#yes there is cardamom

[detectivekirby]

Sanji's Penne Gorgonzola and "Exploding" Apples. I'm ready to sail!

[dying-suffering-french-stalkers]

i imagine spice (dune) as tasting not just like cinnamon but like the heavy blend of spices in pepparkakor

[blood-orange-juice]

Trying to remember which Indian restaurant in the city is the good one. I got it right once and then forgot to write the name down, haven't been able to find it since.

(we have five but only one resembles actual Indian food)

If they bothered to have parathas in the menu it's probably that one, right?

Upd: Nah, missed again. These are the saddest, most pathetic parathas I've seen in my life.

[hopetorun]

much like as an adult i was made responsible for my own bedtime without being prepared for that responsibility, i am also responsible for not spoiling my own dinner and i am not prepared for that responsibility either

[cipher-dorito]

hellyeaa

[normal-with-adhd-is-a-joke]

one thing about me is that I will fall for those "cat picks" etsy gimmicks every time. I will trust any cat with my life.

[aayakashii]

Jin leans forward, towering over you, with a cigarette hanging from his lips, the nicotine smoke immediately suffocating you, along with the scent of cardamom and vanilla of his perfume.

He glares at you, tongue pushing the cigarette from one corner of his mouth to the other.

"New perfume." He says, through gritted teeth.

It takes a few seconds for you to realize he was talking about you.

"Oh. Yes. It's plum, I think. It was a gift." You answer, evading his gaze. You miss the way his eyes twitch, and the way his eyebrows furrow deeper.

"Who the fuck is gifting perfumes to you?" He mutters, looking thoroughly offended.

"It's... it was just a GA student who gave it to me on my birthday." You tell him, raising your eyebrows in exasperation. To be fair, Jin was always perceptive when it came to you. His reaction is most definitely not surprising.

"How bold of them to give gifts to my partner." He grunts, hooking his fingers through your belt loops and pulling you closer. His arms immediately move to grip you firmly by your waist.

You smile and roll your eyes.

"You don't have to worry, Jin. I'm all yours." You place your hand on his cheek, rubbing circles on his skin as he leans onto your touch.

"Damn right, you are." He murmurs, placing a quick kiss on your palm and letting you go. He turns on his heel to walk towards his room. "And throw that away immediately. I'll give you a perfume that'll fit you even better." He adds, glaring at you over his shoulder.

You sigh, nodding, already pitying the full bottle you'd probably end up passing on to someone else. Jin's jealousy was a beast you had long given up on deafeating.

[mariacallous]

As a kid in Hebrew School, I learned that my classmates would have apples and honey and round challah at Rosh Hashanah to bring in the New Year, and that was pretty much it when it came to food traditions. But at home, it was a different story. 

As an Iranian Jew, Rosh Hashanah was an elaborate affair. We’d gather the extended family together for the first two nights of the holiday, the first at my parents’ house, the second at my aunt’s. Dining tables, coffee tables, and folding tables would be lined up to make one long dinner table, covered with tablecloths to accommodate a good 20 or so family members. The table would be spread with platter after platter: mountains of saffron-laced basmati rice, crispy tahdig, and flavorful stews — maybe a deep green stew of celery and lots of herbs, or a tomato-based eggplant stew, tangy with unripe grapes.

But before dinner, we’d (mostly) pause the loud chatter — a lively mix of Persian and English — for a full Sephardic Rosh Hashanah seder. Yes, there were apples and honey. But we’d also have dates, beets, pomegranate seeds, slow-cooked black-eyed peas and beef tongue, Persian leeks, and fried zucchini, each with a symbolic meaning and a blessing for the coming year. 

This date upside-down cake takes the dates from my family’s Rosh Hashanah seder and pairs them with the two fragrant ingredients found in so many Persian sweets: cardamom and rosewater. The cake’s batter uses buttermilk for a bit of tang and goes easy on the sugar to provide some balance for the topping: a super sweet combination of velvety dates in a rich butter caramel. It’s a moist and aromatic dessert that pairs perfectly with a glass of amber-colored Persian tea.

[zorrasucia]

13. Hot Cocoa + Baking

from @carmenberzattosgf list

Reader x Carmy Berzatto (The Bear FX)

Rating: Mature (2.3k)

Tags: Chocolat (2000) AU, Friends to Rivals to Lovers, Food, Curvy Reader, Fluff, Sexual Tension, Smut, Dry Humping, Dirty Talk, Both Carmy and Reader have a bit of a praise kink

Maybe it was corny and provincial, but you always welcomed your neighbors with a batch of cookies. It was good for business most of the time too - the insurance people next door bought pastries every other day for their breakfast after you gifted them some for their opening.

So, there you were, close to the counter of the new specialty chocolaterie, box of cookies in hand, captivated by the smell of chocolate... There was so much more though: caramel, vanilla, almonds, coffee, cardamom, berries, and was that pepper...?

"Welcome to The Bear, what can I do for you?" a tall man greeted you.

"Oh, hi!" you smiled politely. "I'm from the bakery down the street. Wanted to say hello and give you a little welcome present."

You handed him the box, delicate calligraphy marking the name of your shop.

The man beamed. "That's so sweet! Pun not intended," he chuckled to himself. "Now we definitely have to give you something on the house!"

You looked at his name tag. "Richie, that's not necessary at all..."

"Nonsense. Plus, you get to see the magic happen. Cousin!" he bellowed to the back, where you assumed the kitchen was.

"Magic?" you frowned.

A blond guy with blue eyes emerged from the door and gave you a polite nod.

"What is it?" he asked Richie, he seemed irritated.

"Cookies from our neighbor, cuz," Richie offered him the open box, he was already biting into his second one. "Say thanks and do your mind-reader thing."

"It's not... Never mind," he mumbled in exasperation, rolling his eyes. "Carmy Berzatto," he said and offered you his hand to shake. "Thank you for the cookies."

"You're welcome," you smiled at the sight of him eating with gusto.

"Is that piloncillo sugar?" he asked after a moment of savoring.

"Yes!" you beamed.

"Tremendous," he said earnestly, wiping his hands on a dish towel. He walked closer to the counter and stared at you, intensely, for half a minute. "Mocha frappe, double espresso shot, whipped cream and chocolate shavings on top. That's your favorite."

You stared right back, mouth agape. That was your comfort drink, no matter the weather. How did he know?

"Do we still have the nice Mexican coffee? She'll appreciate it," he asked Richie.

"Yeah, third shelf. Neat trick, huh?" Richie grinned, enjoying the shocked look on your face as Carmy went to the back.

"How does he-?"

"Fucked if I know," he shrugged. "He says it's a family thing. He never misses."

"Did he guess your favorite too?" you asked, fascinated.

"Yeah," he chuckled. "It's hot cocoa with marshmallows. He says I have the palate of a six year old but if it ain't broke..."

While Carmy prepared your drink, you looked around the shop. There were beautiful confections with crazy flavors, covered in gold leaf, almost too beautiful to eat. But there were also dollops of milk chocolate with puffed rice, humble looking and ready for a kid to devour. Truly something for everyone.

When he handed you your coffee you asked: "What's your favorite?"

