#strange cookbooks

[cornfieldcryptiid]

hi yeah so i got one of @narcissistcookbook's shirts and decided to switch the sleeves out and put a bunch of their lyrics on the new ones for the extra vibes

[thefluxqueen]

been baking from this one cookbook alot recently. baking fun :)

[chernobog13]

I dunno what’s so mysterious about this stew; it’s essentially beef-flavored vegetable soup.

I guess the real mystery is: who’d want to eat this?

[writing-prompt-s]

You discovered an abandoned one thousand page cookbook one day, and strangely, you found that you can’t flip to the next recipe without making the current dish. Flipping the page, you see the next dish calls for a liter of star dust and gives a “simple” explanation of how to build a starship.

[barwithnodoors]

Doctor Strange's Bubbling Cauldron

From the Avengers Campus Cookbook.

It's corn chowder. Despite the fact I couldn't get the cheese portal off the baking sheet in one piece I did like the effect on the soup. It definitely made it look more in theme than some of the other recipes I've been trying from the cookbook. Plus is was really tasty.

[uesp]

We received a review copy of The Elder Scrolls: The Official Cookbook Vol. 2. While we've yet to make any of the meals from it, we have read it. The cookbook is written from an in-universe perspective, from a young chef adventuring across Tamriel to learn more about cooking.

There were a lot of little details that were very interesting to us from a lore perspective, this book legitimately gives us one of the largest looks at life in the Fourth Era across Tamriel. Very surprisingly, it even seemingly confirms the events of one of Skyrim's questlines.

We were particularly surprised that it gave us a look into some of the regions that it did, like the Summerset Isles (although we can't show you previews from those pages yet). And this book can be added to the growing list of evidence that others are aware of M'aiq the Liar.

There was even a surprising segment that explored a very niche lore topic that was of interest to one of our editors (can't show you the preview from that one yet either).

It's kind of strange that one of the most common complaints about recipes are the unnecessary stories that get attached to them, but for this book it was one of the highlights for us. Ironically, this cookbook made us really hungry for them to release more official Elder Scrolls books.

You can find the publisher's official list of links to this book here, and it should be released officially very soon.

[strang3lov3]

Cinnabon

Summary: (mall rats 7, final part!) Joel ruins a special moment, leading to another stupid argument, leading to him fucking the daylights out of you on his couch. Lovingly.

Tags: AU where yeast is not dead and we can all bake and be happy. Cordyceps is no longer in the flour/sugar either (work with me) Cinnabons, 69, dirty talk, unprotected Piv, creampie because it’s me, strang3lov3. soft dom joel because again, it’s me, strang3lov3. Strange highs and strange lows, that’s how my love goes. You get it.

A/N: As always, thank you @papipascalispunk for editing ❤️ you’ve helped me so much on this series and you have no clue how thankful I am for that. Definitely abusing your talents for the next shit I wanna write! And thank you to everyone who’s read and reblogged, commented, all of that good stuff. This was a blast to write!!!

This may not be the absolute end of these two, so you might get an update on them here and there, most likely in the form of yet another lovers quarrel. But I have so much stuff planned and I hope you continue to keep up with me ❤️ excited for the new year and to share what else i've been writing with all of you 🩷

It’s early in the morning in late December when you’re walking up to Joel’s porch, holding a basket full of ingredients and a dusty copy of Betty Crocker’s Cookbook. You knock on the door, no answer. With Joel’s poor hearing, sometimes it’s better to knock on his back door. He seems to hear it better, closer to his bedroom and all that. You make your way to his back door, where you find Ellie quietly opening the window next to the door, no doubt sneaking back from a friend’s house. You startle each other, “Ellie, hi,” you say. You wrinkle your nose, she smells like weed. You can’t help but smirk.

“Oh,” she says, “Hi. I’m not– I’m just–”

“I won’t tell Joel,” you smile. Ellie’s staring at your basket of goodies, where one of your lacy Victoria’s Secret thongs sits on top of a blue Cinnabon apron. “I’m just…baking. For Joel. Are you gonna be home today?”

It’s Ellie’s turn to smirk at you, as she opens the window the rest of the way and lifts herself inside the house. You hear her heavy footsteps before she unlocks and opens the door for you. “I can disappear,” she replies, “I require payment, though.” 

“I’ll leave you a plate outside your door.”

“Deal.” 

Ellie goes to her room probably to change clothes, and you go toward Joel’s kitchen. “I want two of whatever you’re making,” Ellie calls out before slamming the back door again, probably going back to her friend’s house. That girl certainly knows how to negotiate. You can’t help but love her for it.

Joel usually wakes up early, but he’s not on his recliner where you expect him to be. Must be in bed. You smile to yourself, picturing Joel coming downstairs in his pajamas, hair messy and sighing in pleasure at the sweet aroma of butter and cinnamon. 

You’re making Cinnabons this morning. Well, cinnamon rolls, as Betty Crocker puts it. When you and Joel were in the Barnes and Noble at the mall picking up books for Jackson’s library, you had stumbled across Betty Crocker’s Cookbook. Flipping through the pages, you found a recipe for cinnamon rolls and thought back to that first time in the mall with Joel, where he explained what a Cinnabon was, and then lied about his sweet tooth. 

There were loads of recipes, many interesting pictures too. You brought the book to Joel and pointed at a picture of some odd, translucent dome-shaped food item. He told you it was called Jell-O, and that no one misses it. You wanted to take the cookbook back with you, but there wasn’t room in the duffel bag. And you couldn’t bear to rip out a single page for one recipe. That would just be cruel.

At the end of the day, you went back to Tommy’s office with Joel. Joel usually walks you home, but he didn’t that day. Said he was running late for game night with Ellie, so he took off quickly. Tommy told you he’d walk you home, though.

As you and Tommy went through some of the books, he heard you sigh disappointedly, “What’s gotcha down, hon?”

“There was this book I wanted, but we didn’t have room.” 

“What book?”

“Cookbook,” you replied, “I wanted to make a recipe for Joel.” 

“Ah,” Tommy murmured, flipping through the pages of an old picture book, “Which recipe?”

“Cinnamon rolls.”

“Oh man,” Tommy groaned. He checked his watch, then looked at you with a light in his eyes. 

“I’ll take you back there right now to get that book.” 

“You’d do that?”, you asked.

“For you, of course. But I got my motives. Ya gotta hook me up with some of those rolls.”

There are few things that make you feel as loved and appreciated as when Tommy’s eating your food, showering you in the sweetest compliments and praises. No problem, you’d gladly share your baking with him. So Tommy took you back to the mall. You led him to the bookstore, picked up your book and went on your merry way. Tommy still hadn’t gotten to check the mall out for himself, though. So he wandered through the same areas you did, through the food court you and Joel picked through all that time ago. At the Cinnabon stand, he tossed you a blue apron with the word ‘Cinnabon’ embroidered at the chest. “Bet ya could make Joel turn bright red with this.”

You picked up what he was putting down immediately. And, thinking about it, you had a lacy thong that would match the apron perfectly. You remembered the blush on Joel’s cheeks as you tried on lingerie at Victoria’s Secret, how he mumbled something about lingerie being a waste of time before fucking you in the dressing room, still wearing your pretty pink chiffon babydoll. You wondered if faced with a big, gooey cinnamon roll sitting in front of him, and you in nothing but an apron and a thong, he’d still lie about that sweet tooth of his and his disdain for lingerie. Cause for an experiment. 

–

In Joel’s kitchen, you prepare the recipe. You prepped the dough last night, giving it plenty of time to rise. All you have to do this morning is prepare the cinnamon-sugar mixture and the icing. Oh, and put on that apron and thong. Not too hard. 

Once the rolls are assembled in the pan, you put them in Joel’s oven and change into your little outfit, feeling a little breeze on your bare ass. Good thing Ellie’s gone. As you’re waiting for the rolls to bake, you lean over Joel’s kitchen table and flip through the pages of your cookbook. The Jell-O still has you perplexed. 

Some time goes by. You’re reading about the Jell-O, how Betty Crocker said that it was great for parties and baby showers and other things like that. The slam of the glass door behind you startles you. You whip around, and there’s Joel with bright red cheeks, looking shocked and horrified. Through the glass door, you see Tommy in Joel’s yard. He waves at you, smiling. You wave back.

“Jesus Christ,” Joel grumbles, quickly pulling the blinds over the glass door to protect your modesty, “You gonna explain why you’re bare assed in my kitchen?”

“I thought you were sleeping,” you reply.

“That doesn’t answer my question,” he grumbles, as the egg timer you set prior goes off with a ding. You open the oven and pull out the cinnamon rolls with a pair of potholders, giving Joel a perfect view of your entire ass. “Oh my god,” he groans. When you turn around, he’s pinching the bridge of his nose and shaking his head, always so dramatic. You reach for the Pyrex measuring bowl full of icing you prepared and begin drizzling it over the warm cinnamon rolls. “You drive me fuckin’ crazy. You’re somethin’ else, you know that? I never know what–”, Joel stops speaking, and you look back at him once more. He’s intrigued, eyes wide. The pastry has pulled his attention away from your nearly-bare body. “Those uh– those cinnamon rolls?”

