#since it's his 'recipe'

[teecupangel]

so i have this idea in a Desmond lives au after the solar flare he starts a channel like tasting history with max miller in which he recreates historical dishes that his ancestors used to make with Shaun and Rebecca appearing by tasting what he makes

(The video starts with a man addressing the video in a beautiful clean kitchen)

“So this isn’t my usual content but I’ve got a lot of requests to do a reaction video on this youtube channel called ‘I Am Not My Ancestors’ where he recreates recipes he got from his ancestors. At least, that’s what he claims. A lot of you asked me to check if his recipes are what a household from that time period would make and I asked Desmond, he’s the owner of I’m Not My Ancestor channel if he’s alright with me reacting to them and I received his permission.”

“I’d like to make it clear that he has no hand in any of my reactions. This will be the first time I’m watching the videos I’d be reacting to and there’s no script, we didn’t talk about what I should say or what I shouldn’t say. I can even show you guys his actual reply to my email.”

(The video cuts to some kind of recorder, most probably a phone camera, aimed at the screen of a monitor showing an opened email)

Subject: Re: Requesting permissions to react to your videos

Sender: Desmond M iamnotmyancestor@yahoo.com

yeah go ahead man.

(The video returns to the man in the kitchen)

“So with his permission… let’s check out some of his videos, shall we?”

(The video changed. On the lower left corner is the same man, now wearing earbuds. The rest of the video appears to be a screen recording of the Youtube Channel ‘I Am Not My Ancestors’. The mouse clicks on the Cooking Playlist and clicks a video titled “What an Assassin from 12th Century That Can’t Cook Cooks”)

(The video changes to a normal looking kitchen with a young man. A prominent scar mars his lips and his eyes seemed to glow gold at certain angles although it looked mostly light brown)

“So… I’ve been focusing on Renaissance Italy food for a while now and I thought I’d branch out and make something my other ancestors made. Then I remembered my ancestor from 12th century Syria doesn’t know how to cook.” The man said as he placed his hands on the counter, “But, well, let’s try it anyway.”

(The video continues with the man listening down all the ingredients he’d be using to make what he calls ‘road food’)

(The video is paused and the man on the lower left begins to speak)

“Okay, so this is one of his latest videos and I just want to talk about all the ingredients he’s using for this… ‘road food’. All of these can be bought in Syria and I’ve seen all of them used in different dishes in historical cook books. The more important part is that all of these? Can be found in the wilds during those time and I believe that he’ll tell us that these ingredients are used because they don’t cost any money, only time and a discerning eye. Let’s see if I’m right.”

(The video plays once more)

“You can also change any of the things I listed to whatever wild plants to find on your way. Normally, if your mission takes you to a place that’s more than a day ride away-”

“By horse.” Someone off camera added.

“Yeah, by horse. Thanks, Becs. Anyway, if it’s more than a day ride away, what you usually do is stay in a nearby bureau- hm? Oh, right. A bureau is what the Assassins call their… mini headquarters in other places. So they have their headquarters in Masyaf, Alamut and Ḥalab and they have bureaus on other places as well.”

(The video paused and the man on the lower left speaks once more)

“While I can’t verify his claims, the Nizaris of which the Assassins are from did have strongholds in Masyaf, Alamut and this Ḥalab is more known as Aleppo to many of us. Anyway, let’s continue.”

(The video is played once more)

“But sometimes, you go to a far away place and the supplies they give you is lacking because Al Mualim is a stingy old man who’ll tell you that ‘an Assassin must triumph over’ this kind of bullshit so you learn to live off eating game and grass-”

(The video is paused and the man on the lower left commented)

“I believe this Al Mualim he speaks of is Rashid al-Din Sinan, known as the Old Man of the Mountain. From the way he speaks, it’s either he knows Rashid himself. Or, of course, he has a journal of his ancestor who has certain words to describe Rashid. I’m sure it’s the latter.”

(The video plays once more)

“So this is what Al-”

“Your ancestor.”

(The man on the lower left tilts his head but does not pause the video)

“My ancestor would make during those ‘tiring’ times.”

(The video continues as the man starts to cook, starting from preparing a small game and then… throwing it and all the other ingredients in a pot. The man on the lower left stared at him with an open mouth.)

