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siren-sashimi · 8 months

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

#Marquis de Gramont x reader #Vincent de Gramont x reader #Marquis Vincent de Gramont x reader #Lily note pad

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tastesoftamriel · 1 year

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Hackle-lo and Scuttle Curry

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

You will need:

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

125g baby spinach

2 onions, finely diced

2 tbsp concentrated tomato purée

3 tbsp unsalted, unroasted cashews

1 tsp ginger paste

5 cloves garlic, minced

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

1/2 tsp garam masala

2 cloves

2 cardamom pods, crushed lightly

1 tsp cumin

1 tbsp cinnamon

2 tbsp sugar

175ml water

2 tbsp butter

Coconut oil or vegetable oil

Salt and pepper, to taste

Cream, to serve (optional)

Method:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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sebastianswallows · 18 days

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The English Client — Four

— PAIRING: Tom Riddle x F!Reader

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

— WARNINGS: none, but almost main character death lol

— WORDCOUNT: 2.5k

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He looked at the catalogue again.

Torchia, A.

Key to Captive Thoughts, 1653 — four three copies

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

III

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

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

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

“I’ve got you now,” he grinned.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Finite incantatem.”

Nothing happened.

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

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

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

And that was when it struck him.

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

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

“By Salazar’s f-fucking… Ow!”

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

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

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

#Tom Riddle #Tom Riddle x reader #Tom Riddle x OC #Tom Riddle fanfiction #harry potter #harry potter fanfiction #sswallow;fanfics #sswallow;made a thing #fanfic;englishclient