“Cinnabons,” you correct him, pointing to the embroidered logo on your chest, “But yeah– cinnamon rolls.”

“Right,” he murmurs, stepping closer to you. He reaches into one of his drawers for a fork and pushes you out of the way. 

“Joel,” you complain as he steals a bite of the cinnamon rolls, right out of the pan. He blows on it first, careful not to burn his tongue. When he tastes the pastry, his eyes flutter shut. He moans softly. “You said once that you missed Cinnabons,” you explain, speaking softly. Joel reaches for another bite, right out of the pan.

“Mhm,” he mumbles, mouth full of dessert.

“What’s the verdict?”

“Cinnabon’s better,” he answers plainly. 

Your face drops. “What?”

“Yeah this–”, he takes another bite, “S’no good at all.”

He’s fucking with you. Probably gonna say something dumb like how you should give him the pan, let him dispose of those no good cinnamon rolls for you. “Dick,” you punch his arm for scaring you like that. He doesn’t mind. 

“You made these for me?”

“Yeah,” you say quietly, “For you.”

“For me,” he repeats, a soft smile on his face. You’re kind of baffled at his mood change, but you know what they say about men and food; the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach, all that stuff. He steps closer to you, backing you against the countertop and turning off his oven, still wearing that smile, like he knows something you don’t.

“But I owe Tommy and Ellie one, too,” you continue, voice a little shaky. You’re nervous, why is he making you nervous? Joel sets his fork down and stares at you, lovingly, tenderly. “I made two batches before this, fucked both of those up. And then I ran out of sugar, actually. Tommy had to steal me some more.”

“I love you.”

His words hit you like a ton of bricks. He says it plainly, no frills. Just out with it. 

“You do?”

“Mhm,” he hums, “I do. Still would like an answer as to why you’re half-naked, though.”

Your face heats up. What were you saying? The cinnamon rolls, right. 

“I was– I don’t know. I had to knead the rolls by hand. The recipe said a stand mixer would be easier, but I didn’t…”, you trail off, feeling a little fuzzy, like you can’t think straight, your train of thought slipping away from you, “Didn’t have one. I love you too, actually.”

“I know,” he replies softly. He never doubted it for a second. Lord, he’s so handsome. His eyes sparkle more than usual, his fluffy curls untamed. The flannel he’s wearing suits him perfectly, and you can’t help but stare, stammering quietly. He reaches for your face with one hand, wrapping the other around your waist and pulling you close to his body, “I’m gonna kiss you now.”

Oh, fuck. You squirm out from his hold, away from the counter he held you against. Joel looks absolutely baffled as you smile sheepishly. “Can you grab me a plate for the Cinnabons?”, you ask, “I need to leave one by Ellie’s door.”

“I’d like to kiss you first, if you don’t mind,” he says, walking towards you. You keep walking backwards, around the kitchen table. Joel follows you as you look through his drawers for a spatula, opening and closing cabinets with shaky hands as you try to find a plate. Where are his fucking plates? Joel reaches for your hand to stop you. “Will you let me kiss you?”

“No.”

“No?”

“No.”

Joel’s missing something here. Has to be. You love Joel. Joel loves you. That’s been established, just like, two minutes ago. And you’ve been intimate with him many times before. The next logical step in this series of very out of order steps would be to kiss you. Unless…“Are you nervous?”, he asks.

“About what?”, you ask, “Kissing?”

“No, underwater basket weaving. Yes, kissing,” he sighs, “You seem nervous.”

“I’m not nervous,” you lie, “I’d just like to be the one to do it first.”

“Oh,” Joel replies, still a little confused, “Yeah, naturally. Makes sense.” He takes you by the hand and leads you to his living room, sits you on the couch and takes his place next to you. “Lay it on me, then.” 

“I can’t just–”

“You can,” he interrupts, coaxing you gently, “Come closer.” You scoot closer, but it’s not enough for Joel. Still wearing nothing but a thong and an apron, he lifts you by your ass and places you on his lap. Joel wears an expectant look on his face as you adjust yourself on his lap, feeling so awkward and out of your element. You’ve kissed people before, this should be no big deal. You’re not sure why you’re so nervous with Joel, especially when you’ve done everything else with him. 

“Joel, I– I don’t know where to put my hands.”

“Right here,” he whispers, placing your hands on his shoulders, “Or here,” he moves your hands to his jaw, his patchy beard prickly under your fingertips. “Wherever you want.”

“I like your shoulders,” you whisper, dropping your hands back to his shoulders. One of your hands slides to the back of his neck, playing with his soft curls. 

“S’good,” he says. And oh, his eyes. Brown and so warm, inviting, so beautiful. 

“Close your eyes,” you demand, intimidated by his stare. “Sorry. Close your eyes,” you repeat, softer. 

“My bad,” Joel replies, his eyes now shut. You’ve never noticed how pretty his lashes are before now. They’re gorgeous, so long. “They’re closed now.”

“Okay,” you breathe. 

“You got it,” he encourages. 

God, this is daunting. You close your eyes, lean forward…and smooch him right on the cheek. There. Easy. 

“Doesn’t count,” Joel murmurs through a smile, eyes still closed. Fuck. You adjust yourself on his lap, lean forward and…nothing. Joel waits. And waits. And waits. 

“I’m gonna kiss you now,” you say, trying to will yourself to just do it.

“Okay, sweetheart. You got it,” he whispers. But you don’t kiss him yet, and Joel keeps waiting, feeling himself beginning to grow hard as you keep squirming on his lap, adjusting yourself some more. “Hon?”

“Yeah?”

“Any minute, now.”

“I know,” you say, “I’m gonna kiss you.” But you adjust again. A minute passes with you on Joel’s lap as he waits patiently for you to finally kiss him. Another minute. And then you lean forward and – nothing. 

“I’m gonna count down from three, and then you’ll kiss me. How about that?”

Yeah, sounds like a plan. 

“Okay,” you reply. 

“Three…two…”, Joel counts, and you prepare once more to kiss him, “One,” Nothing. Joel sighs, “You’re killin’ me here.”

“I was about to do it, Joel.”

“Uh huh.”

“I was,” you argue, “You just keep talking and–”

“Oh, you’re so full of shit. You’re the one doin’ most of the talkin’, like usual.”

“That’s not true,” you argue, but are interrupted when he opens his eyes. That’s not supposed to happen. He wears a mischievous grin as he sits up and his hands begin to slide up your sides. Your already pounding heart begins to beat even harder, faster, because Jesus Christ, he seems like he’s about to kiss you. “What are you doing?”

“Ya got three more seconds to kiss me. Three…”

“Joel, not funny,” you scold as he takes your face in his hands. 

“Two…”

You’re beginning to panic, “Joel–”

And then he fucking kisses you, the bastard! No tongue, just a sweet, gentle peck. It’s despicable. You shove him back on the couch and glare at him, “You kissed me!”

“How awful,” Joel says with mock sympathy before he leans forward and kisses you again. You shove him again, harder.

“You asshole. I was gonna do it.”

“No, you weren’t,” he replies plainly. He tries to kiss you again, but you keep your hands on his shoulders, pinning him to the couch cushion. Joel’s smirking, but you’re scowling.

“Yes, I was.”

“Okay,” Joel laughs, “We can redo it, then.”

You sigh, “No, Joel, we cannot redo it. You already ruined it.”

“Is that right?”

“Yeah. That’s right.”

“Shit. S’too bad,” Joel feigns a sympathetic pout as he wraps both hands around your wrists that pin his shoulders, removing them from his body. He pushes your hands behind your back, holding them tightly as he kisses you again. And again, this time a little longer. Your lips begin to slide against his, and…god, they’re soft. The bastard.

“You’re ruining–”

“For the love of god, you’re drivin’ me fuckin’ nuts,” Joel mumbles against your lips. 

“I was supposed to–”

“No. You had your turn. We’re doin’ it my way now,” Joel says, “That means,” he kisses you, “M’gonna kiss you,” another kiss, “And fuck you,” another kiss, “As I please, because I love you,” he whispers. He kisses you before he maneuvers you to lay across the couch cushions, now pinning your wrists above your head under just one of his hands “And you can’t do a thing about it. Got it?” 

“I–”

He doesn’t let you argue further. Always so stubborn, you. “Good girl. Yeah, you got it,” Joel kisses you again. It’s different this time. Deeper, hungrier, messier. So much tension, time spent dancing around feelings, and it’s all out there now. His tongue slides past your lips and he tastes like cinnamon and sugar. You’ve been depriving yourself of him for too long. “And after all this, I’m gonna eat some of them cinnabons you made. And I won’t share, either.”

With his free hand, Joel unzips his pants to free his cock. “You know what you do to me, trouble?” he asks, breathing heavily. “Got me hard as a fuckin’ rock with all that squirmin’ ya did instead of kissin’ me,” Joel lifts the bottom of your apron up, exposing yourself to him, already dripping wet as he pulls off your soaked thong. You could have expected the ensemble wouldn’t have lasted long. And how are you already wet? One second you’re arguing about a stupid kiss and the next, he’s got you pinned beneath him and you’re dripping. You gasp as Joel gathers your slick with his fingers before stroking his cock, dipping his head back down to kiss you. He kisses your lips sloppily, then your cheek and down your jaw, your neck, nipping at the skin and soothing the marks with his tongue. It feels hot and passionate, and loving and dirty; all the best things at once. 