“Yeah, that’s it. Just wait until the meat is cooked. While you wait, you should patrol the area, check your map, write on your journal… the usual stuff.”

(The video transitions to the same place but the man is now on his phone, seemingly tapping on the screen.)

“Desmond… isn’t it cooked yet?”

“Hm? Oh, yeah. I told you guys this is the easiest shit my ancestors can cook. This is also the only thing Alta-”

“Your ancestor.”

“My ancestor can’t fucked up. Anyway, let’s have Shaun try it out.”

(As the man grabs a bowl and pours the soup in it, a man with glasses stepped to the frame with arms crossed)

“Guys, say hello to Shaun, our resident taste tester and the actual historian in our little group.”

“I’ve been tasting everything you make for these videos. They already know who I am.”

“Yeah, yeah, just taste this.”

(The man with glasses took the bowl and blew his spoon before taking a mouthful. He chewed for a moment before nodding.)

“It’s okay.”

“You're British, of course you think the lack of flavor is okay.”

“Hey.”

“Anyway, the main point of this dish is to sustain us. Good food will always be welcomed but what we need is the nutrients and energy food gives us. After we get to the bureau, we’ll have some actual good food.”

(The video pauses and changes to only show the man in the beautiful kitchen)

“Okay, so let’s talk about the recipe itself…”

(The video continues as the man list down all the ingredients and where they have appeared in historical books, referencing other recipes similar to the recipe that the video used)

“I think I should watch more videos, maybe one of his Renaissance Italy videos because it seems like this ancestor of his is quite… the ‘frugal’ and practical kind. Let me know in the comments which videos you’d like me to watch nex-

(The video stops and the laptop closes)

“Desmond, he called Altaïr frugal and practical.”

“Not because he wanted to. What do you think he did when he was traveling with Maria? That man tried out every food he saw.”

(is this in the same universe as #Da Vinci's secret lover Not-Salai? Maybe? Maybe not? idk)

[frownyalfred]

I just know whatever narcan-adjacent antidote GCPD hands out for Joker Gas is NASTY

[heroesriseandfall]

I’m dying at Bruce giving Robin Dick good grades in his head

Dick, on the other hand, gives his feedback out loud 👍

Batman and Robin: Year One #1

[rhiaemrys]

In other news. I am now a ghostmaker fan. BY jove is he funny. He's objectively better at Bruce's job at least 2/3 of the time (by a given metric of better). He doesn't get attachements. He's had two sidekicks and two love interests all of whom are reflective of Batman because he so desperately wants to fill the hole of what he thought he could of had with Bruce but didn't and so now on some level he believes that if he shows Bruce he's truly better at being Batman Bruce will come around. He cannot for the life of him not take a jab at Bruce. He has not stopped thinking of Bruce ever. He was willing to stay in Gotham to help Bruce out despite being a guy plagued by chronic vigilante wanderlust. He is literally a walking ninja cyborg aesthetic post.

Minhkhoa Khan you will always be Him.

[ikemenomegas]

good-ending!kakashi and itachi need to have a little former traumatized geniuses cooking club where they get comfortable with making little "mistakes" and putting imperfect dishes on the table and improvising without needing to explain themselves like it's life or death

[elisedonut]

Little Percy making cookies <3

my brain was thinking soulmate au again sorry sometimes soulmate brainrot takes over my life for a few weeks

I am a simple person with simple needs and soulmate aus fill so so many of those needs

my brain was thinking about that whole know things about your soulmate concept which in this case also morphed into knowing things they like and such and just sometimes getting an urge to do something that if you were with them would make them happy and so a tiny Percy just walking into the kitchen and making cookies even though a few minutes before he would not be able to tell you the recipe he was about to make

Molly only realizes once he turns the oven on and legit the only reason he doesn't get in trouble is her realizing it's a soulmate vision when he stops her from 'fixing' something he's doing 'wrong'

at which point she starts asking pointed questions to try to pull as much information about who it is out of him before he snaps out of it

because in my mind this is happening when Percy's like old enough to talk well but young enough that no sane person would want him using the oven so he's one of the first to get one and she's excited

my first thought was Moody/Percy again

where Percy outright even tells Molly his soulmate's name is Alastor but she doesn't put two and two together until Arthur comes home and says something that tips her off

like idk them tasting like some he's had before specifically with Moody or something or about something having happened that day to him and she's just oh no- and makes Percy go upstairs so she can break the news to Arthur even if it's still technically hypothetical

