#smooth as butter rich as cream

[jajanvm-imbi]

Just say, please stay

Look my way

Just Look My Way - (Official Video) // Helluva Boss

[feyburner]

I have a new favorite soup:

Japanese Sweet Potato Soup with Crispy Soy-Maple Brussels Sprouts.

I have made this soup like 3 times in the past month. It hits every time. It is my comfort soup.

It’s crazy good. Extremely simple, but has such a unique texture and flavor profile. The Japanese sweet potatoes have such an amazing flavor that you don’t need anything else but some onion, broth, coconut milk, and a touch of soy-maple seasoning from the brussels sprouts. The sweet potato is 100% the star. It’s rich, nutty, savory-sweet, and the texture is a silky puree.

Here is the recipe.

INGREDIENTS

3-4 Japanese sweet potatoes (red outside, white inside—not purple Murasaki), peeled and chopped

1/2 large yellow onion, chopped

4-5 cups chicken or vegetable broth

1 x 14oz can coconut milk or cream

1-2 lbs brussels sprouts, chopped into thirds

olive oil, salt, freshly ground black pepper

2 Tbsp soy sauce

2 Tbsp maple syrup or honey

DIRECTIONS

1. In a dutch oven or large pot, sauté the onions in a little butter or oil until softened and just beginning to brown.

2. Add chopped potatoes. Add broth. Bring to a boil, reduce to a low boil or simmer, and let cook for 15-20 minutes until potatoes are fork tender. **If desired, leave a small portion of uncooked potato, chopped into matchsticks, out of the soup until after blending and then add back in during the last 20 minutes for a little texture.

3. Turn off heat. Using an immersion blender*, blend the soup until mostly smooth. Add the coconut milk and continue blending until you have a silky smooth, glossy puree texture. (In the beginning you can use a potato masher to give the blender a head start.)

4. Simmer another 15-20 minutes, stirring and scraping the bottom of the pot frequently to avoid sticking, until ready to serve.

5. While soup is cooking, roast brussels sprouts: Heat oven to 425°. Toss chopped brussels sprouts in olive oil, salt, and pepper. Spread in an even layer in a cast iron or sheet pan. Roast 30 minutes until browning, then mix together soy sauce and maple syrup. Drizzle over sprouts and toss and turn them. Roast an additional 10-15 minutes until very dark brown and crispy.

6. Add some of the brussels sprouts to the finished soup and use the rest to go on top.

*You can do this in batches with a blender or food processor, but be very careful: hot liquid in an enclosed space creates pressure and it will spit when you remove the lid each time. If using a blender, let it cool 10 minutes, then stir in coconut milk to cool further, then blend.

[imthebadguyyy]

Apple Pie

pairing : bradley bradshaw x reader

fandom : top gun

synopsis : bradley helps you make your renowned apple pie and experiences and enthralling sense of domestic bliss.

a/n : merry christmas to all who celebrate! love and best wishes ❤️🎁

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

The scent of smoky cinnamon hung thick in the air, weaving itself with the tartness of fresh apples and the buttery promise of a homemade crust. Sunlight spilled through the kitchen window in golden pools, catching the specks of flour dusting the countertops like freshly fallen snow. A warm breeze, heavy with the aroma of a San Diego Christmas, whispered through the open window, carrying the faint scent of the salty sea air. It was a day meant for baking—a day where the world outside could wait while warmth and sweetness unfurled inside your home, one shared with Bradley.

The marble countertop, a luxurious expanse of creamy white, veined with subtle streaks of silver and gray flowed like frozen rivers beneath its polished surface. Cool to the touch and impeccably smooth, it provided the perfect canvas for the symphony of ingredients scattered across it.

A woven basket brimmed with crimson and honey-gold apples, their skins catching the sunlight and gleaming like polished jewels. Nearby, a small glass bowl overflowed with granulated sugar, sparkling like powdered stardust. A ceramic dish held a mound of cinnamon and nutmeg, their earthy hues promising warmth with a whisper of spice. A stick of butter, softened to perfection, rested on a wooden board, its edges slightly melty, waiting to be folded into the dough. Flour spilled artfully from a linen pouch, creating soft white dunes across the counter, while a jar of amber-colored honey glowed invitingly in the light. Nestled among the ingredients, a rustic jug of heavy cream stood tall, its promise of richness tucked beneath its simple cork top. Everything was arranged with an almost reverent care, a silent anticipation lingering in the air, as if the ingredients themselves knew they were destined for something magical.

Bradley stepped through the front door, the familiar creak of the hinges blending with the faint hum of music wafting from the kitchen. The aroma hit him first—sweet apples, warm cinnamon, and the unmistakable scent of butter melting into perfection. It wrapped around him like a welcome, soft and inviting.

Rounding the corner, his gaze landed on you. You stood at the counter, your apron tied snugly around your waist, its cheerful pattern a perfect match to the one hanging on the hook by the door. The sight made his heart stumble, just for a moment. There was something about the ease in your movements, the gentle sway of your hips as you worked, that filled him with a quiet, overwhelming contentment.

The apron—a gift he’d jokingly insisted on getting a matching pair of "kiss the chef" ones looked far better on you, though he’d never admit it out loud. For a fleeting second, he could imagine this moment stretched into a lifetime: mornings like this, evenings too, the two of you wrapped up in the ordinary magic of just being together.

“You’re making me look bad,” he teased, his voice warm as he leaned against the doorway. “What happened to waiting for the sous chef?”

You turned, a smudge of flour dusting your cheek and a playful smile lighting your face. “Sous chef? I thought you’d promoted yourself to taste tester.”

Bradley grinned, crossing the room to grab his own apron. “Domestic bliss never looked so good,” he murmured, the words half to himself as he tied the strings and stepped up beside you.

Side by side at the marble countertop, you and Bradley worked in quiet harmony, the kind of rhythm that didn’t need words. His hands, large but surprisingly gentle, moved clumsily at first, pressing into the cool, pliable dough while your smaller ones guided him with a soft touch. The room was filled with the quiet, comforting sounds of baking—the scrape of the rolling pin, the faint rustle of flour against the marble, and the occasional low hum of contentment from one or both of you.

“Like this,” you murmured, placing your hands over his. Together, you smoothed the dough into an even circle, the action unhurried, almost meditative. The soft press of your palms and the steady roll of the pin seemed to draw the tension from the air, leaving behind a soothing calm that wrapped around you both.

Bradley’s brow furrowed in concentration as he followed your lead, his lips quirking into a smile whenever you corrected his grip or teased his uneven edges. “Not bad for a rookie, huh?” he said, glancing over at you with an easy grin.

You tilted your head, pretending to inspect his work. “Hmm. I’d say you’ve got potential, Bradshaw,” you replied, your tone light but your smile warm.

The moment felt timeless, as if the world outside had paused to give you these small, perfect moments. The soft sunlight filtering through the window, the mingling scents of butter and spice, and the steady rhythm of your hands moving together—it was all a quiet symphony of togetherness. By the time the crust was ready, your fingers dusted in flour and your laughter mingling in the warm air, it felt less like a task and more like a memory you’d treasure forever.

As the two of you worked, Bradley's thoughts drifted, momentarily pulling him away from the comforting rhythm of the kitchen. The past few weeks had been a blur of intensity. The rigorous training sessions, each one pushing his body to the limit, followed by the endless debriefs that stretched into the late hours of the night. His mind had been consumed with flight simulations, meticulous calculations, and the pressure of preparing for missions that came one after the other. Long, arduous flights had left him drained, but it wasn’t the exhaustion that weighed most heavily on him—it was the constant longing to be somewhere else.

Somewhere with you.

The thought of the kitchen, of this quiet domestic scene, had become his escape. There was something about the way you were always waiting for him, patient and unwavering, that had kept him going through those long stretches away. In the dead of night, when his muscles ached and his mind raced with the remnants of missions completed and ones yet to come, he’d close his eyes and think of you. The way your laughter filled the space between the two of you, the warmth of your touch, and the sense of peace that came simply by being near you.

Now, standing beside you, the stress of those weeks seemed to melt away. The world outside, with its endless demands and responsibilities, faded into the background as he watched you expertly roll out the pie crust, the soft flour drifting through the air. The connection between you both—so natural, so easy—was like a breath of fresh air, and in this small, quiet kitchen, Bradley found solace in the simplicity of the moment.

He hadn’t realized just how much he had longed for this. The mundane beauty of being with you—flour on his hands, apples scattered across the counter, and a pie coming together, was a contrast to the chaos he had been living. It was exactly where he wanted to be.

Bradley reached for the basket of apples, the crisp fruits cool under his hands. “You do the crust like a pro,” he said, flashing you a grin. “Let me see if I can redeem myself with the apples.”

“You sure about that?” you teased, handing him a knife and a cutting board. “This is precision work, Bradshaw. No room for error.”

“Challenge accepted,” he quipped, rolling up his sleeves again as he positioned himself beside you. He started slicing the apples, his cuts neat but slightly uneven. You leaned over to inspect, your hand brushing his wrist as you adjusted the angle of the blade.

“Thin, but not too thin,” you instructed, your voice soft but firm. “We want them to bake just right, not turn to mush.”

Bradley nodded, the corner of his mouth lifting in a small smile as he focused on the task. The rhythmic sound of the knife against the cutting board filled the kitchen, mixing with the faint hum of music still playing in the background. Each slice brought a sense of calm, as if the act of chopping apples could somehow unravel the knots left by weeks of tension.

While he worked, you measured out the sugar, pouring it into a small glass bowl with a practiced hand. You added a pinch of cinnamon and nutmeg, the warm, earthy spices swirling together in a fragrant mix. As you stirred them together, Bradley finished his pile of apple slices and slid them toward you with a triumphant flourish.

“Not bad, right?” he asked, his voice tinged with pride.

You glanced at the perfectly sliced apples, raising an eyebrow in approval. “Alright, I’ll admit it. You might have a future in baking after all.”

Bradley laughed, reaching for the measuring cup to help you portion out the rest of the ingredients. “Told you I’m a quick learner,” he said, his tone light but his gaze lingering on you a moment too long.

The two of you fell into an easy rhythm again, working side by side to combine the apples, sugar, and spices. The mixture shimmered in the soft light, a glossy cascade of sweetness and warmth that seemed to mirror the mood in the room. Every step felt unhurried, every action deliberate, as if time had slowed to let you savor this rare moment of togetherness.