“Oh, god,” you moan as he kisses further down your body, still stroking his cock. He pauses momentarily to pull the strap of the apron over your head, then lifting your ass to untie the apron in the back. He pulls the fabric away from you quickly, tossing it on the floor. He kisses your chest, dividing his attention equally between your breasts. Pinching, twisting one nipple, kissing and licking the other, then switching. He leaves them wet with his spit as he kisses down your body, stopping before he reaches your pussy. “Joel,” you whine, “Please– need your mouth on me.”

“Oh, convenient. Now you want my mouth,” he breathes, teasing you.

“Please, I need it, need you,” you beg. 

“Wouldn’t ya know it, I need your mouth too.”

“So? Me first.”

“God, you’re a brat. Nice try,” Joel pulls away from your body, taking off his clothes quickly, “Said we’re doin’ things my way. Tryin’ somethin’ new today. Scoot,” he motions for you to move to the side. “On all fours, now. Come on, up,” you scoot to the side where Joel tells you to, slightly confused as you take the position. Joel takes his place next to you, wrapping his arms around your thighs and pulling you down to his face. “Sit,” he tells you.

“Joel,” you begin to protest. Surely he doesn’t want you to actually sit on his face, right?

“You trust me.” It’s not a question. He knows you trust him, he knows you know he’ll take care of you. Of course he will. His voice is firm, confident, “I need you to sit,” as he pulls your center to his mouth, wasting no time in pressing kisses into your folds, slick and sticky with your growing arousal. Your breasts are pressed against his soft stomach, hands gripping his meaty thighs. Freeing an arm from its place at your hip, Joel wraps his hand around his cock, rock hard with a swollen blushed tip. He uses his other hand to reach for your head, pushing your face towards his member. “Take me in your mouth,” he says. “See? We’re compromising. S’what people in love do.” What an asshole.

Wrapping a hand around his thick cock, you guide his tip to your mouth, pressing wet kisses against the smooth skin. He tastes like he always does, familiar and masculine, salty and sweaty, as you trace over his swollen veins with your tongue. Joel groans against your cunt as he parts your lips, your tongue still painting delicate swirls on his skin. 

“Yeah, attagirl,” he praises in a raspy voice, “Best of both worlds, ain’t it?” Joel laps at your cunt, moaning softly at the way you taste, your arousal almost as sweet and delicious as your cinnamon rolls from earlier. He keeps you held firm against his face as he licks you, alternating between drawing firm lines with the tip of his tongue and fat stripes with his tongue flattened. 

“Mmmm,” you moan, voice muffled by his cock. You’ve got him as deep as you can take him, your nose nudging his balls slightly as you cup them gently in your hand. Joel surprises you when he dips his tongue into your pussy, tasting every bit of your pussy. You stop what you’re doing, the only thing your mind can focus on is the feeling of his tongue working magic inside you.

He swats your hip, “Know it feels good, but it goes both ways, sweetheart.”

“Please, Joel,” you beg. 

“You know the rules,” he says, “You stop, I stop. Keep goin’, you’re suckin’ my cock so good, sweetheart. So good. Always do, you know that?” You begin to bob your head on his cock once more, Joel rewarding you with wet, sloppy, open mouthed kisses against your pussy. It takes everything you have to focus on his pleasure when he attaches his lips to your clit, sucking gently on the sensitive spot and humming against you. It’s not long before that familiar feeling begins to build in your stomach, your first orgasm washing over you. 

You gasp for air, “Oh my god, Joel,” as he works you through your climax. Joel never lets up, not once. He keeps sucking, licking your clit, his facial hair tickling your skin and only adding to the overwhelming sensation. Once more, your peak begins to build. “I’m– fuck, I’m gonna come again.” 

“S’the fuckin’ point, my love,” Joel mumbles quietly, and you can feel his smirk. Despite the rules, you’re not even sucking his cock anymore, your face instead resting on his body, haphazardly stroking his length as pleasure erupts from your core. You’re a moaning mess, pussy dripping and soaking Joel’s face. 

Joel gives you a moment to catch your breath. Underneath you, he places one last kiss right on your clit before he gently slides himself out from your body. You’re hardly coherent as he meets you once more, this time his face inches above yours, caging you in his arms. His cock bounces between your legs and he leans down to kiss you again. His lips are wet and you can taste your arousal on his tongue. “Look at that, I stole another one,” he taunts. 

“You’re a dick,” you breathe against his mouth, your body betraying you as you can’t help the smile that forms on your lips.

“Yeah, yeah,” and in one swift motion, Joel lines himself up with your entrance and pushes into you. He kisses you again, swallowing your gasp as he parts your insides, letting you feel every inch of him. God, he feels good. You’ll never tire of that stretch, that delicious feeling of being completely full of him. 

“Oh, Joel,” you moan. He pulls out slowly, then slides back in at a harsher pace, grunting when he bottoms out inside of you. He takes both of your hands in his own, pinning them above your head as he rocks his hips. It’s tender yet dominant, just how everything is with Joel. Just how you like him. 

“Love this pussy,” he purrs, “An’ I love you so much,” as he fucks you deeply, intensely. You whimper through his thrusts, each stroke fluid and firm and intentional. He knows your body like his own. “Takin’ me so good, sweetheart. You always do.”

You writhe underneath him, relishing in the pleasure he gives you. His name and sweet whisperings of love are all you can speak, each word coming out in soft, broken cries. The wet, sticky noises of your pussy fill the room, along with your moans and Joel’s grunting, groaning, and heaving breaths. You tilt your head to the side, arms still pinned beneath Joel’s hands. You kiss his wrists and bite his skin there gently.

“Come with me, baby,” he coos, adjusting the angle and finding that sweet spot inside you, that spot he knows and loves. He lets go of your arms, one of his big, masculine hands now on your waist, the other thumbing your clit. “Give me one more, sweetheart.”

It’s all it takes. His words send you over the edge, your pussy squeezing him, walls fluttering and pulsing with every thrust of his cock. “Fuck, Joel,” you whimper as he fucks you through your orgasm. You wrap your legs around his body, the heels of your feet bouncing against his ass, simultaneously pulling him into a tight embrace with your now free arms. Everything about this moment with Joel is perfect, the way he smells, his hot skin, how close and safe you feel with him. It sends Joel over the edge, too. With your name on his lips, your cunt gushing and pulsing around his cock, he spills inside you, painting ribbons of himself deep inside you as he helps you ride out your own climax as long as he can. 

He pulls out of you with a soft groan. He cleans you quickly with his t-shirt, a warm smile on his lips. He kisses your forehead, then sits back against the couch, catching his breath. You sit up too, and Joel holds out his arm as an invitation for you to curl into his side. Your head resting on his shoulder, you stare at him. All of his beautiful features, warm brown eyes, his smile lines, his aquiline nose. And then, you do it. You kiss him. Long and deep, passionate. Hours could be passing, you don’t know. 

Joel breaks the kiss. He pulls away from you, no longer smiling warmly. Instead, he wears his teasing grin. “Finally,” he smirks. He holds up his hand for a high five. Fucker. You roll your eyes, lifting yourself off the couch and buttoning Joel’s flannel over yourself. You make your way to the kitchen, finding a plate and placing two cinnamon rolls on them. You reach for an old pencil that sits on the window sill, scribbling ‘Ellie’ on a piece of nearby scratch paper and leaving it next to the plate. A deal is a deal, after all. 

“Don’t leave me hangin’, now,” Joel calls out to you from the living room. You turn around and he’s waving his hand, nagging you about his abandoned high five. 

You flip him off. Asshole. 

[miley1442111]

dealing with it- chef luca

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gif from @ wiha-jun

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summary: you see carmen for the first time in years, things happen, but at least your husband is there for you :)

pairings: chef luca x fem! reader, EX carmen berzatto x reader

warnings: smoking, cursing, reader endorses smoking (it makes sense i promise), toxic relationships, fighting, happy ending, luca is a cutie pie, carm is an ass :(

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Carmen had been staring at you the whole night. You, standing diligently beside your mother, and Luca. 

When dinner came and you sat beside Luca again, the question begged to leave his mouth, but he decided on waiting and watching. 

“So Y/n,” Sydney turned to you. “I would love to literally pick your brain apart for the inspo of your last cookbook.”

You chuckled. “Well, Luca and I went all around the world on our honeymoon and-”

“What?” Carmen choked on his drink. “S-sorry did I fucking hear that right? Honeymoon?”

Luca sighed deeply, the energy at the table shifting. “Yes Carm, she said ‘honeymoon’.”

Honeymoon. You and Luca were married. Married and he didn’t even know it. Married, and he hadn’t even known that his last chance had been his last chance. 

You were Chef Andrea’s daughter, and you were everyone’s forbidden fruit. You worked with them, trained with them, and Carmen had been so deeply interested in you, that he broke the rules. He went after you, and he didn’t even feel bad about it. You’d started out dating in secret, then slowly warmed your mom up to the idea, and suddenly it was out in the open. Sure you’d had fights and sure, maybe it wasn’t the most healthy relationship ever, but Carmen loved you. He still did. When it fell apart, it was all Carmen’s fault (as usual) and you’d sworn off chefs. 