[windupaidoneus]

hildecember 31. maybe not the best but its for me

[face-breaker]

me making settrigh more honey badger than wolverine + giving him an addiction to sugar & sweets + reading about how honey badgers actually do have a sweet tooth, hence their name

[suguwu-archived]

i really want to write a story kinda centered around kita and his granny bc she has not yet appeared in any of my kita fics and that's a shame

[vilevexedvixen]

Fowler's Flower Pt. 3 - Crown of thorns

Abijah Fowler x servant!Reader

Summary: While the reader rests, her fellow English Roses stir in her absence. Their usual duties disrupted by Fowler's newborn vigor as of her arrival. Typically Mary serves as Fowler's go-to sacrificial lamb, but that morning Lizzy offered herself in her place when she sees Fowler about to torture the reader. Remembering exactly why she'd avoided Fowler's attention all this time...

TW: Sexual themes, breath-play, begging, and general religious fuckery.

Pt. 1 here

Pt. 2 here Dividers by @roseschoices

Lizzy couldn't sleep.

She often couldn't. A light sleeper at best, but this night even the twinkling of stars in the clear night sky felt like an agitating strobe taunting her from the heavens. The warm summer air feeling like a stale miasma that caught in her throat the deeper she breathed in a vain attempt to quell her nerves. It was almost funny, Mary's snoring was strangely calming by comparison. A reminder of her presence. Each breath of hers sounding slightly wheezy tonight, Fowler must have really done a number to her chest and back. An obvious observation, given she had just been tending to her wounds before bed. As with almost every night before.

Dabbing each cut and bruise with a rag soaked in what meager disinfectant she could make from the sake they shared with Fowler's prostitutes. Sparing some to drink as a makeshift painkiller, which Mary gladly indulged in between hisses as the disinfectant worked its magic. Her shaky hands causing some of the disinfectant to spill onto her clothes, which still stank faintly of it. Somehow, hearing Mary wheeze now stung more than seeing her stumble in as a battered wreck earlier. She could patch her up as best she can every time, but the damage will always last. Someday, she knew, would come a day her best efforts won't heal her.

Why must she always throw herself at his feet? Mary's but one person, no matter how hardy she reckons she is. Lord knows she can't work miracles, and there's only so many miracles she could pray for on Mary's behalf. She swears her prayers must have been heard on at least a few occasions. Rarely can she stomach a peak into the dungeon, even when it's not in use, but its proximity to the chapel makes some gruesome affairs hard to ignore. The depths of depravity and anguish she's seen Mary endure is nothing short of biblical. Sympathy aside, she knows were it not for Mary then she, Daisy and any other poor soul unlucky enough to spark Fowler's ire would have to endure that same torture. The last time that happened, well...

Her trembling hands fondled the rosary she hid beneath her garbs, less because of any explicit rule to keep it hidden and more a need to keep it close to her heart. As if on autopilot, she made her way to the chapel as she did most mornings. Almost as if the sun may not rise unless she prayed that the lord willed it to, even if she knew it must. Usually she'd make a detour to the kitchen first to gather up a little something for Mary to eat in case she was left in the dungeon overnight. It was a welcome change to not be sleeping alone for once, courtesy of Fowler getting his sadistic urges out of his system unusually early. One would wonder how a man like Fowler could even sleep at night, but his nocturnal tendencies seem to speak for themselves.

An unfortunate consequence of his near nightly habits is that Lizzy often guides herself to the chapel not by memerising the winding passageways that led there, but instead by the sounds emanating from the dungeon like clockwork. Finishing up just in time for the birdsong to begin, a jarring choir to cleanse her palate. Tonight her memory had to finally step-in, which actually led her to take a few wrong turns before finally reaching the chapel. Not even the birds had stirred yet, leaving nothing but the creaking floorboards to keep her company. And him, of course. Ever loving, ever looming.

As she knelt among the pews, gazing up at the carved carcass of Christ nailed above the alter with eyes half-closed, she could feel Mary's scathing nihilism get to her. Unsure if all her prayers were what kept her alive, or if their dismissal is what perpetuates her suffering, something she had no intention of testing. On which note, she began her morning mantra...