As the two of you worked, Bradley’s mind wandered back to his childhood, to moments long passed but never forgotten. The kitchen had always been the heart of their home, his mother standing at the counter, apron tied high, her laughter filling the space as she taught him the small rituals of baking. It was there, in that warm, familiar room, that he’d first learned how to measure ingredients and roll out dough—lessons woven with love and patience, and the comforting scent of fresh-baked treats.

He remembered how she’d guide him through each step with a gentle hand, the way she’d smile when he made a mess, and the way her eyes would light up when the kitchen filled with the aroma of their creations. She always said baking was an act of love, a way to pour a piece of yourself into something tangible. It was one of those simple truths he’d carried with him, though it had taken him a while to understand how much those moments had shaped him.

As you stood beside him now, chopping apples with practiced ease, Bradley couldn’t help but notice the similarities—the way you moved with that quiet confidence, the way your presence brought a sense of peace to everything around you. It was like this kitchen, these shared moments, were a bridge between his past and present. The rhythm of your hands working together, the soft exchange of words, and the laughter that bubbled between you felt like a new chapter in a story he never wanted to end.

His thoughts drifted back to his mom again, to the way she’d often say, “Baking isn’t about perfection, it’s about enjoying the process.”

Bradley smiled to himself, a pang of nostalgia settling in his chest. Maybe he didn’t have the luxury of those moments with his mom anymore, but with you here, in this kitchen, it was as if she had passed that same warmth and care down to you, and through that, to him. He glanced over at you, the soft glow of the afternoon sun highlighting the determined curve of your cheek as you worked, and for a fleeting moment, everything felt like it had come full circle.

Bradley set down the measuring cup, the weight of the moment hitting him like a wave. His eyes softened as they drifted to you, the sight of you so focused, so at ease, reminded him of something he hadn’t thought about in years.

“You know,” he began, his voice quieter now, “the first time I baked cookies, it wasn’t just with my mom. You were there too.”

You looked up, surprise flickering across your face. “Really? I don’t remember that.”

Bradley chuckled, his gaze distant as he leaned back slightly against the counter, recalling the memory with fondness. “You were six. I was eight. Mom had decided we were going to bake chocolate chip cookies together—like a whole ‘family bonding’ thing. You were so excited, even if you had no idea what you were doing. I remember you kept sneaking chocolate chips and shoving them in your mouth when Mom wasn’t looking.”

A smile tugged at your lips as you tried to picture little you, mischievously eyeing the cookie jar. “That sounds about right.”

Bradley’s eyes twinkled as he continued. “I was determined to be the perfect little baker, you know? Measured everything precisely—like I was some kind of culinary prodigy. But you? You just dumped everything in, flour everywhere, a bit of sugar, chocolate chips scattered around… but somehow, it worked.”

You raised an eyebrow, the playful glint in your eyes matching his. “You mean it was my chaos that made it work.”

“Exactly,” Bradley said with a grin, shaking his head in disbelief. “Mom was trying so hard to keep us on track, but you and I just ended up making the biggest mess. It was like the kitchen exploded with flour and chocolate, but when those cookies came out of the oven, they were perfect. A little rough around the edges, sure, but they tasted like heaven.”

You laughed, imagining the chaos of it all. “I bet it was a disaster, but it was probably the best cookie I’ve ever eaten.”

Bradley nodded, the warmth of the memory spreading through him. “It was. And I think that’s when I realized something important—that sometimes, the mess, the imperfections, they’re what make the moments worth it. You and I, throwing chocolate chips everywhere, Mom laughing in the background—it was a mess, but it was our mess. And I’ll never forget that.”

There was a softness in his voice now, a quiet tenderness as he looked at you. “I guess I never told you this, but I always thought about that day when I came home, every time we’d bake together.”

You met his gaze, your smile softer now, the air between you warm and intimate. “It’s funny. I don’t remember the details, but I can almost feel it—the warmth of that kitchen, the smell of the cookies, and the laughter. It’s one of those memories that’s just… there. Like it was meant to be a part of me.”

Bradley’s heart swelled in his chest, and for a moment, he felt as though the years had collapsed into something simpler, something more timeless. The bond between you, so effortlessly shared in this small kitchen, felt like it had always been there, like it had been waiting to be rediscovered, one chocolate chip at a time.

With the apple filling nestled gently into the pie crust, you and Bradley stood side by side, both silently admiring the creation before you. The last few steps had been an easy flow of action, your movements guided by the comfort of routine and the shared sense of satisfaction that came from doing something together.

Bradley wiped his flour-dusted hands on his apron and looked over at you, his smile easy and warm. "You think it'll be as good as the one from last year?"

You laughed softly, a playful glint in your eyes. "Better, if we do it right."

Together, you carefully lifted the pie, the edges of the crust golden and slightly uneven, the filling bubbling just enough to promise sweetness and warmth. Bradley opened the oven door, the heat rushing out to meet you both, and you slid the pie onto the middle rack, feeling a little thrill at how perfectly it all came together.

The kitchen filled with the soft click of the oven closing, and you stood there for a moment, the two of you watching the pie as though you could will it to perfection just by looking at it. The anticipation hung in the air, the quiet hum of the oven providing the only sound.

Bradley leaned against the counter beside you, his arm brushing lightly against yours. “I’ve gotta admit, this whole baking thing—kind of growing on me.” His voice was relaxed, content, and you could tell that the weight of the past few weeks had momentarily lifted from him.

You smiled up at him, feeling a rush of affection for the man who, despite his usual focus on flying and mission prep, had found time to make something as simple—and yet, as meaningful—as this. "I’m glad you’re enjoying it. It’s nice, right? Just being here… together."

Bradley nodded, his eyes softening as he looked at you, then back at the oven. "Yeah. I don't think I've ever felt more at peace." His words were quiet, but they carried a depth that made you feel rooted in the moment.

For a few seconds, the room seemed to hold its breath, the scent of cinnamon and sugar beginning to rise, mingling with the warmth of the oven and the comfort of the space. In that stillness, you both knew what this was—this simple act of being together, of creating something from scratch and waiting patiently for it to turn into something beautiful.

As the pie baked away in the oven, the comforting scent of cinnamon and apples filling the air, you and Bradley exchanged a look. It was time for a well-deserved break, and after the cozy chaos of the kitchen, a few moments of relaxation felt like a gift.

"Think we deserve a little treat?" Bradley asked, pulling off his apron and tossing it onto the counter with a soft thud.

You grinned. "You mean besides the pie? Absolutely."

With a quick nod, you both headed off to your shared room, shedding the remnants of the afternoon in exchange for something far more comfortable. The soft rustle of fabric filled the air as you pulled on your favorite pajamas, an oversized t shirt that had once been Bradley's before you stole it, still soft despite the stretched out neckline from years of use, and a pair of comfortable flannel pyjama pants that were just soft enough to give you comfort, filled with memories of quiet nights just like this one. Bradley appeared moments later, also in his own set of pajamas—flannel pants and a simple black tee that made him look effortlessly at home.

"Much better," he said, tossing a pillow onto the couch before plopping down next to it.

You laughed and followed him, curling into him as the warmth of the oven continued to fill the room and the scent of cinnamon wafted from the kitchen to your beautiful living room. "Alright, what are we feeling? Chinese takeout? Or... pizza?"

"Chinese," Bradley answered almost instantly, his hands already reaching for his phone to dial the number. "Nothing beats Chinese on a night like this."

You smiled, nodding in agreement. “I’m with you. The crispy spring rolls, and fried rice, it’s all calling my name.” you sighed happily, a little drunk on how effortlessly perfect the moment was with him.

He grabbed you by the hips, pulling you into him so you were straddling him, legs on either side of his waist. His hands gently trailed down your back, squeezing your hips as he rocked you forward, meeting your lips in a passionate kiss. His lips were soft and warm, and the kiss was heady in the best way. As he gently stroked your tongue with his, he let his hand drop to the curve of your ass, squeezing and palming the flesh through your pyjamas, the thin material pressing against your core in a way that had you gasping. As his tongue explored your mouth, you let your hands run down the muscled planes of his chest, hard and toned even under his t shirt, gently raking patterns with your nails and grinding your hips against his hips. His hand settled on your ass, cupping the flesh softly as he ran his fingers softly between. He drew back to inhale deeply, sighing happily at the sight of your swollen lips. He placed a final indulgent kiss on your swollen lips, pulling your lip between his teeth to watch it snap back in place.

You couldn't help but smile, gently tickling his side as he scooped you up to lay you down properly, grabbing your favourite couch blanket as you opened netflix on the TV.

As Bradley placed the order, you grabbed the remote, flicking through the shows to find something easy and comforting. "How about we throw on a Friends marathon? It’s been forever since I’ve watched it."

Bradley looked over, his eyes lighting up with recognition. "Now you're speaking my language." He paused for a beat. "You know, I’ve always thought I’d be a Chandler in another life."

You raised an eyebrow at him, a teasing smirk tugging at your lips. “Oh really? I can see that. The sarcastic humor. The… awkwardness.”

“Hey!” he protested, nudging you with his elbow. “I’m not that awkward.”

“Right,” you said with a grin, leaning back into the couch cushions. “You’ve definitely got a little Ross in you too, but more… cool.”

Bradley laughed, shaking his head. “Alright, alright, but if I’m Ross, you’re definitely Monica. All that organization and competitiveness.”

You looked at him with a mock gasp, “How dare you? I’m not competitive.” But you both burst into laughter as the familiar opening credits of Friends played, the theme song a nostalgic reminder of countless nights spent laughing at the same jokes.

Bradley got up to fetch a bottle of red wine he had picked up a few weeks ago exactly for a night like this, along with two wine glasses with purple and red wine charms you had bought when you first moved in. He poured you a glass of the Sauvignon, watching with a content smile as you swirled it around your glass and took a happy sit, complimenting it with a sweet kiss to his lips.

The doorbell rang just as you settled in, and Bradley jumped up, a little too eager to grab the takeout. As he brought the steaming containers into the living room, you both made room on the coffee table, the food’s scent mingling with the still-warm aroma of the pie in the oven.

With takeout and your favorite show queued up, the evening stretched out in front of you like a peaceful, uninterrupted pause. There was no rush, no deadlines—just the quiet comfort of the moment, with laughter, familiar food, and a freshly baked pie in the oven.

Bradley fed you bites of food and the two of you chatted about mundane things that felt extraordinarily special when you spoke about them with Bradley. Growing up together, you had little to no secrets from each other, but the level of domesticity being in a relationship and living together had brought you had you dreaming of a life with him, a picket fence and kids, dogs and cats, a classic life you hadn't allowed yourself to dream of.

