened rhe passenger door and Liam stepped out, holding out his hand for Riley. She took it and climbed out of the limo. She gasped when she looked at the building in front of her. "This is beautiful." 

"You are beautiful," Liam smiled. "And tonight, you will be dining on the best seafood this side of Paris." 

"That's a high bar to live up to." Riley's eyebrows raised. 

Liam chuckled. "It can certainly get the job done." 

They were escorted inside the restaurant, with Liam's hand on the small of her back as they were led to a secluded table overlooking the city center. 

Liam pulled out Riley's chair and she sat down, exposing her long tanned leg through the side slit of her cocktail dress. He sat down and his eyes drank in the sight of her, his gaze lingering on her legs. 

Riley blushed. 

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to stare." Liam looked down. 

Riley reached across the table and took his hand in hers. "Look all you want, Your Majesty." 

Liam lifted his head and locked eyes with her, his blue orbs sparkling. "I have wanted to do this since the night of the Coronation Ball. You were breathtaking that night. I wanted to sweep you into my arms and dance the night away with you. But there was always someone or something getting in the way." 

Riley grasped Liam's hands in hers ...

"Mmm, this whole place smells like fresh bread. I want to eat that smell." 

"I will order the kitchen to prepare you a fresh loaf immediately." Liam grinned. 

Riley threw her head back and laughed. 

"Please do. After Olivia's challenges, I feel like I could devour this entire restaurant." 

"I love the sound of your laugh," Liam whispered. 

Riley's heart skipped a beat. 

Liam's grin widened. "I hope we have many more dates just like this. After Olivia's unique brand of 'help', we've definitely earned this day." 

Riley giggled. "That was the nicest way of saying Olivia was a royal pain in the ass." 

Liam let out a chuckle. "That was very diplomatic of me, thank you." 

Liam smiled as a steaming breadbasket and the entrees were set down on the table. The waiter tops off Riley's red wine and sets a glass of scotch down for Liam. 

Riley picked up her glass and held it aloft. "A toast. To us." 

"To us," he echoed, clinking his glass against hers. 

As Riley takes a sip, the waiter places a small dish in front of her. Inside is a thick chocolate sauce in the shape of a heart, the word "love" written in script, and two berries. 

Riley looked from the dish to Liam, her lips curled into a mischievous smile. "Chocolate covered strawberries? Are you trying to seduce me, Liam?" 

"That depends," Liam replied, a matching grin forming on his face. 

"On what?" Riley asked. 

"Whether or not it's working," he whispered. 

Riley's eyes met his and they burned with desire. 

"I'll take that as a yes." His grin widened and he leaned across the table. Liam took Riley's hand in his, his fingers tracing slow circles on the back of her hand. "You are beautiful. I wish we could have been together from the start." 

Riley's lips formed a soft smile. "So do I, Liam. I don't want this night to end." 

"It doesn't have to." Liam reached into his pocket and pulled out a set of keys, laying them on the table between them. 

"Up for a little trip?” 

Riley's eyes widened. "Are you suggesting we run away together?" 

"One of the best kept secrets in Lythikos is a glass igloo tucked away in the mountains. The perfect view of the stars, the perfect view of the valley." 

Riley bit her lip and looked up at him from under her lashes. "I think I might have found the perfect view right here." 

"It's also very secluded. Not another soul for miles." Liam winked. 

Demurely smiling, Riley added, "I can think of a few ways to take advantage of that." 

"So can I ... if you're up for the trip." 

Riley picked up the keys, the smile on her face growing wider. "Let's skip the dinner and jump right to the dessert."

"Then we should leave right now," he suggested, his eyes never leaving hers. After a few calls, Liam stands and offers his arm to Riley. 

Riley slipped her arm through his and together they headed out of the restaurant, and back into the waiting limo. 

The driver was already waiting and pulled the car into the traffic. They passed through the city streets and up into the mountains. It was dark when the car finally pulled up in front of a domed glass structure. Stepping inside, the entire frozen mountainside stretched out around on all sides, a beautiful aurora shined through the ceiling panels. 

"Oh Liam, this place is unreal ... it's all the natural wonder of camping with the comfort of a five star hotel." 

"And a lot more privacy." Liam added.

"After the past few weeks, I really wanted to get you away and alone," Liam softly spoke, his arms slipping around Riley's waist. 

She placed her hands over his. "Me, too. I don't want this day to end." 

"I have one more surprise for you." 

Riley smiled. "Is that why you brought me here? For a surprise?" 

"No. I brought you here because I want to be alone with you." He kissed her cheek, his lips trailing along her jawline and down her neck. 

Riley's eyelids fluttered and she tilted her head back. "Mmm, is that so?" 

Liam nuzzled his nose against the spot behind her ear. "I wanted to do this all evening." 

"What's stopping you now?" 

He grinned. "Nothing." 

Liam pressed his lips to hers. She melted into him and deepened the kiss. His tongue sought hers and they moved together in unison. He cupped her ass and pulled her into him, her curves conforming to his body. 

Riley's hands tangled into his hair, her fingers tugging. Liam moaned into her mouth, his desire rising. Together tumbling back onto the bed, legs tangling as they fall down onto the plush mattress. 

A while later, Liam's fingers combed absently through Riley's hair as they watched the way the colors and lights swirled around, constantly changing.... It was hypnotic. 

"When I look up into the sky ... I see you. I see something beautiful, brilliant, untamable ... a breathtaking force of nature. I know that we have been through a lot, but when you're in my arms like this ... I also know that we can find a way through it together, if you'll let me."

Riley sighed happily. "Liam..."

*I know, love, that I said I wouldn't bring it up again, but after tonight, I need to tell you that I'm so sorry for everything." 

"Liam, it's okay, I know you had to do it. I know the weight of the world was on your shoulders, and you had to do what's best for your people, that's your duty. But you have to also do what's best for yourself. We all do." 

Liam's grip tightened slightly around her waist. "That's what I want. You...

"Riley. I love you. And William. I can't imagine my life without you both in it."

"I love you too, Liam," she whispered. "So much..."

"Do you forgive me?" Liam asked quietly in earnest. 

"Of course, I forgive you. I am so sorry that I was a coward and left without telling you about..."

"SSHHH! There is nothing to forgive you for, Riley. You were just doing what you felt you had to do. I am so sorry that the court was so unfair to you. My father ..." 

"Liam, please. Let's just focus on the present."

"... and the future." LIam added with a kiss...

@choicesficwriterscreations @thosehallowedhalls

[spacelazarwolf]

making moroccan loubia with khobz (semolina rolls) tonight for shabbat like a true sephardic malewife.

[unbidden-yidden-deactivated20240]

Jewish Song of the Day #12: Bellida

Comments:

Okay so at one point I went spelunking for more female Jewish singers singing in classical styles, and I stumbled upon this song, which is sung in Haketia, a Moroccan dialect of Ladino that also incorporates some Arabic.

It's a secular(ish) song, but very much culturally Jewish.

I'm not going to explain it well, so instead I'll simply quote from this article about it:

