#sourdough every day

[shoku-and-awe]

😮‍💨 So no one needs to die tonight

Asking me to make bread …………. Then stacking things ON TOP OF THE RISING DOUGH 😭😖🤬

[theshitpostcalligrapher]

iiiiiiiit's monsoon day at the apartment!

it's been a few months? like since august or september that the succulents have had any water other than an errant spritz here or there so everyone's getting bath-levels of water that'll last them another few months

[sadaveniren]

.

[macroglossus]

made gf sourdough today and i didn’t have very high hopes (it was just the recipe on the flour bag that called for the starter to be made just the day before) but it turned out actually pretty good!!!

[thesunsethour]

just spent €9.95 on a salad. get me out of this country fr

[13beachesxx]

god life is so peaceful now that her current Thing is tarot

[kkujo]

got a bit too silly goofy (depressed) for the last 4 months and neglected my sourdough starter so i had to throw it out but i have some saved in the freezer so i'm bringing her back to life :)

[publicdomainbooksdevotee]

Entering a sourdough pikelet phase again.

[icterid-rubus]

I cultured some yogurt from a tablespoon of mediocre grainy store bought stuff with some leftover milk and a splash of cream, and taking a quick bite of the warm creamy yogurt felt unexpectedly special.

[bi-writes]

Your MOB au gives me so many butterflies 🥴 I hear the key to a long and happy marriage is to be with someone you think is funny. How do you think Simon and his wife make each other laugh? I can see them being the couple that gossips while people watching or MOB wrangles Simon in bed to show him funny cat videos on her phone.

mail-order bride

simon likes spending time with you without screens. he does love watching a movie with you, but one of his favorite ways to spend time with you is to open a little closet of board games and play one of them with you. he'll put on a little music, spread out the game, and you usually spend the evening sitting in his lap and playing either on the couch or on the floor using the coffee table or at the dining table.

"simon, what would you do if i was a worm?"

simon raises a brow, fitting a corner piece of the puzzle into place. he snorts a bit.

"wot are y'on, love?"

"i'm serious!" you laugh. "what would you do if i was a worm?"

"step on you, baby. you'd be a fuckin' worm. gross."

you pout a little, dramatically, and simon winks at you.

"olright, love. i'd put ya in a little box and cherish ya foreva. tha' wot y'wanna hear?"

you giggle, settling in his lap, picking up an edge piece and putting it in its spot.

"yeah. that's what i wanna hear."

"simon, look."

you hold out your phone in bed, shoving it in his face. he grunts a little, squinting at the bright screen, and he raises a brow as he watches a compilation of orange cat videos put together. he chuckles a little when he sees it, leaning over the bed and planting a kiss on your cheek. he rolls over onto his side, curling a big arm around your waist and pulling you back into his chest. he tucks his face over your shoulder, leaning over you, and you spend the better part of an hour giggling to yourself as you show simon the collection of videos on your feed.

the next morning, your phone pings while simon is away on base. you hurry out of the kitchen, wiping your floury hands on the apron you wear before seeing a request for a new follower.

you open the app, raising a brow when you look at the account without a profile picture asking to follow your private account.

pumpkin__eater141 wants to follow you.

you click on the profile, rolling your eyes when you see the only picture on the account a very grainy, filtered photo of two sergeants sticking their tongues out and holding up bunny ears behind each other. in the background, very blurry, you can see a glimpse of a skeleton-bone painted glove holding up a middle finger. the caption reads wankerzzz!!!!

the account has 1 follower (sudz_n_budz141), and it follows none, and you can't help but smile when you see the profile has nothing but a cherry emoji as the description.

you accept the follow request, and you follow them back. the whole day, every so often, you get a new video as a direct message. when you finish with the sourdough and leave it to rise, you start to scroll through the intermittent messages you've already gotten.

more cat videos. crazy dashcam footage with the comment "fuckin' mad." some woman who makes crockpot meals with every kind of bagged cheese you can get at the store on high for five hours.

you can't stop smiling. and when you pull out a pot to make dinner later, you and simon make eye contact before laughing.