But now, as he fed you a bite of his spring roll and stole a sip of wine from your glass and placated you with a chaste kiss to your lips, your dream had turned to a reality.

The timer’s soft chime echoed through the kitchen, and with it, a rush of anticipation. The pie had finished its long journey in the oven, and as you opened the door, the golden crust greeted you like an old friend. The edges were perfectly crisp, the apples inside caramelized and bubbling with sweet warmth. The kitchen seemed to hum with the quiet satisfaction of a job well done.

Bradley was already standing by, his gaze soft as he watched you take the pie out, the aroma mingling with the last traces of cinnamon and sugar. “Looks perfect,” he murmured, his voice low with the kind of affection only shared in the quiet moments.

You turned to him with a grin. “I think you’re right. This might just be the best one yet.”

With care, you slid the pie onto a cooling rack, and together you waited those precious few minutes before slicing it. You cut into the soft, tender layers, the filling slightly bubbling over as you pulled the first piece onto a plate.

Bradley, ever the gentleman, grabbed the whipped cream from the fridge and dolloped a generous spoonful on top, the cold cream melting slightly against the warm pie. He handed it to you, his fingers brushing against yours in the exchange.

“You first,” he said, his smile warm, a little teasing, but filled with sweetness.

You took the fork, the bite of warm pie and cold cream almost too perfect, the sweetness settling on your tongue like a promise. Bradley’s eyes followed you, a quiet contentment settling over him as he waited for your reaction.

“Good?” he asked, his voice barely a whisper.

You nodded, savoring the moment. “Perfect.”

And then, without a word, you held the fork out to him, offering him a taste. His eyes softened as he took the bite, the simple act of sharing something so intimate almost more than either of you could put into words. You fed each other in silence, the only sound being the soft scrape of forks against plates, the occasional hum of contentment escaping both of you.

Between bites, the pauses were filled with quiet laughter, shared glances, and soft kisses—quick, sweet pecks that made the world outside the kitchen seem distant, as though this small moment was the only one that mattered. Your lips met between forkfuls of pie, the taste of apples and cinnamon mixing with the sweetness of each kiss, a quiet rhythm that only deepened the sense of domestic bliss.

Bradley’s hand found its way to the back of your neck, his fingers brushing the soft skin there as he pulled you in for another kiss. It was slow this time, lingering, the warmth of the pie forgotten as you melted into the softness of each other’s embrace. You let the moment stretch, taking it all in—the cozy kitchen, the warmth between you, the simple sweetness of pie, and the quiet joy of being together.

When the last bite of pie was finished, the plates were left behind, forgotten, as the two of you curled up together on the couch. The kitchen had long fallen quiet, save for the steady hum of the world outside. But inside, in the gentle glow of the evening, it was just you and him—a perfect little moment, wrapped in love, pie, and a thousand unspoken promises.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

a/n : merry christmas everyone! wishing you all love and peace! ❤️ would you like a series on how bradley and childhood best friend!reader got together? do let me know!! as always, likes , comments, reblogs etc are always appreciated!!

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general : @roslastyles420 @hopefulinlove @bluesongbird-blog

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[lilmissnatcat24]

for no other reason than i worked at an ice cream shop for eight years, here's what ice cream the mass effect characters would eat

shepard: neapolitan, strawberry for their paragon side, chocolate for their renegade, vanilla to balance

garrus: moose tracks, but will pick it apart just for the peanut butter cups and give shepard the leftovers

tali: literally any booze flavored ice cream

liara: mint chocolate chip because she secretly kind've fucks with the taste of toothpaste but will never admit it out loud

kaidan: butter pecan. it's not everyone's favorite, but it's his, and he's totally cool with it

ashley: whatever the 2183 equivalent to the tonight dough. cookie dough chunks, brownie chunks, butterscotch, chocolate chips, malt chunks, everything

wrex: this man is old as balls!!!!!! rum raisin!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

joker: lemon sherbet. you cannot tell me that man is not lactose intolerant

miranda: cherries garcia, little bit sweet, little bit tart

jack: the most sickening sweet shit you can think of. cotton candy with marshmallow superman with a side of sugar

jacob: some sort of dark chocolate peanut butter ice cream that sounds good in theory but in reality you can only take like 3 bites of before you get a tummy ache

zaeed: banana splits that he likes to mash together with a spoon and eat like some deconstructed milkshake

kasumi: the weird avant gard shit you see in hipster vegan shops, like some bacon sweet potato rosebud ice cream

mordin: coffee ice cream, because he likes the taste of coffee but if he were to actually drink it he would spontaneously combust

grunt: those froyo shops that were everywhere in 2014 where you could make a bowl with like 5% froyo and 95% other toppings and it cost 14 dollars

thane: doesn't like ice cream because it reminds him of how he abandoned his child and how his wife is dead and he could never go back to the life he left behind, the life of stability, because his body is engineered for a deadly purpose and he can never atone for his sins rocky road

samara: this woman is old as balls!!!!!!!!!!!!! pistachio!!!!!!!!!!!

legion: tried vanilla ice cream. too sticky, got stuck in his wiring.

james: one of those brownie sundaes that weighs approximately 5 pounds and is majority whipped cream

steve: chocolate chip. classy, just like him ;)

traynor: something smooth and rich and velvety and inexplicably sexy, like raspberry chocolate chunk

edi: takes the idea of ice cream a little too literally and just has a bowl of heavy cream with ice cubes. is confused why everyone is disgusted.

javik: ice cream is for primitives (peaches and cream)

[artofmaquenda]

Here’s my very first chestnut chocolate pie! 🍫🌰 It was so much fun to make and feels like the perfect autumn treat. 🍂 Just a heads up, it’s super rich! I’m still full the next day! 😆

I used this recipe: https://myfoodblog.nl/recipe/kastanjetaart-met-chocolade-lekkere-herfsttaart/

Here is the translated recipe:

Homemade Chestnut Puree:

Choosing Chestnuts: Go for fresh (sweet!) chestnuts, and make a small cut on the rounded side of each nut.

Roasting: Place the chestnuts on a baking sheet and roast them in the oven until the cuts open up (I personally cooked them for 10 minutes, but test it out for yourself to see if they are ready).

Peeling: Let the roasted chestnuts cool a bit and peel them while they are still warm.

Making the Puree: Put the peeled chestnuts in a food processor and pulse until you get a silky-smooth puree. Is it still grainy? Then add a very small amount of water. (I personally kept a lot of chunks in it because I like that).

Seasoning: Add a pinch of salt and a hint of vanilla extract to taste.

With this homemade chestnut puree, you’ll add an authentic autumn touch to your chocolate cake, making it not just a dessert but an experience. It's a fun autumn activity to go chestnut hunting together—just make sure you’ve got sweet chestnuts. Only those are safe to eat! Otherwise, you can also use store-bought chestnut puree. 😊

Ingredients

For the base:

50 grams of unsalted butter (or plant-based butter), melted 3 eggs 85 grams of granulated sugar 40 grams of (gluten-free) flour 40 grams of cocoa powder For the topping:

435 grams of chestnut puree (unsweetened) 2 eggs 1 tbsp cornstarch + 3 tbsp cold water 300 grams of chocolate (preferably milk chocolate) 600 ml heavy cream Supplies

Large springform pan lined with parchment paper Hand mixer or food processor Instructions

Prepare the base: Preheat the oven to 190°C (fan oven).

Beat the eggs and sugar until light and frothy. Add the cooled melted butter, then fold in the flour and cocoa powder. Pour the batter into the prepared springform pan and bake for about 10 minutes until set. Continue with the rest of the cake:

Whip the chestnut puree with the eggs and set aside. Pour half of the cream over the chocolate and melt it in a bain-marie. Whip the remaining cream until stiff. Mix the chestnut puree, cornstarch mixture, and melted chocolate, then fold in the whipped cream. Assemble and bake:

Spread the mixture over the chocolate cake base and bake for about 40-50 minutes until set. Allow the cake to cool completely, then chill in the fridge for at least 2 hours.

I personally added way more chestnut mash than is mentioned in the recipe, and I used the garnish from another recipe (didn't have everything at home but I used what I have):

Garnish ▢1 tsp cinnamon powder ▢1/2 tsp cloves ▢1 tsp ginger ▢1 tsp chili pepper ▢3 tbsp cocoa powder ▢1 tbsp powdered sugar ▢pinch of sea salt

[foodshowxyz]

Chocolate Pumpkin Layer Cake with Maltesers

Ingredients

For the Cake:

• 1 3/4 cups (220g) all-purpose flour

• 3/4 cup (65g) unsweetened cocoa powder

• 2 cups (400g) granulated sugar

• 1 1/2 tsp baking powder

• 1 1/2 tsp baking soda

• 1 tsp salt

• 2 large eggs

• 1 cup (240ml) whole milk

• 1/2 cup (120ml) vegetable oil

• 2 tsp vanilla extract

• 1 cup (240ml) boiling water

For the Pumpkin Filling:

• 1 cup (240g) pumpkin puree

• 1/4 cup (60ml) heavy cream

• 1/4 cup (50g) brown sugar

• 1 tsp ground cinnamon

• 1/2 tsp ground ginger

• 1/4 tsp ground nutmeg

• 1/4 tsp ground cloves

For the Cream Cheese Frosting:

• 8 oz (225g) cream cheese, softened

• 1/2 cup (115g) unsalted butter, softened

• 4 cups (480g) powdered sugar

• 1 tsp vanilla extract

For the Chocolate Ganache:

• 8 oz (225g) semi-sweet chocolate, chopped

• 1 cup (240ml) heavy cream

For Topping:

• 1 cup crushed Maltesers (chocolate malt balls)

• Caramel sauce for drizzling (optional)

Instructions

Making the Cake:

1. Prepare the Oven and Pans: Preheat the oven to 350°F (175°C). Grease and flour two 9-inch round cake pans.

2. Mix Dry Ingredients: In a large bowl, sift together the flour, cocoa powder, sugar, baking powder, baking soda, and salt.

3. Mix Wet Ingredients: In another bowl, whisk together the eggs, milk, oil, and vanilla extract.

4. Combine Wet and Dry: Gradually add the wet ingredients to the dry ingredients, mixing until just combined.

5. Add Boiling Water: Carefully stir in the boiling water until the batter is smooth. The batter will be thin.

6. Bake: Divide the batter evenly between the prepared pans. Bake for 30-35 minutes, or until a toothpick inserted into the center comes out clean. Allow the cakes to cool in the pans for 10 minutes, then turn them out onto a wire rack to cool completely.