On October 25, 2019, Bloch and Zaaluk released their newest hit single Bellida. The song is sung in the traditional Haketia, an endangered Jewish Romance language also known as Djudeo Spañol, Ladino Occidental, or Western Judaeo-Spanish. Tamar is part of a new generation of young artists from Arab and Islamic countries who sing in their mother tongues. Her mother was born in Morocco. “I’m not involved in a preservation project and the social narrative isn’t what’s important to me. In my music I have found, after much searching, a real place for intimate expression – a language that’s a home, ” said the singer in her interview with Haaretz Magazine. Bellida is “definitely a pop album. It’s not world music from a distant and inaccessible culture, which is being preserved. I bring the songs in modern arrangements in the understanding of how relevant this music is.” The song was arranged with the help of Roee Fadida. It is a humoristic women’s song that represents the tradition of women singing in everyday life. “It tells the story about a Jewish-Moroccan girl (Bellida) who falls in love and marries Pepe, a Christian man. The ladies in her village make jokes about it but comfort her with local food.” Although Bloch and primarily sings with the goal of inspiring audiences to sing and dance, she understands her creation bears social obligation. Specifically, it is the female responsibility aspect of Bellida that Bloch warmly embraces. “It is something that I really yearn for,” she says. “Jews assimilation is a very serious prohibition, yet Bellida is not ostracized. She is cared for by means of tradition and food.” Bellida is Bloch’s interpretation of secular feminine folklore. “I imagine these women dancing together. Music brings people together. In Morocco, you see everyone sitting and singing, and being familiar with the words,” she says. “In Israel music reflects the various cultural homes from which we came. The real challenge is to try to create a new sound from within every such home.” In sharing her story of how the heritage songs came into her life, Bloch explained that in 2014, Roee Fadida, a role model, invited her to join a band that plays contemporary Moroccan music. She described having a physical reaction to that music. It felt like I was “smelling a roll outside a bakery and I had to take a bite.” Bellida is performed alongside Bloch’s band Zaaluk, a trans-Mediterranean and North African ensemble that revive lost Haketiya women’s songs. Their age-old melodies are performed to inspire people to sing and dance together and embrace the heritage of the ancient Jewish community of Spanish Morocco. Their sounds are inspired by Andalusian, North African, and Balkan musical traditions. Their music is a combination of electric guitar, bass guitar, drums, percussion, and powerful vocals, performed in Israel and abroad. The name of the band refers to a local Moroccan salad and captures the group’s multi-cultural essence.

[raatart]

a complete boycott list in alphabetical order

a complete list of companies / brands / franchises to boycott in support of palestine that i have been working on putting together for a while now.

remember to support your local businesses

stand with palestine against genocide

(Food & Beverages)

A

Activia

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B

Burger King

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D

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Damla

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E

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F

Fanta

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Falim

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G

Gatorade

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H

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Heinz

I

Innocent

Israeli Fruits & Vegetables

J

Jacob's

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K

KitKat

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L

Lipton

Lays

M

McDonald's

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Maggi

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Mehadrin

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N

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O

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P

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Q

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T

Toblerone

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Twix

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U

V

Vittle

Volvic

W

Wall's

Walmart

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X

Y

Z

7Up

(Clothing)

A

America Eagle

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B

C

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Cat

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D

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E

F

G

Good American

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H

H&M

I

J

K

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L

Levi's

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M

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N

Nike

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Q

R

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Skims

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T

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V

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X

Y

Z

Zara

(Beauty)

A

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Amika

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Always

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B

Bobbi Brown

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Britney Spears Fragrance

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C

Clinique

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D

Dr. Jart+

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E

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G

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H

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I

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M

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O

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P

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Q

R

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S

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T

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U

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V

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W

X

Y

Yes to

Yuesai

Z

(Luxury)

A

B

C

Chanel

D

E

Estee Lauder

F

G

Georgio Armani

H

I

J

K

L

LVMH

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M

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N

O

P

Prada

Q

R

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S

T

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Tom Ford

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U

V

Valentino

W

X

Y

Yves Saint Laurent

Z

(Tech & Entertainment)

A

Aol

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Apple

B

BBC

Buxton

Barbie

Booking.com

C

CNN

D

Disney+

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E

Energizer

F

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G

Galaxy

H

HP

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I

IBM

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J

K

L

Lego

M

Motorola

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N

National Geographic

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O

Oracle

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P

Philips

Q

R

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S

Siemens

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T

Toys R Us

U

V

Volvo

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W

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X

Y

Z

(Other)

A

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B

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O

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X

Y

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A

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C

D

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E

F

G

H

I

J

K

L

M

N

O

P

Q

R

S

T

U

V

W

X

Y

Z

(People)

A

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B

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U

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X

Y

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[bullet-prooflove]

And your left hand’s gettin’ used to that ring

For Lee Dutton

Tagging: @kmc1989 @queenslandlover-93 @newyorkrican922 @bryandechartisasmolbean @lovethis-lovethat @goblinenby @foxfables @solar-raccoon

Companion piece to

Wild Bloom

A Boy from Bozeman

The Worry Doll

Wild Fire

Experiance (NSFW)

Blind Date

Fire Wood

Wedding Bells

The sun is starting to set when Lee guides Dolce into the field of wildflowers. The orange light gives way to the darkness as the small campsite Kayce has set up for your honeymoon comes into view.

There’s a white bell tent erected in the clearing alongside the river with two rows of small Moroccan style lamps highlighting the path to the open doorway.

The inside of the tent is decorated with battery powered fairy lights that illuminate the space in a dulcet glow. He can see Jamie’s touches in the quality of the brand new bedrolls laid out across the rug on the floor, the expensiveness of the white bedding that’s draped across them. There’s a wicker picnic basket resting alongside an unlit campfire and  a bottle of Moet residing in a bucket filled with cold water from the stream along with two champagne glasses.

Lee spends the next few hours licking it from your skin as you cry out his name across the pasture.

When he wakes up the next morning it’s with a sense of contentment he’s never known in all his years at the ranch. The midday sun graces his skin as he stirs, a light breeze cooling him as he rolls onto his back, using his arm to shield his eyes from the light. It’s the first time he’s slept late in decades.

When he reaches for you across the sheets and he’s surprised to find them empty, his eyes flicker open and his heart pounds but then he hears the sound of splashing and that he realises what you’re up to. He pokes his head out of the tent and there you are wearing nothing but his wedding ring and a smile as you bathe in the lake.

“Aren’t you going to join me?” You ask him and Lee can’t get out of that tent fast enough.

The afternoon sun has already warmed the water by the time he submerges himself and it feels like bliss, soothing over his aches from cowboying as he wraps one arm around your waist and draws you to him.

“I thought you were gone.” He whispers, his fingertips brushing the damp hair away from your features as you straddle his lap. “That this was a dream and it was all too good to be true.”

“Never.” You promise him, cradling his face between your palms. “I’m all yours baby, from now until your dying day, you’ll have me as your wife.”

Love Lee? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

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Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[fayes-fics]

Deserved

Pairing: Anthony Bridgerton x fem!reader, Modern AU

Summary: A memorable first wedding anniversary in Marrakesh...

Warnings: 18+ smut, minors DNI, oral sex (m to f), facesitting, stripping, vaginal sex. Married couple, romance, teasing, delayed gratification.

Word Count: 8.5k

Authors Note: This is a request fill for the wonderful @broooookiecrisp for her birthday. I hope you enjoy my interpretation of your ask here (request: modern Anthony spends the day seducing his wife). For some reason, I was inspired to set this fic in Marrakesh. Many thanks to @colettebronte for reading through a couple of times, suggesting the title and supporting me when I was close to abandoning this whole concept lol. Enjoy! <3

As soon as your eyes flutter open, your belly flutters too. It's your first wedding anniversary, and you are on a well-deserved break in sun-soaked Marrakesh. You are staying in a beautiful oasis in the midst of town. A riad he has rented that is the picture of Moroccan opulence. So here you lie under pristine soft white cotton; the teal-coloured ceiling studded with gold leaf stars that you stare at is so beautiful you have to sigh. When you stretch your limbs and roll your head to the side, there is one Anthony Bridgerton, your husband of precisely 365 days, lying propped up on his side, already awake, head resting on a casually bent arm, bicep flexed. He greets you with such a handsome stubbled grin that your breath catches.

“Good morning, beautiful wife. Happy anniversary.”

You roll towards him, instinctually wanting him, his skin on yours, perhaps some wonderful slow morning sex to start your anniversary off just right. His chuckle is rich in your ear as you crowd into him and slide an arm around his warm torso, tilting your face up for a kiss, an overture. He hums gently and redirects his lips to your forehead, placing a loving kiss there. Your brow knits slightly, and you are filled with concern about morning breath.

“Your breath is fine,” he laughs, guessing where your thoughts have run. “I just have very special plans for today,” he smiles, cupping your jaw and placing another chaste kiss on your cheek. “Do you trust me?” 

“Of course,” your answer is a reflex; his responding beam makes your heart light. 

“Then I would like to table morning sex, as utterly wonderful as it would be. Today you deserve to be pursued, wooed. I will spend all day earning the right to be with you. To show you how much you mean to me, my beautiful wife.” Warmth spreads under your ribs as he continues. “Now, I have a very special day planned for us, but it starts with breakfast out in the courtyard; how does that sound, hmmm?”