Carmy gave you a tense smile. "Hope you like it. Pleasure to meet you," he said and left.

"He says it's a secret," Richie handed you a napkin, then he added in a whisper: "I don't think he has one. He doesn't enjoy things that way."

"What way?"

"Uh, the normal way, I guess," Richie shrugged. "He barely eats the things he makes. Lives like a monk. It feels like he has to make chocolate 24/7 or some family curse is going to get him. Dunno if I'm making sense."

"Kind of," you said.

You took a sip of your drink and knew you were fucked forever. No chain coffeehouse would be able to compete with this.

~

It had been a couple of months since The Bear opened. They had a few loyal customers plus whatever weirdos wanted to see if Carmy was as spot on with his predictions as online reviews said he was - he never missed.

You had become friendly with the staff and had developed a routine of sorts with Carmy.

It probably wasn't healthy but you saw him as a mystery to solve. You didn't know about chocolate, not the way he did, but you knew baking, you understood how comfort and love could be encapsulated in a dessert. So you tried to find his favorite, the thing that would make his heart sing like he could do to you and every other person that walked into his chocolaterie. If nothing else, you got constructive criticism from a kindred spirit on a weekly basis.

Could use less cinnamon. 

Maybe with brown sugar instead? 

Oh, that's good. 

What about blackberry jam? 

Delicious... but not my favorite.

"Anyone told you you're a buzzkill?" you said with a dejected sigh.

"Many people. Often," he replied dryly.

"Richie doesn't count."

"Point still stands," he said, wiping crumbs from the flaky pastry you had brought. "People think I'm supposed to be having fun in there for the chocolate to be good when it's probably the opposite."

"It doesn't have to be like that, Carm," you said, exasperated. "You don't have to be fucking miserable for this to work."

He took a deep breath. You had never spelled it out so clearly and it clearly struck a nerve.

"I appreciate you," he said. "I do. But I'm fucked up. And you can't fix me with pies and cakes and-" he looked at the ceiling. "You're an incredible pastry chef. And you're so fucking nice but, uh, I think we should stop this."

"This?"

"You coming here and asking for feedback on your already perfect baked goods. I don't know what you're expecting from me but you look at me with those Bambi eyes and I always disappoint you," he ran a hand through his hair. "It fucks me up."

"Right." You picked up your stuff as quickly as you could, feeling heartbroken and humiliated. You knew you probably came off as needy but you hadn't realized just how much. You felt tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. "Sorry to bother you. Won't happen again."

And you left.

~

Weeks passed, weeks that you devoted to yourself, to feeling better, dressing pretty, baking delicious treats for happy customers, standing in front of the mirror to say nice things about your curvy body.

You had tried and failed to make Carmy see how much better his life could be if he let himself enjoy things, actually savor his chocolate instead of finding four things that were wrong with it upon his first bite. Only now you realized how similar you two were, both wanting to fix things that were probably best left alone. Carmy wasn't a recipe you could perfect and he wasn't your anything really to worry about.

It wasn't lost on you, the metaphor for everything you had been doing - his lithe body and your slightly overweight one, and how much you wanted his toned biceps on either side of your head as he panted above you, letting himself lose control for once. As you indulged in these fantasies, your fingers deep inside your pussy, you wondered whether he ever desired stuff that way. You pictured him, eyes rolled back in bliss, while he held you, and you came with a cry.

~

You were closing up for the night, cold wind ruffling your hair and your skirt.

"Hey."

You turned to see Carmy, blue apron underneath his wool coat.

"Hey," you said curtly, avoiding his glance.

"I, uh, I've been wanting to talk to you..." he said.

"Okay? Can you make it quick? I have to get up at four in the morning," the prickly part of you woke up at the sight of him.

"Listen, you don't need to do it if you don't want to but-" he handed you a paper bag with The Bear's logo on it. "I was wondering if you could make pain au chocolat with this?"

You received the bag cautiously. "How many?"

"I only need two," he mumbled and you scoffed. He knew - he fucking knew how hard it was to make the dough and that you couldn't just make two. "You can keep the rest of the chocolate," he offered.

"I'm still gonna charge you full price," you warned him.

"Of course."

You eyed him suspiciously, his bright eyes and open hands, his overall apologetic manner...

"Fine. I'll come by tomorrow after I close."

~

Maybe it was pride but you didn't try the pain au chocolat with Carmy's chocolate. Not one bite out of the entire batch you had baked. It would, of course, be excellent and you didn't want to give him that satisfaction.

"Here you go," you handed him the box, all pretty with a ribbon and a blank card ready to be gifted.

"Thank you," he gave you a shy smile. "Wanna sit down? I'll make you hot chocolate."

His shop was empty - only half the lights were on, and the sign at the door read 'Closed'.

"Come on," he insisted, his blue eyes pleading and you sighed in defeat, sitting by the counter next to him.

He served two cups of hot chocolate and plated the pastries, one for you and one for him.

"What are you-?" you started.

"When we first met, you asked me about my favorite," he explained. "Then you started bringing cookies and pie and muffins and it was so nice. I'm not used to nice things. And you were getting close. So I pushed you away and I Iashed out. I was an asshole."

"Yes, you were," you took a sip of your chocolate. He would be so much easier to hate if the things he made weren't so tasty.

"I'm not asking to go back to the way things were if you don't want that. I just hated how things ended," he nudged the plate towards you. "This is my favorite."

The pastry you had baked with the chocolate he had made.

"You haven't even tried it," you challenged him.

He took a bite and chewed slowly, savoring, a moan stuck in the back of his throat. You squeezed your thighs at the low, delicious sound.

"Fuck. That's perfect," he declared. Your heart beat faster. "Try it."

You took a bite. It was cozy and delicate, the rich chocolate caressing your tongue.

You nodded. "What a way to put my chocolate supplier to shame."

Carmy smiled, taking another big bite. "I'll give it to you for free if you keep making these."

You blushed at the double meaning and turned away.

"Fuck, that sounded awful. Sorry," Carmy said after a beat.

"It's okay," you laughed. You turned to face him, he had a giddy smile on his face that made him look younger and prettier.

"You have a-" he pointed at your lip but then he reached over and rubbed at your lower lip, wiping some leftover chocolate. He brought that same finger up to his mouth and sucked it clean. Your stomach dropped and you could feel yourself getting wet.

Carmy stood up, you could see his pupils dilate the closer he got, see his eyes linger on the low cut of your shirt.

"I thought that if I stopped seeing you, I would be able to focus," he whispered, his breath tickling your face. "I have never been so fucking distracted. Just thinking..." he kissed the side of your face, open mouthed and hungry. "Kept thinking of things I'd say to you, recipes I could share and shit like that," he mumbled, his hands ghosting over your thighs, playing with the hem of your skirt. "Thinking about your hands, kneading, working, and how they'd feel," following his lead you placed your hands over his chest, caressing his sides. He groaned. "Thinking about your body. Every part of it..."

"Touch me," you practically begged, moaning in satisfaction when he squeezed your breasts over your clothes.