Making the Pumpkin Filling:

1. Cook the Pumpkin: In a medium saucepan, combine the pumpkin puree, heavy cream, brown sugar, cinnamon, ginger, nutmeg, and cloves. Cook over medium heat, stirring frequently, until the mixture thickens, about 5-7 minutes. Remove from heat and let cool completely.

Making the Cream Cheese Frosting:

1. Beat Cream Cheese and Butter: In a large bowl, beat the cream cheese and butter together until smooth and creamy.

2. Add Powdered Sugar: Gradually add the powdered sugar, one cup at a time, beating well after each addition.

3. Add Vanilla: Beat in the vanilla extract until well combined.

Making the Chocolate Ganache:

1. Heat the Cream: In a small saucepan, heat the heavy cream until just simmering.

2. Melt the Chocolate: Pour the hot cream over the chopped chocolate in a bowl. Let sit for 2 minutes, then stir until smooth and glossy. Let cool slightly.

Assembling the Cake:

1. Layer the Cake: Place one cake layer on a serving plate. Spread a layer of pumpkin filling on top, followed by a layer of cream cheese frosting. Repeat with the second layer.

2. Add the Ganache: Pour the slightly cooled chocolate ganache over the top of the cake, letting it drip down the sides.

3. Garnish: Sprinkle the crushed Maltesers on top and drizzle with caramel sauce if desired.

Serving:

• Chill the cake for at least 30 minutes before serving to set the layers.

• Serve and enjoy your chocolate pumpkin layer cake with Maltesers!

This cake combines the rich flavors of chocolate and pumpkin with the crunch of Maltesers, making it a perfect treat for any occasion.

[lisaloutwo]

Meal 1 (9:00 AM): Blended Breakfast Purée

• McDonald’s Big Breakfast with Hotcakes (3 orders): 4,020 calories

• 6 Hash Browns: 960 calories

• Large Caramel Frappuccino: 470 calories

• Maple Syrup and Extra Butter: 450 calories

Preparation:

Blend the Big Breakfasts, hash browns, syrup, butter, and frappuccino into a smooth purée. Add water or milk as needed to reach a thin enough consistency for a funnel.

Total: 5,900 calories

Meal 2 (11:00 AM): Doughnut and Coffee Smoothie

• Krispy Kreme Original Glazed Doughnuts (12-pack): 2,280 calories

• 6 Chocolate Iced Doughnuts: 2,280 calories

• 2 Cinnabon Classic Rolls: 1,760 calories

• Large Starbucks White Chocolate Mocha: 620 calories

Preparation:

Blend the doughnuts, Cinnabon rolls, and white chocolate mocha into a rich, sugary purée. Add water, milk, or cream to thin out the texture.

Total: 6,940 calories

Meal 3 (1:00 PM): Pizza and Soda Purée

• Pizza Hut Large Stuffed Crust Meat Lovers Pizza (2 pizzas): 6,960 calories

• Garlic Cheese Breadsticks (8 pieces): 2,320 calories

• 2 Large Pepsi (32 oz): 400 calories

Preparation:

Blend the pizzas, garlic breadsticks, and Pepsi together into a savory purée. Add additional soda or water as necessary to thin out for the funnel.

Total: 9,680 calories

Meal 4 (3:00 PM): Burger and Fries Shake

• Five Guys Bacon Cheeseburgers (3 burgers): 3,180 calories

• Five Guys Large Fries (3 orders): 3,930 calories

• Five Guys Large Chocolate Milkshake with Whipped Cream (2): 2,000 calories

Preparation:

Blend the burgers, fries, and milkshakes together to create a rich, thick purée. Add more milkshake or milk as needed for consistency.

Total: 9,110 calories

Meal 5 (6:00 PM): Nugget and Fries Combo Purée

• McDonald’s 60-piece Chicken McNuggets: 2,820 calories

• 3 Large Fries: 1,470 calories

• 4 McDonald’s Apple Pies: 920 calories

• 2 Large Coca-Colas: 620 calories

Preparation:

Blend the McNuggets, fries, apple pies, and Coca-Cola together. Use additional soda or water to ensure smoothness.

Total: 5,830 calories

Meal 6 (9:00 PM): Dessert Frenzy

• Dairy Queen Large Oreo Blizzard (2): 2,280 calories

• Large Brownie Batter Blizzard: 1,340 calories

• 2 Cheesecake Blizzards: 2,280 calories

Preparation:

Blend all Blizzard desserts together for a thick, ice cream-based purée. Add some milk or cream to reach the desired consistency.

Total: 5,900 calories

Daily Total: 30,360 calories

🤯🤯🤯

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Writing Notes: Food (5 Mother Sauces)

for writing your cooking and other food-related scenes

Mother sauces, first classified by French Chef Marie-Antoine Carême and later codified by Auguste Escoffier, are the starting points for countless ‘daughter’ sauces in French cuisine.

In 1833, Marie Antoine Carême published a classification of French sauces in his reference cookbook L’art de la cuisine française au XIXe siècle ("The Art of French Cuisine in the 19th Century").

These foundations are essential to traditional French culinary creations, but by adding various ingredients can be transformed into a wide range of sauces ready to enhance and complete different dishes.

The Roux

Master the making of roux (“roo”), and you will have a variety of French sauces at your fingertips.

Roux is basically cooking fat and flour together before adding in the liquid you want to thicken.

The fat used is generally butter, but oil or other fats can also be used.

The fat and flour cook together to cook out some of the floury, pasty flavor in the flour.

Cook the mixture for 5 minutes for white, 20 minutes for blond, or 35 minutes for brown roux.

The darker the roux, the nuttier the flavor.

When the liquid is added to the roux, and everything comes to a boil, the flour thickens the liquid, and you end up with sauce.

Four out of the five mother sauces are thickened by roux.

The 5 French “Mother Sauces”

1. Béchamel (“bay-sha-mel”)

Also known as a white sauce, this is a white roux whisked with milk or other dairy to make a white sauce.

White and just a tad bit thicker than heavy cream.

The flavoring is up to you, although the French like to do a little salt and pepper, while the Italians like to throw on a pinch of nutmeg.

Another traditional flavoring option is to steep the milk with a whole onion that has been studded with a couple of cloves and a bay leaf before being combined with the roux.

By itself, béchamel is quite bland, which is why it is usually cooked with other ingredients and not used as a finishing sauce.

Béchamel is classically served with eggs, fish, steamed poultry, steamed vegetables, pastas, and veal.

The sister sauces include:

Mornay = béchamel + Gruyère + Parmesan + butter

Cheese = béchamel + cheddar + Worcestershire sauce + dry mustard

Soubise = béchamel + onions + butter

2. Velouté (“vuh-loo-tay”)

It’s made similar to a béchamel, except in this case, stock replaces the milk.

A velouté is a blond roux whisked with chicken, turkey, fish, or any other clear stock.

The resulting sauce takes on the flavor of the stock, and the name is derived from the French word for velvet, which suitably describes this smooth but light and delicate sauce.

Commonly, the sauce produced will be referred to by the type of stock used, for example, chicken velouté.

Velouté is classically served with eggs, fish, steamed poultry, steamed vegetables, and pastas.

The sister sauces include:

Bercy = velouté +shallots + white wine + fish stock + butter + parsley

Normandy = fish velouté + fish stock + mushrooms + liaison

Allemande = veal/chicken velouté + liaison

Suprême = chicken velouté + cream

3. Espagnole (“es-puhn-yohl”)

Commonly known as brown sauce, this rich sauce is made using beef or veal stock, tomato puree, and mirepoix (meer-ph), which is a combination of diced carrots, celery, and onions, all thickened with a very dark brown roux.

If you’ve heard of demi-glace (deh-mee-glass), it’s nothing more than equal parts of Espagnole sauce and brown stock that has been reduced by half for an even more flavorful sauce.

Espagnole is rarely served on its own due to the strong flavors.

Espagnole is classically served with roasted meats like beef, veal, lamb, and duck.

The sister sauces include:

Bordelaise = demi-glace + red wine + shallots + bay leaf + thyme + black pepper

Châteaubriand = demi-glace + mushrooms + shallots + lemon juice + cayenne pepper + tarragon + butter

Madeira = demi-glace + Madeira wine

Mushroom = demi-glace + mushroom caps

4. Hollandaise (“hol-uhn-dehz”)

This is the one mother sauce not thickened by a roux.

Hollandaise sauce is an emulsion of butter and lemon juice or vinegar using egg yolks as the emulsifying agent (to bind the sauce), usually seasoned with salt and a little black pepper or cayenne pepper.

Heat control is essential here to prevent curdling of the sauce, and therefore, it is usually done in a double boiler.

Hollandaise sauce is classically served with eggs (Eggs Benedict), vegetables (especially asparagus), light poultry dishes, and fish.

The sister sauces include:

Béarnaise = hollandaise + shallots + tarragon + chervil + peppercorns + white wine vinegar

Chantilly = hollandaise + whipped heavy cream. The tomato sauce is classically served with pasta, fish, vegetables, polenta, veal, poultry, bread, and dumplings such as gnocchi.

5. Tomate (“toe-maht”)

Sauce tomate, better known as tomato sauce, is based on tomatoes.

A roux is traditionally used in making tomato sauce, but many chefs skip it because the tomatoes themselves are enough to thicken the sauce.

The classic sauce tomate is made with salted pork belly, onions, bay leaves, thyme, pureed or fresh tomatoes, roux, garlic, salt, sugar, and pepper.

If you don’t want to get that fancy, you can leave out the pork belly and roux to make a standard tomato sauce.

The sister sauces include:

Creole = tomato sauce + onion + celery + garlic + bay leaf + thyme + green pepper + hot sauce

Spanish = creole sauce + mushrooms + olives

Milanaise = tomato sauce + mushrooms + butter + cooked ham

Sources and other related articles: 1 2 3 4 5

If these notes inspire you in any way, please tag me, or leave a link in the replies. I would love to read your work!

More: On Food

[witchunderthewillow]

Kitchen Sink Soup: The Ultimate Comfort Dish for Using Up Veggies 🥕🫑🍅

Got a fridge full of random vegetables you’re not sure how to use? Soup is a usual answer! It’s a great way to clean out your veggie drawer while creating a delicious meal.

I’m a super picky eater when it comes to veggies. So this recipe is a wonderful way to get picky eaters to eat all the nutrients. I put all of the veggies into a food processor before cooking to finely chop them for easier cooking!