"olright, baby, which one ya want?" simon murmurs, nuzzling his mask against your cheek. you giggle, looking up at the display. there's stuffed bears, big squishmallows, pillows. you reach a hand up behind you and caress the back of his neck, biting your lip until you point up at the big cherry squishmallow hanging by the top.

"gotta hit all the glasses to get that one, mate," the attendant says, and you look over your shoulder up at him.

"ooooo...not sure if you can hit all your targets, lieutenant riley?" you ask, and simon snorts, kissing your jaw through the mask before making his way towards the game counter. he picks up the toy rifle, adjusting it in his grip before holding the sight up and taking his stance. you bite your lip watching him. he looks incredibly sexy with that thing in his arms, even if its a fake. it's even sexier hearing the bell ring and watching your husband with terrifying precision knock every glass bottle down. one after the other, each glass falls, and you squeeze your legs together slightly as he goes for a bonus round and knocks them all over again, even quicker.

he turns around when he has your prize in his hands, a big fluffy cherry with a little smile and a little green leaf hat. you squeeze it to your chest before standing on your toes, and simon leans down to peck your lips through the mask. he wraps a big arm around your waist, and when you both pull back, you can't help your big smile, the laughter, that sweet, pretty shine in your eyes.

simon laughs, too.

it's easy when you're this happy.

[hpmmit]

𝒂𝒓𝒓𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒆𝒅 𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒓𝒊𝒂𝒈𝒆 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒏𝒂𝒏𝒂𝒎𝒊 𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒄𝒂𝒏𝒏𝒐𝒏𝒔 #1

read my drabbles inspired by these headcannons; one, two

read part two here ‹𝟹

୨ৎ˙⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩

୨ৎ arranged marriage!nanami kento who surprisingly didn't mind sleeping and waking up next to you every day.

୨ৎ arranged marriage!nanami kento who now prepares breakfast for two.

୨ৎ arranged marriage!nanami kento whom you both bonded over your love of books.

୨ৎ arranged marriage!nanami kento who shows you around his home library and lends you some of his precious books.

୨ৎ arranged marriage!nanami kento who tends to listen what you say more than talking himself.

୨ৎ arranged marriage!nanami kento who helps you around the house chores and cooks with you.

୨ৎ arranged marriage!nanami kento who teaches you the secrets of making the perfect sourdough bread.

୨ৎ arranged marriage!nanami kento brings your bentos to work. he's flattered to think you care about his health.

୨ৎ arranged marriage!nanami kento who gets teased by gojo because he made a stupid mistake by smiling at your note attached to the lunchbox.

୨ৎ arranged marriage!nanami kento who occasionally buys you your favorite flowers.

୨ৎ arranged marriage!nanami kento who takes you on 'friendly' dates.

୨ৎ arranged marriage!nanami kento who shares his food with you.

୨ৎ arranged marriage!nanami kento who buys you the things you like without hesitating.

୨ৎ arranged marriage!nanami kento who can't help feeling protective of you at times.

୨ৎ arranged marriage!nanami kento who helps you to fix your messy sleeping schedule.

୨ৎ arranged marriage!nanami kento who slowly got used to your soft little snores, you lazing around the house in your pajamas on the weekends and the new addition to his life, you.

୨ৎ arranged marriage!nanami kento began to realize that he doesn't like the quietness when you're not around.

୨ৎ arranged marriage!nanami kento who goes on walks with you around the town.

୨ৎ arranged marriage!nanami kento who buys you books he thinks you'd enjoy.

୨ৎ arranged marriage!nanami kento who realizes he remembers every small detail about you.

୨ৎ arranged marriage!nanami kento who loves taking photos of the things he thinks are beautiful. hence why this is you take a lot of space in his cameraroll.

୨ৎ arranged marriage!nanami kento who now tries to come home from work quickly. you greeting him at the door with a smiling face almost makes his heart skip a beat.

୨ৎ arranged marriage!nanami kento who swears this is just a contractual marriage. but his heart and flushing face always betrays him.

[qwimblenorrisstan]

Insufficient | Azriel x Reader

Summary: After a few months of dating, your relationship begins to crack, and the truth behind Azriel’s odd behavior comes out.