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rhodesrider · 5 months

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My Girl

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

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

~~~

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

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

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

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

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

“Papa your friend just picked me up.”

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

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

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

#wwe imagine #wwe one shot #wwe smackdown #wwe raw #age regression #agere headcanons #cody rhodes fanfiction #cody rhodes

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fuckyeahdindjarin · 8 months

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Hey! The chili was a HUGE success, requests have been made for it to be a regular meal! So, with that triumph in mind, do you have any other Palomino recipes to share? I'd love to try something else!

Hi love! I'm so thrilled that the chili was a hit, and do I have more Palomino recipes for you! Many of the dishes that showed up in the series are my favourites, and if people are interested, I definitely have more to share 😘

Poppy’s chocolate & rum cupcakes

Darlin's birthday cake featured in Part IV Strawberry Roan is inspired by my own favourite recipe - the chocolate and rum cake. However, since the cake is super rich and heavy, I prefer to make them as cupcakes (pictured are my mini cupcakes and I pair them with fresh strawberries), but you can adapt this recipe for a cake as well.

You taste chocolate on his tongue - and dark rum, must be Poppy's secret ingredient - as it moulds around yours.

As mentioned in the fic, rum is the secret ingredient to this recipe. I've been using this recipe for about 8 years now, and it's adapted for my typical Asian palate i.e. it's not too sweet, and the dark rum gives it a deep flavour and aftertaste that goes perfectly with the chocolate.

Important: The type of cocoa powder makes all the difference. Recently, I've been using Ghirardelli and I love it, it's silky smooth and it has so much depth to the flavour. Alternatively, I used to use a blend of Valrhona and regular cocoa powder (just regular Cadbury drinking cocoa), about 3/4 Valrhona to 1/4 regular cocoa powder. I wouldn't use all Valrhona because it is too dense and it affects the texture of the cake.

Full recipe below the cut:

This is actually the first cake recipe I've ever shared, so apologies in advance if the batch numbers are not completely accurate! The recipe officially makes 36 mini cupcakes, but the output may be a bit more generous since I used to sell these, I always made a few more to take into account margin for error. This recipe should make 12 regular cupcakes.

For the cake:

The chocolate mixture

60g dark chocolate (I use 70% chocolate), chopped

0.6 cup boiling water

0.5 tablespoon espresso powder

6 teaspoon unsweetened cocoa powder (see my note above the cut)

The dry ingredients

3/4 cup all-purpose flour

1/2 teaspoon baking soda

1/4 teaspoon baking powder

1/4 teaspoon salt

Wet ingredients

118g unsalted butter, soft

1/2 cup granulated sugar

3 tablespoons brown sugar

1/2 teaspoon vanilla extract

1.5 eggs (it’s a forgiving recipe - 1 large egg will do as well)

1/4 cup buttermilk

Directions

Make the chocolate mixture first as it needs to cool down before use. Chop up the chocolate into pieces small enough to be melted by boiling water.

Mix the cocoa powder and espresso powder with boiling water, then pour over the chopped chocolate. Stir until chocolate is completely melted and let cool.

Prepare the dry ingredients by stirring everything together in a bowl.

Using a stand mixer or a hand mixer, cream together butter and both sugars until incorporated. Do not overbeat.

Mix in vanilla extract and eggs until well combined, and scrape down the sides and bottom of the mixing bowl.

Pour the cooled chocolate mixture into the wet ingredients and mix until combined. Do not overbeat, scrape down the bowl again.

Alternatively add the dry ingredients and buttermilk to the mixing bowl. Always lead with the dry ingredients, and follow with buttermilk to ensure you don't add too much liquid. The batter should be silky and smooth, but not runny i.e. when you scoop it up with a spoon, it should be the texture of very soft soft serve, but it shouldn't dribble.

It depends on your oven, but for me, this batter doesn't rise a lot, so I fill up the cupcake liners to about 3/4 full. I suggest you bake one cupcake first to test how full you should fill it, and the time it takes. For mini cupcakes, I bake at 150C and check around the 15 minute mark, and they usually take 20 minutes. For regular cupcakes, I would check around the 20 minute mark, they might take up to 30 minutes.

A cupcake is done when it springs back when you press on it and your fingertip doesn't leave a dent. Don't overbake.

Let the cupcakes cool down completely before frosting.

Edit: I forgot to add that I poke little holes in the cupcakes with a toothpick and feed each one with rum before frosting!