"Imagining how sweet you'd taste," he panted against your lips, letting you close the small distance left, tasting his own chocolate in your mouth as he devoured you. You pulled on his hair, desperate to return every bit of passion he was giving you.

"Carmy," you gasped and brought him closer, opening your legs and scooting to the edge of your seat. His hard cock rubbed against your center, his hands were everywhere.

"So soft," he said, kissing down your neck to your chest. He palmed your breast with one hand and squeezed your hip with the other, guiding you to grind against his erection.

"Fuck," you cursed. "Like that."

You tugged on his hair, getting a low groan in response. You took the opportunity to shove your tongue inside his mouth and kiss him with all the hunger you had for him. He bit your lower lip and you moaned.

"You even sound sweet," he said absently, a desperate rhythm building between you.

"I thought of you too," you said, looking into his blue eyes, squeezing his ass to bring him closer. "Thought how'd beautiful you'd look when you came - all sweaty, your eyes on me."

"Fuck," he growled, his thrusts becoming frantic. "Can't wait to take you home. Fuck you properly. Fucking taste you..."

You could feel fireworks inside you, your pussy clenching around nothing, grinding desperately against Carmy, biting on his bicep to muffle a cry of ecstasy.

"Oh, my God," you gasped for breath as he chased his release, you grew pliant in his embrace, carding your fingers through his hair, legs shaking around his waist, your underwear soaked.

"Fuck," he froze and exhaled hard, his nose tickling your neck. "If you feel this good with your clothes on..."

You giggled. "Come on," you kissed his temple. "Let's close up shop."

[kirain]

Emmrich helping Rook put her makeup on?

I actually received two requests for this! 😅 I had to do a bit of research, since I don't wear makeup. It was fun!

The morning didn't arrive easily, but it did arrive far too soon. Vae stirred, her breath hitching as a sharp pain radiated up her dominant arm. She blinked slowly, taking in her surroundings—an elegant room, blessed with the scent of lavender and cardamom. Emmrich's room. The events of the previous day flashed in her mind: the clash of steel, the chaos of magic, the repercussions of a battle barely won.

Pushing herself up on her good arm, she swung her legs over the edge of the bed. The movement sent a flare of pain through her injuries, and she winced, biting her lip to stifle a groan.

"Vae," a familiar voice whispered.

She lifted her head to see Emmrich, already dressed and seated in a chair by the window, a small book in his hands. He always woke before her, but that morning his silver hair was slightly disheveled, and the faint shadows beneath his eyes hinted at a sleepless night.

"Emmrich..." Vae rasped, still finding her bearings. "I must've kept you up all night. I'm so sorry."

"You didn't, my dear."

A lie so sweet she almost let it go.

"Then you kept yourself up fretting over me. In either case, I'm sorry."

Emmrich chuckled, ready to deny it, though he shot up when she tried to stand, her shoulders tensing. With a nearly imperceptible gasp, he hurried to her side and placed a protective hand on her back.

"What are you doing?" he cried, his tone firm but anxious. "You shouldn't be up. You need rest."

"I can't afford to stay in bed," Vae said, her voice steady despite the ache that tugged at her words. "The Inquisitor's expecting me in Dock Town this afternoon. I can't just reschedule, Emmrich. It's too important."

The older man sighed, his gaze falling to her arm. Wrapped tightly in bandages, it was swollen, the skin underneath bruised and tender. He didn't need to ask to know it was hurting her—he could see it in the way she cradled it, in the beads of sweat clinging to her forehead. But he also knew she was stubborn, impossible to convince.

"Wait here," he said, his voice eager as he turned and headed for the bathroom.

"Emmrich, I'll be fine. I only need—"

"Just wait," he implored, disappearing through the door before she could protest further.

Vae groaned, rubbing her hand across her face. Except for the distant sounds of the Fade humming outside, the room was quiet. Peaceful. She closed her eyes, letting herself breathe. The pain wasn't unbearable—she'd suffered worse—but it was the weariness, the constant weight of responsibility, that lingered more than anything else. In truth, the thought of staying in bed, spending the day alone with the man she loved, was more enticing than she could admit aloud.

"Found it." Emmrich returned, though he wasn't carrying bandages or a salve as she'd expected, but her makeup kit.

"What are you doing?" she asked, raising an eyebrow as he pulled up a chair and sat in front of her.

"You can't meet the Inquisitor looking like you just rolled out of bed," he teased. "So, let's get to work."

"You want to do my makeup?" she squeaked, a tinge of amusement in her tone. "That's really not necessary, Emmrich. I can do it myself."

"With one arm? I think not." He unsnapped the case and began rummaging through it. "Let me help."

Vae opened her mouth to argue but stopped. Something in his expression—equal parts determination and care—softened her. She shimmied closer, her lips curving into a heartfelt smile.

"All right," she relented. "But don't mess it up. This isn't the same as gussying up a corpse for a funeral."

"Yes, it is."

"How dare you!" she giggled, playfully kicking his leg.

Emmrich laughed, but quickly composed himself. "I'll make sure you look ravishing, my darling. It would be impossible not to, anyhow."

He worked with surprising ease, his touch light as he applied a base layer to her skin—eyeliner first, then eyeshadow. Vae could feel the gentle brushstrokes as he added the perfect amount of purple and black to highlight the sharpness of her eyes.

"Do you even know what you're doing?"

"Not really," he tittered, "but I've watched you enough times to have an idea."

"You've watched me put my makeup on?"

"Of course. It's mesmerising." Vae felt her cheeks flush as Emmrich tilted her head, his fingers cupping her chin. "You don't need it, yet you take the time to don it every morning. It shows discipline, patience, dexterity. Makeup is a woman's warpaint."

Vae's blush deepened, causing Emmrich's lips to quirk into a smile. He loved knowing that only he could fluster her in such a way, and that she let him do so. She was a force to be reckoned with; indomitable, assertive, but to him she was all that and more. She shared all of herself with him, as he did with her—a gift he had given up hope of receiving ages ago.

"Maker, you're so beautiful," he purred.

"What?" Vae smirked. "You haven't even finished my makeup yet."

"I know."

Once he finished with the mascara, meticulously running the bristles through her lashes, he leaned back to inspect his work.

"Done," he said, setting the kit aside.

Vae opened her eyes, catching her reflection in the mirror on the vanity. Her face was poised, her eyes fierce, the hint of colour accentuating her natural beauty.

"Not bad," she quipped, barely hiding her praise.

"You were an excellent canvas."

Vae laughed, shaking her head. "You're insufferable."

"Perhaps," he grinned, "but you're smiling. That's what matters."

For a moment, the pain in her arm seemed to vanish, soothed by his amorous charm. Then, with a deep breath, she stood.

"Easy, darling. Not too fast," he stammered, taking her uninjured hand in his. "Here, lean on me. I've got you."

As Vae looked up, her heart sank. Though Emmrich had been flirtatious and bold, she could see the worry brimming in his eyes, his brow creasing as she trembled against him. Just as she suspected, the man was a wreck, and he had been ever since the Venatori mage tore her arm in six places.

"Emmrich," she hummed, calming him with a delicate kiss. "Thank you."

"Always," he promised. "Now, let's get you to Dock Town."

