#Delicous bread

[luthierscurse]

okay but is the black spore bread a mushroo shaped like bread or bread made out of spores

Bread made out of spores. Kinda. I was thinking that it was traditionally made to mimic a mushroom visually since it's such a big part of their culture and diet.

I believe spore bread is made from ground blue cap mushrooms. I like to imagine that they combine it with a yeast. Then let it ferment for way too long so the spores develop, and then bake. And as it rises, it takes all that pigmentation and forces it along to the top where it becomes the fluffiest part of the bread while leaving the bottom dense.

This is my breadcanon. Everything makes sense when it's fantasy. Thank you for asking, anon. ❤️ 🍞

[captin-azoth]

BREAD BREAD BREAD BREAD BREAD—

[crimsonkenjii-writes]

Me and my bread lover ʚ♡ɞ (selfship art)

*pan is bread in Spanish and Japanese ( •̀ᴗ•́ )و ✧

I so desperately want to introduce my precious foodie to pan dulces…. 😔🥖

[strawberrystepmom]

tbh I need to start writing more about the way I expect to be hand fed snacks post coitus

[springtrapsspringlockedbussy]

god gives his comfiest battles to his most sleepy soldiers. my sleep medication isn't working and it's cold inside my room so im genuinely so comfortable in bed and my brain is whirring with springtrap thoughts. you're gonna get SO many queued posts. anyways here's one: i like thinking that he glues himself to projects he really likes. yeah the neurodivergentification of the murder rabbit is imminent but i like the idea of petting his fur and scratching behind his ears as he tells me baking recipes he'd like to try, then you take a trip to the library to get a few cooking books because you wanted to show that you genuinely listened to his passionate ramblings about soups and stews, can you blame me for finding that super endearing and cozy? its so fun to write

[blondiest]

what i think is so cool and amazing is that. even when something doesn't stress me out to Write. my mind finds a way to make me so distressed about Sharing it that i feel ill 🤝

[moonlight-prose]

💌 happy follower celebration! For this man right here I have the hc that if you gave him a picture of yourself, especially if its intimate, he would treasure it forever and keep it in his wallet for the rest of his life.

And if he somehow lost you when the apocalypse began he would sometimes pull the picture out of his wallet and just stare at you for long times, missing everything about you. But if he didn’t lose you and you are right there, at home, then he would just stare at it at times when he can’t hug and hold you

Anyways maybe I should write again for him. He keeps coming back in my thoughts!

Iris you came here to make me cry again over this man didn't you? I absolutely agree that he'd keep a picture either in his pocket or a wallet he would never need again, but carrying to around makes him feel a bit more human. A bit more alive than before.

It's probably a blurry polaroid. One he took when he thought the world wouldn't end and things were steady and he'd get a life with you. It's his most precious item. A keepsake from a time that would never return.

[magnetictapedatastorage]

had the most delicious roll from the local bakery... it was just being called "french roll" so idk its exact type but it was very very soft, like much softer than even the freshest bread usually is. the crust was delicate and paper thin... the inside was also light and delicate, and collapsed very easily when pressed on (was making a sandwich lol) the only distinguishing feature was a small hard point on top of the roll, giving it an onionlike appearance.

[laulo821]

Here, have some rohlíky!

(honestly I think they're kinda average lol - but if they're wholemeal!! that's another thing, much much better imo)

thamk you

very g ood. yu m

[floorpancakes]

another clothing item to add to the gargantuan pile of outfits i wanna draw watanuki in, the baguette stripe yukata released in 2015 by emily temple cute

[fisheito]

@requiodile thank u SO MY HUNCH ABOUT THE MASSIVE MUSCLE MEN is SOMETHIGN!! im taking this anecdote as evidence and declaring quincy [the ultimate 6 rotisserie chicken as a teatime snack woodsman] as so frickin warm that anyone who cuddles him in the summer will be hot like fried egg. RIP touchstarved energy eating musclemen

@idololivine (starts scribbling algebra all over a dry erase board} as long as quincy doesn't spend over 4.6 hours absorbing solar energy from a cloudless sky at peak daylight hours, yakumo will probably be fine if u wish to obtain yakumo jerky however, preheat your quincy for 277 minutes and yakumo's moisture will evaporate on contact

[vampyroracle]

also bury your gays normally (for what I've seen) has the death occur almost inmediatly after revealing that that character is part of the lgbt+ community.