Your tummy rumbling answers for you, and you share a laugh at the timing. With a quick kiss on your other cheek, he pulls away and throws off the covers, stepping out of bed. Utterly naked. Giving you a full view of his very peachy bottom as he leisurely strolls towards the bathroom.

“Tease,” you call after him, your mouth watering at the mere sight of his tanned, toned body.

“Just a little amuse bouche,” he responds lightly over his shoulder, giving a slight wiggle before closing the door.

“Not fair,” you whine, flopping back onto the bed with a grin that feels like it claims your whole face as his responding laugh echoes on the bathroom tile through the wall.

____

Half an hour later, as you emerge from the bathroom fully dressed, he takes your hand, kissing the back of it, his lips lingering and his soft, warm eyes tilted towards you; then he leads you by the hand out to the sunny courtyard. There, right under a perfect riot of date palms, is a table set up for two, gleaming silverware and platters overflowing with fruits, freshly baked bread, olives, sauces and all manner of delights. The enticing aroma of intense Morrorocan spiced coffee fills the air.

“Mmmm, perfect,” he declares and chivalrously pulls out a chair for you to sit, rounding to his only once you are comfortable.

You eat together slowly, lazily, as you reminisce on your wedding day a year ago. The fun, the mishaps, but mostly the love, the love of your family and friends and the joy surrounding you as you pledged yourselves to each other for all to see.

At the end of the meal, as some staff materialise and clear your plates, he places a box in front of you on the table, ruby red against the pristine white.

“What is this?”

“Just the first of many gifts for the day,” he shrugs demurely.

You prise off the lid to find inside an intricately designed paper peony flower encased in a clear Perspex box.

“It's beautiful,” you sigh, carefully taking it out and turning it slowly to see the many, many layers of intricate folding.

“The first anniversary is traditionally paper,” he smiles, “so I had someone take our wedding invitation and order of service booklet and fashion it into a flower for you. There are over 1000 folds and cuts, so it is quite delicate.”

Up close now, you see the print of your names and the design of your invitation, and you inhale sharply. This is hours of painstaking work. And such a thoughtful gift. You swing out of your chair and climb into Anthony’s lap, looping your arms around his neck and pulling him in for a kiss.

“Thank you, it's wonderful,” you sigh against his lips. He obliges your kisses, your hands looping around his neck as you deepen the kiss running your tongue over his lips. You hear his soft moan and instinctively push your body against him, shifting further into his lap when he pulls back from the kiss. 

“No darling, I have not earned you yet,” he murmurs, moving to your neck, sucking your skin with soft, warm lips in a way that makes you weak and wanting.

“Please, Anthony…” you whine a little, your hand straying down his torso, but he captures your wrist and moves your arm away.

“Don't think I don't want to,” he assures, right in your ear, rich like velvet. “Right now, nothing would give me greater pleasure, my love, but I want to build up to something truly memorable. Earn you. Give you a full day of romance. I am usually so busy with work; I more than owe you this—a year of missed dinners and interrupted plans. Today, in fact, this week is just for us. No work, no meddling Bridgerton family. Just us.”

He’s right, although you’ve never seen it that way or held a grudge. You knew when you accepted his proposal how life would be as the wife of a CEO of a powerful company such as Bridgerton Enterprises. You have your network of friends and your own career to forge. And he always made it home, albeit sometimes late, but with an affectionate greeting and often a mind-blowing orgasm. It’s hardly been a struggle. He’s never left you believing you are anything but what he needs—his safe harbour, his home, where he wants to lay his head, physically and spiritually.

“Please let me do this?” he appeals, nuzzling against you.

The loving, sweet way he asks makes you sigh and capitulate, despite being already ripe and wanton for him. With a theatrical pout that he finds entertaining, you climb out of his lap and retake your seat as he checks his watch.

“We have a car coming to pick us up shortly to take us a little way out of town for our first activity of the day,” he smiles.

“What are we doing?”

“A little camel ride before the heat of the day kicks in,” he smiles. “We can enjoy a little escape from the hustle and bustle of the city with the backdrop of the Atlas Mountains.”

“I've never ridden a camel before,” you confess, a little nervous as he stands up and steps behind your chair, squeezing your shoulders.

“Don’t worry, I’ll be right with you,” he promises, then leans in, his breath hot on your cheek. “You have the skill to ride any beast; I have no doubt.”

Yep, he's definitely trying to kill you.

____

Sometime later, having been whisked out of the city, you are being helped onto the camel by a tour guide as it kneels next to some steps. Anthony climbs on effortlessly behind you. And with a quick tug of the harness, the camel is standing up, and you squeal lightly, grabbing hold of Anthony’s hands that encircle your waist.

“It’s okay,” he soothes, and you realise you will be spending the next hour with him pressed against your back, the seat very snug.

“Should we not be on separate camels?” you ask quietly.

“Usually yes, but I requested we share,” his voice lilting, his fingers flexing lightly over your tummy, scrunching the soft cotton of your maxi dress. 

You exhale shakily as you feel his muscles flex against your back as the camel starts to move at a leisurely gait. It's a gently rolling motion that is quite relaxing…. Except all you can think about is Anthony, his legs bracketing yours, the hair of his calves tickling yours where your dress is hitched up. He rests his chin on your shoulder, enveloping you, and points to the stunning mountains. It is indeed a wondrous, unforgettable place, and you savour the vista the best you can even as your thoughts are of the man behind you, murmuring sweet nothings in your ear occasionally between when the guide is speaking. The heat of the desert is still building for the day, but there is a refreshing, gentle breeze amongst the cacti—cooling the sun on your skin.

“I told you you would be a natural,” Anthony compliments lowly as you watch the hazy shimmer on the horizon.

“What I believe you said was something about riding a beast,” you shoot back coquettishly, twisting to say it quietly in his ear, revelling as his hands grasp you a fraction tighter as you say it.

“All in good time, my love,” he responds, dropping a kiss onto the spot where your neck meets your shoulder. “Mmm, you smell of almonds and coconut,” he sighs, running the tip of his nose over your skin.

“It's my suntan lotion,” you hum, basking in the feeling.

“You taste good enough to eat,” he rumbles, and part of your mind pleads with him to bite your skin, to slide a hand under your dress and touch you, uncaring there is a guide with you. The press of his toned frame against yours has you in a low simmer of arousal, his sensual touch almost unbearable.

You want to tell him to stop teasing you like this, but it’s as enthralling as it is exasperating. You lean back into him as the camel sways, savouring the intimacy, even as you crave more, distracted by errant flashes of his hands running heavily down your body as you undulate on him in a manner not dissimilar to the movements of this ride—almost as if he planned this. To have you distracted and thinking of him, even in this mesmerising landscape.

“May we have a photo?” Anthony calls, pulling you from your erotic reverie. 

Your tour guide obliges, taking the proffered phone and stepping back to frame the shot as Anthony wraps his arms tighter around you. Smiling for the camera, you know this will be a picture you will treasure for years to come.

“You look beautiful today, my love,” Anthony flatters, running fingertips over the soft, lightweight fabric of your dress as the camel moves again.

“Thank you,” you demure. 

“Although I must admit, I can’t wait to take it off of you later,” he adds in a dusky tone that makes your breath hitch.

“Are you going to tease me like this all day?” you bemoan under your breath.

“Yes,” he chuckles softly, “and it’s probably going to get much worse.” The glittering promise makes your skin prickle even hotter than the desert sun.

____

An hour or so later, you return to your riad, and he suggests you take a cooling dip in the courtyard pool before heading to the souk for a late afternoon tour and then dinner. It's a beautiful tranquil shaded spot framed with plants and tiled in stunning tourmaline green.

The cold water is a wonderful balm from the rising temperatures, and you sigh indulgently as you slip under the surface up to your shoulders, resting your head on the edge and closing your eyes.

You only stir when the water laps gently around your neck as he joins you. Your eyes open to the delicious view of your husband in swimming shorts slung almost obscenely low on his hips. Acres of tanned, toned torso above them with an inviting line of hair trailing from the patch at his chest, down over his defined abs all the way to those shorts. Your tongue feels thick in your mouth, wanting to trace its length.

“My face is up here,” he smirks at your obvious ogling.