[asunflowerana]

sunday couple — satoru gojo

summary: Satoru does anything for good and cheap food, especially making you his girlfriend.

warnings: satoru is on his early twenties, friends to lovers, lots of banter, gojo smooth like butter. wc: 1400+

a/n: satoru could take me to eat crickets, and I'd still follow this stupid gorgeous man.

The red, and yellow lamps hanging on poles illuminate Shibuya’s central square, crowded with citizens scouring the fair full of assorted supplies. The smell of cardamom powder from a spice stall enters your nostrils, making your nose numb as you try to follow your friend Satoru, the one who left you behind for a taiyaki seller. 

You never thought you’d be traded for a fish cake, but here you are. 

Satoru checks the pockets of his pants in front of him, taking the coins and handing them to the friendly old lady owner of the sweets. She gives him one small cake, and you can almost see him salivating with the piece of sugar in his hands. 

“Your grandma taught you to share, Toru.” You counter with arms crossed, at the same time as he fills his mouth with a good bite of cake, the chocolate ganache sticking out to the sides and smearing his fingers. He breathes in pure relief, and you wonder how hungry he really was since you both went outdoors. 

“It’s too small for two.” He has the courage — stupidity is better — to eat the last piece of the taiyaki in front of you, rubbing his hands together to get rid of the remains of bran and stuffing after that. You could cut his white hair right there. 

“Then buy me another one,Toru! I’m hungry too!" 

”Sweets aren’t good for your teeth, little ______.“ He sends you his special sunny grin, moving his hand to call you closer, his black jacket hanging loose on his shoulders. "C'mon, I’ll find you a diner. My treat.”

His smooth manner almost makes you forget for a moment that he had just refused to share that sweet with you. Not even a little apology, what a goon.

“You better,” Mumbling, you join his pace, walking right beside him as you both stroll through the park.

You were supposed to be at home watching the six-hour marathon of your favorite comedy show, but Satoru showed up at your door in the afternoon, puppy eyes asking you to help him pick out a present for Shoko’s birthday next week, and you couldn’t say no. Not only because you wanted her to have something nice, but because unfortunately, Satoru has a special power over your heart, that makes you want to say yes even if he shows up at 4 AM in the morning for a bike ride through town — which actually happened once, but that’s a story for another time. 

He had this infuriating power since third grade, when both became neighbors and he decided to kick a soccer ball right to your window, giving you quite the fright. You can remember the way you threw the ball on his chest, mad at the crazy boy who didn’t stop laughing and left without a single scratch. 

The crazy boy that owns a part of your heart, a part that you wish could be noticed by him. But Satoru has always been too unpredictable to read, especially when it comes to his emotions. 

A new smell, fried fish and miso soup catch your attention, and a man in his forty approaches you both, coming out of a small but attractive restaurant, izakaya type. He wears casual clothes, portraying a very large smile and belly. 

“Come close young couple, here at Goro’s house you’ll find Shibuya’s best of the best food to fill your hungry tummies, ho ho ho-” You both look at each other with the same frown on your faces. Does this man think you’re in kindergarten? 

Well, Satoru actually has the face, but anyway. 

“...and lucky for you, today is a couple's Sunday!” This caught your attention. 

“What do you mean by "lucky for us”, sir?“ The man’s eyes pop even more open, excited for more clients. 

"Every Sunday couples only pay half for the dinner combo! Here is on our board.” He points at the medium black slate place beside an array of plants at the izakaya’s entrance. 

“COUPLE’S SUNDAY: 50% OFF FOR COUPLES BUYING THE SPECIAL GORO’S FISH COMBO." 

"Wait,” Satoru gulps down, his hands almost trembling from such good news. “So couples really pay half for dinner?” 

He abruptly catches your hand in his, his warmth heating your skin and making your heart flutter in response. “Because we totally are!” He practically shouts that, with a huge grin on face like a kid spotting a candy store. He looks at you, shining marine eyes gazing at yours with excitement. 

“Right, baby?" 

You don’t even know how to react, completely shocked by the nickname that you’ve always daydreamed of him calling you. The way it comes out of his mouth, with his voice, it’s such a precious moment, you can’t believe it’s all for a ridiculous excuse to get a food discount. Before you realize your situation, you’re already seated by a diner table, your friend on the opposite chair in front of you, his goofy smile still on his face as he checks the menu.

His hand remains holding yours on the table, and you can already feel the sweat forming on your palm from the heat and your nerves.

"What… in the world just happened?” You blurt it out, confused as ever.

“Told you I’d buy you dinner, dear  _____. And guess what?” He leans his torso towards you, his chest pressing on the wooden table keeping you both apart. “They have free dorayakis for dessert." 

Rainbows could come out of him by now. 

”But we’re not a couple, you dumb!“ You hiss, leaning just the same as he did, worried that the customers around might notice your facade. 

”I know, we’ll just keep pretending and it’ll all be good.“ Satoru is really good at acting, talking to you like he was babbling sweet praises like those dorky clingy couples. 

He’s such a tease, and he doesn’t even know. Actually, you think he does know it.”Toru, this is not a—" 

A waiter comes to your table, making you both split from your previous position and sit right in your seats. From his trail, he places on the table bowls of udon, plates of unagi, portions of tempura, and green tea. The smell from the steam coming out of the dishes is so amazing, that the only thing your brain processes now is food.

“You were saying?” Satoru playfully questions, thanking the waiter before picking up his chopsticks and digging the thick noodles before him. 

“…..Fine.” You surrender, not really having the strength to refuse this. “But if there’s only one dorayaki later, it’s mine." 

"We can share." 

”But sweets aren’t good for your teeth, little Satoru.“ You mock him right after sucking a noodle into your mouth, the food tasting much better now that you can see his speechless face scrunching up. 

"That’s totally unfair!” He protests, crossing his arms with a pout, a piece of nori on the corner of his mouth. “I’m your boyfriend, you should treat me nice." 

You wish your heart wouldn’t beat so fast. 

But since you’re both pretending, you may as well enjoy it. "First lesson for you: don’t ever let your girlfriend be hungry. Ever." 

"If I give you all of my tempura, will you share the dorayaki?” You hum, pretending to think. “C'mon now, baby! I’m sorry, okay?”

“I’ll think about it.”

In the end, you let him have a good bite of dessert, which is kinda fair since he was the one paying for the whole meal. That dinner really made you heavy, tummy full of food, completely satisfied and pleased. You even wrote down the name of the place, to come back with your friends in another opportunity.

And it seems that your friend also had a similar idea. 

“Are you free next Sunday?” He asks, walking ahead of you, his gaze facing the starry sky as he ponders something alone. 

You know sometimes he likes to venture ahead to ease his mind when there’s something on it, so you don’t mind him going a few feets ahead, knowing he’s still aware of your surroundings even if you’re behind him.

Satoru never failed to protect you. 

“You’re not planning on doing the dating story again, right?” You chuckle, sensing that this will become a Sunday routine for both of you. “They’ll start suspecting if we keep coming every week, you know we’re not really dating.”