"Almighty God who seest that we have no power of ourselves to help ourselves; keep us both outwardly in our bodies, and inwardly in our souls; that we may be defended from all adversities which may happen to the body, and from all evil thoughts which may assault and hurt the soul; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen."

Her hands clasped tighter, as if the silence that followed her prayer proved the futility of her faith. On some level, she knew it, but it was the one thing that still granted her some semblance of dignity. Not her maintaining faith in the Lord or Church, but her continued role as a nun. Tending to Mary and other servants' wounds, cooking extra food from the kitchen for those in her care, praying on their behalf, mending their clothes, etc. Any task she could take on that resembled her old duties in the convent helped distract from the fact her new official role was as Fowler's.... "plaything". A role that she has thankfully gotten to neglect for some time, thanks to Mary, and which she fears _______ may not be fit for.

As if she spoke of the Devil - the heavy, daunting, unmistakable footsteps of Fowler arose from the end of the hall, alongside what sounded like a heavy sack being dragged across the floor. That can't be good...

Against her better judgement, she crept up to the chapel doorway to peak down the hall. Almost immediately, Fowler spotted her and greeted her with a knowingly vile smirk.

"Good morning, Sister Elizabeth!" he jeered.

She knew he played into her duties as a nun like it was some sort of amusingly pitiable delusion, but if that's what it took to keep his interest in her at bay then so be it. She frowned, "Yes, it has been a good morning thus far. May I ask what you've got there?" She knew very well what he had there, now that she had a closer look. The outline of her old servants garb in tatters and a limp head of messy hair, clearly _______ run ragged and unconscious.

"So you haven't met her yet?", Fowler's mocking tone irked her to no end, though she tried to hide it. Clearly in vain though, as his smirk deepened, satisfied with how easily he got under her skin. "Sorry to disturb your little chat with the lord, but the wine seems to have worked a bit too well on this one. Thank you so much for that little recipe of yours, it works wonders!"

Recipe? What recipe? Her mind scoured for what she could've possibly given him willingly. Then it dawned on her... the dwale? How could he have gotten the ingredients for that here?! She'd only managed to spare a handful of them she'd smuggled on her way here to use in emergencies, which he hasn't touched (to her knowledge), so how?... The distraught confusion he drew out of her with so few words tickled the base of his soul. Oh the guilt on her face was priceless!

'Oh _______, I'm so sorry!', she thought, distraught that her remedies were used for such selfish, evil indulgences, let alone by Fowler of all people! He can't of been dragging her to the chapel. What? Was he hoping to wake her with pain in the dungeon? ________'d barely been here a day! She can't just stand by and let him drag them there!

Fowler reveled in Lizzy's anguish, watching her twitch with grief and anger for just a moment before he continued towards the dungeon. Suddenly, Lizzy lept to hastily block his path, compelled as if her body were possessed to do so. She'd never been so brash in a long while, not since he crushed her hands to bits. He'd thought he'd broke her, but so glad he hadn't! This was going to be fun...

(NSFW scene; skip if you'd rather not partake.)

"Volunteering as tribute, Sister?", Fowler said, barely leaving a second before casting _______ aside like a rag-doll to grip Lizzy's neck and drag her back into the chapel. Despite the sinking dread she felt as he dragged her body to the alter, she didn't fight back. Not if it risked him turning his attention back to _______, still unconscious in the hallway.

"On your knees, Sister", he growled,yanking Lizzy down by the neck, buckling her onto her hands and knees coughing and gasping for breath. "Look at me!", he grabbed her chin harshly to force her to comply. Her little holy charade was cute, but it got old quick. The mix of fear and hatred looked absolutely beautiful on her. Admittedly, her purity was part of what was so fun about her, a cruel bit of false hope he perpetuated by keeping that little bit of her intact. Wielding the threat of its ruin like a collar and leash around her neck. Speaking of which...

Fowler traced the tips of his fingers over her collarbone where her rosary barely peaked out, coiling a finger around to deftly coax it from under her uniform. "Did you think this would save you?", his grip loosened to let the beads slip through his palm, grasping it once more upon reaching the apostle's creed. Pulling it taut to squeeze the sides of Lizzy's neck and forcing her forward, her face barely inches away from the knot of his robe's belt. Her chest heaved as each breath grew more laboured than the last. Head sagging heavy over her shoulder as a dull fog enclosed her aching skull. The beautiful sight of her fighting to maintain her balance not at all discouraging Fowler from quenching the remaining flow of blood to her brain with the rosary in the slightest. If anything, seeing her so quickly slump into a heady stupor compelled him to pull it tauter. Bereft of air, her body grew heavy as clay - begging for Fowler to breathe life back into it again.