The Base Recipe: Kitchen Sink Soup

This recipe makes different servings depending on how many and what veggies you throw in.

Ingredients

• 1 large onion (I used red but use what you have)

• 3-4 minced garlic (measure with your heart)

• 2-3 celery stalks

• 2 bell peppers (again I used yellow and green but use what you have)

• 3-4 carrots

• 1 large sweet potato, peeled

• 5-6 small sweet peppers

• 5 fresh tomatoes (or canned)

• 2 small jalapeños (optional, for heat)

• 2 tbsp olive oil or butter

• 3-4 cups broth (whatever you have on hand)

• 1 tbsp tomato paste (optional, for richness)

Seasonings

I don’t measure my seasonings. I just pour until I feel like it. I base it on smell a lot of times. These are guesstimates

• 1 tbsp paprika

• 2 tsp cumin

• 2 tsp ground ginger

• 1 tsp ground jalapeño and chili powered

• 1 tbsp powdered garlic

• 2 tsp dried parsley

• 2 tsp each of sage, rosemary, and thyme

• 2 tsp Salt and white and black pepper

Instructions

1. Prep the Veggies

• Place all vegetables (onion, garlic, celery, bell peppers, carrots, sweet potato, sweet peppers, tomatoes, and jalapeño) into a food processor. Pulse until finely chopped.

2. Sauté the Veggies

• Heat olive oil or butter in a large pot over medium heat. Add the finely chopped vegetables to the pot and cook for 5-7 minutes, stirring occasionally, until softened and fragrant.

3. Season and Build the Soup

• Stir in the tomato paste (if using), followed by all the seasonings: paprika, cumin, ground ginger, ground jalapeño, powdered garlic, parsley, sage, rosemary, thyme, salt, and pepper. Mix well to coat the veggies.

4. Simmer

• Pour in the broth, ensuring the vegetables are just covered. Bring to a boil, then reduce the heat and let it simmer for 20-25 minutes, or until the vegetables are fully tender.

5. Blend

• Use an immersion blender to puree the soup until smooth and creamy. (No immersion blender? Let the soup cool slightly, then carefully blend it in batches using a countertop blender.)

6. Finish with a splash of heavy cream

• Stir in the heavy cream. Taste and adjust seasonings

Serving Suggestions

This soup is versatile and pairs beautifully with:

• Grilled Cheese: A golden, melty sandwich is perfect for dunking.

• Angel Hair Pasta: Toss the soup with cooked angel hair pasta for a hearty and filling twist.

• Naan or Crusty Bread: Because no soup is complete without some bread for scooping. It’s very similar to a curry.

Good for whether you’re trying to use up leftovers or just want a comforting meal.

What veggies are you throwing into your version? Let me know—I’d love to see how you make it your own! 🍅🍆🫛🥒🌶️🫑🌽🥕🧄🧅🥔🍠🫚

[jadeshifting]

— DINNER IN THE GREAT HALL

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　 　˚　　　　 . ★⋆. ࿐࿔

every evening at Hogwarts, the sturdy tables of the Great Hall nearly buckle under the weight of the feast laden on it

★⋆. ࿐࿔ MAIN COURSES

— ROAST LAMB (seasoned with rosemary and garlic, served with mint sauce)

— BEEF WELLINGTON (tender beef wrapped in flaky pastry)

— HONEY-GLAZED HAM (with spiced apple chutney)

— CHICKEN CASSEROLE (creamy sauce with mushrooms and herbs)

— FISH & CHIPS (served with tartar sauce and lemon wedges)

— VEGETABLE STIR-FRY (tossed in a ginger-soy glaze over jasmine rice)

— MUSHROOM RISOTTO (rich and creamy with Parmesan)

★⋆. ࿐࿔ SIDES

— MASHED POTATOES (with butter, cream and gravy)

— roasted ROOT VEGETABLES (seasoned with thyme)

— steamed GREEN BEANS (with slivered almonds)

— CORN ON THE COB (with melted herb butter)

— GARLIC BREAD (warm and crispy)

— savory STUFFING (seasoned with sage and onions)

★⋆. ࿐࿔ SOUPS

— FRENCH ONION SOUP (topped with melted cheese and croutons)

— LEEK & POTATO SOUP (hearty and smooth)

★⋆. ࿐࿔ SALADS

— CAPRESE SALAD (tomatoes, mozzarella, basil, and balsamic glaze)

— ROASTED BEET & ARUGULA SALAD (with walnuts and feta)

— CUCUMBER & DILL SALAD (light and refreshing)

★⋆. ࿐࿔ DESSERTS

— STICKY TOFFEE PUDDING (with warm caramel sauce)

— BLACKBERRY CRUMBLE (served with clotted cream)

— CHOCOLATE GATEAU CAKE (rich and layered with ganache)

— PUMPKIN CHEESECAKE (spiced and creamy)

— LEMON TART (with a crisp, buttery crust)

— assorted ICE CREAMS (vanilla, chocolate, raspberry, and more)

★⋆. ࿐࿔ DRINKS

— PUMPKIN JUICE (lightly spiced)

— BUTTERBEER

— GINGER TEA & CHAMOMILE INFUSION

— MULLED CIDER (warm and spiced)

— FRUIT CORDIALS (raspberry, elderflower, blackcurrant)

•❅───✧❅✦❅✧──❅•

[sebastianswallows]

The English Client — Four

— PAIRING: Tom Riddle x F!Reader

— SYNOPSIS: The year is 1952. Tom is working for Borgin and Burkes. He is sent to Rome to acquire three ancient books of magic by any means necessary. One in particular proves challenging to reach, and the only path forward is through a pretty, young bookseller. A foreigner like him, she lives alone, obsessed with her work... until Tom comes into her life.

— WARNINGS: none, but almost main character death lol

— WORDCOUNT: 2.5k

I

Tom stayed away for a few days. He stalked around some other rare book stores but found none of what Caractacus Burke was searching for. Still, it gave ample enough time for her to forget about him. He needed to be out of her mind before he carried out his plan.

He sat at a café outside her store one evening, waiting to see her go home again. Not able to stand another cup of coffee, hot and bitter, he decided to try something he’d seen so many other locals eating. It was called ‘gelato’. A frozen treat, it looked like clotted cream and was eaten with a little spoon. Tom regretted ordering it the moment it arrived, but with each bite, he became a little fonder of it. It was cold and vaguely sweet with a drizzling of cherry jam on top. He reached the bottom of the cup before he even realised, and licked the spoon clean afterwards.

She stepped out later this time, at around six o’clock. Tom got up not long after but he didn’t follow her. His gaze trailed after her from behind a pair of aviator shades — her white shirt fluttering with each step, hair soft upon her shoulders — and let himself enjoy the view until she disappeared beyond the curve of a building that bent like a wave. Then he turned the other way, the way she came from.

The lamp lights were just coming on, bathing the marble a sulphuric yellow. He took his sunglasses off and tucked them in his shirt as he slid through the narrow street the shop was on. There was nobody around, but he could hear the echoes of other people through the walls of the nearby buildings. The area was a mix of domestic and commercial, small old flats and little shops which made it quite unpredictable. It was a very intimate setting, and dangerous for that very reason — few escape routes should anyone appear.

He peered through the glass first at the organised chaos inside, the clutter and piles of precious old things that lifetimes would not suffice to explore. Between them, Tom saw his reflection staring back. He aimed his wand at each lock and muttered an Alohomora. The spell let him in like butter.

The shop was just faintly lit from beyond the large display windows, rendering every book and smooth wood surface into a little sunburst. The air was light with dust, and dry, and cold in the way libraries often were. The pillars that held the ceiling high were cinder-black, and carved so finely that the wood seemed lace and pillow soft. A sweet scent lingered in the cavernous construction. It really was a marvellous atmosphere… Tom wouldn’t have minded staying if circumstances were different. His grandfather’s ring trilled around his finger.

Regardless of how old the building was, the interior was certainly built to order. It had a hint of the Victorian with a Renaissance flair. Tom had been in enough rich people’s houses to tell. It amused him how much they were all alike in taste, as if they were part of the same secret breed.

He stepped further in. The floorboards creaked and, looking down, a small amount of dust flew up. Curious. Perhaps it really didn’t get that many customers so often. The other shops he had visited this week all seemed to have at least another two clients while he was there… Strange, as this shop was bursting with books, and in an accessible location too. Tom could only guess that either they were prohibitively selective with their clientele, or the place had a bad reputation.

He found her ledgers tucked underneath the desk. They were split into three themes: Letteratura, Religione, and Esoterismo. He opened the latter.

It was detailed, thick, and finely indexed with the most minuscule writing. Instead of listing their catalogue, it listed all the authors they seemed to have an interest in, whether or not they held any of their books. Prices were next to certain volumes, along with purchasing dates. Others were annotated with the shop or collector that held them. From Agrippa to Cheiro to Crowley, from Novalis to Paracelsus, Roerich, and Sepharial, they had their eye on everyone. He turned toward the end, pale finger brushing through the T’s.

They had nothing by Tamisso, another author on his list, although they did have a copy of The Lost Word by Trevisan — a more recent edition than the 1870 one that Mr. Burke wanted, but still serviceable. But what he was really looking for was Torchia.

And he found him. A whole half-page was dedicated to him, even if the books were few and three-quarters of the space was empty. They must’ve expected to find more of his works in the future.

But as he was reading, the ring started feeling heavier, like its black stone wanted to pull loose. Oftentimes, the splinter of his soul that was trapped inside was a bit of a canary in a coal mine, more sensitive to changes in Tom’s surroundings than he was… He gazed suspiciously toward the ring and put the ledger down.

Tom looked up at the ceiling. It was tall and too dark to see, absorbing the most highly placed volumes like a black hole, like a void. Looking down, between the floorboards, the same infinite darkness. It occurred to him that perhaps the place was cursed. An unlikely idea given that it was a building belonging to muggles, but he’d seen stranger things. And after all, he still didn’t know who the owner was.

He looked at the catalogue again.

Torchia, A.

Key to Captive Thoughts, 1653 — four three copies

A Curious Explanation of Mysteries and Hieroglyphs, 1655 — one copy sold to H. Àristos, 1949

The Three Books of the Art, 1658 — one copy, private ownership → Luce

He scanned further down the line, and there it was: Delomelanicon.

It wasn’t written up like the others. It had no number, no mention of its year of publication, nor even where it was. All it had was a strange symbol next to it, like a plus sign with a downward arrow. Tom couldn’t guess what it meant.