“Then let’s date for real.” And again, he turns his wholesome blue gaze towards you, offering another one of the famous, breathtaking Satoru’s grins. But in this case, this one is reserved only for you. 

“How about that?”

© asunflowerana 2024 — all rights reserved.

[hrrtshape]

coriolanus snow in my dr : a case study (???)

౨ৎ  i know coryo now!!!!! not good for everyone else. like, biblically adjacent. i have stared into the abyss of his collarbones and nearly blacked out from sheer spiritual overload during lunch ! i had to physically restrain myself, clawed at my own wrist, bit my tongue, to stop myself from stamping thirteen hickeys across his aristocratic little throat like a feral creature marking its territory when i first him.

he is so real. more than real. beyond suzanne collins' ink, beyond the tragic orchestration of his future atrocities in other...universes. here, in the very exclusive, very avant-garde dimensional hotspot that is my better cr dr, he is not just coriolanus snow....future ceo heir. he is coryo. my coryo!!!!! and sometimes he slouches ⋆

　　　　　　　　　　  ⊹　 ︶︶　 ୨୧　 ︶︶　 ⊹

❛ backstory : his parents are old money, the kind that moves in silence because it has nothing to prove. no desperate new-rich ostentation, just power so entrenched in the social fabric that it seeps into his every gesture, his every breath. his mother, a socialite with a steel-trap memory and a tongue sharper than a guillotine, collects secrets like they’re baccarat crystal. his father...okay. actually. terrifying. the kind of man who bets entire fortunes like they’re poker chips, who calculates risk with a gambler’s intuition and a warlord’s ruthlessness. tigris wasn’t lying when she said his father held hate in his eyes. coryo learned young that money isn’t the prize. it’s the battlefield. also, his grandma’am owns an unfathomably chic flower boutique, the kind of place where orchids cost more than your rent.

　　　unconventional investigative journalism ! . . . ୨୧

◞ signature scent : bdk parfums’ gris charnel, the kind of fragrance that clings to cashmere like a well-kept secret. ink stains on silk shirts, warm cardamom, a whisper of bergamot before it settles into sandalwood and smoked tea. expensive, but not ostentatious. it lingers, it haunts. smells like the kind of man who leaves an open book on the nightstand, spine cracked just so.

◞ phone model (important!!!) : iphone purist, but it’s always the second-to-latest model. not out of financial constraint (please), but because he simply does not care about such pedestrian flexes. midnight black iphone 15, no case, the edges kissed by a few strategic scratches from careless, absentminded tosses onto marble countertops.

◞ handwriting : so precise it could be a forged renaissance manuscript. slanted, deliberate, almost ecclesiastical in its elegance. when rushed, it collapses into a series of esoteric glyphs that only he and his exhausted professors can decipher.

◞ academic (from a person who's definitely not biased) : always at the top, but never in a way that suggests effort. knowledge just seeps into his bones. writes entire essays in his head and transcribes them last minute. annotations in the margins oscillate between philosophical musings and sardonic commentary. highlighters are strictly monochrome, because colour-coding is for the weak.

◞ basketball quirks : moves like he’s solving an equation in real time. effortless shots, a preternatural understanding of angles and velocity. runs a hand through his hair before free throws, because of course he does. plays like it’s not even a game, but an elegant and calculated dismantling of his opponent.

◞ food (yes i stalked him...basically) : not a sugar fiend, but catches himself reaching for dark chocolate when he thinks no one’s watching. black coffee as a baseline, but if you hand him something absurdly sweet, he’ll wrinkle his nose and then consume it with the begrudging efficiency of a man fulfilling a contract. this is known. this is proven.

◞ musical taste : classical, but only the kind that sounds like a man going through it in a candlelit room. bach (the kind with an organ), tchaikovsky (the kind with a death wish). 2000s indie sleaze. interpol, the strokes, arctic monkeys. jazz. hans zimmer when he’s feeling grandiose. kanye, travis scott, 90s rap when he needs to remind himself he is, in fact, a menace.

◞ can solve a rubik’s cube in under two minutes but insists it’s a useless skill.

◞ always has a pen on him. you’ve stolen at least three.

◞ stands at a slight angle when talking, like he’s perpetually calculating the optimal way to exist in space.

◞ (before my shift so this is from a memory i got there) gave me his jacket in an offhanded way, like it was nothing. later, i caught him watching me wear it with something unreadable in his expression.

◞ knows how to play poker, and you will not beat him at it.

◞ never brags, but when he does something impressive, he looks at me like he’s waiting for me to say something. i just raise an eyebrow.

◞ drives a black aston martin vantage (i know this...because he drove me once. one hand on the wheel, the other resting on the gear shift, eyes flicking to the rearview mirror like he’s tracking something unseen. moan.)

◞ taps his pen against his lips when he’s thinking.

◞ looks obscenely good in knitwear. wool coats that make him look like a damn film protagonist.

◞ he doesn’t do hobbies; he does obsessions. he also does chess, poker, fencing. anything that requires strategy and the slow, tantalising art of victory. he's also in model UN. obviously.

◞ wears glasses sometimes. looks as hot as it sounds.

　　　physicality (moan!!!!) . . . ୨୧

◞ 6'3. an affront to reason, a structural hazard, a measurement that demands architectural consideration. the kind of height that turns even the tallest into something delicate by comparison.

◞ athletic, but not in an 'i woke up like this' way. this is intentional. muscle sculpted through discipline, through an almost monastic devotion to control. broad shoulders that make sweaters drape like they were sketched onto him. strong forearms, obviously. his back... indecently, needlessly, artfully carved.

◞ his hands...sigh...perpetually in his pockets, except when he leans in to murmur something just a fraction too close, fully aware of the effect. arms crossed when listening, jaw tightening when irritated (devastatingly attractive, i wanted to immortalise it).

◞ shoe size !!!!! likely 45 (us 12), possibly 46 (us 13). yes, i looked. for science.

◞ rolls up his sleeves with surgical precision, just enough to expose forearms that should require a warning label, yet feigns indifference.

◞ his hands are a problem. strong, elegant, unjust. fingers slightly calloused from basketball, fencing, lifting. YES, I TOOK NOTES.

　　　red flags that i'm way too prepared for . . . ୨୧

◞ pathological overachiever syndrome, but the toxic kind. the “i will seethe in silence if i score a 99 instead of 100” kind. the “i wrote a whole new essay because i found my first one merely excellent instead of transcendent” kind. the “if you beat me at chess i will lose sleep over it for weeks but mask it under a detached smirk” kind.

◞ emotional repression so severe it could be classified as a gothic affliction. you will never know what he’s actually thinking unless you study him like a victorian poet studies phrenology. his version of vulnerability is allowing you to witness a fraction of his turmoil through the clench of his jaw or the way he lingers just a little too long before walking away.

◞ never says “i’m sorry,” just reappears with a grand gesture like he’s starring in a cinematic reconciliation arc. (he is.) will quote poetry or latin at you instead of apologising. will scoff at grand romantic ideals but embodies one against his will.

◞ ego so finely constructed it could be displayed in the louvre. never gaudy, never loud, just a quiet, unshakable belief in his own superiority. not in a way that begs for external validation. no, he already knows. he doesn’t need you to tell him he’s exceptional, but oh, he does like it when you try to prove him wrong.