And that he did.

With barely a moment's notice he let go, her body collapsing to the floor, too weak to even lift her head let alone kneel. She wasn't sure how long she lay there for, but between deep gasps for air she could faintly hear Fowler circling her. Watching her.

"You know..." Fowler trailed off, "when Heiji had said he'd found a lady of the cloth up for sale I found it such a beautiful irony." He leaned down to stroke her cheek, working his fingers behind her ear to enmesh in her hair. Unceremoniously he dug his claws into her scalp and yanked her up by the hair, forcing her awake with the ache of it. Her pleading scowl denoting that her full, furious attention was back at him. Perfect. He continued, "Seems not even England's own are safe from the Tudor lust for pillage and plunder. Willing to cannibalise itself for gold to toss at another enemy. Doubt the money he paid for you is enough to rebuild your old monastery - but what a fat sum for the abbot to run away with, eh?"

Lizzy rarely dwelled on how she got here. Why would she? One day she was tending to the monastery's garden and blessing weary travelers seeking sanctuary; the next her room was exposed to the elements. Books and beams charred to bits and nothing of the monastery's holy relics left but the sun-bleached shadows on the walls they once adorned. While some of her sisters stayed to help repair the ruined remains, most fled to the few monasteries yet untouched by Henry Tudor's warmongering greed. One by one though, with barely a hope of normalcy left to cling to, they each were sold into contract work. Lords who thought themselves above the Lord.

"Now, since you're practiced in the ways of worship-" he began untying the belt of his robe, which slid aside gracefully - a stark contrast to the vulgar bulge it revealed, "I have something in need of your... blessing". His hands weren't really necessary to uncover the thick cock barely contained by his breeches.

She froze, it had been so long since she last serviced him, it was almost a lost art. Not only that, but she'd had the mercy of a blindfold each time before, shielding her from the harsh reality in front of her - even if the unmistakably horrid taste of him lingered long thereafter. Noticing her hesitation, Fowler resumed that same old mercy, tying his robe's belt across her eyes into a makeshift blindfold as she's so accustomed. "Now, petal, you finally ready to do your fucking job?"

Fowler was done playing games, he needed release and she knew it. Taking one last deep breath, Lizzy wrapped her lips around his throbbing cock and began sucking with all the energy she could muster. As good as it felt, it would take so much more to pull even a whimper from Fowler, so she gradually picked up the pace. Hardly a minute into it, and her jaw was already aching. She couldn't really complain about being so out of practice, but damn did it hurt.

Not at all satisfied with her pathetic attempt at a blowjob, Fowler gripped a fistful of her hair and rammed his cock down her throat as deep as it would go. In and out, like a roaring tide during a storm. Each thrust made Lizzy gag, she could barely breathe! Within a minute of Fowler keeping his pace, Lizzy started to black out. As her eyes fluttered shut, she felt the sting of a slap to the face as Fowler pulled himself from her mouth, "Don't go falling asleep on the job, Sister, understand?".

Barely with it, she nodded. Unsatisfied, Fowler slapped her again - this time garnering a yelp from Lizzy, "I could end you with a single thrust to the back of your throat. Now, be a good girl and beg me not to... beg like your life depends on it!"

Her mind raced, faster than her mouth could keep up. Fumbling and stammering between pleads and whimpers. She begged, "Please My Lord, have mercy on me! I beg of you... please don't kill me!" Her hands grasping at his loose robe in a show of desperation, garnering nothing but an unimpressed tsk from Fowler, "I know you can do better than that Petal... I've seen you beg more fervently in here for a heartier supper than you're begging for me now!" He leant in to grab for her rosary yet again, this time swiftly pulling it off her neck with a snap. A couple beads spilling onto the floor before he wrapped the remaining chain around her wrists to bind them together in prayer.