---------------------

“Fucking hell Bear! I’m asking you to do this one fucking thing for me, and it’s too fucking hard?” You shouted at the top of your lungs. “I love you! I moved to fucking Coppenhagen for you! I moved to fucking New York for you! What is your problem with me taking a job in London?! I can probably get you into the same place-”

“NO! No, I fucking don’t alright? You’re fucking- you’re fucking boring! You never make anything new- you’re so f-fucking obsessed with being the-the-the best at something that you won’t even try to innovate!”

You stood there, in his kitchen and he watched as the tears fell. He took a deep breath and stepped closer, holding your waist in his hands. He tried not to be offended or upset when you went rigid as he touched you, but he felt his heart break. “Baby I-I’m sorry, look, y’know I’m sorry-” 

“You’re a piece of shit Carm. Just because I’m better than you doesn’t mean you get to talk to me like that. We’re not fucking trainees at my mom’s restaurant anymore, alright? I’m fucking better than you and i know it boils your fucking blood. I got this position. All on my own,” you spat. “You are the lowest of the low Carm. I swear to fucking god, if I ever date another chef again, kill me.”

And with that, you walked out. Out of his apartment and out of his life. 

---------------------

“W-wait so-s-, you two got married? Since when?” Carmen laughed, but it was wrong. It was forced and haunted, strange.  

“Since the 14th of July last year,” Luca smiled and you pressed a kiss to his cheek.

“Congratulations guys,” Sydney smiled. “Carm, say congratulations,” she whispered and Carm nodded furiously.

“Yeah! Yeah- congratulations to the liar and her shitty douchebag of a husband!” He cheered, gathering the attention of the other tables. 

“Stop making a fucking scene Carm,” your voice cut through the ringing in his ears. “This isn’t about you. This is about my mom, and what this restaurant meant to people. Stop. Being. An. Asshole.”

He felt like he’d been effectively bitch slapped, and he quietened down, but not before kicking Luca under the table. 

They’d both been after you, back in the day. And you’d picked Carm at first, and realised your mistake. When you met Luca in London, you weren’t going to mess it up again. 3 years later, you were a year married, and a lot happier. Too bad Carmen had to make everything about himself, again.

He went out to get some ‘air’ a little while later, and you followed him. 

---------------------

“So…” you sighed, standing beside him. “Hi.”

“Hi,” he sighed. He watched as you took a cigarette out and lit it, then offered one to him. He shook his head. 

“You quit?” You asked, blowing the smoke away from him. He nodded. “You should start again.”

He looked at you in confusion. “What?”

“You shouldn’t stop, you’re fucking crazy when you don’t smoke,” you chuckled, though everything you said was true. He’d tried to give it up for a month about 4 months into your relationship and it was the most stressful month of your life. You sighed as you thought about it. Every time he was rude to someone, you apologised for him. Every time he fucked something up, you made it up for him. Every time he did something stupid, you made it smart somehow. It was fucked up how much he relied on you, when you thought about it in hindsight. “Everyone will thank you.”

He laughed. “I guess that was a shitty month, huh?”

“One of the worst of my life,” you admitted. 

There was a moment of silence. 

“I miss it,” He admitted. 

“Smoking? You can have the rest of this pack-”

“Us.”

You sighed. “You were doing so well,” you joked. “Just don’t bring it up Carm, we don’t need to dig up the past.”

“I want to,” he pleaded. 

“I don’t,” you scoffed. “There’s nothing for us to talk about, nothing about us worked, nothing about us was ok, or normal, or happy, or-”

“Does he make you happy?” Carmen asked, venom in his tone. “Does he make you feel fuckin’-fuckin’ butterflies? Does he fuck you like I did? D-does he even see you the way I did? Does he make you laugh?”

“He doesn’t make me cry,” you smiled softly, thinking of Luca and how much you truly loved him. “He doesn’t make me question our relationship everyday. He doesn’t make me feel untalented and undeserving. He doesn’t make me feel used. He met me in London when I was crushed after our break-up, and he healed something he didn’t break in me, alright? He made me feel loved for the first time in a long time. My mom fucking loves him, a lot more than she liked you. He let me take everything at my own pace, and he never pushed me into something I wasn’t ready for. He wasn’t afraid to show his love for me to anyone! He didn’t make me question if we were even dating, ever! And the best part is, he fucking married me Carm, in this gorgeous ceremony where he cried while I came down the aisle and he cried during his vows. Do you want to know what his vows were? Ask him when we get inside, because he got his and mine fucking tattooed on his arm!” You were welling up at this stage. “He stood there with me, through thick and fucking thin, he made me feel loved when I felt unlovable, Carmen. And yes he gives me butterflies, yes he fucks me better than you ever did, and he sees me for who I am. So yes, he makes me very fucking happy Carmen.”

Carmen stood there for a moment, then nodded. “I still love you, you know that, right?”

You scoffed, stamping out your cigarette. “You might want to get over that,” and you turned away, and walked back into the dinner. The rest of the dinner was quick, and you skipped the invite to Sydney’s to retire to your hotel room. You sat on the bed, makeup wipes in hand as you tried to wash the night off of you. 

“Hey darling,” Luca’s soft voice cut through the thoughts clouding your mind. “Do you want to talk about it?”

You smiled as he wrapped you up in a bear hug from behind, he was so perfect, so kind, so Luca. “Sure.”

“I heard a little bit of what you said to Carmy outside.”

You took a deep breath. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he sighed. “Before tonight, I was really fucking scared that when you found Carmy he’d somehow convince you I was a piece of shit and he’d sink his fucking claws into you again.”

You pressed a kiss to his arm and nodded. “He’s fucking…”

“He’s the worst,” he finished for you. “And I’m sorry about what he said tonight. He should’ve had the fucking manners to at least let us get to the third course before he started being a piece of shit.”

You both laughed, and you felt all the tension you held in slowly dissipate. “It was so delicious.”

“It was fucking amazing,” he pressed a kiss to your cheek. “You mum really did something special there.”

“At least we’ll see her more in London,” you shrugged. “I really loved that place.”

“So did I,” He sighed against your neck. “Remember training there? God, you were so fucking cute in your chef’s hat-”

“Hats make me look stupid!” You argued, but laughed regardless. You flung his arms off of you, and a wrestling match ensued, one that ended with him under you. You pressed a soft kiss to his lips, then he deepened it, his hands sneaking up your thighs and around your head. 

“You look good in anything,” he whispered. “But my favourite thing you ever wore was your wedding dress.”

When you pulled away from his lips you saw the starry-eyed smile and sincere look on his face, and you knew you made the right choice. 

Luca was your everything. Carmen was nothing now, and he had to live with that.

---------------------

the bear masterlist :)

navigation for my blog :) (criminal minds, obx, the bear, marvel, top gun, the hunger games :)

[utterlyotterlyx]

Can I request 23, 20 and 13 with Azriel? Please and thank you!

Reckless

Azriel x Fem!Reader

Warnings - mentions of blood and injury, fluff

Based on the below prompts:

It’s three in the morning. If even half of that blood is yours you need to sit down right now. I don’t like saying ‘I told you so’ but- The hell you don’t, it’s your favourite phrase.

Enjoy!

The ticking clock and the sky drowning in its sorrow was enough to warn you that Azriel was going to be late. A once roaring fire had long since extinguished, bright molten embers nothing but ash that trickled through the grate and dusted the base.

It wasn't often that you had a moment with your mate, a real evening away from your duties to your court, and when you did you both made sure to put the maximum amount of effort in. Whether it be long walks along the Sidra, or nights in cooking together which you would always commandeer, Azriel would never miss it, he'd never meaningfully skip a chance to see you.

As the clock chimed, you turned your head to see the ornate finger poking the invisible one and sighed, shaking your head and pitifully scraping the untouched dinner plates into the compost bin, leaving them on the counter to tend to in the morning.

The house felt cold without him, but even then you'd still complain that it was cold when he was right beside you just so that you could have his arms wrap around you securely, and you were sure that he knew about it from the sly smirk he would always give you before opening his arms to, chuckling to himself as you'd scurry into his embrace.

Azriel had sent nothing down the bond, which meant that he was busy, but he was so late, five hours late be exact and it made you feel on edge; every time he had been late in the past he would send a flurry of adoration and guilt down the bond to reassure you that he would return to you, but there was nothing but stone cold silence and shadow shrouded walls locking you out.

Twiddling the large rock on your ring finger you began the journey to your bedroom.

Rhys had insisted on buying yourself and Azriel your own home as a mating gift, but not only that, he wanted to thank you your loyalty and the personal sacrifices you had both made to protect them and the Night Court, Azriel as his Spymaster and you as Prythian's best healer; that came in the form of a two-story town house on the outskirts of Velaris, far enough to have your own space, but still close enough so that you'd be available if you were needed.