◞ has a god complex (freak matches freak), but a sexy one. not the loud, abrasive kind. no, his is an old-money god complex, the kind that sits in the corner of a candlelit room, flipping the pages of some antique tome, exuding the silent certainty that the world will always orbit him, whether you realise it or not.

◞ control issues so severe they could be submitted for psychological study. must be the one driving, must be the one deciding, must be the one orchestrating. lets you have your way when it amuses him, but only then. will convince you it was your choice all along.

　　　i , the cold war . . . ୨୧

lily-rose called it first: the cold war. and she was right. me, french-russian (yes, i’ve returned from shifting with improved french!!!) with an arsenal of toothy grins. him, american, arrogance lacquered over his intellect like a second skin. we’re both rich, both brilliant, both locked in a knowing, unbearable awareness of each other. the air crackles.

but it’s not just rivalry. never was. never could be.

when me and coryo stand too close, no one can tell if we’re about to argue or kiss. our verbal sparring sounds suspiciously like flirtation... because it is. because beneath the ego clashes and competitive theatrics, we are, devastatingly, undeniably, more allies than adversaries. we always sit together at lunch, insisting it’s because all our other friends do. but let’s be serious.

before all this, though, we were just kids. 10, maybe 9, maybe 8, whatever. he lived near me. i annoyed him on principle. it was schroeder and lucy, textbook. then i moved to paris. when i came back at 14, things weren’t the same. something brittle in the air. something unsaid.

　　　ii , the dynamic . . . ୨୧

smart vs. smart : we’re both intelligent. that’s a given. but he’s the type of smart that’s ice-cold, precise, a grandmaster orchestrating a hundred simultaneous chess games. and....... my intelligence is chaos and charm, the kind people underestimate right up until i win. he respects it. i weaponise it. it’s mathematics versus poetry. it’s yang and yin. it’s whatever we are, and it works. so well !!!!

arrogance vs. playfulness : he’s arrogance incarnate, but god, he can back it up. me? i’m unserious. i’m babyfaced. i laugh my way through everything, until suddenly i don’t. and then i win. which unravels him. which makes him question the foundations of reality. which is hilarious. (and no, he doesn’t let me win. i think.)

proximity that means too much : we always sit next to each other. always. in every class we share. no one believes it’s incidental. when we argue, it’s close-range, like neither of us is willing to cede even a millimetre of ground.

　　　iii , things that happened during my shift . . . ୨୧

◞ day one, i gave him a nosebleed. a necessary act of narrative tension.

◞ walking to class, his arm slung over my shoulder. unsanctioned contact. if i were a weaker woman, i would have perished on the spot.

◞ watched him play basketball. died immediately.

◞ accidental hand touch. suffered cardiac arrest.

◞ someone told us to get a room. we ignored it. violently.

　　　iv , what everyone sees vs. what's actually happening . . . ୨୧

what they see : two rivals, locked in constant combat, neither willing to surrender, neither willing to blink.

what’s actually happening : two idiots thinking about each other too much. best friends pretending not to be. two inevitable something-or-others, blind to the fact that they are careening towards each other like a greek tragedy.

ok goodbye i'm going back to my better cr now or else i'll die

[digitalfishwish]

Kit's Traybake Pancakes (cinnamon apple var.) - Updated!

Love eating pancakes but hate making them? This traybake pancake recipe may be for you! Making these gives me enough pancake squares for 6 days (5 if you eat two on the day you make them). They’re fluffy, reheat well, can either be eaten with or without maple syrup, and are very customizable! I recommend adding fruit and protein powder like I do in this recipe, making it a (slightly) healthier breakfast than just pure carbs.

(Updated) instructions under the cut!

Full disclosure, the base for this recipe was the mug pancake recipe from Emma’s Goodies, which you can watch here!

I made this mug pancake for years (except with tripled portions because I was using a very big mug) and it was super delicious! However, for just one mug pancake, it was a bit of a production and didn’t feel super worth it. Thusly, I have adapted the recipe to be made in a 13”x9” baking tray, which makes a whole lot of breakfast.

Recipe (serving size: 2 squares):

Base Ingredients:

12 tbsp. butter (I use salted, if you don’t have salted butter, add a small amount of kosher salt to your recipe)

9 tbsp. (1/2 cup+ 1 tbsp) granulated sugar

12 fl.oz. milk (I use skim, use whatever kind you like)

3 cups all-purpose flour

3 tsp. baking powder

Customizable Ingredients:

1 scoop protein powder (I use vanilla flavored whey)

1/4 cup of maple syrup (ideally not pancake syrup, they’re different)

1 apple (I use McIntosh or Honeycrisp)

A piping hot cup of apple tea with a heaping tablespoon of honey

Nutmeg, cinnamon, cardamom to taste, for sprinkling on top

Base Instructions:

Heat oven to 375°F, take out a 13”x9” nonstick baking pan and spray bottom and sides with cooking spray (yes theoretically I know you don’t need to spray a nonstick pan but better safe than sorry).

If you choose to put apple chunks in, I recommend doing this step first. I personally like to let the chunks soak in my favorite loose leaf apple tea (non-sponsored plug)! Boil a cup of water and fill the tea infuser with tea. Add a heaping tablespoon of honey to the cup and stir until it dissolves. Then put them infuser in and steep the tea for three minutes, after which you should give the mug a final stir and pour it into a bowl. See “customizable instructions, steps 2-4” for how I recommend cutting the apple. After that, put the peeled apple chunks into the bowl of delicious tea and let them soak until it’s time to add them later on!

If you’re not putting apple in, do this step first. Put butter in a bowl and melt it in the microwave. I recommend microwaving for 1m20s.

Put butter in a stand mixer, preferably with the paddle attachment. While you heat the milk in the microwave* (40 seconds, I use a glass liquid measuring cup), add the granulated sugar to the mixer. Once the milk is heated, give it a real quick stir, and then add it and use one of the lower settings on your mixer.

(If you have customizable wet ingredients, add them now!)

Add the flour and baking powder, mix again on low setting until it forms a batter (a small amount of lumps is okay from what I’ve heard, you don’t want to overmix).

*You can’t put cold milk into hot butter, it will form little clumps and be gross

Customizable Instructions:

Add a 1/4 cup of maple syrup (as above, preferably before the flour, with the other wet ingredients), and also one scoop of your preferred protein powder. Mix on low setting until it’s incorporated.

Peel the apple wedges with a peeler (don't use the skin, you'll thank me later). If you have an apple cutter (the thing that looks like a wheel with handles), use that. If you don’t:

Take your apple and a large, sharp knife (be careful) and cut the apple in half vertically. Then place it down with the core side up, and cut each apple half like so: cut off the left side, avoiding the core, followed by the right. Then turn what’s left of the half apple on its side, and cut off the last piece at the back. Do the same for the other apple half, then chop the segments into whatever sized chunks you want.