“You denied me morning sex,” you lobby back as he wades in slowly down the steps, “besides, I am within my rights to eye up my delicious husband.” 

He laughs and wades closer, dipping under the water and making an almost obscene moan of pleasure, tilting his head back to wet his hair so it is slicked against his head. Then he advances on you with a knowing smile until his arms cage yours against the pool wall, and he pulls in and kisses your cheek.

“Feeling cooler, Viscountess?” he teases lightly.

“I was,” you reply pointedly, and he smirks, pulling you into his arms and wrapping your legs loosely around his hips.

It’s intimate but more sensual than anything else, your arms banding around his neck as you float entwined together, indulging in the cool waters. Wordlessly you cling together and spend many moments in companionable silence, just enjoying each other's embrace and the soothing water.

“Are you enjoying your first wedding anniversary, love?” he asks after a while.

“Very much so; this sets a rather high bar for the future.” You point out.

You feel his smile as your faces are pressed together. “I will bear that in mind,” he replies playfully, kissing your shoulder.

“What is next on this day of dates?” you ask, petting the wet tendrils of hair at the nape of his neck.

“We shall have a private tour guide take us to the best shops in the souk for some more gifts, of course, and then a private dinner cooked for us by a superb chef. And perhaps some dancing?”

“That sounds far too dreamy,” you sigh, turning your head to place a kiss on his neck. The cool water drops over his warmth is tantalising, and you linger, sucking gently, curling your legs around his hips further, pressing into him.

“I know what you are doing, my love,” he chuckles knowingly, “but trust me, it’s better that we wait to indulge,” his voice vibrating the skin against your lips.

“How can you be so sure?” you pout mildly.

He chuckles and pulls back to run a thumb over your lower lip, the slight aroma of chlorine there. “Delayed gratification tastes so much sweeter. Like ageing wine, it is always worth the wait,” he whispers and nuzzles your face, dropping soft kisses on your cheeks that make you feel glowing and jittery inside like fireflies live behind your ribs.

Your hands can’t help but run over his shapely torso underwater as you untangle limbs, wanting the sense memory to tide you over until you can see him without clothing later.

“I shall go get ready for our tour; it will start in half an hour,”

He kisses your knuckles with a smile, then climbs out of the pool, giving you a delectable view of the sweeping, strong line of his back, the curve of the muscle of his bum and legs. It makes you want to trace every contour with your tongue, a viscous throb in your swimwear under the water.

“Damn you, husband,” you mutter to yourself as he grabs a towel and, with a cheeky grin over his shoulder, heads across the courtyard to your bedroom. 

____

A little while later, as the afternoon rolls around, you are changed and ready for a tour. The sights, sounds and smells of the souk are so evocative. As you wander the narrow lanes between merchants, it’s a hubbub and hive of people and activity. Colourful fabrics drape over walls; displays groan with beautiful jewellery, brass lanterns throwing kaleidoscopic swirls of colour, and bright jars filled with earthy spices. The noise of haggling, Arabian music playing from little speakers and the most arrestingly delicious smell of spices, ripe fruits, coffee brewing and delicious foods cooking. It’s an overload of the senses that is delightful as it is intense. All the while, Anthony has an arm snaked around your back as you both wander in awe. 

As you pass one stall, a scarf catches your eye, and you linger, running your fingers over it, amazed at the softness and gauzy quality of the silk. Its varying tones of purple interlaced with silken silver threads. With a handsome grin, Anthony picks it up, wraps it around your shoulders, and nods to the merchant, handing over a bill after a short exchange with the guide. 

“It’s beautiful on you,” he whispers into your hair, bussing the lightest kiss onto your temple. 

“Anthony,” you demure, touching the material and still marvelling at its beauty, “you needn’t buy me so many gifts today. I am just enjoying our quality time together.”

“And I am enjoying giving you everything that makes your eyes light up,” he replies; the sincerity in his eyes has you melting. “Why else would a man work all the hours I do if not to spoil those he loves, hmm?” His lips are warm on your cheekbone. 

You cannot argue with that, so you merely smile and kiss his jaw, slightly rough with stubble. Only when your guide pointedly clears their throat do you break from your romantic cinch and move along.

It’s a delight of an afternoon as you snack on freshly roasted almonds, the most delicious buttery olives you have ever tasted, fresh figs and prickly pears. At one point, Anthony purchases a clay tagine, just about the only kitchen item that wasn’t on your wedding registry and arranges to have it delivered to your riad as you keep wandering.

“This is so memorable,” you sigh as you pause to watch your joint reflection in a mosaic mirror—myriad scattered versions of yourself, each looking as happy as you feel. You watch in the mirror as his eyes meet yours, and then he leans down to kiss your neck, wanting you to watch; so many versions of him kissing do so many versions of you. “So many versions of us,” you chuckle quietly, nodding at the mirror, and he curls a smile against your skin.

“I would love you in every universe,” he murmurs, his breath dusting warm as if he can tell where the mirror has sent your thoughts. “And I think we need to buy this mirror as a reminder,” he smiles. 

You shake your head affectionately but don’t fight his suggestion, and before you know it, there is an arrangement for another item to be sent to your place.

____

After a couple of hours of wandering the souk, you retire back to the oasis of your riad. As late afternoon gives way to early evening, you spend an hour lying under the whitewash veranda on cushioned loungers, reading together in companionable silence as you sip fruit juices.

Your book looked to be a fluffy, lightweight confection of period romance from the cover when you purchased it, but a few chapters into the story, things turn a little spicy when you were reading on the flight. Now a few chapters later, it is happening again; your pulse quickening, a flush creeping over your body at the descriptives. When you bite your lip and squeeze your thighs together on instinct, it catches Anthony’s attention, and he looks over to you intrigued, putting down his book and swinging around to face you.

“Y/n, are you alright?” 

You look up from your book, almost startled, and you watch his face turn intrigued as he catalogues your dilated pupils and the lower lip you are worrying with an incisor tooth. When you don’t answer, he slips the book from your slackened grip and takes it into his hands to read.

“Lady Brook sighed tremulously as his…” he stops reading aloud, and his eyes widen and then cut to you. “Well, that is quite something…” he mutters, his tone dropping lower as his eyes ping from the passage that he doesn’t appear able to stop reading and you. “Darling, this is… quite explicit,” his tone gravelly now.

“Read it to me, Anthony,” you whisper without thought, and his inhale is sharp.

He looks hesitant at first, but then he gets a glint in his eye. “I will do so on one condition,” he offers in low timbre.

“Which is?” you prompt, intrigued.

“You must not touch yourself anywhere as I read,” he simpers. “Just lay there and listen with your eyes closed.”

“Alright,” you concur, wrapping your hands around the arms of the lounger as if to prove a point as your eyes flutter shut.

“Lady Brook sighed tremulously as his hand ran up the inside of her thigh under the table,” his voice is smooth and buttery as you squeeze your legs together tighter, basking in his voice. “The spidering warmth of them making her breath hitch. Just as the King announced the evening’s entertainment, his fingers reached the apex of her thighs, naked, bare and glistening with slick desire just for him.” At this point, Anthony clears his throat and glances around to check no one is within earshot. “Wow, this is…” he breaks from the narrative momentarily, and you sense his shock as he reads ahead silently. “I'm not sure I should read more,” he says quietly, and your eyes open at his change of tone.

“Why not, darling?” the breathy nature of your question is not lost on either of you.

“I think this could derail my plans for the day entirely,” he divulges. “It makes me want to pick you up and take you to bed right now.” There is more than a hint of a growl, and that low simmer of arousal flares inside you at his confession.

“Please, Anthony, do it,” you beseech.

“You temptress,” he lobbies heatedly, and part of you longs for him to lift you, carry you across the courtyard and throw you onto the bed. “But no…” he sounds the most reluctant he has all day. “It will be worth the wait,” he remarks firmly, but it seems as much for himself as you.

You pout but relent as your eye catches the beautiful scarf he bought for you earlier. “Okay, but… later, I want you to do what happens on page 82,” you reply huskily as you rise from the lounger to visit the toilet… and probably splash cold water on your face.

You hear him flipping pages as you walk away and smile as he exclaims, “Bloody hell! Is this what all romance books are like?!? This is utter filth!” 