The home was a perfect myriad of you both, deep blue armchairs and dark oaken floors, bookshelves packed full of Azriel's tomes and research with your own passion pieces littered between them. The kitchen was very much made for you, a large stove, hooks for all of your strangely carved mugs, a pantry to die for which you always strived to keep fully stocked. Cookbooks stood along the windowsill and a pair of weighing scales sat before them, ready to be thrown into another one of your culinary adventures.

You weren't sure sometimes if Azriel was more excited to be mated with you or eat the food you had offered him that night.

The bedroom was missing its other inhabitant, evident in the dim glow from a single flickering candle that made little to no movement as you entered, frowning and going about to reset the room, putting away the massage oils and peeling back the comforter to climb into its shivering embrace.

You weren't sure how much time had passed before you had heard him, scuffing his feet along the floor of the lounge and stopping, no doubt peering about at the effort you had made for date night, and you heard him sigh before his feet hit the steps heavily.

His scent had always flooded you, but you weren't a happy mate in that moment as you curled onto your side with your back facing the door. A cold breeze drifted in from the world he had brought into your home with him, "Angel..." his voice was quiet, pained, you could tell he was feeling guilty.

"It's three in the morning," you grumbled, staring out at the crescent moon beyond the paned window, your fingers brushing through the unbound hair that had fallen over your neck.

Then it hit you, the all to familiar metallic smell that you had become so accustomed to, so accustomed to that you hardly ever realised it was near unless there was copious amounts of it. Sniffing deeply, you rolled onto your back and propped yourself up on your elbows, examining your mate who was stood in the doorway with his head hung low.

From where you lay, you could see the blood glistening in the moonlight as his hand lay stuck to the doorknob. Shallow breaths passed through his lips and he winced at each one, then he tilted his head back and you saw him, and you gasped. His bottom lip was busted, blood leaked from it as it did from the cut to his brow, his hair was tussled and matted, his eyes were dark and dreary.

"If even half of that blood is yours you need to sit down right now," you threw the covers off of you and moved toward him, taking his face in your hands and looking into his eyes.

Azriel winced with every step he took toward the edge of your bed, usually you'd tell him off for mucking up the sheets, but you didn't say another word as you flitted about the room and gathered your usual supplied from the bathroom before settling onto your knees in front of him.

He knew that you were internally cursing him for getting himself into that state, you had told him endlessly to be careful, to listen to his shadows and leave if things seemed more sinister than usual. This particular mission had not been one that you had agreed with at all, but you had little say in the details of his career, he knew what he was doing and you usually trusted that.

It had only been a few days prior that you had told him that he needed to slow down, that you knew he wanted to do all he could to protect you and his home, that you couldn't think about bearing his child until he did. The thought of being a single mother terrified you, you had been very truthful about it, how you were so afraid that one day he might now return to you and you wouldn't be able to care for another life let alone your own.

Azriel hissed as you dabbed a cotton pad of alcohol to his bottom lip, doing your best to be gentle with him. You had muttered a small sorry, but when he surveyed your face, he saw unfiltered fear in your eyes, and he knew you were thinking about the worst case scenario.

You knew better than to ask for details, he wasn't the most open of males, but he was trying to be, for you. He had told you some details of the mission and you had expressed your ill feeling toward it, you had told him it felt too dangerous.

Your mate happily accepted the tonic you had given him to keep the pain at bay whilst you worked, pressing your fingers to his cuts and bruises and allowing your healing glow to fix him. You were from the Dawn Court, you were Thesan's most gifted healer, and you had healed Azriel when he crashed into your court after being hit by an ash arrow by some grounded assassins, from that moment there was no place he would allow you to be than right beside him.

"I didn't feel you," you muttered with a strained voice, clearly trying to hold back your tears, you had seen your mate in some terrible ways, but this had to be one of the worst.

"Fae bane," he hummed in discomfort when you moved your palms to the entrance wound of a knife no doubt, closing your eyes and allowing your power to float into him, your essence entangling itself with his own and mending every broken tendril of shadow, "You were right, I shouldn't have gone. Nothing about it felt right and I didn't listen to you."

"I don't like saying I told you so, but-"

"The hell you don't, it's your favourite phrase," it was no time to laugh but you smirked at his quip, one that he mirrored, and you knew then that he was going to be absolutely fine.

Azriel's face was clean from the cuts and bruises, and he looked physically relieved as he rolled his shoulders and his shadows came out to say hello, slithering up your arms and kissing your cheeks in thanks. His fingers grasped the backs of your thighs as you did a final check over, his touch sending lightening spreading through your body, and he pressed his lips along your collarbone, humming as he drank in your scent and felt peace consume him.

"I'm sorry for missing tonight, I'll make it up to you I promise," he mumbled against your skin, "You have me all week. I'm going to tell Rhys that I'm going to take it easier from now on. I want to focus on us, on you."

Hazel pools of serene bliss flowed into you and you kissed him, softly just in case he winced, a ghosting things that left him needed more, "You know how you could make it up to me right now?"

Azriel's eyes darkened with desire, pulling you closer, you placed your hands on his chest and pushed him back a few inches, smirking at his confusion, "You can take a shower, you stink and you're covered in blood," Azriel's face fell and you laughed, a pure and playful thing as you peered to where he was sat, "I'll change the sheets whilst you do. I cannot sleep with blood on the sheets, especially when I'm not sure if it's even yours."

Your mate rolled his eyes and stood, swaying over to the bathroom whilst peeling his leathers from his body, he lingered in the doorway and gazed back at you still kneeling at the foot of the bed, smirking, he drawled "It's not."

When he had returned, free from blood and smelling of his usual cedar musk, he climbed into the freshly made bed and pulled you close to his chest, inhaling the coconut from your shampoo as he buried his face into the crook of your neck.

"Does this mean I get to put a baby in you now?" Azriel's eyes drifted closed, willing a certain dream to infiltrate his consciousness as sleep began to consumed him, dragging him down into its embrace as you soothed out any tension in his body as you allowed your hands to trickle down his arms and over his chest. Sleepily and with a dragging tone that told you he was moments away from slipping into another world entirely, he spoke softly, "It's my favourite dream."

[l0stvegas]

My grandmother died last year and among the things she left behind was a mildly upsetting cookbook from the 70’s that has been haunting me since I looked through it.

I’m no stranger to how strange midcentury recipes can be (a bygone era entombed in a supple layer of unflavored jell-o), but some of the titles of these recipes are a real doozy

[cozage]

Headcanons please with the reactions of Luffy, Nami, Zoro and Sanji where sanji is sick, so reader volunteers to do the cooking until he feels better but reader is a HORRIBLE cook. Like reader will straight up serve them fish in cherry gelatine or something awful like that. Also can you make reader female and the s/o of each character in this scenario? Thank you 🙏🏻

A/N: I WROTE SOMETHING Characters: female reader x Luffy, Nami, Zoro Total word count: 1.7k

Stand In Cook

Luffy

“I’m STARVING!” Luffy screamed out, falling backward onto the deck with a groan.

“Luffy, we told you already! Sanji is sick right now, and I’m not cooking for you every thirty minutes!” Nami stood over him, staring down at him in irritation. “Either you make something yourself or you don’t eat!”

“I’ll cook something, Luffy,” you offered softly. “What are you hungry for?”

Nami shot you a look. “You’re going to regret that offer,” she grumbled. With a roll of her eyes, she strolled off and left you to the rest of it. 

You almost regretted the offer, but Luffy’s arms were around you, swinging you around with glee. “I love you! I love you so much!”

You squealed in shock and delight, begging for him to put you down. 

“Okay I really want a chocolate milkshake,” Luffy said. “And also a really big piece of meat! And-”

“Let’s start with that,” you said quickly. You barely knew how to cook, and you didn’t want to overwhelm yourself on the first meal you’d be preparing for him. 

You pulled yourself out of his grasp and went to the kitchen. “You wait out here. I’ll be back shortly.”

In the kitchen, you were completely out of your element. You had found where Sanji had kept the food, but he didn’t seem to be in possession of a single cookbook. You’d just have to guess. 

You found a piece of steak that you could only hope Sanji wasn’t saving for something special, and grabbed a few random seasonings: salt, cinnamon, annatto, basil, cayenne pepper, dill, and elderflower. You were only familiar with a few, but you figured it was the best you could do. 

You measured out 1 tablespoon of each and mixed them together, adding some milk to give it a paste-like texture, and then poured it over the slab of meat laying on the tray.Then, you threw it in the oven for…20 minutes sounded good. You weren’t sure how much longer Luffy would be able to wait. 

While you waited for the meat to cook, you started to work on the chocolate shake Luffy had asked for. 

Sanji had always shown you strange bean pods whenever he was making chocolate. But nothing in his pantry was labeled, so you grabbed a handful of a few different beads and threw them into a blender. Then you added a pinch of sugar and milk. Surely it wouldn’t be too bad, right?

When the timer for the oven rang out, Luffy bounded into the kitchen. His eyes were wide with excitement and you pulled out the slab of meat. The smell was…well, it smelled far different than anything Sanji had prepared, but perhaps it was just a different style of cooking than his. 

Luffy was bouncing up and down as he waited for you to place the meat in front of him, trying his best to adhere to table manners. But the moment you let go of his plate, he picked up the meat with his bare hands and tore into it. 