I'm convinced it was a tragedy that tumblr learned the phrase "bury your gays" at the exact same time it decided that any fictional media darker than Landlord White was pearl-clutchingly problematic. Pouring one out for every creator of earnest LGBT+ media wanting to explore the themes of grief loss and tragedy who then got subsequently hounded by mobs of terminally online users brainrotted on nothing but conflict-free coffee shop AUs.

[bangjiazheng]

Real AUTHENTIC WIENER SCHNITZEL.

Real AUTHENTIC WIENER SCHNITZEL. Breaded VEAL 🐄. Famous German Recipe! By a CHEF!

[sinkuna]

୨୧ ― The hotel room door closes with a soft click behind you, the pale light of the moon streaming through floor to ceiling windows.

Nanami had reserved the penthouse suite, ordered champagne that cost more than most people's rent, and even scattered rose petals across the king sized bed like fallen prayers. The man- your now husband, had ensured every detail was perfect for this moment after your wedding.

Because nothing- absolutely nothing, was ever too much when it came to you.

His hands wind around your waist from behind with the same reverence he'd shown sliding the ring onto your fingers hours ago. It was almost like he was memorizing the moment through touch alone. "Mrs. Nanami," he murmurs against your ear, and you feel him smile at the unfamiliar weight of your new name. "My wife," pressing his lips against your neck, the word still foreign on his tongue but sweeter than any bread he's ever had.

You lean into his warmth, the soft fabric of his tuxedo rubbing against the back of your own dress. "Mr. Nanami," you breathe, reaching back to caress his cheek, and you feel him press into you more at the title, his grip on you tightening, "My husband."

His fingers found the delicate zipper at your spine, drawing it down with practiced patience. Each inch of exposed skin received its own blessing- lips, warm breath, soft touches that made you arch against him.

"So beautiful,” he breathes against your vertebrae, "always so beautiful." his breath ghosts over your bare shoulders as the white gown slides away like shed silk... "Perfect," he adds, voice hitching as the fabric pools at your feet in waves of ivory and lace, leaving you in nothing but intricate lingerie. The garter belt sits high on your thigh- his gift to you, adorned with a diamond that matches the one on your finger. 

Turning you in his arms, "Gorgeous," his lips find yours in a sweet kiss, hands tracing your jaw, "Stunning," he whispers, cupping the nape of your neck as he draws you deeper, tongue coaxing a quiet moan from your lips… "All mine." he says with a low growl. All these words heavy with the weight of a man who's never been careless with language. When Nanami Kento calls you beautiful, gorgeous, stunning... perfect, it's because he's catalogued every detail that makes them true.

And it was all reserved just for you. Only for you.

Your hands reach up to push the jacket from his shoulders, fumbling with the buttons of his shirt- needy and impatient until he caught your hands. "Slowly," he commanded gently, "we have all night."

His mouth traced the column of your throat, pausing at your pulse point to feel your heart racing. "I love how responsive you are," he murmured, teeth grazing your collarbone, "how you tremble when I touch you here..." his thumb traced your nipple through delicate white lace… "How you make those little sounds..."

A soft moan escaped as he took the lace covered peak between his teeth, rolling gently until your knees buckled.

"That sound," he groaned, steadying you against his chest, "I'm going to spend tonight learning all the new ones you'll make as my wife."

"Mmph~ K-Kento~ oh god I-"

"Shhh, I'll take care of you," he promises, fingers ghosting along the lacy edge of your panties, "just like I always do, only this time..." his thumb rubs circles through the thin fabric of your thong, a teasing pressure against the bundle of nerves that has you moaning and rocking against his hand, "i think i'll make sure this whole building knows you're Mrs. Nanami now."

His strong arms hook beneath your legs, lifting you effortlessly to settle you among the rose petals. The bed dipping under his knee as he follows, hovering over you like a man worshipping at an altar, fingers caressing your face as he takes a moment to simply admire the picture you make- sprawled out beneath him. 