It’s your turn to shoot a coy smile over your shoulder as you close the door.

____

Within the hour, the sky above your courtyard turns dusky purple and pink as the sun fades. You change into a black halter dress that is simple but elegant—long flowing silk that is almost entirely backless. As a result, you decide to forgo all underwear, the cool silk directly on your skin, a soothing, arousing sensation resting weightlessly on your nipples and grazing the globes of your bare bottom. On your feet, you wear strappy gold leather sandals that complete the look perfectly. 

When you emerge from the dressing room off the bedroom, Anthony has left a hand-scrawled note on the bed to join him when you are ready in the pool courtyard. 

You wander out, and the vista catches your breath. The space is lit softly with up lights amongst the palms and fairy lights wrapped around their trunks. The pool glows invitingly from underwater lighting, and the sky above is now a dusky grey as night falls.

Amongst all this exotic beauty is the sight that truly steals your breath. Your husband in a crisp white shirt rolled up to his elbows, highlighting his tanned skin. Custom-fitted trousers hang perfectly on his muscular frame. He is barefoot, and his hair is slightly tousled. All you want to do is grab his hand and haul him back to the bedroom and tackle him to the bed. 

He smiles wide as you approach, drinking in the view of you, walking a little taller, knowing the silk flows around your body like a shimmery river.

“Wow,” he breathes, and you can’t help the triumphant little smirk at his reaction. 

“It gets better,” you say quietly as you pull up close and then turn your back and hear the almost strangled noise he makes at the sheer amount of skin on display.

“Good lord, you are trying to kill me?” he stutters, feeling the breath he huffs over your shoulder blades.

“Revenge for a day of teasing,” you shoot back, swishing your head to the side so you can see his heated expression behind you out of the corner of your eye.

“Doesn’t feel like revenge,” he breathes.

You jolt as one knuckle runs softly and slowly down each notch in your spine from your mid-back to the scoop of fabric. Just that touch alone causes goosebumps to break out down your arms and your nipples to pebble hard against the silk. 

“Payback then,” you amend, and he smiles. 

“I have more surprises in store yet,” he vows and rounds beside you, taking your hand and leading you to a table for two surrounded by flickering brass lanterns. 

You savour a memorable and delicious meal freshly prepared by what you later learn is a world-renowned chef. Every bite is a delight, crafted so expertly that it melts into delicious nothingness on your tongue—a true culinary thrill. The food is accompanied by Dom Perignon vintage champagne, almost tasting like fruit dancing on your tongue.

Anthony is quiet at the meal. Not in an uncomfortable way, but more letting the culinary experience dictate your exchanges. But all the while, when you catch each other's eye, he shoots you a look of such devotion it almost seems out of character. 

As the plates are cleared away, you realise he looks a little apprehensive, as if he has something to say but feels nervous to do so.

“What is it, my love?” you check. 

Surprise morphs across his handsome features. “You know me far too well,” he huffs, amused and seems to relax a few notches. “There is something I wish to say, but first… let’s dance,”

“But there’s no music?” you giggle.

Anthony nods to someone behind you, and suddenly from speakers hidden amongst the foliage, music pipes up. Within a few notes, you recognise it as the first dance from your wedding; your heart soaring as he pulls you up from your chair.

“Oh, you…” you shake your head affectionately but let him pull you a few paces onto the exotic mosaic tile square at the centre of the courtyard.

You rest your head against his jaw as he draws you into his arms, swaying to the song, his hand warm on your bare back. You tilt up to see the blanket of stars and have to refrain from becoming too overrun with emotion. It’s been the perfect day, a mix of fun and relaxation, quiet and bustle, nature and city, and all the time him. Anthony. Never leaving your side for long and making so many romantic overtures you wish you had written the day down so they do not blend together too much. Just as you are lost, trying to mentally file away all of the experiences, his voice gently cuts into your thoughts.

“I am not a man of poetry,” he begins, almost hesitant, “and such words of flattery would ring hollow in the face of what we now share.” You can tell from his grip on your hand and the one on your back that this feels like an important speech, so you pull away slightly to look at him, meet his eye, and give his jaw a reassuring touch as he continues. “I may not be able to offer the beautiful words you truly deserve, but I hope today has been a good display of my love for you. I assure you, when it comes to actions, I would never want to be demonstrably lacking. I hope today speaks louder than any pretty words could.”

You know your eyes are misty now, even as he relinquishes your hand and reaches into his pocket. You mutter his name, voice loaded with emotion, just as he raises a thin sparkling band held between his thumb and forefinger. You gasp and cling to him, your gaze pinging between his face, soft with emotion, and the beautiful object he holds between your bodies. 

“This is an eternity ring,” he explains sotto voce, spinning it slowly so the jewels catch fire in the lantern light. “It is a never-ending ring of tiny diamonds that symbolise how I feel. That my love for you never ends; it is a continuous circle—for eternity. I didn’t want to wait another day to offer it to you. In the hope you will always wear it, alongside your wedding and engagement rings,” he nods at the other two you wear proudly on your left hand.

“Please put it on me,” you whisper and tremble as he slips the ring until it nestles with the others—a perfect match.

“Thank you, Anthony, my love, my world,” you know your voice quivers as you rock to your tiptoes and push your lips to his. 

He accepts your advance, your chest bursting with fireflies as he lets you deepen the kiss, hands sliding around each other's bodies. This feels like the pinnacle; you can no longer be teased and denied. Your heart and body are aflame, craving him almost painfully. 

“You’ve earned me,” you state fervently over his lips as you break for air.

“I have?” his emotive gasp knocks the wind from you.

You move your lips to the shell of his ear. “I’m on fire for you, Anthony. Please, please don’t deny me anymore.” 

He pants a little as he gusts warm in your ear. “I could never,” it’s a hushed tone; the spike of euphoria in your veins is the best drug in the universe.

“Are we alone?” 

“We can be if I give the signal,” he murmurs back, fingertips trailing your spine again.

“Give it,” you hiss, almost fevered.

After another fervent kiss and a few moments of swaying as the song fades, he confirms it's just the two of you, and the house staff will not return unless called.

“Take off my shoes?” you request, a swell of desire and emotion as he sinks to his knees before you, glancing up with a loaded expression—the flickering light from the surrounding lanterns dancing on his blackened pupils.

You pull up your hem slightly to reveal your shoes, and, using both hands, he eases the dainty buckle until he can peel off the sandal. You grasp his shoulders as you place your bare foot on the cool tile, and he moves to the other shoe. Soon you are barefoot and gazing down at your husband, staring back up at you devotedly. 

Without breaking eye contact, you reach behind your neck and pull the silken bow until the halter relents. The gossamer material instantly slackens and slips down over your body in a diaphanous flutter—the material soon merely a black circle around your feet. 

The noise he makes is primal, so wanton, that you lock your knees to stay upright. You daren't look away from his face; his breathing turns shallow and rapid, drinking in the view of you, utterly naked and standing above him.

“Fuckkkkk.” 

“Take me,” you implore simply, cupping his strong jaw in both hands, enjoying the rasp of stubble against your palms. 

His eyes flash, and his mouth opens a fraction as he runs his hands slowly up the outside of your calves, his gaze never leaving yours. You can't resist running a thumb over those luscious lips. His lips open wider as you pull gently down on his bottom lip, pliant under your touch, his hands gliding up over the outside of your knees and thighs.

When his hands reach your hips, he tugs you down wordlessly, shifting himself backwards until he is lying on the cooling mosaic tile and pulling your body on top of him with a heated look, your knees landing on either side of his shoulders.

“Anthony,” you gasp as he turns his head to the side and sucks on your inner thigh, enticing you lower.

Your stomach is in a knot, pulsing deep inside as he twists back, his breath hot on the soaked slit between your legs. Your thighs are almost trembling as he unfurls his tongue and takes a decadent swipe pushing apart your lips and ending with a flick with the point over your clit. 

The whole day of simmering desire has led to this moment, your head tilting back to see a blanket of stars in the sky above the courtyard, framed by the palm tree fronds. Your right hand gropes blindly until your fingers sink into his luscious chestnut hair… and you let go. Let your inhibitions fly, groan loudly, decadently, uncaring of anything but chasing pleasure, knowing it must be a striking image; you sat utterly naked upon his face as he lays beneath you, still fully clothed.