Word Count: ~ 1.8k

Warnings: ANGST, so much angst, sort of unrequited feelings, breakup, mentions of sex + torture and murder, Nesta being an absolute queen

A/N: enjoy some delicious azzy angst😋 lmk what you think I should do for the next part, like should they get back together, or reader finds a new mans while az grovels??

Requests are open!

Masterlist | Next

It had been a warm, sunny day when you’d first met him.

The bakery had been going steadily as ever in Velaris, your family-owned shop hard at work to make the citizen's pastries and your famous sourdough bread. Generations of the family had owned it beforehand, and you were still helping out, you had been working the front that day.

Azriel had walked in, asking for some sort of treat that his High Lady was craving. His description of it hadn’t been the best, leading to almost thirty minutes of you showing him different sweet treats and pastries until he finally found what he wanted, and ordered a dozen of them.

That had been the beginning of your situationship, where he’d come to the shop asking for various things once every now and then, only to subtly get closer to you and even slightly flirt.

Eventually, he asked you out to dinner, and after a few more, you two began dating, and he admitted that he felt a little spark when he first saw you. Looking back, you wondered if that was the only reason he even pursued you in the first place, not for your personality, or even your looks, but just because of that spark.

The first few weeks had been lovely, him being thoughtful and caring to you in the little acts. Such as the way he made coffee for you just how you liked it in the mornings, how he began to put things lower on shelves so you could reach them, how he would talk quietly when you had migraines, or be patient when you were in a mood. The best example probably being the first time you had your period in front of him.

He hadn’t acted disgusted by it, instead, he’d gently cared for you, helping you through it, buying you chocolate and all the foods and snacks you were craving, getting heating pads, making sure you were alright for the entire insufferable week.

However, after that, the honeymoon period must’ve worn off, because he seemed constantly tense or stressed after that. His face remained like stone, not budging or cracking, even for you. The softening of his eyes that had happened before it was replaced by something strained as if he was waiting impatiently for something.

Even in bed, he wouldn’t look at you, remained quiet as a mouse, the only sign that he was enjoying himself being a large exhale as he buried his face in your neck or turned away. That was another problem, he knew how to fuck, he knew how to do that very well, but he didn’t know how to make love. Any time you tried to teach him, he just didn’t accept it, simply giving an unsatisfactory hum in response and continuing what he was doing.

He’d come home from missions, drenched in sweat and sometimes even blood, and not say anything even when you cleaned him off and led him to bed, giving you a cold shoulder. You fully understood that he had a bloody past and history, but you at least expected him to open up a little bit to you. Without any emotional transparency, it wasn’t really a relationship, was it?

His family was nice, though. You liked them, especially Nesta, since she seemed not to put up with everyone else’s bullshit. She was the only one you opened up to about your issues with Azriel, and how you were thinking of breaking things off or taking a break.

“He’s a hard one, but it sounds like he’s being an ass. If it were me, I wouldn’t put up with that.”

She said while you both sat in the library, neither of you noticing the small shadows lurking near the books. You sighed, nodding slowly.

“I know, it’s just…I feel like he’s waiting for something else, like just me isn’t enough.”

You said with a frown, and Nesta gave a little hum of acknowledgment.

“Just give it a week or two, and if you’re still unhappy, I’d leave.”

She said with a shrug, and not long after the both of you went your separate ways. You followed Nesta’s advice, giving the relationship a week or two, and it remained stressed and tense. However, when you finally managed to get into Azriel’s office during the day, about to break things off, he spoke first.

“Let me guess, your testing weeks weren’t satisfactory?”

He asked in a sharp tone, eyes narrowed on you with a piercing gaze. You took a sharp breath in, glaring at him despite the embarrassment that tried to take over.

“You were spying on me.”

You said, trying to keep your tone even despite how it wavered slightly. He stood then, towering over you from his superior height.

“I don’t like when people talk about me behind my back, let alone my partner.”

He said, the words clipped and full of anger simmering under the surface. He took a step closer, and you took a step back. You’d never been afraid of him, not really, but at this moment you didn’t exactly want to be close to him. His keen eyes noticed, and something like hurt and anger flashed in them.