But they had it, they must have. He closed the book with satisfaction and an overflow of greed, and carefully put it back in its place.

II

With the bookshop all to himself, Tom explored at his leisure. He stepped lightly, almost reverently, through its misty dusty rooms veiled by growing darkness. He cast Lumos when entering the second room, which had no windows to the outside world. A thick red carpet muffled his steps.

His first stop was at the section where she had searched for Helena Blavatsky, assuming the shelves followed the logic of the ledgers and were organised thematically as well as alphabetically. He pulled the ladder over and started to climb, holding the wand between the tips of his fingers.

Names spread before him, ancient and powerful. Some of them were only mentioned in the most proscribed of texts, others he hadn’t even heard of. It was one thing to see them listed so economically, and another to see their naked spines, crack them open, part them, and touch their wavy pages.

He had to pause once he came across a 17th-century copy of the Cyranides. How many men died for merely reading this book… What horror, what beauty. He turned to the page on the use of bezoars and smiled. The illustration braided around the page was of a watersnake, unmoving, done with an almost childish hand. It was from a more innocent time when such magical knowledge was a thing of fear and wonder, exclusive and yet renown, whispered about, admired. Not hidden away.

Holding the wand between his teeth, Tom pulled the ladder and himself a bit further to the right. Its wheels were loud enough to make him wince.

He found a wealth of books in this place that made him feel things he had not felt in a while: greed, desire, admiration… He hadn’t seen so many wonderful tomes since Hogwarts. For long moments in large swaths, he forgot his mission. Eagerly, his hands picked up any volumes he could reach without the ladder tipping over, and he sipped in eager drops the ancient wisdom, a few pages at a time, admiring the crude but honest illustrations before, with a heavy heart, putting them back on the shelf.

Finally, he reached Torchia. A few of his works were there, the same ones mentioned in the ledger, but not the Delomelanicon. Tom brushed his finger on the shelf, and it came up with a fluff of dust. Hadn’t been touched for a long time…

It occurred to him as he climbed down the ladder that they could have had hidden compartments, as such bookstores sometimes did. Borgin and Burkes did too, although theirs was hidden by magic. Muggles would have had some contraption hidden behind a painting or shelf. He cast another glance around him before moving forward again, step by heavy step. Between those dormant shelves, he saw another surreptitious doorway toward another room.

III

The place grew labyrinthian. Tom felt as though he was disturbing a tomb, and without even needing to his steps grew gentler. The ring around his finger ached again, but he ignored it.

He was exploring a glass case with a pyramid of skulls in the corner of a room three doorways from the entrance, further in the building and blissfully chill on the exposed skin of his arms and neck, when suddenly he noticed something about the creaking of the floorboards: he couldn’t hear it anymore.

Tom looked down, his shoes soft on the carpet, and shifted his weight. No sound, but there was a bit of a tilt beneath him as the wood moved. He moved to the side and toed the carpet away. At first glance, he noticed nothing strange, but when he cast Revelio, a piece of metal shone and the edges of a trapdoor revealed themselves before him.

“I’ve got you now,” he grinned.

He stepped away, grabbed the edges of the carpet, and folded it further back. It was a trapdoor alright, large enough for two people to fit through. The area was clean, as if it saw regular use. Could it be a secret way into and out of the shop? Well, he’d seen her always use the front door, so it was most likely a storage area.

He dug into his trouser pocket for something, anything that he could use, and found the Swiss army knife he’d gotten from Clement. The thought occurred to him that it was a misuse of a gift to rob a bookshop with it, but that thought died quickly in Tom’s heated mind. He had a job to do.

He slid its blade between the folds of wood and pressed the handle down. Marvolo’s ring squeezed and pulled at his finger, and Tom cursed at it to be quiet. The trapdoor undulated at the strain as he moved the blade around, but the thing was as good as nailed down on all sides.

“Come on, you piece of muggle trash, open,” he hissed between clenched teeth.

He pushed, edging the wood upwards, and the bit of leverage made it flap as far as its hinges would allow. Holding the wand between his teeth for light, he moved it slightly, checking in every direction for a keyhole. The only thing he found was a burn mark that shone in the faint light, small and round and crested. It was probably a hidden button or a kind of keyhole, the kind of which he’d seen before in a couple of places both at Hogwarts and elsewhere. Tom grinned, moved the blade there, and pressed harder right beneath it.

“Aaaah!” he groaned, nearly dropping the wand from his teeth.

The ring was shooting pain all the way up his arm now, and his muscles strained. He clenched his teeth and pressed the blade in further, deeper, but the longer he tried to get it open, the more useless the attempt seemed, and he was overcome with a feeling of wrongness — as if he actually cared that he was trespassing.

He got up, sighed, and wiped the sweat off his brow. The feeling of guilt that had been bubbling in his stomach crested and crawled up his bones until he felt the sickness in his throat. He was overcome with the desire to leave and put this place behind him. A traitorous thought…

No, he wasn’t feeling sick. That nasty little door was enchanted. There was probably a curse on it, not too dissimilar to those placed on Egyptian tombs, meant to ward prospective thieves away. The emotions that swirled in his breast, the guilt, the shame, none of it came from him. It was something he was forced to feel by whatever enchantment guarded the place. What an insidious little spell… He frowned and pointed his wand down at the trapdoor again.

“Finite incantatem.”

Nothing happened.

“Finite incantatem!” he said again, more clearly and imperious.

The trapdoor mocked him with its silence. Tom looked down at his wand as if it were impotent.

“Of all the damned… Revelio,” he cast again, but nothing new appeared. “Alohomora!”

And that was when it struck him.

The spell worked, but just for an instant before it was undone and something fired back at him. A shard of death crawled up his spine and pooled inside his heart, pushing him backwards into the sharp edge of a table. The lamps on it rattled from the impact.

He felt dizzy for a moment, his body numb and cold, then nauseous when his senses came back to him at once. Pain billowed at his lower back so hard it filled his throat with bile. He clung to the edge of the table and kept himself just barely standing, managing the breath to groan.

“By Salazar’s f-fucking… Ow!”

Among all the sudden pain, he noticed that his arm was numb. The ring had stopped hurting him. It got its point across… The door was cursed, and so severely that, if not for his Horcrux, he surely would have died.

Tom clenched his teeth and hissed at the bothersome little entrance, cursing it in parseltongue. He kicked the carpet back over it and rubbed his aching hip where he already felt a bruise forming. There was nothing else he could do there, at least not tonight. He’d have to go back to his hotel, hopefully not limping all the way, and plan his next steps.

“I’ll get you yet,” he muttered with a parting glare. “And whatever mongrel of a mage made you.”

[toprecipe24]

I WILLL STOP POSTING 😞🙁 MAYBE IF THERE IS NO REACTIONS IN THIS POST

Experience a taste of heaven with our Banana-Strawberry Cheesecake Fantasy! Delight in the creamy richness of banana paired with the sweetness of strawberries in every mouthwatering bite!

Ingredients:

2 cups graham cracker crumbs

1/2 cup unsalted butter, melted

3 ripe bananas, mashed

3 tablespoons lemon juice

4 (8 oz) packages cream cheese, softened

1 1/2 cups granulated sugar

4 large eggs

1 cup sour cream

1 teaspoon vanilla extract

1/4 cup all-purpose flour

1 1/2 cups chopped strawberries

Directions:

Preheat oven to 325°F (160°C). Grease a 9-inch springform pan.

In a medium bowl, mix graham cracker crumbs and melted butter until well combined. Press onto the bottom of the prepared pan.

In another bowl, combine mashed bananas and lemon juice. Set aside.

In a large mixing bowl, beat cream cheese and sugar until smooth. Add eggs, one at a time, beating well after each addition.

Mix in sour cream, vanilla extract, and flour until smooth and well combined.

Fold in mashed banana mixture and chopped strawberries gently until evenly distributed.

Pour the batter into the prepared crust and smooth the top with a spatula.

Bake for 60-70 minutes, or until the center is almost set.

Turn off the oven and let the cheesecake cool in the oven with the door closed for 1 hour.

Remove from the oven and let it cool completely on a wire rack. Refrigerate for at least 4 hours or overnight before serving.

Prep Time: 20 minutes | Cooking Time: 60-70 minutes | Total Time: 5 hours

Servings: 12-14 slices

[siren-sashimi]

Sweet spot HC Scenario; [Marquis Vincent de Gramont x pastry chef!reader]

notes: Based on an anonymous request. They meet before Vincent owns the title of Marquis. Assumed the reader and Vincent speak French with each other.

☞ So here it goes: It's the time shortly before Vincent intrigues himself into the position of the Marquis de Gramont. Still working as practicing assassin, starving for luxury, well and a breakfast after this shit night, he drags himself through the dawn, through the streets of Brussels. There're a few bakeries open, here and there but none look good enough for his taste, nothing hand made, too fatty and sugary ready mades just shoved in the oven. No he looks for something in which the balance of butter so well beaten it's almost creamy white, the flour, taste thick, the caster sugar a compliment to not a compensation for taste. He passes by a more highclass looking establishment, the fancy one with glass windows installed with the intend for the passerby's to see how the baker's are baking fresh bread, sweets, baps, cakes, and anything else human hands are capable to make out of flour. It is the bakery in which you start your formation as pâtissier, as apprentice relegated to cover the (too early) hours. You just tried out your new variant with you're still critical about: A croissant with pistachio-cream-filling. The cream tastes too strongly against the unique yet delicate nut flavour, overpowering instead of transporting the flavour.

☞ Just one minute, a single minute after the shop officially opens a roughed up looking guy stares (good grief, his big eyes and gaunt features make for a unsettling stare) at the displayed goods. Expensive clothing is nothing uncommon in Brussels (after all, not incorrect joke has it that Belgium's population is by half only European parliamentarians) but in this state, you really hope that you don't have to take care of an entitled rich prick at 6.02am... ☞ So far he orders a coffee (one of the pricey Middle Americas blends, two spoons of sugar) and your pistachio croissant variant. In spite of your initial hesitance... you would be curious how the guests like it. ☞ From the corner of your eyes you see him closing his eyes in a relaxed manner after his first sip of the coffee (good), slightly nodding when he bites of the tip of the croissant (good too, a good croissant should be something you can bake in your groggy half sleep), he bites closer to the middle, where the filling is. A crease between his brows (not good). ☞ "Pardon ? Qui l'a fait?" (Excuse me? Who made this?) "C'était moi, monsieur. Comment pourais-je vous aider?" (That was me, Sir. How can I help you?) His face contorts for a bit. "For this price..." he starts, you can smell the trouble from 5 miles ahead "this is not worth it, just mashed together." Quick deep breath. "It is still in development..." "And you offer this to guests?" (Well, you're not Neuhaus here and your chef deemed it good enough for selling.) He stands up, ready to leave, and you notice without paying. "I'm sorry, Monsieur" you intervene quickly "I can offer you anything on the house - as an excuse. Everything else is our regular offer." Speaking these word hurts your own tongue. Prick.