"I love you," the words barely audible as he leans down, lips finding the delicate skin of your inner thigh, teeth grazing the delicate skin, "so much." Your back arches involuntarily as he finds the diamond adorning the middle of your garter, giving it a flick with his tongue before tracing the silk band with calloused fingers. "I'm so glad you didn't toss this earlier," he admits... "When you told everyone you were keeping it... I was relieved you wanted to skip that particular tradition."

The diamond catches in the moonlight as you bite your lip, a sweet smile playing at the corners of your mouth, "Well~ I was thinking," you card your fingers through his styled hair, mussing the soft strands, "maybe I could wear just this when you come home from work from now on."

His eyes snap to yours, "Don't," his tone serious- the careful control he's maintained all evening fracturing at your words... "Don't tell me things like that unless you want me taking extended lunch breaks to come home… I don't think I'd be able to control myself if you did." he confesses, and the honesty in his voice has your heart skipping a beat, "I barely manage now."

Without breaking eye contact, he catches the garter between his teeth, his lips grazing your skin as he drags it achingly slow down your thigh, "do you know how many nights I’ve dreamed of you greeting me at the door wearing nothing but this?" With a final tug, he slips the garter free, letting it dangle from his mouth before tossing it aside with a smirk.

"K-Kento please~" You squirm under his heated gaze, thighs squeezing together, trying to relieve the throbbing ache between your legs, but the action only makes it worse… "Please don't tease me tonight. I can't-"

"Please what, darling?" a lock of his hair falls in his eyes, "Tell your husband what you need." He runs his hands up the back of your thighs, lifting and spreading them apart. The sight of his head between your legs, looking up at you from beneath the fall of his hair has you biting the inside of your cheek...

"Please~" the word barely a whisper, "M'need you, Kento. Need my husband to make a mess of me hah~"

Your words dissolve as he removes your lace thing- his mouth finding you bare and fucking soaked, "God," he groans against you, tongue swiping at your slick folds. 

He devours you like communion wine, like salvation itself, tongue fucking into your entrance, a thumb circling the small bud above.

"Nghhh fuck~" Your eyes squeeze shut, the pressure building, hips rolling to meet his tongue, your juices covering his chin.

"So sweet," he groans, the words muffled against your pussy, the vibration making you buck against him, "I could savor you all night."

With that he rises up, mouth leaving you empty and aching, his hands pinning your hips to the bed, "But I think i'll save the rest of my appetizer for later." He smirks down at you, wiping the remnants of your slick off his chin with the back of his hand.

Slowly, he reaches down to unbuckle his belt, pulling it free in a single motion, "Put your arms above your head, love," he orders softly, watching as you obey without question, a soft gasp escaping when he catches both your wrists, securing them with his belt. "This is my wedding night as well, after all…" securing the leather strap around the frame of the headboard, "And I intend to take my time with you."

Your fingers curl around the smooth leather, testing the bindings as his cock springs free, precum already pearling at the tip. The head is flushed, straining, and aching to be buried in your heat.

"Fuck-," he groans, hand gripping the base, thumb sweeping his weeping slit, "you have no idea what you do to me."

He positions himself between your thighs, the thick head of his cock teasing your entrance, sliding along your wet folds, the tip catching your clit, and then he's sinking into you, a strangled groan torn from his throat as you wrap around him like a vice.

Each thrust has the bedframe creaking as he fills you completely, perfectly, his cock stretching you just right. His forehead rests against yours, breath mingling as you move together, the only sounds in the room are the obscene sounds of your joined bodies, your broken cries, his grunts of pleasure.

"Ah! Mnnnh Kento~" You writhe beneath him, tugging at the restraints, body arching and straining for release, but the position keeps you helpless, a moaning wreck, pinned and bound by his cock, his weight, his strength.

"Harder~" The word slips out before you can stop it, and you feel him still above you.

"Are you certain?" His voice carries an edge now, something darker lurking beneath the tenderness.

"Please, Kento. I need… I need you to fuck me. M’need my husband to make me scream~."

The change is immediate. Your sweet gentle Nanami, replaced by his more desperate… pent up, and demanding side- god you loved it when he got like this~. His thrusts become punishing, deep enough to make you see stars- head so dizzy it causes you to babble incoherently. And his words… oh, his words turn absolutely filthy.

"This what my precious wife needs?" he rasps, breath hot against your throat as his cock drives deep, "Her loving husband splitting this perfect pussy open, making her beg for more like a whore."