“Don’t act like I’m some terrible person for having a girl talk because you’ve been acting weird. I can’t believe you spied on me.”

He huffed, taking another step closer, the shadows swirling and writhing, looking more agitated than ever. You took another step back, only to run straight into a wall that was now behind you. He continued stalking closer until your heart was beating faster and faster until he leaned down so you were eye-to-eye.

“I’m sorry I’m not what you signed up for. I’m not gentle or loving, I am a spymaster, I torture and kill people for my work, and have for centuries. I won’t be forced to change just to fit what you think I should be, or what you want in a relationship.”

He hissed, his words now full of anger and frustration. You leaned back, trying to keep away.

“That’s your problem. You don’t know how to separate your work life from your personal life, and you’re taking it out on me. You can be gentle and loving, I’ve seen it before, but I’m not what you want. You’ve been acting like I need to be something more for you when I’m not. I don’t know what you want, but your inability to communicate and be transparent isn’t my problem.”

You said back, tears now welling up as you tried to push him away. He didn’t back up, only moving closer and pushing you into the wall. His temper was building, and you could tell. It was only a matter of time until he would….

“A mate! I wanted a mate!”

Snap.

The silence stretched on and on for what seemed like hours after he said that, yelling it in your face. You’d never heard him raise his voice before. You gaped at the sight of him unwinding and shattering right in front of you as he rambled on.

“It’s not fair, Rhys gets Feyre, Cassian gets Nesta, Lucien gets Elain even if she doesn’t want him, and who do I get? No one.”

He said in an almost panicked tone, rambling on and on. He pushed off the wall, pacing around in his office, hands fidgeting.

“I thought—when I felt that spark when I went in your shop, that it might be you, but you weren’t enough. You aren’t my mate, because it would’ve snapped by now, I would’ve felt it, but I didn’t. You aren’t enough for me, and you never will be.”

He said, finally sighing at the end. He wouldn’t even look at you, eyes unfocused and only looking randomly around the room, anywhere but towards you. You swallowed, trying to hold back the tears that welled up because of his words. You weren’t enough. You never would be.

He looked like he felt a bit bad for half a second before his expression hardened again into that unflinching steel you’d grown to hate. He finally looked at you again, no hint of empathy or guilt now in his gaze for leading you on, or practically torturing you these past months.

Taking a shaky breath, you finally choked words out.

“Oh,” You murmured, trying to swallow the lump in your throat.

“Okay.”

You whispered, managing to push off the wall to walk to the door, opening it and walking down the hall, to the room you two had shared, and you began packing your belongings. Picture frames of your family, your clothes, little trinkets, toiletries, you left no trace of you behind as you packed it in a large duffel bag in the closet.

You walked to the front door of the House, open the door, and walk out, the 10,000 steps down looming in front of you. Azriel didn’t offer to fly you down, and it was only when you turned to look back at him, his face stone cold, that you felt it.

The snap.

A shifting warmth and coldness all at once.

And a mating bond.

His face fell in what looked like pure devastation and realization, hazel eyes wide and lips parted. It might’ve been the most emotion you’d seen him show in weeks. He began to walk out, trying to go after you as you began taking the steps, but a large flap and wave of wind stopped him.

Cassian’s large, hulking form stopped him, shaking his head grimly as he walked towards you, where you were still going down the steps, and he laid a hand on your shoulder.

“I’ll fly you.”

He said simply, and you nodded with a sniffle as he picked you up, his wings carried him into the air as he soared up, only to land moments later and drop you off back at the bakery where your family was working. He set you on the ground, pulling you into a warm hug.

“I’m sorry,”

He said, letting you pull away, and for some reason, you believed him. You, Cassian, and Nesta made quite the dynamic trio, and you would probably miss them the most. They were some of your closest friends, and also wonderful drinking buddies. You and Nesta loved cheating in card games and beating Cassian when he was too drunk to notice until he owed either of you a fortune.

“You can always come visit me and Nes, just send a letter or somethin’.”

He murmured to you, wiping the tears from your cheek, and giving you an apologetic grin, before sending you off inside your family’s bakery and flying off.