Panicked, she pleaded, "No, NO! My Lord please, I meant no disrespect I swear! Forgive me. Every breath, I cherish it as if it were my last, were it not for your benevolent mercy. Please oh PLEASE, have mercy on me My Lord!" That at least drew a smile out of Fowler, if a faint one. Fearful her pleas were insufficient, she began to pray;

"O Lord, my God, Thou art to me whatsoever is good. Remember me because I am nothing, I have nothing, and I can do nothing. Thou alone art good, just, and holy; Thou canst do all things, Thou accomplishest all things, Thou fillest all things. Turn not Thy face away from me; withedraw not Thy consolation, lest my soul become as a thirsty land to Thee. Teach me, O Lord, to do Thy will; teach me to live worthily and humbly in Thy sight!"

By the last word her hands were visibly, profoundly shaking. To say she feared Fowler for the longest time would be an understatement, but in that moment her fear overshadowed all other thoughts. And Fowler could hear it...

"Good, Petal."

Her trembling sigh of relief echoed throughout the chapel. A pleasant calm... before the storm.

"Now, open wide for me-" still with his grip on her hair he easily pulled her head to attention, though hardly needed to as she now willingly parted her lips for him, "That's better, my dear ~"

With her eyes closed she fully lost herself in submission, loose and limp. Were it not for the slight pressure she could feel pulling at her scalp she'd swear her body was moving on its own and not puppeteered by Fowler. Back and forth, back and forth... Soon all sense of time melted away. Maybe her mind and body had shut down, exhausted with panic. Perhaps she had truly began to accept it, relaxing into her role... NO! Her body stiffened with resistance, causing her to gag and force Fowler's cock from the back of her throat. But by then she'd served his needs, cum spilling from her mouth and dripping all over her garments. She could barely believe the sight of herself, disheveled and desecrated.

She hadn't a second to process what happened before Fowler had cleaned himself up and re-tied his robe. Her stare hardly seeing that the blindfold had been removed, everything still a-blur.

"Clean yourself up, you look a mess", he said so nonchalantly as if the entire morning hadn't happened. As if _______ wasn't still laying there, having not stirred from her drug-induced coma. As if she hadn't just thrown herself at his feet to stop him dragging her away to the dungeon. Then the birds, in their ignorance, began to whistle.

Mary woke with a start.

Patting the straw mattress beside her. Her eyes unseeing, sewn shut with sleepy-dust and by the impulse to shield herself shield from the blinding sunrise. Feeling for her friend in the fabric, but finding nothing. Panic forced her eyes open to search for her. The room haunted by her absence, where...? The Chapel. Of course, bless her heart. The realisation of her morning habits quelled what anxieties had welled in that brief moment of terrible isolation. She'd be back soon enough. Praying her heart out for the lot of them, no doubt.

A sharp twinge forced Mary on her back once more as she tried to sit up. Every inch of her upper back and chest ached. Breasts abused, back torn open like a scratching post and she could've sworn the sharp, broken edge of a cracked rib or two was daring to pierce her lung if she dared rise too quickly. Easy does it now...

With a painful grown, Mary brought herself to her feet. Leaning on the wall every inch up. Little by little. She hadn't a crutch, so the wall will have to do. If the bustling just outside the door was anything to go by, the day's chores had already begun and she had missed breakfast. Dammit. She was no princess, but no sense in wasting good food - she needed it!

As if on queue, her stomach growled like a wretched beast, guttural and feral. 'Hush!', she hissed. She could last until midday, she reckoned. Just needed to... rest a bit more than usual, just not here, not alone. With aching shoulders she limped her way against the wall towards the kitchen, guided by the scent of the delectable bone broth stewing with the remnant's of Fowler's meaty supper from the night before.

The cook seemed to notice her struggling a lot, peeking up from his grand cauldron to shed a pitiful look of sympathy. "あなたはお腹が空いているでしょう？ほら、どうぞ!", he scooped a bountiful heap of bone broth for her to drink from. Warm and filling, just what she needed. Collapsing onto the wooden bench, she cupped her hands and gratefully accepted his gesture, "感謝に候ひます!" she exclaimed with joyful relief.

The broth was perhaps a tad too hot for consumption quite yet, but her aching stomach demanded sustenance! Other than the slight burn to her already desensitised tongue on the way down, all she felt was the pleasant (if bland) flavour of the broth. While so preoccupied by her food, she hadn't noticed Elizabeth's return. Even as she reached her bench and sat upon it with the weight of the world strapped to her back, making it creak evermore indiscreetly. One would think she'd gone deaf!