Use as much of it as you want, but I myself use the whole apple. (If you don’t, eat whatever segments you don’t intend to use for a lil snack.) Then put apple chunks into mixer, and half the tea if you made it, and mix until incorporated. (Drink what tea remains, it’s even more delicious now that the fresh apple’s been in it!)

Baking Instructions:

Pour batter into greased baking tray, shake the pan until the batter is flattened and reaches all the corners (or use a spatula and spread it evenly by hand). Optional: Sprinkle the top with cinnamon, nutmeg, and cardamom according to your tastes. I tend to have a heavy hand even if I don’t mean to, but it still comes out very tasty! (and smells great while baking!)

When the oven reaches temperature (if you preheated it at the beginning, it may have already been at temperature for a while) put the pan in and cook for 35 mins. Know your oven and if it tends to be hotter or colder*, adjust cook time as necessary.

When the timer goes off, test the center in several places with a toothpick. As long as it doesn’t come out goopy, you’re good! (crumbs on the toothpick is fine) I say test in several places because if you accidentally go through a piece of apple, your toothpick may come out slightly wet, but that doesn’t mean the pancakes aren’t done. If it's not done, cook in intervals of 5 minutes, testing each time the timer goes off.

Take pan out and use a butter knife or a pie serving spatula and poke around the edges of the pan to free the pancake traybake from the edges. Let cool for 10 minutes.

Cut into squares. I tend to cut 12 pieces, but you could go smaller or larger depending on how much you intend to eat at once.

*How do I know if my oven runs hot or cold, you may ask? If any recipe you make comes out raw and/or takes longer to cook than the instructions say, your oven is colder! If your food ends up burnt and/or takes less time to cook than the recipe instructions say, your oven is hotter!

Enjoy! I eat two squares at a time and it makes a good breakfast! For storing, put however much of it you can eat in 2-3 days in the fridge. Store the rest in the freezer.

For any customizing other than what I did, use whatever fruit, spices, syrups, and/or protein powders you want! Just be aware that more fruit in the batter means it may take longer to cook!

If you make them, either the same way I did here or differently, let me know how they came out!

OLD EDIT: After some experimentation, it seems like the pancakes come out more moist if baked for 35 minutes at 375°F! I also soak the apple pieces in a cup of “Apple Blood Tea” (find it on adagio teas, it’s super delish!) with honey at the beginning of the process, then add the ‘marinated’ apples and half a cup of the tea into the batter.

NEW EDIT 09/2024: I just changed the recipe whether it needed changing, since I realized that changing stuff behind the readmore didn’t transfer to previously reblogged posts 😫 I also added image descriptions.

[suzukiblu]

Thank-you sentences for tabetharasa; "alpha Jazz, a dark alley, and a very pretty omega". (( chrono || non-chrono ))

“Feels sho good, why’sit feel sho good?” he slurs thickly, his head lolling to one side, and Jazz nuzzles his scent gland and licks his scent gland and he whimpers and whimpers and keens about it. 

“Good omega, good, good,” she rumbles roughly, thrusting in hard, and Red Hood keens even louder. “Yes, yeah, just like that, omega, ah, ah, you’re so tight, you take it so good, you’re so pretty, you smell perfect–” 

“FUCK!” Red Hood howls, slamming his head back harder against the wall. His hole tightens up hard enough that he’d be locking her knot if it was in him, and she can see the glow of his eyes reflecting from under the cracked face of his helmet, all unceasingly bright luminous green, and the inside of his mouth looks like it’s glowing a little too. 

That’s new, some distant part of her notes, but the rest of her is much, much more concerned with fucking him blind. 

“Alpha,” he begs like it’s been punched out of him, his hands fisted in the back of her torn shirt, and she drags her tongue across his scent gland again, hard and heavy, and tastes nothing but lilac there. 

But she can still smell cedar and cardamom and old, long-loved books. 

And she can smell his slick, too. 

“Alpha, alpha, alphaaaaa–” he keeps begging as he kicks his booted heel into the small of her back again, and the impact is actually an impact. She takes it as an instruction and buries her clit completely inside him, and he comes just like that and somehow gets even tighter, and also–“More more MORE!”

And also he’s a little bit insatiable, maybe, and Jazz’s teeth itch in her mouth. 

“More,” she agrees breathlessly, and leans all her weight into him as she thrusts. Red Hood might not be done coming, maybe, or maybe he’s just coming again. 

Doesn’t matter. She’ll make sure he comes a lot more times than that before they’re done.

[feyburner]

hiii, do you have any good fall recipe recs? sweet or savoury I don’t mind I just regard you as a cooking god and am looking for inspiration

Yes! Here is my current To Make list.

Many I’ve made before and some are recipes I want to try.

I’m linking specific recipes just bc I’m copy pasting from my own list. Sorry for all the instagram reels, you can just google the name of the thing and find it.

I’m going apple picking with my friends sometime in early October so I’m already planning all the apple things I want to make 🤤🍎

And Friendsgiving… so many pies…

SWEET

- French Apple Cake/German Apple Cake

- Apple Tarte Tatin

- Apple Crunch Tart/“The Best Apple Tart in Paris”

- My auntie’s date pecan bread, one of my favorite quickbreads of all time. Yes you are reading that ingredient list correctly. This is for real fruit & nut enjoyers only. If you can’t play with the big boys go home.

- Pumpkin Bread

- Pumpkin Pie (I use the Libby’s recipe but double the cinnamon & ginger, brown sugar instead of white, 1 extra egg, and add 1 tsp vanilla, 1/2 tsp cardamom, 1/4 tsp nutmeg, a few cracks of black pepper, and lemon or orange zest. AND let the filling chill in the fridge overnight!!)

- Sweet Potato Pie (my own recipe, I’ll put under the cut)

- Pecan Pie (same)

- Cinnamon Roll Focaccia/Pumpkin Cinnamon Swirl Sourdough

- Orange Cardamom Olive Oil Cake

- Pear Almond Tart (Tarte Bourdaloue)

SAVORY

- Arayes (made already, so good)

- Crispy Pork Scallion Buns

- Coconut Curry Butternut Squash Sheet Pan Soup (+ Any Vegetable Sheet Pan Soup)

- Veggie Filo Crinkle Cake

- Peanut Noodle Soup

- Fall Squash Galette/Butternut Squash & Caramelized Onion Galette

- Crispy Parmesan Carrots

- Garam Masala Roasted Carrots

- Zucchini Cornbread

- Homemade (sourdough?) pizza with roasted butternut or kabocha squash, goat cheese, figs, caramelized onions

- My dad’s red beans and rice :)

- Spicy Korean Fried Chicken

- Potato Tart with Zucchini & Feta

- Thai Red Curry Dumpling Soup

- Channa Masala

MY RECIPES:

SWEET POTATO PIE

MAKES: 1 x 8-9” pie

INGREDIENTS

1 ½ lbs sweet potatoes (2-3 potatoes) (3 cups flesh), whole, to be roasted

1 x 12 oz can evaporated milk

1 cup (200g) dark brown sugar

2 eggs

5 Tbsp (70g) butter, melted

1 Tbsp lemon zest (zest of 1 lemon)

1 tsp lemon juice

1 Tbsp cinnamon

½ tsp kosher salt

½ tsp ginger

¼ tsp nutmeg

a few cracks (⅛ tsp) freshly ground black pepper

+

1 disc (½ recipe) All-Butter Pie Crust*

*I’ve posted my pie crust recipe on tumblr before tagged “recipes”

DIRECTIONS

1. Roast sweet potatoes: Preheat oven to 400°. Line a baking sheet with foil. Wash and scrub whole sweet potatoes. Pierce potatoes all over 3-5x with paring knife. Roast 45 minutes until fork tender. Let cool, then collect 3 cups flesh.