For the buttercream:

I always make too much buttercream, because there's nothing quite as frustrating as not having enough for your last cupcake! And trust me, this buttercream is so good you can eat it off a spoon. So put any spare in a mason jar and enjoy it!

125g unsalted butter, cubed and softened at room temperature

1.8 cups powdered sugar

0.5 cup Dutch-processed cocoa powder

0.3 cup heavy whipping cream

pinch of salt

1.6 tablespoon rum

Directions

Beat butter until it's soft and sticks to the side of the bowl in soft strips. When you scrape down with a spatula, you should meet no resistance and it should slide smoothly down the side of the bowl.

Add powdered sugar in half cups, scraping down the sides and bottoms of the bowl in between until the texture reaches the consistency of buttercream.

Alternatively mix in cocoa powder and whipping cream, always starting with the powder and ending with the cream. Add just enough cream for the the powder to incorporate into the frosting.

Add the rum bit by bit with the mixer on the slowest setting to make sure the buttercream isn't too wet - it will curdle if it does, and you want the buttercream to have enough structural integrity to pipe.

These cupcakes can be frozen frosted or unfrosted, and imho they taste even better when allowed to 'age'. Keep in freezer for up to 3 weeks, thaw in fridge overnight before eating. Pair with fresh berries, it's lovely when you have the acidity to cut through the richness! I hope this recipe makes sense and turns out well!

#palomino recipes #palomino series #chocolate and rum cake #tw food #tw baking

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emmys-baking-adventures · 21 days

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These chocolate toffee thumbprints with a creamy chocolate filling are rich, delicious, and perfect for any occasion! Recipe below!

Dough:

- 2 cups all-purpose flour

- ½ cup unsweetened Dutch-process cocoa powder

- ½ teaspoon salt

- 1 (8-ounce) bag of milk chocolate-covered coffee bits

- 1 cup unsalted butter, softened

- 1 cup granulated sugar

- 1 large egg

- 1 tablespoon vanilla extract

Filling:

- 4 ounces (about ¾ cup) semisweet chocolate chips

- 1 ½ tablespoons butter, softened

- ⅓ cup heavy cream

- ½ cup powdered sugar, sifted

1. Dough: Stir together the flour, cocoa, and salt in a medium bowl. Add 1 cup of the toffee chips and toss with the mixture.

2. In a separate big bowl, beat the butter and granulated sugar together on medium speed until fluffy. Add the egg and vanilla and beat until combined.

3. Add the flour mixture and stir with a spoon. Make sure the toffee pieces are evenly dispersed.

4. Roll the dough into 1 ½-inch balls and place on parchment-lined baking sheets. Use your thumb or a spoon to press a well into the center of each one. Refrigerate the cookies for at least 45 minutes.

5. Preheat the oven to 350°. Make sure the cookies are about an inch apart. Return any remaining cookies to the refrigerator until ready to bake.

6. Bake for 8-10 minutes. Cool completely on the baking sheet and then transfer to a cooling rack. Repeat until all the cookies are baked.

7. Filling: Place the chocolate chips and butter in a small, heat-proof bowl.

8. Heat the heavy cream in a small saucepan over medium-high heat, stirring often, until it comes to a boil.

9. Pour the cream over the chocolate chips and cover the bowl tightly with aluminum foil. Let it sit for 5-6 minutes, then whisk until the chocolate is completely melted and smooth. Add the sugar and whisk until smooth and creamy.

10. Spoon the filling into the indentations on the cookies and sprinkle with the remaining toffee chips. Let set for about an hour.

#cookies #baking #food pics #food porn #food photography #food #recipes #chocolate #toffee bits #chocolate cookies #sweets #dessert #emmysbakingadventures

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hachama · 10 months

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Making an Italian meringue butter cream is such an intense "trust the process" thing. From the time the first bits of butter go in to the time it finally whips up beautiful and fluffy again, it looks like I've ruined it.

It looks like expired cottage cheese.

But then when it finally comes together and it's on a cake, it's like whipped cream.

It might be better than whipped cream. It's stable, and so smooth and rich and light, all at the same time.

This one, in particular, is amazing. It's cream cheese frosting, but unlike American butter cream, which is super sweet and can have a crunchy, granular texture, this is just smooooooth.

#food #cooking #baking

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dreaminginthedeepsouth · 7 months

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Sweet Potato and Butternut Squash Soup

By MARTHA ROSE SHULMAN

This silky fall/winter puree tastes rich, though there is no cream or butter in it.

1 tablespoon canola oil 1 small onion, chopped 1 tablespoon minced fresh ginger 1 pound butternut squash, peeled and diced

1 pound sweet potatoes, peeled and diced