☞ With a quick raise of eyebrows and a shrug he sits back down, orders a chocolatine. Now you feel feisty. You choose darker, almost too bitter chocolate which the butter smoothes down, tames within the dough, while the deep cocoa flavour unfolds to dark bloom, passing the comfortable warmth of the pastry to a dark floral aroma. You'll make him get something to taste for sure. ☞ One bite of his. Eyelids collapsing in delight, chest heaving, nostrils blowing slowly, while his jaw moves slowly. You got him. Somehow his visible satisfaction feels like sweetest revenge. When he pays you can't help shooting him a quick: "This one of mine too." Prick leaves with no reaction*. You're still feeling a bit triumphant.

☞ What have you done wrong? Some mornings he returns, ordering the pricier coffees (always two teaspoons of sugar, preferably brown sugar - damn he has good taste) yet he rotates between different baked goods, tries out different things. You two barely talk. Most often he looks tired, sometimes a bit dishevelled, other times just like he's been up all night (bags under his eyes not helping to make his face look less haunted) although not as bad as he did when he first set foot into the place. Sometimes he comes with bags, probably he travels a lot, always wears good materials. At some point you wonder if he's either a callboy... or maybe a spy? You wouldn't be wondering if many of them shuffled around Brussels too. Maybe you shouldn't read so much Largo Winch before bed time.

☞ Some day, early December, certificate awaiting you within a few months, he walks in again, no hair straying out of place, new coat, even with... could it be? Real fur on the neck hem. "One Jamaica Blue Mountain-" "Two spoons of sugar, Monsieur?" (question out of courtesy) "Certainly. And..." Green eyes narrowing down on you "one pistachio croissant." Somehow this feels like a test... he hadn't ordered this croissant since his first visit. You think, over the time passed, you nailed it, almost pure nut flavour, cream carrying the taste, ideal medium for cream, canvas for the nutty, almost salty flavour. For whatever reason, serving this sleek peacock your croissant wakes excitement in you. Actually, apart from thinking that he too visibly displays wealth, there hadn't been too much to stir your ire against him anymore... Trying to keep yourself from following his reaction, your try to busy yourself, sorting trays, setting timers for the next baking time - kinda difficult to discreetly shoot an observatory glance when this early he's your only costumer. ☞ You heard the last crunch, you can't help but eyeing him. A smile spreads over his lips. It suits him, the way he's so well dressed, the upright posture, legs folded properly, thoughtful look, slight smile. As if he noticed you staring he looks and asks straight through the empty room: "Why are you stuck here in Brussels?" "Pardon?" He gestures around. "That's a very good place, splendid even, I would say but aren't the true masters not in France?" You have to hold back a laugh. Twat. His French is so clearly Français de l'Hexagon, it would be too easy to assume him having reservations. "I've been to France." you reply with a shrug "Paris even. It was okay." "Okay? Isn't it one of THE capitals of fine cuisine?" "Êtes-vous Parisien?" you mock "I'm afraid to say, that yeah, indeed one really learns excellency in Paris, most reputable places but... even here in Brussels you're given room to breathe. Excellency yes yet you're allowed to take time and experience, refine by reflection. By the way both, Paris and Brussels aren't actually what the countries actually are like. Too clean." He leans back, now looking at you, that comfortable smile on his face. "Not, Parisian, no. Not yet. I see you have thoughts on this matter." "Better call it experience. Here I can dabble a bit in chocolatery as well." "Aren't the best chocolatiers in France as well?" (Not wrong but more like among the best…) "The Swiss would heavily argue against it. And guess what, Jean Neuhaus was Swiss, he emigrated to Belgium." ☞ At that he laughed, baring his teeth. Strangely, for a man this tall, with such intense eyes, large teeth, broad hands, pouty lips… it gave something nice to look at. He stands up, walking up to the counter, reaching out his right hand. "Vincent." You shook it and replied in return. Vincent's hands are enrapturing, callused at the fingertips and palm, lukewarm, a bit of cold from the outside weather on the back of his hand can be left when your hands part. "I will miss this place…" he announces, giving everything around him a quick look "Things played out that I won't visit this city for a while. Yet I will miss the quality here. At my working hours it's difficult to find a decent place." Quick hesitance on your part. Judging from his calluses the possibility of a callboy-occupation diminishes. "If you want, I still got some contacts of my senior apprentices, and some from Paris even. They landed mostly good jobs or opened their own shops. I can give your their addresses, if you want to. Tell them you know me, they give you something to try. Also, it's nice to have someone who appreciates our work and isn't taking the next best thing."

Vincent huffs. "If you vouch for your friends' good craft." He takes your notes. Before he leaves he turns around and tells you: "That pistachio croissant…. Finally worth it's price." Jerk.

*In the Netherlands and Belgium people rarely tip since tipping is included in the prices. (And something, something minimum wage even in food service.) For once Vincent isn't entirely a rich jerk

[tastesoftamriel]

Hackle-lo and Scuttle Curry

One of the Telvanni Peninsula's most famous dishes, this simple, mild curry of hackle-lo and firm scuttle is delightfully rich and flavourful, yet simultaneously mild and balanced. Serve with wickwheat flatbread or steamed saltrice. Suitable for vegetarians! For a vegan version, replace paneer with tofu, and butter with coconut oil.

You will need:

225g paneer, cut into generous cubes (Indian cottage cheese CANNOT be substituted with regular cottage cheese! If you can't find paneer, use tofu or fresh mozzarella)

125g baby spinach

2 onions, finely diced

2 tbsp concentrated tomato purée

3 tbsp unsalted, unroasted cashews

1 tsp ginger paste

5 cloves garlic, minced

2-3 green chilis, sliced (like finger chilis or even fresh jalapeños), optional if you prefer it mild

1/2 tsp garam masala

2 cloves

2 cardamom pods, crushed lightly

1 tsp cumin

1 tbsp cinnamon

2 tbsp sugar

175ml water

2 tbsp butter

Coconut oil or vegetable oil

Salt and pepper, to taste

Cream, to serve (optional)

Method:

Combine the cloves, cardamom, cumin, and cinnamon in a pot, and gently cook on low heat with the butter and 1 tbsp coconut oil to release the aroma.

Toss in half the onions and fry until golden brown. Add the ginger paste and minced garlic, and continue to fry until they release their aroma. Add the tomato purée, salt and pepper, sugar, and garam masala. Continue stirring until well combined, then remove from heat, add the water, and purée until smooth with a blender or immersion blender. Set aside.

In a wok or large pot, fry the rest of the onions and chilis until glossy and aromatic. Add the spinach, and gently stir fry until the spinach has wilted and released most of its water. The spinach should still be green and not overcooked.

Transfer to a blender or use an immersion blender once again. Add the cashews. Purée until smooth and transfer to a bowl.

Put the tomato purée mix back on the heat and bring to a gentle bubble, then immediately remove from the heat and add the spinach purée. Stir until totally incorporated. Throw in your paneer and gently stir until well coated in curry.

Serve hot immediately, with either basmati rice or naan/roti on the side. Drizzle with cream to serve, if desired.

[literaryvein-reblogs]

a few more food-related words

for your cooking- or other food-related scenes

Béarnaise - a sauce of egg yolks and butter flavored with shallots, wine, vinegar, and seasonings. Béarnaise is based on Béarn, a region and former province of southwestern France, where it was originally prepared.

Fondue (or Fondu) - a dish that people prepare for themselves at the table by putting small pieces of food (such as bread, meat, or fruit) in a hot liquid (such as melted and flavored cheese or melted chocolate). Originally, fondue named a dish that is similar to the egg-based soufflé and that is usually made with cheese and bread crumbs; however, it is most familiar as the name for a preparation of melted cheese usually flavored with white wine and kirsch (a type of brandy), or a dish that consists of small pieces of food that is cooked in or dipped into a hot liquid. The name is a French derivative of the verb fondre, meaning "to melt or cast."

Hollandaise - a rich sauce made basically of butter, egg yolks, and lemon juice or vinegar. In French, sauce hollandaise means "Dutch sauce." Its name is from Hollande, the French designation for Holland.

Macédoine - a confused mixture; a mixture of fruits or vegetables served as a salad or cocktail or in a jellied dessert or used in a sauce or as a garnish. Macédoine is the French name for Macedonia, a region on the Balkan Peninsula that is now part of Greece, the Republic of North Macedonia, and Bulgaria. Historically, this area has been home to a richly varied population encompassing many ethnic groups. Etymologists believe that the cultural heterogeneity of the region may have inspired people to use its name as a generic term for any kind of wildly jumbled mixture, including that of the foods used in some sauces.

Marinade - a savory usually acidic sauce in which meat, fish, or a vegetable is soaked to enrich its flavor or to tenderize it. The main ingredient of marinade is French mariner, meaning "to pickle" or "to marinate." The verb marinate refers to steeping foods in a marinade or to coating or covering food with tasty herbs, spices, etc., before cooking.

Mignonette - a type of herb; a sauce made typically with vinegar, pepper, and herbs and served especially with oysters. Its name stems from French words meaning "dainty" and "darling." Those adjectives perfectly describe the small, delicate flowers of the plant, and dainty is fitting for the dollops of the piquant sauce placed on oysters. However, in French cooking, mignonette is used for a mix of ground peppercorn, dainty berries of the black pepper plant, and this is the likely source for the sauce's name.

Mousseline - a sauce (such as hollandaise) to which whipped cream or beaten egg whites have been added. Mousseline is the name for a soft, light sauce as well as a fine, sheer fabric that resembles muslin. It is also a synonym of mousse in its sense referring to a light, spongy food. In French, mousse can mean "froth" or "moss."

Puree (or Purée) - a paste or thick liquid suspension usually made from cooked food ground finely. Puree was processed from Middle French purer, meaning "to cleanse" or "to strain vegetables," which itself was made from Latin purare, meaning "to purify." Besides a pasty food, puree is a thick soup of smooth texture.