This time, when you saw the shadow still curled around your wrist like it always had been when you and Azriel were dating, you smacked it off, sticking your hand right into a clear ray of sunshine to chase it off.

You were done being dragged down by shadows and darkness, and for once in your miserable life, you were going to look for the light instead.

[bunnys-kisses]

how can i take your order? all you have to do is pick a dessert, drink and driver/character of your choosing! are you in the mood for a mille-feuille or a big slice of chocolate cake! please, please, please indicate who you want me to write about!!

the servers are from the following: formula one, call of duty, baldur's gate 3, haikyuu, one piece, jujustu kaisen, detective comics (dc), marvel comics (but i am open to any other fandoms you might have in mind! please do not hesitate to ask!!)

i do also accept polyam relationships! (pairing + reader), up to about four people! just to make it manageable on my end!

all orders can be made to the inbox for @bunnys-kisses and i'll get your order together asap! also let me know if you want it extra sweet or a little more spicy !

mille-feuille: “that’s it, fuck, that’s a good girl.”

butter tart: "let's ruin ourselves for anyone else."

sugar pie: “gonna let daddy hear ya?”

zebra cake: "well, what do we have here?"

carrot cake: "swallow it. all of it."

millionaire shortcake: "if they saw you now, you'd be the biggest shame to your family."

pots de crème: "if a picture is worth a thousand words, then i could probably get a million dollars for this photo."

oat flapjacks: "i'm not scared of you."

persian rolls: "it's mandatory i finish. you getting to finish is a treat."

spice pie: "i didn't know it was possible to be a liar and a slut."

mushroom pie: "if you don't shut up. i'm going to shut you up."

lemon slice: "i'm sorry, what was that? i can’t hear you over all that noise you’re making."

swiss roll: "everything you own, everything you wear i paid for. so i guess that means i own you."

pumpkin pie: "i've met strays who were more obedient."

pastry braid: "your job is to make me cum. now get to work."

sausage roll: "i wonder how much i could get for photos of this cunt."

pithivier: "if you don't behave, i'll let the boys take care of you."

tiramisu: “my little slut to ruin.”

sponge toffee: "aw, is someone mad that they can only cum because of me?"

pull-apart bread: "i love you"

powered sugar donuts: "marry me."

blueberry bars: “gonna make you a mamma and you're gonna make me a daddy.”

pudding chomeur: "i don't share."

ice cream bars: “did you see the way he was eyeing you? he need to know you're mine."

chocolate cake: "do you feel that? that's what happens when i think about you all day."

soufflé: "i'll be gentle."

fried dough: "i know virginity is a stupid concept... but i want to take yours."

apple pie: "now be good and beg. thank you."

vanilla cheesecake: "where are your manners?"

berry trifle: "wrong. try again."

maple cream pie: "either you wear the necklace with my name on it, or wear my bruises around your neck."

s'more: "The accent gets to you, doesn't it?"

belgian waffles: "i cum in that every night."

pancakes: "if you bite me. i'll bite you back."

loaf of whole wheat bread: "you're going to shut that mouth and take me."

jos louis: "does someone need a daddy?"

maple taffy: "oh my god you're stupid."

snowballs: "don't worry, drug tests aren't till next week."

shortbread cookies: "and who does this belong to?"

flan: "i'm not possessive... i'm obsessive."

peach cake: "if you spill a drop, we start all over."

angel food cake: "if he fucks with me again, i'm finishing inside of you."

red velvet cupcake: "if you don't like being called a whore, then stop acting like one."

mince pie: "i'm not jealous."

banana bread: "i'm going to fuck that sweet pussy of yours until the only word your little brain can form is my name."

crumb cake: "if you just listened, all of this could've been avoided."

chocolate chip cookies: "you're beautiful when you smile, but you're the prettiest when my cock is in your throat"

nanaimo bars: "who's my pretty girl? c'mon say it."

coffee cake: "knees. now."

sourdough bread: "i'm going to breed you."

blueberry muffins: "i don't think it'll fit."

pound cake with strawberries: "you know i hate going over rules, but just because i like seeing you embarrassed, i'll tell you them again."