The headboard rocks against the wall as he thrusts into you, one hand fisted in your hair, the other gripping your hip hard enough to leave marks. "Look how you're taking it," he pants, voice breaking, "Greedy little thing swallowing my cock. You're dripping all over the sheets, darling."

When he pulls out he’s quickly undoing his belt from your wrists- flipping you onto your stomach hastily as you whimper at the sudden emptiness. But then he's slamming back into you from behind, the new angle making you scream into the pillows.

"That's it," he groans, watching as that pretty pussy of yours grips him each time he withdraws, "let the whole hotel hear how good your husband fucks you. Let them know how desperate- how hungry you are for my cock."

His hand comes down on your ass with a brutal crack, making you clench and gush around him. "You like that, don't you? My beautiful wife likes being spanked while she gets her pussy destroyed from behind."

"Y-yesss! Oh god, yesss!" you babble, drool pooling at the corner of your lips as you're fucked senseless- eyes rolling back, "I love it when you ahhhh! when you use me like this!" Your voice breaks into needy whimpers, pussy clenching desperately around his length as he pounds into you, "Yesyesyes! Fuck me harder!"

He sets a brutal pace, each thrust hitting that spot deep inside that makes your vision white out, your body trembling as you lose yourself completely to the sensation. "Please," you moan, saliva dripping from your parted lips, "don't stop... m’need it so bad... need your cock so f’hah- fucking deep..."

"Going to stuff you so full," he growls against your ear, teeth sinking into your shoulder, "give you everything until you’re overflowing with it… until your belly swells with it..."

His movements stutter for just a heartbeat- eyes widening in shock at what he'd just said… Until your belly swells... Did he really just confess he wants to make a child with you tonight? The admission sends a shock through his system even as his cock throbs harder at the thought.

"I- …," he breathes shakily, almost stunned by his own desperate need. But there's no taking it back now… the raw truth is out.

"D-do it~" you coo breathlessly, the words sending a shiver of pure want down his spine. Your fingers push back his hair, holding him close, and the way you look at him... The sheer amount of adoration and love in your eyes, it nearly steals his breath away. You are the light of his life...

His thrusts become erratic, sloppy, each one driven by that new need to create something precious- a son, a daughter… either or it didn’t matter.

"Look at me," he gasps, his voice breaking. "I want to see your face when I- ngh-"

Your eyes lock as his control finally snaps. With a broken moan of your name, Nanami buries himself to the hilt and releases. Hot sticky ropes of cum flood your womb, painting your inner walls white as he empties himself completely. Your own orgasm washing over you from the fullness of him, your pussy clenching and milking every last drop from his throbbing cock.

Afterward, you lie tangled together, skin slick with sweat and cum. He holds you close, pressing soft kisses to your neck as you both slowly return to earth, his cum slowly leaking out of your thoroughly used pussy.

Later, much later, dawn creeps through silk curtains to find Nanami already awake, memorizing the sight of you sleeping peacefully beside him. His thumb traces over your wedding ring, this symbol of a future he never dared imagine…

"Wife," he whispers to himself, the word starting to sound less foreign.

Husband…

Thats what he is now.

And someday, perhaps sooner than later… A father.

He tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, marveling at you- this woman who chose him, who said yes to forever with a man who once thought love was a luxury- the only luxury he thought he couldn’t afford in his dangerous line of work. Now he knew this, it was the only wealth that mattered… and he was the richest man alive.

˚₊‧꒰ა. 𝑀𝒶𝓈𝓉𝑒𝓇𝓁𝒾𝓈𝓉 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

[mahowaga]

it started innocently—really, it did.

you had no idea the chaos you were about to unleash when, that first time, you pulled your phone out at dinner to capture the gorgeous table spread.

you aren't some influencer, you don't have an aesthetic food page or anything. you just like saving the memories. you like looking back at the colors of the dishes, the way the warm lights catch the steam rising from a bowl of ramen, or the glistening sheen of freshly grilled corn. it makes you happy.

but nanami kento—who sits across from you at that table, handsome in his pressed white button-up and tie still a little too tight against his throat even though the workday has ended—mistakes your angle.

his gaze flicks up from his plate, catching you just as you are angling your phone. and for a brief moment, his face freezes.

then—composed, but stiff—he straightens his spine and fixes his tie.

you blink. "what... what are you doing?"