The tears in his eyes made you step back. Perhaps you had gone overboard on the spices, or…well, anything could be wrong, honestly. You weren’t a cook. You were just trying your best to serve something up to your hungry boyfriend. 

Luffy cried out, his mouth still stuffed with food. “I’m making you the new cook for the ship! Sanji can take your job!”

You gave a nervous laugh. “Luffy, that’s not-”

“I’m serious! I only want you to cook for me!” He gave you a toothy grin that melted your heart. 

You rolled your eyes. He was certainly laying on the flattery a bit thick. You knew you weren’t a good cook, but you also knew Luffy wasn’t picky. 

“You know, this is the second best thing I think I’ve ever tasted,” he said, licking the plate clean. 

“And what is the first?”

His eyes got a fiendish glow to them, and he gave you a little smirk as he stretched out his and pulled you into his embrace, kissing your lips. “You.”

Nami

“I wish Sanji would hurry up and stop being sick!” Nami griped. “I’m not used to going this long without food!”

“I could whip us up something small,” you offered, starting to rise from your seat next to her. 

Your girlfriend grabbed your hand, her eyes wide. “Darling,” she gave a light laugh. “You know I love you. But…you can’t cook.”

You scoffed. “I can get something small, Nami-dear. Sanji has been teaching me a few things!”

She saw right through your lie, but she sighed and released your hand. “Something small. Like ice cream, or strawberries.”

“You got it! I can do that!”

You could not do that. As you stood staring in the refrigerator, you knew it would have to be something simple. You considered a fruit platter, but that wasn’t exactly cooking for your beloved, was it? And Nami deserved something fun, just like she was. 

Chocolate-covered strawberries. That wouldn’t be too hard. You’d have to make the chocolate, but you had seen Sanji do it a thousand times in just a few minutes. It couldn’t be too difficult. 

Except nothing in his damn pantry was labeled. It’s almost like he didn’t want anyone messing with his food. 

You couldn’t find anything that remotely looked like chocolate, but you had seen him scrape out some beans and add milk to them over the stove, so that was a good place to start. 

You grabbed a handful of beans and began opening them to scrape them off into the saucepan. It didn’t look exactly like Sanji’s, but after you had mashed them up, it was starting to look somewhat right. 

You threw a handful of strawberries onto the plate and covered them with the sauce, and then took them onto the deck to Nami. 

She took one glance before gagging. “What is that?!”

“Strawberries!”

She raised an eyebrow, clearly skeptical. You couldn’t blame her. Something was off, but you had no idea what.

“Just try one, Nam.”

She turned her nose away. “Absolutely not. Give it to Luffy.”

“Nami! Try it!” you begged, but you were starting to agree with her. Nothing looked right about this. “Actually…”

Before you could say any more, Nami let out a dramatic sigh, grabbed a strawberry, and threw it in her mouth. 

And then immediately spit it out. And started gagging. 

“What…the hell…did you put…in that?” she choked out between coughs. 

“I did what Sanji does!” you said, trying to defend yourself from the assault you knew was coming. 

She was too busy rubbing her tongue on her sleeve to say anything else. You were half tempted to try one yourself, just to see if she was being overdramatic, but you were too scared to know the truth. 

Once you had finished coughing and gagging, she finally shot a glare at you. “Darling, you know I love you. But if you ever try to poison me again, I will throw you overboard.”

Zoro 

Sanji was sick. Zoro was almost done with his workout, which meant he would need his post-workout meal. But Sanji was sick. 

So it was up to you. Thankfully Luffy and Ussopp were asleep, and everyone else was out of your hair. It was just you and the kitchen. 

Rice Balls were his favorite. So that's what you would make. It was pretty easy, from what you remember. You had watched your mother make them every day when you were a child. 

So you started boiling water, and then dumped the rice in. You added some random seasoning you found in the cupboard, and mixed it all together. And then you waited. 

And finally, after all the pots were cleaned and the rice had been shaped into some rather mushy rice balls, you took them up to Zoro. 

He eyed them, as if he could tell something was different. You were hoping he wouldn’t notice the change until he bit into them. 

“The cook in a piss mood?” he asked, taking a bite of the ball that was starting to fall apart in his hand. 

His eyes bulged as the taste hit him, and it took him a moment before he could swallow. “That shitty cook is trying to kill me! He’s going to get-”

“Actually,” you piped in sheepishly. “I made them.”

His eyes narrowed as he tried to decipher your words and if they held any truth. “You made them?”

You shrugged. “I’m not much of a cook, I know. Sanji was sick, and I knew you needed to eat, so…”

He took another bite, and you could see the effort it took for him to swallow it. “It’s good,” he said.

You let out a light laugh. “You don’t have to lie, Zoro.”

“I’m not!” He took another bite, cringing as the food touched his tongue. “See, it’s good.”

“You’re lying!” You tried to grab the plate from him, but he held it away. “Zoro, you don’t have to eat it!”

You tried to grab the food so you could throw it into the ocean, but Zoro always jumped out of your reach, narrowly evading you until he took the last bite. 

It wasn’t until later, when the two of you were lounging on the deck, that he stood abruptly, his face as green as his hair, and ran to the bathroom. 

“I knew it was bad,” you said as he returned, curling up next to you.

“It was fine.” He curled into your back, pressing his warm body against you. “Just got seasick.”

“You did not!”

“Your rice was…a new and interesting flavor.”

You laughed at his attempt to be honest. “You’ve eaten rice off the ground, I’d hardly call you a critic.”

He groaned. “The dirt rice was better.”

 “Zoro!” You pulled away and turned to face him “Was it really?”

He pulled you into his arms and plopped a kiss on your cheek, trying to sooth his scalding words. “I’m joking, you know that. I’ll eat your food anytime.”

You smiled and leaned into his chest. “Let’s hope we don’t have to anytime soon.”

“Agreed.”

[mediaevalmusereads]

Baking Yesteryear. By B. Dylan Hollis. DK, 2023.

Rating: 4/5 stars

Genre: cookbook

Series: N/A

Summary: A decade-by-decade cookbook that highlights the best (and a few of the worst) baking recipes from the 20th century

Friends of baking, are you sick and tired of making the same recipes again and again? Then look no further than this baking blast from the past, as B. Dylan Hollis highlights the most unique tasty treats of yesteryear.

Travel back in time on a delicious decade-by-decade jaunt as Dylan shows you how to bake vintage forgotten greats. With a big pinch of fun and a full cup of humor, you’ll be baking everything from Chocolate Potato Cake from the 1910s to Avocado Pie from the 1960s.

Dylan has baked hundreds of recipes from countless antique cookbooks and selected only the best for this bakebook, sharing the shining stars from each decade. And because some of the recipes Dylan shares on his wildly popular social media channels are spectacular failures, he’s thrown in a few of the most disastrously strange recipes for you to try if you dare.

***Full review below.***

Since this book is non-fiction, my review will be structured a little different from normal.

I've had this book for a while, but I didn't want to post a review before making a few of the recipes myself. I was already a fan of Hollis from his TikToks, so that might introduce some bias into my review - just so you're all aware.

Overall, I found this book to be quirky, easy to follow, and fun. I loved the bright colors and retro-feel to the photo shoots, and I appreciated that almost all of the recipes were accompanied by a picture of the thing you're supposed to be making. I also liked the blurbs written by Hollis himself; they very much felt like his voice, with his characteristic sense of humor balanced by his genuine love for baking and "old things."

Perhaps the most valuable part of this book, however, was the emphasis on lowering barriers to entry. I've read my fair share of baking guides that call for special ingredients or equipment, and there are a lot of recipes out there that are finicky and sure ton dissuade new bakers. Hollis's book, however, emphasizes that most (if not all) of these recipes can be done with basic tools - one does not even need an electric mixer (though it does make some recipes easier). There also aren't many fancy ingredients that aren't readily available at most grocery stores, so that also helps.

I do, however, have some minor criticisms which relate to the usability of this book. For one, the organization makes it rather difficult to find a specific recipe (or even category), particularly if you're like me and don't recall what decade it came from. While organizing the recipes by decade makes sense given the book's premise, it does make it more functionally difficult - you can't flip to the cake section, for example, and browse or put yourself within the general vicinity of the recipe you're looking for. Thus, readers will have to rely on either the TOC or the index a lot more, but this is a minor inconvenience rather than a huge drawback.

I also don't think the majority of the recipes are blow-your-mind good, but honestly, given this book's premise, I don't think that's the worst thing. The recipes are largely taken from sources aimed at home bakers, so you're not going to get professional-level pastries out of them. You will, however, get things that are fun and relatively simple to make, and they taste good enough to me that I'd consider making them multiple times.

TL;DR: Baking Yesteryear is a fine book for fans of Hollis's TikTok, but it goes beyond being mere merch. It not only provides historical recipes that are easy to replicate, but it also does a good job of lowering barriers to entry for new bakers. Experienced bakers might not be overly impressed by the recipes, but engaging with food history is a treat in and of itself, and it's delightful to see someone like Hollis engaging with the past with such enthusiasm and adoration.

[heavencanbeaprisontoo]

Living with Alfie Solomons

Warnings: Fluff, angst, references to religion and violence.