croissant: "i wonder if your father knows what happens during the off hours. if he knows you're here with me."

crepe: "pretty girl."

french toast: "you're trying to make me jealous!"

churros: "if you don't shut that little mouth of yours, i will stuff it full. okay?"

shortbread squares: "you're just mad that that my cock fits perfectly in you now. must be a blow to the ego that we're a perfect match."

savory pastry: "let your brother find out."

sweet pastry: "i'll make it all better."

eclairs: "the family's precious little girl. under me like a slut."

boston cream pie: "yeah, i'll use protection."

bagel: “gonna paint you with my teeth.”

crostata: “stupid slut, this is what you wanted huh? wanted me to fuck you like i hate you.”

tres leches: "i wonder if your brother know i cum in you."

peanut butter bars: “scratch me, bite me, just mark me sweetheart. show them I’m yours.”

eton mess: "be careful. your breath smells like cum."

scones: "but what if they see us!"

english muffin: "aw, is someone crying?"

honey cruller: "i forget how small you are sometimes."

banana split: "don't look at me like that."

beer brownies: "stick your tongue out anymore and you'll look like a dog."

fudge: "your father is pissing me off."

sticky toffee pudding: "the only way this is ending is you getting pregnant."

hot cross buns: "don't hide your face from me. i'd hate to have to tie you up."

brownies: "you're so much more agreeable when you have something to occupy that mouth of yours."

chocolate mousse: "the only necklace you need is my hand around your throat"

tim bits: "stupid little thing."

fruitcake: "i'll make tonight special."

cornmeal muffin: "i need you most."

devil's food cake: "you're my most unhealthy obsession."

crème caramel: "oh. you thought you were getting away from me?"

banana & chocolate muffins: "i'm only doing this because you need to learn how to behave, rules are rules, and you need to follow them."

custard tart: "i've never done this before."

cinnamon rolls: "no one needs to know."

mango sorbet: "you are by far the dumbest thing i've ever fucked. how did they even let you graduate?"

date squares: "you look better with my marks on you."

figgy duff: "if i buy it, will you stop pouting?"

spicy upside down cake: "let's play a game: don't get caught."

cream puffs: "let me finish inside."

profiteroles: "come away with me. for a week, together. anywhere you want, we'll go."

with a side of:

coffee: rivals

tea: semi-public/public sex

juice: cockwarming

mocha coffee: breeding kink

bubble tea: daddy kink

a vodka shot: rough sex

sparkling water: gentle sex

coconut water: alternate universe

energy drink: doggy style

champagne: sugar daddy situation

hard lemonade: possessive behaviour

espresso shot: dirty talking

a glass of wine: cowgirl position

ice capp coffee: werewolf au

bloody mary: vampire au

martini: mafia au

frozen latte: dumbification

frozen lemonade: consensual non-consent

cranberry juice: mean!character

glass of water: aftercare

chocolate milk: tenderness

milkshake: size kink

pina colada: pregnancy

cider: body worship

mai tai: loss of virginity

margarita: unprotected sex

mint julep: punishments

chai: biting/hickies

earl grey: big cock

fishbowl cocktail: protected sex

tonic water: age gap

matcha latte: collars/bondage

root beer: filming/recording

soda: jealousy

americano: oral sex

whisky: degrading language

vitamin water: dom/sub dynamic

irish coffee: high sex

sangria: drunk sex

dark roast coffee: sub!character

dark hot chocolate: sub!reader

iced tea: accidentally launching relationship

lemon water: university/college au

naked & famous: bimbo/ditzy!reader

on the house: author's choice!

ORDER UP!