"you could've warned me if you were going to take a photo of me," he murmurs, eyes dropping to his food. "i must look ridiculous while eating."

the words catch you so off guard that you barely manage a confused laugh, and the words i wasn't taking a photo of you! i was taking a photo of the table, of the food don't come. instead, you stutter, "oh, well, i—"

kento nods, but his eyes don't meet yours. he simply spears a piece of potato and says, "of course."

you meant to correct him properly. you meant to explain. but watching the slight pink creep up the tips of his ears—the usually unflappable nanami kento, embarrassed at the thought of you taking his picture—you hesitate.

and then you just never said anything.

the next time it happens, it's sushi.

a fancy little place you pick because you know kento likes it—quiet, clean, no frills but top-tier quality. you're practically bouncing in your seat by the time the chef slides the first omakase platter in front of you, every piece glistening, delicate, artful.

you pull out your phone.

kento, mid-reach for his cup of tea, freezes again. just like last time.

then slowly—almost robotically—he sets the cup down, places his hands neatly on his lap, and gives you the most stilted half-smile you've ever seen.

you pause, staring at him. "kento—"

"it's alright," he says quickly. "i understand. people like documenting memories. i just. i just wasn't prepared. that's all."

you really should clear the misunderstanding right now.

but instead, a laugh bubbles out of you. "alright. then—hold still."

and you snap a photo. of him. not the food. him.

the photo is terrible—he's as stiff as a board, his jaw locked, and he looks like he's posing for a passport photo at gunpoint.

but it's cute. in the way kento always is, without ever meaning to be.

it becomes a thing after that. you don't even know how.

every time you take your phone out, kento will assume the position. stiff shoulders, straight spine, polite smile.

and every time, you can't bring yourself to tell him that no—really—you're just trying to take a photo of the food.

but by the fourth or fifth outing, something shifts.

kento starts asking, carefully neutral, "do you want me to sit differently? or is this alright?"

and that? that cracks something in you.

"no," you laugh, breathless. "you're perfect."

the words slip out before you can stop them.

kento blinks once, then twice. then he looks down quickly, ears flushing crimson. "i see."

after that, it's like he's resigned himself. if you pull your phone out, he waits. patient, polite, quietly ready.

so you start taking photos. of him. on purpose.

at the cafe, with the tiny cappuccino cup too delicate in his large hands—snap.

at the bakery, applying jam to the slice of freshly baked bread—snap.

at the park, sitting stiffly on the bench while you both have ice cream—snap.

"you're building a collection, aren't you?" kento asks one evening, watching you put your phone down with a barely-contained smile.

you start. "what?"

"photos. of me." his voice is flat, but his eyes—his eyes are soft, just the slightest glint of amusement there. "i'm assuming you have a folder by now."

you flush. "i—no—maybe."

kento lets out a low sigh, running a hand through his hair. "you could just ask, you know."

you blink. "ask?"

"if you want a picture," he says, clearing his throat. "i don't mind. but maybe then—maybe i could try not to look like a stiff idiot."

you laugh, loud and bright, and kento flinches like he's just startled a bird.

"you don't look like an idiot," you say, wiping your eyes. "you look like you. that's perfect to me."

kento stares at you for a long, quiet moment. and then—unexpected, a tiny miracle—he smiles. a real one. the kind that softens all the lines of his face, that crinkles his eyes just enough.

"that might be the nicest thing anyone's said to me," he murmurs.

you open your mouth, close it, then grin. "well, get used to it. you're stuck with me, nanami kento. my photo album's already proof."

kento gives a long-suffering sigh, but his hand—warm, steady—reaches out across the table, brushing yours.

"i suppose," he says, almost fond, "i can live with that."

seven months later, you've built a whole gallery. and when kento catches you looking through it one night—tired from work, tie loosened, his shirt sleeves rolled up—he doesn't say a word.

he just kisses the top of your head, quietly, and murmurs, "just let me know next time, hm? i want to look good for you."

and that is how your silly little secret turns into the softest thing you've ever shared with him.

[miwakags]

been craving a strawberry shortcake for sooo long