Domestic Alfie Headcanons

Alfie owns many different properties all over London and Margate. To your shock, only two were in Camden. One was what you could only describe as a “bachelor’s apartment,” which strongly resembled his office with the addition of a lumpy mattress. He took you to see what he considers his “home,” a one-story brick house surrounded by the lush green of the English countryside. Alfie had built this home after deciding, “Me and stairs, right, we ain’t made for each other.” The home also comes with a sweet little guesthouse behind it for his mother to live in. At which point he had a short rant about how his aging mother refuses to move in and still lives in her tiny flat in Camden. 

When he’s not being a “baker,” he does like to do some baking. Real baking. Bread, pudding, cake, pies, you name it. He likes having to measure his ingredients, put on the perfect temperature for the perfect amount of time. He likes to collect cookbooks too, and will have a gleam of almost childlike delight when he finds one he doesn’t already possess. 

Alfie has a tendency to develop very strong interest in a very specific thing and then drop it months later. He retains all he’s learned from it, but it can be a bit annoying as he will fill the house with his latest obsession. A short list of obsessions he’s developed are: American cowboys, jewelry making, stamps, coin collecting, eastern meditation practices, and Italian opera. 

You had to get used to his slight OCD involving things in his home. Everything has a place, and he gets very grumpy if you move something, a spoon for instance, and he can’t immediately find it. 

Children in the neighborhood are equal parts frightened and delighted by Alfie. They think he’s funny but intimidating. He gives out money and gifts to the Jewish families of Camden, and the children know that. Your dear man will huff and puff about the kids bothering him… but also throw them a coin or a sweet when he’s in the mood. Alfie is sort of like Santa Claus and the Boogeyman at the same time to them. After you started living with him, these children started to follow you around the neighborhood to ask questions about him. Some are quite tame, like “Does Mr. Solomons like cake?” or “Is Mr. Solomons your husband? Will you have lots of children?” while others are, “Did Mr. Solomons kidnap you?”

Relationship Headcanons

Mr. Solomons is quiet in his moments of romance with you. He likes to cup your cheek in his palm and touch his forehead to yours. Trace your face with his thumb as if to memorize it by touch. He places slow kisses on your cheeks and lips, gentle and almost reverent. His world is very brutal and without loyalty, you become his sanctuary. He sleeps best with you in his arms or laying directly on top of him. If you need to get up for any reason, expect a lot of complaining in at least three different languages from Alfie. He hates to be left alone in bed now that he’s had you. 

Thomas Shelby had no idea Alfie was married, until Alfie felt like telling him. Tommy now knows far too much about you. And you know far too much about Thomas Shelby. The first time you meet in person is very awkward.

Alfie is the sort of person that likes quality time and good conversation. He likes to go on strolls with you on the beach of Margate when his knee isn’t too painful. Going to the museum or a library are all tip-top dates in Alfie’s opinion. However, his favorite place to take you is back home. Home is where he can make you dinner and listen to you laugh at his strange stories. He loves to banter and bicker with you. You are one of the few people to make him laugh. Everyone at the port knows when Alfie’s had a nice evening with you because he comes to work in such a grand mood. Newer employees have to be warned not to get too comfortable, as he could come in like a bull if you argued that morning. 

He has a bad habit of dropping surprises on you. These surprises normally revolve around security and protection. Alfie will buy or arrange things for you and then completely forget he did it until you storm into his office asking for an explanation. For some reason, this man won’t admit these things are for self-defense. He just acts like it’s perfectly normal to take your lover out to a gun range or teach her how to stab a man between the ribs. He’s just being a fun, quirky man! 

A marriage proposal is never far off, he’s just waiting for you to convert. If you do not want to convert, prepare to be a secret. He is a religious man and he treasures his faith. Alfie will never forsake you (though he may jest) for not believing what he believes. His reason for hiding you is simple, his mother. Mrs. Solomons wouldn’t speak to her son if she found out he was living with an unwed gentile! 

That said, Mrs. Solomons adores you before and after you marry her son. She’s a delightful old Russian woman who is constantly ordering Alfie around. Mainly, she tells him he glares too much, and he needs to give her a grandchild soon. 

You were surprised by how touchy he is behind closed doors. In public, you could pass for an employee with how distant he is before marriage. After marriage, he likes to walk with arms linked. As a married couple, it is more appropriate to be seen touching each other and he takes full advantage of it. As a matter of fact, he’s almost clingy. He’ll call the house from his office and make up an excuse to talk to you. 

[batri-jopa]

Toad Bread:

Found on practicalpeculiarities Instagram:

Toad Bread! This whimsical bread is so good and easy to make. It has fresh rosemary inside and is topped with garlic and parmesan. It goes great with the herb butter that is attached to the recipe. You can find this recipe and other peculiar foods in my new cookbook Peculiar Baking: A Practical Guide to Strange Confections. He’s the perfect companion to a bowl of stew!

[zeroseuniverse]

Pairing [Soul X Fem Reader]

Word Count [480]

Summary [Just soul being a loveable little weirdo]

Keeho stared at her with the blankest look to ever grace his face, he couldn’t believe the audacity she had to just lie to his face, and not even just that, the worst lie ever, and she expected him to believe it?

“Oh come on, surely you can come up with a better lie than that.” He said in disbelief, hands flying up beside his head to express it even more. She huffed at the sassy man lips almost forming into a pout as the gears in her brain turned to try and figure out a way without outing her crush even more than she already had. The elder man had caught her reading a cookbook, knowing she can’t cook to save her life he snuck up behind her and spotted the page open to a japanese recipe, specifically Soul’s favorite meal, his giggle had startled her so bad she slammed the book down on her thumb by accident to try and hide the evidence spewing out some lie about seeing it on a show and being interested.

“You even burn water.” Keeho retaliated, watching as defeat sank into her features.

“She’s been rereading the first step for like ten minutes to  make sure she does it perfectly, let her cook man.” Soul’s voice sounded, making both Keeho and herself jump at the sudden presence but as they looked around they didn’t spot the strange boy anywhere. 

“Soul?” She gasped, panicked as she wondered just how much of her time in the kitchen he had seen.

“Hiiii.” The japanese native giggled, his head popping out of the cabinet with snacks in his hands. 

“You…have been just sitting in a cabinet?” Keeho wondered confused, watching the younger male nod happily, contect with his own abnormal behavior, not noticing the girl nearly swooning at his adorable quirkiness.

“How long have you been in there?” 

The question was valid, though Soul wondered why it mattered, tilting his head in confusion. “I’ve been in there for a few hours, why?”

“So you’ve heard everything? Even my phone call?” She wondered, she had called her mom, who happened to be staying with Soul’s family for a trip for insight, only to get teased ruthlessly by the women.

“Yea.” He casually answered, shrugging his shoulders as he popped another bit of his snack into his mouth.

“And you have nothing to say at all?”

“Was I not supposed to know something?” He wondered, eyes glancing to his hyung who stifled a giggle at the disbelief now coating her face.

“Why did you never say anything?”

“I thought it was common sense that we both liked each other? Why change anything? I like how we are.” He innocently responded, before holding you the package to her to offer her a bite, “Do you want some? Then I can help you cook!” 

Soul is definitely a strange kid.

[cupids-scream-queen]

🦃Turkey Time with Brahms Heelshire🌽

(Surprisingly, not a crackfic.)

Happy early Thanksgiving!

Word Count: 2.3k

Warnings: unprotected sex, mommy kink, biting, slight blood kink, idk. It's sex. There's sex in it.

Summary: She tried to make a Thanksgiving dinner, but Brahms decided to give her the orgasm of her life.

Thanksgiving was fast approaching, and she had barely anything prepared. It wasn't as if she had family to invite over—she left everyone in America, everyone she'd known and cared for, all for a stupid job where she could be a social recluse in the countryside. It sounded absolutely wonderful, actually, and looking past the obvious red flags—she was happy.

The doll she was originally hired to nanny was of a boy, and she wasn’t particularly creeped out by it. She presumed it was haunted, alive, or any number of things, and it didn’t bother her at all—she herself was strange and unusual in that sense.

She thought nothing of the parents of the doll, she just figured it was a strange sort of coping mechanism from two heartbroken parents about the death of their real boy—but nothing really prepared her for when the doll was revealed to be a ruse and the boy was alive, and living in the walls of the manor. This, of course, was a little strange and unusual, but she didn’t really mind—she was hired as a nanny, and she was going to nanny, whether that be a doll or a man-child who lived in the walls all his life.

It was nearly a month since she discovered the secret, and though it made her wonder a few things (mostly what the fuck the man was doing), once she saw the mask, she put the pieces together—the boy was alive, and his parents were just batshit crazy.

Though she was a recluse, her mind often wondered if Brahms had experienced any sort of holiday properly—if he got Christmas presents, if he’d experienced Thanksgiving (though she knew that Thanksgiving was not an English holiday, she still wished to celebrate it), if he’d had an Easter egg hunt. She decided, then, that she was going to show Brahms every holiday he’d missed out on, and she started with the first of many: Thanksgiving.