2. Prepare crust: Roll out pie dough (12-14” diameter circle, ¼” thick). Press into tin and crimp edges. Chill shaped shell in fridge or freezer until ready to use.

3. Preheat oven to 350°.

4. Make filling: Put all ingredients in food processor. Pulse 3-4x until smooth. (You can also use a blender, or simply beat ingredients until fully combined.)

5. Pour filling into pie shell.

6. Bake 45-60 minutes until puffed and firmly set (toothpick clean) everywhere except the very center, which should retain a very slight jiggle (but not look liquid). The center will set as it cools. Start checking at 45 minutes and continue baking at 5 minute intervals until set. (If crust gets too brown, shield edges with foil.)

7. Let cool completely before serving, at least 1 hour.

NOTES

Roast the potatoes whole, in the skins, so the sugars & starches properly caramelize. Do not steam or boil potatoes, even whole. They will take on water and make the filling soggy.

You can roast the potatoes up to 1 week in advance. Collect flesh day of.

PECAN PIE

MAKES: 1 x 8-9” pie

INGREDIENTS

2 cups (250g) chopped pecans

1 cup (200g) dark brown sugar

1 cup light or dark corn syrup

¼ cup (56g) butter

4 eggs

1 Tbsp vanilla

1 tsp kosher salt

1 tsp cinnamon

+

1 disc (½ recipe) All-Butter Pie Crust

DIRECTIONS

1. Prepare shell: Roll out pie dough (12-14” diameter circle, ¼” thick), press into tin, crimp edges. Chill shaped shell in fridge or freezer until ready to use.

2. Preheat oven to 350°.

3. Cook sugar syrup: In a saucepan, bring sugar, corn syrup, and butter to boil over medium heat for 1-2 minutes, whisking constantly, to cook sugar. Take off heat. Let cool slightly, 3 minutes.

4. Temper eggs: In a bowl, beat eggs until lightened and frothy. Slowly, while whisking, pour ½ cup of warm syrup into eggs. Whisk to combine. Then, while whisking, slowly pour egg mixture back into the remaining syrup mixture. Whisk until smooth.

5. Whisk in vanilla, salt, and cinnamon.

6. Pour chopped pecans into bottom of pie shell. Pour filling over pecans.

7. Bake 45-60 minutes until fully set everywhere except the very center, which should retain a very slight jiggle. The center will set as it cools. Start checking at 45 minutes and continue baking at 5 minute intervals until set.

8. Let cool completely before serving, at least 1 hour.

NOTES

Many recipes do not require you to cook the sugar before baking the pie. However, pre-cooking the sugar (and tempering the eggs) ensures the ideal gooey, silky, perfectly smooth texture.

Toast pecans if desired: Arrange pecans in a single layer on a baking sheet and toast in preheated oven 5-8 minutes.

[luna-the-cretar]

Okay, I’ve slept, and I wanna share how I imagine some of the LOA characters (specifically from EOM, Icebound, and OUAW) Smell like, bc I’m obsessed with that for some reason. Not including Twig or Daisy bc those are NPCs

Long post below. Beware.

Minor spoilers for EOM, but nothing too bad

[Edge of Midnight]

Marius: Marius is the only one whose scent changes slightly between his metamorphosis. Pre-Metamorphosis, he smells slightly metallic due to his armor, has a fairly strong musky outdoors smell, and an underlying scent of roses. Post-Metamorphosis, his musk has changed ever so slightly to be more “sultry” (the way colognes and men’s soaps market the musky smell), the scent of roses is more prominent now, and he has an underlying scent of iron (from blood, not armor)

Lethica: Lethica, for some reason, I associate with the smell of petrichor (rain) and licorice. I’m not sure why, possibly because of her color palette, but I do. Although, I do imagine she also has an underlying scent of roses, because of her feelings for Marius, and how The Duchess has clearly taken note of them

Jericho: Jericho is interesting. Jericho, being a scarecrow, smells roughly how you’d imagine a scarecrow would smell like. He smells like dirt, wheat, old cloth, yes, but he also smells metallic, woodsy, and there’s a trace of sulfur and brimstone (ik those are the same thing, but my mind pictures them to be two different smells for some reason)

Briggsy and Farryn: for the sake of brevity, I’m combining these two together, since they smell fairly similar. They both smell of rot and decay, however Briggsy moreso smells like a mixture of a rotting crocodile and a rotting fish, whereas Farryn smells more like moss and rotting plant life.

Yorgrim: Yorgrim smells like dirt—specifically freshly dug dirt. He also smells faintly of limestone, due to the gravestone on his back. I’d also argue that he smells like The Mists, but idk how to describe that smell.

[Icebound]

Barnabos, Jornir, and Skrimm: again, combining them for the sake of brevity. They all smell strongly of their natural musks, but Barnabos also smells like fish and low tide; Jornir smells like wet fur and wood; and Skrimm smells like alcohol (tho less-so now) and dirt

Taishen: Taishen smells of cinnamon, clove, sage, nutmeg, cardamom, etc. He smells essentially like chai. However he also smells faintly of fire. Idk how else to say this, he smells like a hot cup of tea on a winter morning. I just. Idk what else you want from me.

Queenie: Queenie, I picture, smells like flowers (daisies, daffodils, etc), and honey. Though she also has a fairly strong smell of wet fur and the outdoors.

[Once Upon A Witchlight]

Torbek: Torbek smells like a dumpster and wet fur. I. Idk what else you want from me. He also smells of Witchlight, but I don’t know how that would smell like other than Magic.

Gricko: Gricko smells like the outdoors, and like he spends his every waking moment with an animal, who also spends all her time outdoors.

Frost: Frost smells like ink, old parchment, old books, etc. he also smells of sage, clove, cinnamon, nutmeg, etc. Basically, imagine drinking a cup of tea in an old library, and you’ve got Frost’s scent. Tho he does smell faintly animal-like, but that’s partly because he’s a Tabaxi, and mostly because he spends all his time with Gricko and Hootsie

Gideon: Gideon smells also of the outdoors, but in a different way. He smells like burning wood, like his cigars, like ashes, like, well, fire. He smells faintly of oil and metal, as well, and there’s an underlying scent of coal. There is also an underlying scent of cigarettes and Kremy’s perfume, however.

Kremy: Kremy smells of cigarettes, perfume (which, idk exactly how his perfume would smell like, but I imagine he would wear one that makes him smell rich), of a freshly pressed and freshly tailored suit. He also smells faintly of swamp water (or water in general), and however you’d imagine an alligator to smell like, idk. There’s also an underlying scent of cigars, oil, and fire, however.