He utters encouragements into your flesh as he swipes lewdly, sucking hard on your labia, tugging gently to amplify the sensation around your clit before swirling his tongue deep right around that distended nub. He knows your body so well now, so easily able to take you apart with a few deadly moves. And yet it never grows familiar, old or tired, always a little different, keeping you on the edge of anticipation of what he will do next.

The rich cotton of his shirt brushes your inner knees as he shifts slightly under you, hands gliding over your skin to encircle the dip of your waist and pull you lower so you are bearing down your weight upon him, so he can't breathe unless it’s into your body, his nose buried deep in your pubic hair, resting against the bone there, his mouth hot and heavy as he gasps around you, his mouth drinking from you as if its nectar.

You tilt your head back down and tug on his hair, watching his eyes glitter as he growls deep. You moan, feeling the vibration through your public bone as his mouth opens wide against you, his tongue taking broad strokes, seemingly engulfing the whole area with one dab.

The look as he coaxes you to slide on him is breathtaking; you cannot look away from those pupils, shining in the low romantic light, as you rock your hips gently, his tongue swirling deep with each pass. Your left hand slides over his where they hold your waist, lacing your fingers together so your wedding rings clink. This is pure carnality, and you don't want it to end. You want to spend the night entwined with him. The wait he put you through earlier is more than worth the payoff of this moment. 

“All night,” your comment is a breathy ragged exhale, “I want you to make love to me all night,” you say clearly, unashamed to speak the truth of your desire to your husband.

His mouth is too occupied to reply, but you see the flash in his eye that tells you that is precisely his plan. He shifts lower, and you cry out as he spears his tongue into a point and buries it into your pussy, the rough stubble on his cheeks abrading the soft skin of your inner thigh as he wraps his arms tighter. 

You pant his name and tilt fractionally, letting your swollen clit ride his nose as his tongue lashes deep into your channel. You sense little movements in his body and can tell he is unconsciously bucking his hips up off the floor, simulating thrusting into you; you glance down over your shoulder to see a delicious bulge there, and you can't resist but shift angle, releasing your hold on his hair and bowing back slightly over him so you can grab his crotch as you ride his tongue.

You feel the snarl he makes echo up your pussy as you palm the heated mass that strains against his trousers, grasping your fingers in sync with the lashings of his tongue. So desperate for him to be inside you.

He wrenches his face backwards away from your pussy and takes deep wracking breaths, canting his hips so he surges into your grip.

“Stop, darling,” he urges, but the tone suggests the exact opposite.

“No,” you challenge, raising an eyebrow, ”I want to come on your face as I grip your cock.”

He looks dazzled, awestruck even, by your boldness. Something that has blossomed as you grew in confidence under his guidance, him leading you into new realms of pleasure. Teaching you to demand what you want of him.

“As my Viscountess wishes,” he responds silkily, the tone somehow both submissive and authoritative.

His right hand relinquishes its grip on your waist, and you cry out as two fingers plunge into your cunt, his knuckles pushing open your walls as you cling to them, the invasion just perfect to push you higher, an electric slide down your spine as your scalp tingles. Your grip on his other hand at your waist, almost bruising now, his wedding ring leaving a dent in your skin.

Then his tongue is back, harshly swiping your clit, as his other fingers rock deep inside you. You whimper his name, shamelessly grinding on his face, chasing that addictive high as his tongue lashes right over your swollen bud. Concentrating all his efforts there, swirling, teasing, varying pressure, then sucking it between his lush lips, then using a little edge of his teeth to nip at the tip, a new blinding pleasure hits you. 

You are pleading with him not to stop, your voice delirious, drunk on him, on this—the debauched tableau amongst the beauty of twinking palms, white-washed walls and glowing understated opulence.

The filthy sodden noises he wrenches from your body would have made you feel ashamed before. Now you know better; it's like music to his ears, how utterly gushing and aroused he can make you, leaking over his eager face. His fingers hook a little, and he hits that spot that steals the breath from your lungs. You can see the smirk in his eyes as you shudder bodily, your nipples throbbing, wanting his touch, and he knows it. Releasing your waist and snaking that hand up to tweak them, playing your body like a maestro does an instrument.

The heavy elixir of sensation: his fingers buried in your cunt dragging hard, his lips on your clit, his other hand snagging your nipples, his cock rigid and heated under your palm, his eyes goading you, are what push you over the edge. Every muscle in your body clamping tense, taunt and shaking as the fluttering in your channel fans out flames around your body.

You hear muffled sounds as he makes victorious noises, but the world is narrowing to the rush noise in your ears and the burning pulse as you break. Your body weight slumped onto his strong jaw as you cry out and convulse, him drinking from your body. You take wracking breaths as you tip sideways and roll onto the tile next to him, the cool ceramic a salve to your flushed, heated skin.

He instantly rolls against you as you stare at the stars and try to return to reality, even as you feel yourself floating up amongst the heavens. You don't fight his hold as he scoops you up and athletically moves across the courtyard towards your bedroom, you curling into his body, feeling soft and pliant against his muscular frame. 

As he sweeps in, the room is lit with soft flickering pillar candles nestled in little glass dishes filled with sand. Everything looks so beautiful you burrow further into him and look at him devotedly, knowing this is all something he arranged. The beauty and romance are as breathtaking as the mind-bending orgasm he just gave you. And just like that, your desire flares again, an almost metallic taste in your mouth as your blood runs hot. The fierce want to have him making love to you, sensual, lush, needy, his sinful voice pleading your name into your neck as you move together.

“Please, Anthony,” you whisper as he places you on top of the plush white cotton bedding and backs away from the bed as you stare at him, mesmerised by his sinful expression.

He flicks open a shirt button with an arched brow, giving you a show, letting you fully recover in comfort, but making sure your arousal never slips for a second. You know your pupils are blown wide, and you bite your lip, still tingling and swollen dark pink from your orgasm. You greedily drink in his toned torso being revealed, the dusting of thick chest hair so inviting you want to run your fingertips through it and grip it, making him groan. With a flourish that makes you giggle, he throws aside the shirt and holds your gaze smoulderingly as his hand drops to the zip of his fly. You are almost certain he was not wearing underwear when you palmed him earlier, the heat and insistence too great for him to be sporting anything but the thin fabric he now is parting. And you are right. You don't hesitate to moan as his cock springs free, so familiar but every time tantalising, making you clench at the very sight. 

He shucks his trousers down his toned, downy legs, instantly prowling towards you, naked except for that shiny wedding ring you can't take your eyes off. 365 days of bliss. And hopefully, a lifetime more.

Then he climbs over you, tilting you back onto the bed so all you see is his handsome, smiling, stubbled face framed by curled chestnut locks and beyond, teal and gold stars. It's a view you want to be burned into your retinas, a core memory to recall in your twilight years—the love, the passion, the connection.

“Happy anniversary, my love,” he purrs, nuzzling your face with his before kissing you passionately, your arousal musky on his face and tongue. He loves to kiss you like this, so you taste yourself on him, a cocktail of his mouth and the arousal he wrings from your body—a reminder of the passion you share. 

His hand cups your jaw as your tongues lathe together, endless kisses as his hands sweep over your body, grasping behind your knee and pulling your leg up and out wide so he slots between your thighs, his rigid cock sliding over the apex, making you moan into his mouth.

He rocks his cock teasingly, his lips ghosting yours, whispering yeses, and that's it, revelling in your little noises, the sensation against your swollen soaked clit almost too much.

Just as you start to plead with him to stop teasing, he angles lower. “I love you,” his voice deep as he slips inside your waiting, wanton cunt. Stretching you and filling you in that way only he ever can. Your echoed response is a ragged thing as your eyes roll back, and he huffs a bemused noise at your attempted reply.

Your gazes lock as he slides slowly deeper until he is buried entirely in your body, already fluttering around him, the fit so perfect, just the right side of an ache. You hold his face and pull him down for more kisses as he starts to move in slow, deliberate strokes, your whole body rolling with the effort, a gentle wave that already has you floating.