1 medium-size Yukon gold or russet potato, peeled and diced 6 cups water, chicken stock, or vegetable stock Salt to taste 1. Heat the oil in a heavy soup pot or Dutch oven over medium heat. Add the onion and cook, stirring, until tender, about 5 minutes. Add the ginger and stir together until fragrant, about 1 minute. Add the squash, sweet potatoes, regular potato, and water or stock, and bring to a simmer. Add salt to taste, reduce the heat, cover and simmer 45 minutes, or until all of the ingredients are thoroughly tender. 2. Using an immersion blender, puree the soup (or you can put it through the fine blade of a food mill or use a regular blender, working in batches and placing a kitchen towel over the top to avoid splashing). Return to the pot and stir with a whisk to even out the texture. Heat through, adjust salt and add pepper to taste. Yield: Serves 6 Advance preparation: You can make this a day ahead and refrigerate. Reheat gently. The soup freezes well. Once thawed, whisk well to smooth out the texture, and reheat.

[Erin's version, also heavenly] 4 slices of uncured bacon cut into 1/2 inch pieces 2 leeks- white and light green parts only, cut length wise into 1 inch pieces 6 cups butternut squash ( ~3 lb) 2 Granny Smith apples 3 cups water 3 cups milk - I used 2 1/2 c almond milk and 1/4 c coconut cream (off the top of coconut milk in can)

1. Heat up soup pot over medium heat. Add bacon & let sauté a few minutes until crispy. Remove but leave the bacon fat in the pot.

2. Add leeks, butternut squash, & apples to hot bacon fat. Stir & let cook a few minutes until the mixture begins to soften.

3. Add water and milk. Bring to boil. Lower heat to low/simmer and let simmer for 25-30 minutes.

[immersion blender for smooth soup]

#soup #delicious #recipes #butternut squash soup #butternut squash #fall #dinner party #never fail recipes #continual feasts #my food blog #my recipe blog

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jellig1rl · 5 months

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안녕하세요 cutie patooties! Today I’m going to go over my hand care routine, both daily and weekly ^-^ hand care is so important and although you don’t necessarily need to do these things, I love doing it to keep my hands so soft and youthful <3

Let’s give these precious little paws the love and care they deserve with a super kawaii hand care routine! Here’s how to pamper your hands and keep them irresistibly soft and charming every day! 🎀✨

Morning Hand care routine ⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡

Exfoliate and cleanse ✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩

Exfoliation is a vital step in your morning routine to keep your hands looking and feeling silky smooth. I usually use my hello kitty scrub cause it’s hydrating too <3

Serum ✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩

Serums can be a game-changer in maintaining youthful and radiant hands. Look for a serum specifically formulated for hands, packed with ingredients like hyaluronic acid or vitamin C to boost hydration and combat signs of aging.

After Cleansing: Once your hands are cleansed and exfoliated, take a small amount of your preferred kawaii hand serum onto your fingertips. Dot the serum onto the back of one hand, then gently massage it into both hands using upward motions, focusing on areas that may show signs of aging or dryness.

Hand Cream ✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩

Using a nourishing hand cream in your morning routine is essential for maintaining soft, hydrated, and youthful-looking hands throughout the day. Look for a hand cream enriched with hydrating ingredients like shea butter, glycerin, or almond oil for maximum moisture.

SPF ✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩

Don’t forget to extend your sunscreen application to your hands! UV rays can cause premature aging, dark spots, and skin damage, making it crucial to apply a dedicated hand-specific SPF.

Hand care tips <3

Regular Hydration: Keep your hands hydrated throughout the day by applying hand cream frequently, especially after washing your hands, to prevent dryness.

Gentle Cleansing: Use mild, moisturizing hand washes or cleansers to cleanse your hands without stripping away natural oils.

Sun Protection: Apply a hand-specific SPF daily to shield your hands from harmful UV rays and prevent premature aging and sun damage.

Cuticle Care: Nourish and moisturize your cuticles regularly with cuticle oil or cream to maintain healthy, neat-looking nails.

Exfoliation: Incorporate gentle exfoliation once or twice a week to remove dead skin cells and reveal smoother hands.

Wear Gloves: Protect your hands from harsh chemicals, cold weather, or household chores by wearing gloves to maintain their softness.

Balanced Diet: Consume a diet rich in vitamins and antioxidants to promote overall skin health, benefiting your hands as well.

Stay Hydrated: Drink enough water daily to keep your skin, including your hands, properly hydrated from the inside out.

Avoid Harsh Soaps: Steer clear of harsh soaps or sanitizers that may dry out your hands excessively, causing irritation.

Until next time jellybeans <3

- 젤리

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feverinfeveroutfic · 20 days

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The Confectioner’s Tale | Chapter 2

as sweet as blood and chocolate 🩸

(speaking of, new chapter of that coming)