"Hey...", Elizabeth rested a quivering hand on Mary's shoulder, startling her and causing some of her broth to slip down the wrong hole. Choking it down, she coughed, "H-hey Sister Elizabeth, slept well?"

"You know I won't have", she retorted - some humour to her tone, though minimal.

Wanting to keep the mood light, Mary snorted, "No rest for the wicked, eh?", earning a light chuckle from Elizabeth. Music to her ears! She finished her broth as the two of them basked in each others' company in pleasant silence. A welcome respite from their daily trials. Soon enough though the silence was broken by Mary, with a concern that increasingly weighed them both down, "You think _______'ll be alright?"

"Lord knows, Mary. Lord knows...", Elizabeth mumbled, knowing exactly who knew.

[shikai-the-storyteller]

Happy to report that the conchas I made for my little cousin's birthday party today were a HUGE hit

[hibernating-stag]

Got reminded by a postabout annoying YT chefs,, begging y'all to hop on Ian Fujimoto/IanKyo his videos are always easy to follow and the food always looks amazing

[jrueships]

If Alpey and Jaba got ice cream together, which flavours do you think they’d choose? 🤔🍨🍨

From the way Jabari acts, some people would mistake him to be a pretty boring guy when it comes to tastes in food. He's a creature of comfort who, if uncomfortable, will battle and yell with all the ferocity of a territorial lemming to regain it. However, some people tend to oversee that comfort and luxury can come hand in hand. Jabari is not the man who will play it safe, he will squint at the ice cream's menu and carefully select one of the most obscure options ever after conducting some serious research either beforehand or during the process. This research includes asking the employees what they think of the dessert. Even if there's a line of hungry kids and their late to work parents waiting behind him, Jabari will hush the ground so he can calculate All the options to come to a stable conclusion that Yes, this Is, in fact, The Best choice of item to spend my money on. He probably likes combinations, like an upside down banana split or something odd like that. If he's buying ice cream at a place that's stabilized itself by making good ice cream, it can't just be any ice cream he can just buy at a store then. It has to be THEIR SPECIAL ice cream. He's here for luxury and specifics, whatever the ice cream store says they can do the best, like, actually do in terms of making it, sprucing it up with syrups and fruits, and decorating it all nice and different, mixing it, etc, he'll buy it. I feel like he'd be one of those people that buys those really fancy overloaded ice cream shakes where there's like syrup or crumbs decorating the outside of the cup like sugar on an alcoholic beverage and there's a brownie bar on top for extra extra appearance appeal.

Meanwhile, alpey just wants some Dondurma, which is a Turkish ice cream notable for its hard texture and melt resistance, so he brings his own special knife and fork sets, one for him, one for jaba so they can cut into their ice cream bricks :] !! He's fond of the sweeter flavors, but they can't be artifical. ... sadly, there is no delicious Dondurma, and the ice cream just melts and slips between the slits of his special fork with much despair and pity. His ice cream lacks the sweetness and realness he desires, and they have no honey !!!! It's not stretchy or chewy at all! the texture is almost nothing !!!

It's okay, though, because Jabari orders him something special off the menu, an ornate mixture of various fruits and syrups and decorative pizzazz that they both end up using their forks to eat it. The creature of luxury cannot stand to see his fellow critter in need lack his own creaturely comforts. Before Jabari orders Alpey a new unique ice cream, he coaxes (demands) alpey to try a spoo-forkful of the carefully considered dessert of Jabari's choosing. Once he can tell Alpey likes Jabari's ice cream more than the simple and safe one he chose, Jabari buys Alpey something similar but with more sweetness. Cue another hour long research session that makes the poor teenagers groan as they watch their line grow longer and longer behind the happy couple(?) clinging onto their weird little forks instead of spoons.

[emma045]

My beautiful {no} first try of making brownies in the wrong baking tray

[pineappical]

ted headcanon: his love language is gift giving! not really a headcanon considering all the times it happens in the show but just how he gives the team books and makes the biscuits for rebecca!!

WAAHH OHH MY GOD YES its one of the very first things he does too with the biscuits for rebecca 😭🥺🥺 its his way of being nice while being some sort of gateway to get to know other people based on how they take/react to his gifts