She was trying to surprise him, the turkey in the oven and the potatoes heating up, she was in the kitchen, her hair tied up in a neat bun, her apron overtop her work clothes, her eyes scanning the cookbook propped open on a pot in front of her. She was a sight to behold, and she felt like a housewife—but a paid housewife, which meant she wouldn’t be complaining anytime soon.

The smell was delicious, the food was to be impeccable, and she was certain that Brahms would enjoy the meal she’d made for him. She was excited to see the movements of joy pop up from him, his stiff porcelain mask concealing facial expressions, but she knew she’d be able to tell if he was happy.

Currently, she knew she was being watched. From a peephole, in the kitchen, she was always being observed by Brahms. She didn’t particularly care, she wasn’t doing anything that she needed privacy for, but she wanted to see if Brahms would get involved in the process.

“Brahms? Do you want to come out?” She called, and she heard a shuffling movement coming from behind her. Without warning, she felt the arms of the man wrap around her, the cool mask pressing into her neck. She didn’t jump, she didn’t scream, she just let him stay there.

“Do you want to help me cook?”

“Yes,” The child-like voice of the man was not as off-putting the more she heard it. She didn’t quite understand why he used it, but she didn’t judge—the man was living in the walls, he didn’t have the most normal of upbringings.

“If you want to help, you’ve got to let go of me, Brahmsy,” She said, her voice soft and gentle.

“No, I want to be close,” Brahms squeezed her harder, pressing her up against his body. He was warm, and she cold, but she felt the small twinge of something pressing into her.

“How close, Brahms?” She asked, and he pressed up against her more, allowing her to feel his hard cock. She let out a sharp release of air.

“Close,” He said, his voice no longer child-like. His full, proper, man voice. Soft and gentle, yet still somewhat demanding.

“Brahms, I’m making dinner,” She protested, but Brahms was having none of it. Quickly, he turned her around, pressing her up against the counter as she looked up into the eyes of the man in the porcelain mask.

“Please,” He whimpered, and she was inclined to give in, give him what he wanted. But a small part of her wondered how far she could get with teasing. How far she could provoke the man until he caved in and did everything that he desired towards her. That small part of her became larger the longer Brahms kept pressing himself up against her, his dick deliciously hitting her clothed pussy.

“If you’re a good boy,” She said simply, and went to turn back around to focus on the cooking. Brahms yanked her away, causing her to drop a spoon on the ground. The loud clang of the spoon did nothing, Brahms still dead set on getting what he wanted. And she found it adorable, and hot.

“I’m a good boy, I’m so good, I can make you feel good,” Brahms pawed at her shirt, desperate for her to take it off. To his dismay, she didn’t oblige.

“If you’re a good boy, you’d help me cook,” She batted his hands away, looking into his piercing green eyes. “You’ll get your reward if you help mommy cook.”

“I don’t want to help mommy cook. I want to make mommy feel good,” Brahms groaned as she touched his clothed dick, tempting him with what could happen. Only tempting, not giving.

“Brahms,” She palmed him again, causing him to latch onto her, not wanting to let go. “You’ll get more if you help me prepare dinner.”

“Please, please mommy—” Brahms was practically jelly against her at this point, his body completely giving up and allowing her to pleasure him. He loved it. He needed more of it.

“You’ll get more if you help me, baby,” She promised, and it only took a few more minutes of this before Brahms agreed. Fine, he’d help.

He’d help her solve her problem.

He allowed her to turn her back on him, before he lifted her up, kidnapping her into the bedroom. He moved quickly, and she didn’t protest, she knew what she was doing in the kitchen. She enjoyed this part of Brahms, the wild, untamed, needy part of him that would tip over and do things like this. He threw her on the bed, climbing on top of her in an instant.

She could tell from the glisten in his eyes that he was going to do everything and anything to her, and she was fine with it. She would allow Brahms to have his fun—after all, she’d be the one to discipline him later.

He slipped the familiar blindfold on her, not allowing her to see his face as he took off the mask. He started to kiss at her neck, biting, licking, sucking; she moaned, her noises causing him to take more skin in before he finally bit hard enough to draw blood—she moaned as he drank from the wound, lapping it up deliciously and allowing it to sting. His hands were roaming her body, his touch like fire on her skin. He pawed at the shirt on your body, before tearing it off with his bare hands.

Unclasping the bra, her breasts were exposed, his hands immediately covering them and flicking her nipples, causing them to become hard. He took the right one in his mouth, his tongue swirling around and his teeth grazing over the soft flesh. He took the left breast in his hand, his large, warm, beautiful hand. She wiggled under him, but he held her down as best he could with his own body weight, trapping her between him and the mattress. It was a delicious position for her to be in.

“Oh God, Brahmsy, you’re so good,” She was breathless, and she knew Brahms had yet to fully start yet. No, he was going to draw it out, make her wait, exactly as she’d done to him. She knew the risk of tormenting him like that, and now she was reaping the repercussions. Delightfully.

He laughed, his chest vibrating and his breath hitched as she continued to moan at his mouth, her fingers in his hair. She wanted to watch how his mouth came down on her nipple, how he looked when he was pleasuring her. She wanted to see all of him, and although she was patient, she had a desire to see the man behind the mask.

“I’m going to fuck you so hard, you’ll never leave me,” Brahms growled in her ear, and she shuddered at the thought of him fucking her hard enough to do that. She moaned in response, her grip on his hair tightening. Brahms began to kiss and suck lower, leaving hickeys and bite marks as he made his way down to her skirt, before completely taking it off in one go.

“You’re wet.”

“It’s for you, Brahmsy,” She said, her voice tender, “it’s all for you.”

“Good. You’re mine,” He put his hand on her pussy, enjoying how she gasped at the sudden pressure. He looked at her panties—bright red, which stood out against her skin. He took them off gingerly, far more careful than he usually was. Her pussy was bare, and she felt his warm breath on it for a few seconds, before his warm tongue started to make its way from bottom to top. Her thighs clenched around him almost immediately, but he forced them open with his hands. She pulled on his hair, begging for him to go deeper. She felt his tongue enter her, and she moaned loudly at the intrusion. It was warm, wet, and wonderful—and he was fantastic at his job. Her body shook with a mix of pain and pleasure as he lightly bit on her clit, the nerves sending sparks up her body. He began mixing his fingers with his tongue, stretching her wide in preparation for what was to come.

She could barely think, her mind focused solely on Brahms. Until, suddenly, he stopped. His tongue was away from her pussy, his hands were finding a new home on her body. She moaned at the loss, and he pressed a finger against her lips. She smelled herself on it, and tenderly took his finger in her mouth, sucking. It earned a groan from Brahms, who was now focused on the main part of his goal.

He gave no warning when he pushed into her, stopping for nothing as he went as deep in her as he could. It hurt slightly, she could feel her eyes prick with tears of pain and pleasure as he started to thrust into her, roughly. He pulled all the way out before slamming back in, the bed creaking from his body movements. His hands were all over her, prodding, pinching, everything, until one of them found a home on her pussy, continuing to rub circles into her clit as he fucked her, moaning out her name as he continued.

“You’re such a good boy,” She gasped out, her breathing uneven. His pace was fast, nothing like it’d been before. “You feel so good, Brahmsy, oh my God—”

“Don’t leave,” His words were mixed with groans, his mouth finding her neck. He bit again, drawing more blood and lapping it up like a good dog. She wasn’t going to leave. Not after this.

“I won’t, I promise,” The words hung over as Brahms continued to thrust into her, his dick hitting her spot religiously and his cock fitting into her like a puzzle piece. It was thick, large, and fat—perfect for his girl to take. Because that’s what she was, his.

His thrusts got rougher, and his nails dug into her skin as he continued, and she looked beautiful. Brahms wasn’t quite sure what love was, but he understood lust, and knew that he was lusting after her, and she felt the same towards him. He couldn’t keep his eyes off of her every movement, her body arching as she came closer and closer to absolute pleasure. He was doing that to her, and it was the greatest accomplishment he could do.

He could feel her clenching around his cock, drawing him in closer and closer. Her moans were more frequent and high-pitched, and she was scratching at his arms, her nails digging in, creating the most wonderful pain. He kept going, chasing after his own pleasure, knowing that he’ll give her hers.

And he was right.

He continued to rut into her, feeling himself being drawn closer and closer unto the edge. He was finally ready, his dick aching for release, and his girl was spread out for him, open, and ready to take it. And she was going to. She came first, her pussy clenching and coating him in a layer of her cum. He then thrusted roughly into her, his dick reaching new places as he came in her, thick layers of cum shooting into her. She could feel some of it leak out, and she whined as Brahms continued to thrust, even after his release, until he pulled out, his breathing deep and heavy.

He collapsed onto her, and she wrapped her arms around him, keeping him close. He could feel her heart beating out of her chest, telling him that he’d done a good job. He smiled at the praise.

“Brahmsy, I’ve still got to make dinner,” She said, and he whined. “If I don’t go, I might ruin the turkey.”

“Stay,” He said, his voice childlike again. “I did good.”

“Yes, you did wonderfully, but I need to get dinner ready,” She carefully peeled him off of her, and she heard the familiar snapping of the mask, signaling it was safe for her to pull off the blindfold. “Are you going to help? You can mash the potatoes.”

“Okay,” He said, and that was all there was to it.