[intertexts-moving]

okay gm again now that i'm like. actually awake & alive & not in a sleepy sourdough haze. ^_^

[betweenstorms]

butcher!simon… he’s so husband… his big rugged calloused arms… you know how those men are… arms the thick and strong, veiny but not in a way a nurse/vampire would love, but in a way you can see subtle long bump of it through the length of his tattooed sleeve… my gosh. i despise going to a butcher shop bcs i'm sensitive to the smell and loud noises scare me but for butcher!simon ? i'd deliberately buy just enough meat for one day worth of my meal + extra portion to give to him the next day as i go for another cut of meat… i'd bat my lashes and sweetly ask "i want to make soup… which cut do you think will cook quickly ?" ARGH. and like use scrap bones and veggies to make cream mushroom soup at the end of the week and pack it nicely with fresh sourdough… and on thanksgiving of christmas i’d take it as my chance to ask “celebrating christmas with your family ?” as a way to invite him to my homeeee aaaaa 😫😫😫😫😫😫😫

I love this so much anon! This is how I imagine the situation...

Part Two of What's Between Fridays (previous part) (next part) (masterlist) Butcher!Simon x fem!Reader

The scent of the small butcher shop never quite sat well with you.

It clung to the air, thick and metallic, mingling with the cold chill of the room. No matter how many times you stepped through the door, the sharp tang of raw meat always hit you, a sour note that made your nose twitch. And yet, you found yourself there almost every Friday afternoon, drawn by something far stronger—something that had nothing to do with the cuts of meat behind the glass.

Simon Riley.

He always stood behind the counter when you came in, broad and imposing. His bulky arms marked with the same ink that wrapped around his soul like a storm cloud, curling up his forearms like violent vines, disappeared beneath the rolled-up sleeves of his worn shirt. You had traced them in your mind a hundred times, wondering where they began and where they ended.

His presence commanded the room without a word, the quiet strength of a man who had spent years carving through flesh and bone. He moved with the ease of someone who knew his power but never flaunted it, his hands deft and skilled as they handled the cleaver with a precision that was almost artful.

You were never sure how to explain the pull that kept you coming back, your heart a little too quick in your chest every time he glanced up, those dark hazel eyes catching yours with an intensity that almost made your breath hitch.

Perhaps it was the way his silence spoke louder than words, the way he listened without speaking, as if he could hear the questions you didn’t dare ask. Or maybe it was the way his presence lingered, even after you’d left, a shadow that clung to your thoughts like the scent of the butcher shop clung to your clothes.

You came back that Friday afternoon too, the bell above the door chiming softly as you stepped in.

The air was cool and hard, and there was Simon—his name stitched onto the apron that hugged his broad chest. You murmured a soft hi as you neared the counter, your eyes drifting over the display, but you felt his gaze settle on you, intense and unyielding. His eyes were sharp, like the blade he held, cutting through your flesh and bones, leaving you exposed and raw.

“I want to make soup... which cut do you think would cook quickly?” you had asked him once, your voice barely above a whisper, breaking the heavy silence between you, your wide eyes filled with quiet devotion as you waited for his answer.

Simon’s head tilted slightly, those sharp eyes narrowing just a fraction, like he was studying you, as though your question held layers he hadn’t yet peeled back.

His hand moved to the display, selecting a small cut of meat with the same deliberation he used in everything.

“These'll do,” he said, his voice low, a rumble that seemed to fill the quiet space between you.

When he handed you the package, your fingers brushed his, and the warmth of his skin against yours was enough to send a shiver down your spine, despite the cold of the shop.

You took the package, your heart fluttering in a way that had nothing to do with the cold. For a moment, you stood there, unsure of what to say, but then his gaze softened, just slightly, and you felt the tension ease from your shoulders. You smiled, murmuring your thanks, the sound of his voice still echoing in your ears as you left, feeling the weight of his gaze linger on your back long after the door closed behind you.

Weeks had passed since then, and yet, like clockwork, you returned every week. The butcher shop had become more than just a place to buy meat. Visiting him, Simon, was a quiet ritual, one that you couldn’t seem to break. 

You hadn’t known how it started, but after a while, you began bringing him food. At first, it was just a small gesture—a way to thank him for the beautiful cuts he’d handpicked for you, the subtle nods and quiet exchanges that had started to feel more personal than professional. He always seemed reluctant, a slight hesitation in his movements when you handed him a carefully wrapped package of the food you had made. But he accepted it nonetheless, those hard lines in his face softening just a touch when your eyes met his.