Rouille - a peppery garlic sauce. In French, rouille means, literally, "rust." The reddish-brown Mediterranean sauce is usually served with fish soups and stews.

If any of these words make their way into your next poem/story, please tag me, or leave a link in the replies. I would love to read them!

More: Word Lists

[rhodesrider]

My Girl

Mafia!Cg!Cody R. x Spoiled!Little!Black!Fem!Reader

Warnings: Agere, mentions of weapons, affirmation, cussing, fluff, mentions of violence and self defense

~~~

A peaceful morning, the cool breeze in the room from the AC being triggered on a timer. A pair of rich brown eyes flutter open as the sun slightly grazes their eyelids, soon a sweet yawn behind it. Y/N smiled as her eyes adjusted finally and she got up slow, as there was her boyfriend sleeping soundly next to her. She smiled and kissed him on the cheek lightly slowly moving out the bed, not knowing he was silently counting down from 10 ever since she rose outta bed. He soon smirked counting at 1 and gets up in a swift movement grabbing her before she even touched the hardwood floor. “Papa no!” She squealed and soon was back in bed, her bonnet surprisingly still gripping her head while she was now locked in back in bed cuddled up against. “What’s the password?” He grumbled. “Let me go!” “Nah that’s not it.” He yawned and she looked away to dodge his morning breath scrunching up her nose some. “Papa please I have to do my skin routine!” She wiggled and whined but he had a good grip on her. “Bahhh you don’t have to, my babygirl is so perfect without it.” He whispered and kissed her cheek. She groaned soon getting tired from the moving around and was soon giving in, his warmth and his kisses were like a spell. Cody noticed and he smirked again, “But I’ll let you do your routine-“ he loosened his grip some and Y/N stayed where she was. “Nuuuuu!” She pouted. Cody smiled and held her close getting her comfortable. “10 more minutes with papa and we both get up ok?” She nodded and hid in the blankets more as he checked messages on his work phone.

After that, they both started to get ready for the day. Joint sink bathrooms, Y/N on her side had natural creams and most products of Cocoa butter scents. Leaving her skin smooth and sweet, glowing even. She checked her face for stray hairs and got on the counter for a closer look in the giant mirror. “Off the counter princess.” Cody warned. Sure it was strong marble but he didn’t want her getting hurt. Y/N rolled her eyes some and got down soon being given a face mirror. “You have so many mirrors baby use them.” He said going back to his skin routine. “But it’s different papa.” She pouted but used the mirror given to her anyway. After that she brushed her teeth and soon released her hair from her bonnet. She sighed knowing she really doesn’t feel like doing it, it was a lot to deal with. “Want papa to take you to your hair dresser? She wouldn’t mind a walk in.” Usually that means ‘give her a big tip outta my card’ so she doesn’t mind the walk in. “It’s ok baby, I’ll just moisturize it and put it in a ponytail.” She grumbled. Cody was already done and got the products out for her. “Can I help?” She can’t really get a good grip out of her hair so he’s her best bet. She nodded at his request as he was always so fascinated with her hair. She blushed as he ran his hands through her scalp with the moisturizer, and smiled as he was able to get a beautiful high ponytail. He brushed out her hair as she took some product making some cute curls on the side. “Rating?” “9.3.” his eyebrow arched in question but soon kissed her cheek. “Ok now a 10.” “That’s what I’m talking about.”

Breakfast came around and Y/N wasn’t hungry, but still needed something in her system. “Since you’re riding with papa, you know I eat first. So, chicken biscuits?” “I’m not in the mood for bread daddy..” she pouted not hungry at all. “Fruit bowl and I’ll stop at our coffee shop for your usual.” She smiled and nodded as she could deal with that, she sat at the island in the middle of the kitchen and watched as he pulled out fresh fruit getting it ready. He had a quick protein shake and soon both finished up their outfit getting out the door. But Cody glanced out the car first, his usual car was keyed and the tires flat. He groaned as he knew it was probably some kind of cute warning. But not to his work car. “Princess let’s go take the BMW.” He smiled as he shut the door and walked her to the garage. “Why not the other car daddy?” She pouted acting like she didn’t see the damage, Cody got the remote key and unlocked it. “I gotta get it fixed.” He smiled but really he was pissed. “Get yourself in, I have to make a call.” She nodded getting in as he opened the door for her and put her seatbelt on for her kissing her nose before closing the door. He sighed and controlled his anger, soon getting his phone and calling Jey his partner.

“You got Jey.” Jey answered as he was working on his car. “They touched my car, imma need you to pull camera when you get a chance.” “Got you, did she see?” “I don’t think so but she probably did. She’s smart.” He grumbled and leaned against the car. He doesn’t want Y/N to worry about this type of stuff, bad enough she knew. When they were in the first phase of dating, a good year in he hid his job well. But one night she wanted some snacks and stumbled upon a weapon wall. It was hard to calm her down and Cody thought he was gonna lose her, but she stuck by his side. She wants to be oblivious to his job but she knows. “Get here soon, I’m heading out now.” He sighed. “I got you uce.” They hung up and Cody got in letting Y/N start the car, she likes pressing the button. “Ok so after the coffee shop I’m just dropping out off to your nail shop, you text me when you’re done so I can pick you back up. Then a little shopping nothing big.” Y/N was listening but was more worried about the car she saw. Cody glanced at her then back at the road. “Papa doesn’t like that worried face, you ok baby?” She nodded. “You sure because I would hate to just head home after the nail tech-“ “Papa…” she looked at him with daggers. “Don’t look at me like that, what’s wrong?” “Why did they do that to your car?” Cody sighed. “Because they don’t like papa. But papa doesn’t care and when he finds out who did it, well we are gonna have to talk our feelings out.” Y/N nodded understanding. “I like you.” She giggled. “You don’t love me?” He gave a dramatic gasp and Y/N took it back quick having a laugh.

Throughout the day, the two would text each other. “Ok she’s starting my nails soon, what color papa?” She asked looking at the many colors in the guide. “Periwinkle.” He simply texted back honestly kidding but was wondering if they had that color. “Ok I’ll show you the finished product after! I love you!” She put her phone down and her tech started the process as they talked gossiping here and there. With Cody, he was looking back at camera footage Jey sent, seeing the masked assailant fucking up his car. He sighed and wanted him found because that was his favorite car. “Jey, anything else?” “It looked like he wanted to break in but he just left.” Jey said watching tapes back. “Yea he was smart as fuck that he just left.” Cody hissed some in anger. “I see a tattoo as well, it’s one of Roman’s boys.” Cody rolled his eyes. “Cute. He’s still mad about the last meeting we had. Find him.” His ordered and hung up loading his gun and putting it in the dashboard. He rode to one of Roman’s Chop shops and texted him. Soon Solo came out with him, he was in a tank top gloves on working. Seeing Cody he smirked and handed solo his gloves, walking to the car. “Cody. What brings you over on my side of town?” Roman was a man of business as well, Cody simply just gave him his phone showing pictures of the man’s exposed arms. “He fucked up my car and was thinking about breaking in my house.” Roman saw the tattoo. “It looks like one of my boys but i cut him loose a while back I think this is one that’s wanted and I’m looking for him too.” He grumbled. “Lemme know if you see him.” He gave the phone back to Cody. “You won’t protect him?” “He’s on my shit list he was trying to touch my girl.” He sighed. Cody looked behind Roman some seeing a girl handing out bottles of water for the guys to take a break. “Dasha? Making a pass at her? I’m surprised he’s not dead.” “She told me last minute. She broke down and was scared to tell me.” Even though most of the time these two don’t get along, they understand protecting what’s theirs. “I’ll let you know if he comes back around.” Cody saids and Roman nods patting the roof going back in the shop. He smiled at Dasha as she handed him a bottle as well, he smiled and kissed her forehead in thanks. She waved bye at Cody and he nodded driving off. Soon he got a text from Y/N, her nails were done. Seeing the picture of beautiful almond cute periwinkle nails, Cody loved them. He sent some hearts along with “I’ll be there soon.” But soon he saw a text that made his heart drop,

“Papa your friend just picked me up.”

Cody soon started to book it and track Y/N trying to know her exact location. He practiced this with her, making sure if this happened she would stay calm and act like nothing is wrong. “Princess, remember I love you. 5 minutes.” She read the text and looked at the driver some. She sighed keeping calm and smiled. “Could we turn on some music?” She asked. “Sure.” The dude smiled and turned on the radio. Yea, this was definitely not one of his men. They offer her bluetooth. She reached in her purse slow outta his view, and at a stop sign, she pulled out a knife cutting the side of his neck. He screamed at the top of his lungs, she got out the car and booked it for the nearest police station in town. The officer at the front desk looked at her seeing blood on her hand and face, lucky Cody paid of the police department. “Where’s Rhodes?” The policemen said. “Text him I’m here and let me hide in the booth.” Y/N instructed. The cop nodded and did so as she sat on the floor cleaning herself off. There were cops responding to the man she stabbed since he stopped in the middle of the road and caused a wreck. She sat on the floor getting her thoughts together. ‘Why am I always in some shit…’ she groaned.

Cody busted in the police station and looked in the booth dropping on his knees and hugging Y/N close. “You’re late.” She hissed and got up angry at the fact she has some man’s blood in his hair and stained in her nails. “I’m so sorry.” Cody sighed and held her so close embracing her. Soon regressing back, away from her anger filled automatic personality, she whimpered and started to cry. She was about to get kidnapped. “I know baby, I’m sorry papa wasn’t there.” He could tell the difference. Y/N shook in his arms and he simply picked her up and walked her out saying thank you to the police men.

At home, she sat in bed under blankets trying to relax. She was about to be taken away and if it succeeded what would have happened. She heard a knock on the door flinching slightly and peeked seeing it was Cody again. Coming up with some water and sitting by her. “You look cold.” He simply said. He got behind her in the bed and held her close. “Papa…he was gonna take me away…” she whimpered. “No he wasn’t.” She looked up seeing that Cody had some dried tears as well. “No one was gonna take you from me. Papa got to you. Papa got you home safe as sound. I promised at that the first time we met right?” She nodded looking out the window. “What if they come back for me again?” “I’ll kill them princess. You did such a good job defending yourself. But papa protects you. No matter what.” He said as he held her close. She enjoyed his embrace and felt a simple kiss on the lips. “Thank you Cody…” she mumbled and stayed in his arms as he rocked her back and forth. Cody was in anger, it might not be now but when the time is right he will find out who is behind this sending men to his home and trying to patience and bothering his peace…