He may not be a man of flamboyant words, but as he said earlier, his actions speak louder than any affirmations ever could. Showing you his devotion, enveloping your body and mind. As his pace increases, he delicately takes your hand and runs his lips over your new sparkling eternity ring, his fathomless umber eyes speaking the words for him. 

Your hands rake down the hair on his chest, loving the soft feel under your fingers, sliding further until you reach his abs, the flex so arousing as he thrusts into your body. You glance down to where your bodies meet, watching his cock disappear into you rhythmically, a tantalising glimpse. Your hands circle his sides, staking his skin to grab his shapely bottom, enticing him to take you harder, towards a crescendo. 

“Not yet,” he chuckles, dropping a quick kiss on your lips.

Instead, he pulls out of your body, you keening loudly at the sudden loss. He sits up, crossing his legs into the lotus position and hauls you into his lap. He guides you down onto him, and a shiver runs up your spine as he wraps your legs around his lower back. Locked together with his cock buried deep, the pace turns slow, your eyes staring, sharing kisses, languid, sensual, elongating the experience into something else. His hands run soothing strokes over your spine as yours hold his biceps, using your core strength to circle your hips, loving the feel of his cock dragging different angles as you rise and fall gently. This is the sort of intimacy that songs are composed about, and you feel so profoundly exhilarated and privileged that you get to experience it with this wonderful man. 

You rock together, limbs entwined, for many more moments, your gaze catching the reflection in the arched mirror on the other side of the room. You cannot see all of you, just the top of Anthony's shoulders and his head of hair and yourself, rising and rocking onto his cock. Even just this little snippet is undeniably arousing, and you turn your head to whisper in his ear that you want him to fuck you in front of a mirror before you leave, want to watch you both come. Following your instinct to tell him your desires.

The noise he emits in response makes every hair on your body stand on end, his hands gripping your hips forcefully. It seems to light a fire in him, suddenly rife with need, the mood changing from languorous to passionate. Your world tilts as he throws you down onto your back, your legs still looped around his back, as he unfurls himself and hovers over you, a wild look in his eye. 

“You want me to fuck you, wife?” he growls, and just as rapidly, you need him to take you somewhere utterly feral, savage, ferocious.

“Yes, oh god, yes, please,” you implore raggedly, your hands back on his bum, digging your nails into his flesh, leaving crescent-shaped indents and scratches on the round of his cheeks.

And so he does. Looping your legs over his forearms now, tilting your pelvis up and more open, he thrust into your body, plugging to the hilt in one stroke that makes your toes curl and your lungs scream his name. It spurs him on, and he starts to pound into you in earnest, his brow dampening with the effort, grunting with each spike. Curling his body down to capture your breast in his hot mouth, making you arch your back and push up against his tongue, his teeth, teeming with desperation for him, wanting him to leave his marks on your skin. 

The sturdy king-sized bed begins to protest with the force of his harsh thrusts. All you can do is cling on, feeling so utterly invaded. The brush of his pubic bone catches enticingly against your clit, still so slippery and throbbing but not quite enough to push you over. 

You insinuate a hand between your bodies to touch your clit, but he grasps your wrist when he realises what you are doing, his pace never wavering.

“That's my job, darling,” he scolds, and then a thumb lands heavily on your clit, flicking in time with each thrust. 

You cry out and wrap your arms around his neck; eyes closed, biting his earlobe as he pants into the crook of your neck. The unrelenting pace and his fingers are too much. He doesn't even have to say another thing, just the feel of him engulfing you, taking you so harshly his cock is like a hot spike piercing you open and that thumb circling your nub, and you are calling his name and fracturing around him. Your heartbeat is pounding loud as fireworks dance behind your eyelids, your cunt clenching so hard you can hear him growling to not ever fucking stop and how he wants to die inside you, fucking you. But it's all through a gauzy filter, as you somehow float out of your body as if among the Moroccan stars but also grounded in your body as you convulse, each cell in your body alive and electric. The sensation seems to roll on forever, notching across your skin, as you feel him still over you, then his hips jerking violently as he comes deep inside you, his mouth slack on your throat.

You take deep racking breaths in sync, the frenzy passing, left with nothing but a bone-deep feeling of satisfaction that makes your inside feel molten and your brain pleasantly fuzzy. Anthony rolls next to you and pulls you into a dewy embrace, both of your bodies covered in a sheen from the exertion. His hands swirl delicate patterns on your skin as you nestle into him, your lips over the slowing hammering of his heartbeat in his jugular. 

“Was it worth the wait, Viscountess?” his voice a deep sonorous tease; you can feel his smile against your sticky forehead.

“Oh god, yes,” you confess elatedly, giggling and wrapping your arms tighter around his ribs, shiting to bury your face into the fuzz of hair on his chest.

He chuckles and strokes your hair, dropping a kiss on your hairline.

“The first of many memorable anniversaries, I promise,” he whispers as you start to drift off, the exhaustion of a thrilling, memorable day catching up with you.

You can’t wait.

Anthony taglist: @makaylan @foreverlonginguniverse @iboopedyournose @colettebronte @aintnuthinbutahounddog @margofiore @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @crowleysqueenofhell @bridgertontess @queenofmean14 @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @eleanor-bradstreet @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84 @benedictspaintbrush @sorryallonsy @lilithseve @cayt0123 @hottytoddyhistory @elizah99 @fictionalmenloversblog @malpalgalz @amanda08319 @panhoeofmanyfandoms @delehosies @m-rae23 @kmc1989 @desert-fern @corpseoftrees-queen @jeanfreau

[jt1674]

[theatrepup]

“Brian Jones was indeed the father of what we now regard as world music…Brian’s championing of ethnic players such as the Moroccan Master Musicians of Joujouka back in 1967 should be regarded as groundbreaking artistic development, portents of the future.”—John Phillpott, Blues in Britain, 2024

[najia-cooks]

[ID: Two triangles of baklava garnished with ground pistachio and whole cloves, with a silver Moroccan tea set in the background. End ID]

μπακλαβάς / Baklava

Baklava is a layered pastry consisting of a filling of chopped nuts piled between thin sheets of dough and sweetened with syrup. It is of contested and potentially ancient origin, with similar pastries attested in modern-day Turkey, Greece, and Assyria. Today, many regional variations of the pastry exist throughout North Africa and West and Central Asia.

This Greek-style recipe layers a spiced walnut filling between sheets of homemade filo dough, then soaks them in a sugar-honey syrup flavored with cinnamon, clove, and lemon. The resulting pastry is flaky, flavorful, and über-sweet.

Recipe under the cut!

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Ingredients:

For the dough:

4 2/3 cup (560g) bread flour

1/2 cup + 1 Tbsp (133mL) olive oil

1 Tbsp + 2 tsp red wine vinegar

About 1 - 1 1/3 cup (240 - 320g) lukewarm water

3/4 cup (165g) butter or non-dairy margarine, melted, for brushing

For the filling:

400g walnuts (or hazelnuts, shelled pistachios, and/or blanched almonds)

1/4 cup (35g) breadcrumbs

1 1/2 tsp ground cinnamon (1/2 cassia cinnamon stick)

1 1/2 tsp ground cloves (18 / 1.5g whole cloves)

Greek baklava most commonly uses walnuts, though pistachios are also used. You may experiment with nuts of your choice.

The breadcrumbs help to soak up the syrup evenly and prevent sogginess.

For the syrup:

2 1/2 cups (500g) vegetarian granulated sugar

1 1/2 cups (355mL) water

1/4 cup (80g) agave nectar or honey

1 tsp orange blossom water (optional)

Peel of one lemon

1 cassia cinnamon stick

3 whole cloves

Instructions:

For the dough:

1. Combine flour and salt in a large mixing bowl. Add the vinegar and olive oil and mix to combine.

2. Gradually add a scant cup of water and continue to mix until the dough just comes together. Continue to knead, by hand or with a stand mixer and dough hook attachment, until the dough becomes smooth and elastic, about five minutes. If the dough does not come together, add additional water 1 tsp at a time. The dough should not be sticky.

3. Divide the dough into small balls of about 40g each (for a 13" x 9" pan). You may decide to make the dough balls slightly larger if you’re a beginner at working with thin dough.

4. Coat each dough ball with some olive oil and cover. Allow to rest for at least an hour, to allow gluten to form and facilitate rolling out later.