As time went on, it became a silent exchange between the two of you. You’d bring him food, and in return, he’d set aside the best cuts for you—the most tender meats, the freshest products, pieces that were meant to be savoured. It felt intimate, in a way that neither of you acknowledged, but both understood.

And with each passing week, the quiet between you grew less suffocating, replaced by something that hummed just beneath the surface of your interactions—an attraction, a connection, but still undefined, still lingering in the unsaid.

Then came that particular afternoon.

You had made cream mushroom soup this time, the rich scent of it filling your small kitchen as you prepared the dish with more care than usual. The holiday season was approaching, and the streets outside had already begun to sparkle with festive lights, the world around you glowing with a soft anticipation. There was something about the air, something about the warmth that wrapped itself around you as you stepped into the shop that made you bold.

He looked up when you walked in, his hazel eyes meeting yours, and for a brief moment, the world outside seemed to fall away, leaving only the two of you standing in the dim light of the shop. 

After exchanging your usual greetings, you handed him the small container of soup, your gloved fingers brushing his for just a second longer than necessary. And then, before you could stop yourself, the words slipped from your lips.

“Are you… visiting anyone during the holidays?” Your voice was soft, almost a whisper, the question hanging in the air between you. “I mean, celebrating with your family or…?” You winced at your own awkwardness, feeling the weight of the silence that followed. But you couldn’t stop now. “If not, I was thinking, maybe… you could join me for dinner this week? At my place.”

For a moment, Simon didn’t speak.

His eyes searched yours, unreadable, his expression as steady as ever, though you thought you caught the faintest flicker of surprise in those hazel depths. The rain outside tapped softly against the windows, filling the quiet space with its gentle rhythm, and you could feel your heart pounding in your chest, waiting for his answer.

He exhaled slowly, his gaze still fixed on you, and then, to your surprise, he nodded. Just a small tilt of his head, but enough to send warmth flooding through you, enough to light something in your chest that you hadn’t expected to feel.

“Okay,” he said, his voice low, a quiet promise whispered between raindrops.

You smiled, feeling lighter than you had in weeks, the weight of your nerves lifting as you took your package from the counter.

The cold winter air wrapped around you as you stepped out into the street, but it felt different now—like a secret you were carrying with you, a warmth that Simon had unknowingly placed in your hands.

[todayontumblr]

Wednesday April 19.

today, nearly 2,000 years ago, someone in pompeii baked bread.

Ahh, picture it. The time, around 2,000 years ago—the place, Pompeii. Simpler, happier times in some ways; and for the ruthless power games, insatiable sexual appetites, wild ambition, and creative genius, less so in others. However, following yesterday's foray into pastries, and all things fluffy, warm, and flakey, it dawned on us that this day around 2,000 years ago a happy chappy somewhere in the city's magnificent walls got to work and made some bread. CIL vol. IV 8972: XIII K. Maias panem feci—which translates as: On April 19th I made bread. And we love that for you, even millennia later! So, one day after our sweet celebration, it's time to pay homage to pastries' savory counterparts by marking April 19 with #bread. And a happy 2,000th anniversary to whichever miscellaneous Pompeian who decided not simply to make bread, but to mark the occasion with graffiti. But how do we know this? Well, it is thanks to the enquiring minds as evident in this post from @todayiwrotenothing, and indeed this commemoration on Reddit. Every day is a school day over here on The Internet.

Today it comes in countless forms, shapes, and sizes: wholewheat, rye, sourdough, multigrain bread, baguette, ciabatta, pumpernickel, soda, focaccia, cornbread, bagel, flatbread, naan, brioche, challah, and, last but by no means least, the ever-trusty white bread. As you will shortly see in the following string of bready content, this is simple yet limitless food: it can be braided, made by illustrated cats, or indeed constructed in the shape of the dashboard's beloved, hapless vessel, the good ship Ever Given.

So here's to you, as-yet-unnamed Pompeian who not only makes the bread, but brags about it too. We think you would have enjoyed this one-day tribute to your escapades here with #bread. We shall submit a formal application to rename it Tumbread, in your honor. But that's still not all: rumor has it there is sister graffiti that reads "Olivia condita XVII Kalendas Novembres"—so come back on November 16th for preserved olives.