For the syrup:

1. Scrub a lemon thoroughly and remove the outer layer of peel with a knife or vegetable peeler. Heat sugar, water, lemon peel, cinnamon, and cloves in a large pot over medium heat until simmering. Stir to dissolve sugar and continue to simmer for about 5 minutes.

2. Remove from heat and stir in honey and orange blossom water. Allow to cool to room temperature, then refrigerate.

For the filling:

1. Blanch almonds by boiling them for about a minute, draining, and pinching gently to remove their skins. Shell pistachios. Chop nuts, or use a food processor, to achieve a coarse grind (you don't want a powder!).

2. Toast and grind whole spices, if using. Combine nuts with breadcrumbs and spices in a mixing bowl and set aside.

To assemble:

Baklava is made by interspersing thin sheets of dough with butter and nut filling to create flaky layers. Several sheets of dough will be needed at the top and bottom to prevent the weight of the nuts from causing the pastry to collapse. Some cooks add all of the nut filling between two groups of filo dough, while others intersperse the nuts throughout.

1. Melt margarine in a small saucepan or in the microwave. Using a pastry brush, coat the bottom and sides of a 9 x 13" baking dish in margarine.

2. On a lightly oiled surface, roll out one ball of dough into a rectangle a little larger than the bottom of your baking dish (it will relax as it transferred). Place the sheet in the bottom of the dish, gently stretching it into the corners. Don't worry too much about small holes—there will be many layers!

3. Gently drizzle and brush melted margarine over the sheet of dough.

4. Repeat this process 4 more times, for a total of 5 sheets interspersed with margarine. I placed each sheet on top of the previous one on the counter and waited to transfer them to the pan until I had rolled out all four. You may need to re-oil your working surface as you go.

5. Add just enough nut filling mixture to form a thin layer.

6. Roll out another two sheets of dough and brush them with margarine as before. Add another layer of nuts. Repeat until the nut mixture is gone, making sure to reserve at least five balls of dough for the top.

7. Roll out and place the remaining balls of dough and brush them with margarine as before.

8. Refrigerate for 10-15 minutes to make the baklava easier to cut. Using a sharp knife, cut the baklava into diamonds by cutting in lines diagonally in one direction, and then diagonally in another direction to form points at an acute angle; or, form triangles by cutting lengthwise and then widthwise to form squares, and then diagonally to cut those squares in half. Stick a whole clove in the center of each piece of baklava, if you like.

9. Bake at 300 °F (150 °C) for an hour to an hour and a half, until the top of the pastry is golden brown.

10. Remove from the oven and allow to cool for about 10 minutes. Pour the cooled syrup evenly over the surface of the baklava. Don't add the syrup warm, or it may make the baklava soggy!

11. Allow the syrup to absorb for several hours, or overnight.

[shitsndgiggs]

Can you write Lamine yamal x Algerian girlfriend where they both are very proud of their countries and have to always try to one up another ? (WC22 and Olympia24)

Since Marocco and Algeria have this ongoing love/hate relationship

ULTIMATE SHOWDOWN - LAMINE YAMAL

Who is faster?

Lamine Yamal x algerian! reader

︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿

The friendly rivalry between Lamine and me was something that never seemed to die down. We both had our achievements—me, an Olympic gold medalist, and him, a European champion with Spain.

Our competitive nature extended beyond our respective sports and into almost every aspect of our relationship. But lately, our friendly teasing had taken on a new dimension.

“Alright,” I said, tying my sneakers tighter, my eyes narrowing playfully at Lamine. “Let’s settle this once and for all—who’s faster?

Lamine raised an eyebrow, his lips curving into that familiar, confident smirk. “You really want to do this? You know I’m half Moroccan, right? We’re basically built for speed.”

I rolled my eyes, a laugh escaping me. “And I’m Algerian. We’re built for endurance. Plus, I’m an Olympian. So don’t get too cocky.”

“Cocky? Never,” he replied, his grin widening. “Just confident.”

We were in the park near his place, the sun starting to dip lower in the sky.

It was the perfect setting for our little showdown. The long stretch of path in front of us seemed to beckon, challenging us to prove who was truly the fastest.

“Alright,” I said, stepping up to the imaginary starting line. “No cheating.”

“Me? Cheat?” Lamine feigned shock, placing a hand over his heart. “I’m hurt you’d even suggest that.”

I laughed, shaking my head. “Okay, on three. One… two…”

“Three!” we shouted together, taking off at full speed.

The wind whipped past us as our feet pounded the pavement, each of us determined to outpace the other.

I could hear Lamine’s breath matching mine, and out of the corner of my eye, I saw him glance at me, a competitive gleam in his eyes.

“Is that all you’ve got, Olympian?” he teased, his voice slightly breathless.

“Not even close,” I shot back, pushing myself harder.

We were neck and neck, neither of us willing to give an inch. But just as we neared the imaginary finish line, Lamine suddenly surged forward, pulling ahead by just a hair.

I groaned as we crossed the line, both of us slowing to a stop. “No way,” I panted, hands on my knees as I tried to catch my breath. “You did not just beat me.”

He was laughing, still trying to catch his breath too. “I told you, I’m fast. But that was close.”

“Too close,” I muttered, though I couldn’t help but smile at the thrill of the race. “Rematch?”

“Always,” he said, his eyes lighting up with excitement.

But before we could start round two, I caught his arm, pulling him close. “You might’ve won this one,” I said, looking up at him with a playful glint in my eye. “But remember, I’ve got a gold medal.”

Lamine laughed, wrapping his arms around me. “And I’ve got the Euros. So I guess we’re even?”

“For now,” I replied, still a bit breathless, leaning into his embrace.

[insphoeration]

No because I can’t stop thinking of enemies to friends to lovers with mattheo with a heaping side of grumpy x sunshine and mattheo has this bad boy reputation and you always get made fun of for not acting like a slytherin and after you’re paired together for astronomy or something you guys get closer and start to fall for each other and you start to get closer to his group of friends and Draco says something snarky to you and mattheo immediately becomes protective and his friends are all like okkkkkkk and then a year or so after you guys are brewing ammortentia in potions (of course) and mattheo is fooling around and as punishment he gets to tell the whole class what the ammortentia smells like so him and he smells it and says “air” and everyone thinks he’s joking and so the potions professor scolds him and tells him to try and take things more seriously and he leans forward again and smells the potion and just when the professor thinks he’s had a breakthrough mattheo lifts his head and smirks and says “air. And flowers.” And everyone laughs because he’s taking the piss out of the teacher and it’s the most vague answer he could have given and the professor rolls their eyes and gives him detention

And after his detention, the group is sitting around the common room trying to get mattheo to tell them what he smelled except for you because he wasn’t telling anyone for a reason and even though you hoped it was you, you also didn’t want to know so you could save yourself the heartbreak if it wasn’t you

And you bid everyone a good night and after you go up Pansy calls it a night soon after

“come on Pans, don’t you want to know what teo smelled, even just a little?” Draco called after her but she shook her head with a smirk

“ I already know what he smelled, we all do, he told us earlier.” She said smugly

“He was taking the piss Pans! You don’t really believe he was telling the truth do you?” Blaise scoffs.

“I believe him when he said he smelled air and flowers.” Pansy turned back to her friends and crossed her arms. “But I think when he said he smelled air he meant the scent of the air after it rained,”

Mattheo smiled to himself as he pictured the two of you running in the rain together, caught in a storm, trying to seek shelter. Or any of the times you dragged your friends out of the common room outside after it rained only to take a deep breath through your nose and smile to yourself enjoying the smell after the rain.

“And I think when he said he smelled flowers I think he meant he smelled Moroccan rose body wash and floral perfume.” She grinned

Mattheo chuckled and stood up from his seat.

“She’s right.” And in the chaos of his friends losing it that he finally admitted he had feelings for you, he walked himself upstairs smiling at the thought of you

Bonus: Theo starts flirting with you to try and push mattheo to make a move because mattheo keeps denying his feelings for you despite being soft for you and no one else - after mattheo says “she’s right” he looks at Theo and adds, “so you can stop stop.” With a look that says you’re my brother and I love you but please leave the girl I love alone or we’re going to have problems