There was a rumor spread about me some time ago. I had no idea as to when it had manifested or when it came into fruition, but somehow I had gotten word that the kids down the street were saying that I made cupcakes out of human flesh and blood. At first, my colleagues and I had laughed it off, and I believed it to be because we served cupcakes at Halloween with a cherry red glaze over the top so as to resemble to blood: we also had cakes with decorations in the shape of human fingers and eyeballs. I figured that it was simply Halloween fun from the neighborhood children: I was a kid in northern Nevada, and Halloween was a huge deal in Carson City, and so, I knew it all too well.

Then the health department showed up.

The memory of being questioned by the health inspector and having my pantry looked at down to every last molecule of flour and sugar had been etched in my memory from thence forth. I was still wary of keeping red food coloring in the pantry near the decoration tools because I knew that it could be mistaken as blood.

I had considered myself as a kitchen witch of sorts, what with my long dark bushy hair down to my waist and my brown eyes in contrast with my pale olive-toned skin. I had been to Cyprus and Israel, the latter of which a few times to say in the least. I was all too familiar with Canada and Britain. I was an artist on top of being elbow-deep in pastry and bread doughs.

But I knew in my heart of hearts that one of these days, I was going to have to find my out of Los Angeles and mosey on up to Reno again.

What you see as somewhat above you, you watch with eyes that burn like cigarettes no matter what the context.

I had the bricks of cream cheese out on the counter next to me and the mixer, as well as the sour cream, half a stick of butter, six eggs, and the jar of vanilla extract. I had already crafted out the graham cracker crust and had put it in the fridge for chilling for about twenty minutes.

Chill for twenty, bake for twenty-five, as my boss had advised me on the first time around.

I couldn’t stop thinking about those two boys as I began work on that lush New York cheesecake: it was going to take longer than the Bailey’s cake given it had to sit in the fridge and chill for a whole day once I had finished it, which meant Alex wasn’t going to get his slice until the morning hours at the very least. I hoped that he would understand, and I hoped that he would still be there come the morning as well.

Boiling water in the roasting pan where the springform pan would be set within, and I hoped that the cake would set.

I had only made all of three New York style cheesecakes before then, the first of which was at home, and thus, I was a bit nervous to start with.

In fact, the more I thought about it, the more I found rather interesting that I had gotten a Jewish boy as well as another guy from New York, and there I was crafting out a state dessert complete with a small grouping of fresh raspberries on top.

Once time was up, I opened the oven door and checked on the cake, nestled inside of the shiny springform pan and the steaming water bath.

An ever so slight wobble in the middle was all I needed.

My heart skipped a beat when I knew it was just right, and I took the smooth pale yellow disk right out of the heat with my red silicone oven mitts. I perched the cake on the wire rack next to me for a moment; I then took off the springform, albeit with some care so as to make sure the cake was fully set in place. The latch clicked off and the filling stayed put as it should. I let out a low whistle and tucked it into the top shelf of the pale purple refrigerator, and then I got right to work on that Bailey’s cake for Pete.

There sat a brand new rich black bottle of the liqueur in the back of the pantry, and as I took it out of hiding, I had a flashback to when Ben was in the picture.

They were never that much of heavy drug users, but they did enjoy some drinks and some recklessness every now and again. But Ben had the most nefarious of habits with his smoking. He made it look so cool and yet so repulsive at that same time as he leaned against the brick wall with a cigarette rested on his bow-shaped lips and his long shaggy, bushy hair dangled down over his face. I had only known him via writing and what I had seen from afar, but the thought of the smoke caressing and cutting into his skin, a subtle poison sharper than any knife, only made me nauseous. I may have had my inkling for him, but I had my doubts about kissing him should the opportunity ever make its way to my mind

Maybe it was just my own naïveté in thinking that I could fix him. I often fantasized about getting together with him and we could find a way to get away from those damned things. To clear away the smoke so he could smile and breathe without choking on his own oxygen.

I had my fantasies, about talking to him face to face, about going on a date with him.

They were fantasies until I acted upon them.

I returned to reality as I made the chocolate ganache for the Bailey’s cake.

Unsweetened chocolate with heavy cream and a tablespoon of that smooth liqueur over a bain-marie.

I wondered what those boys were doing across the street as I glimpsed over at the time on the two tiers in the oven. Only five doors separated them, and I knew that the smell of the Bailey’s cake would attract attention amongst themselves once the time came for me. Five doors and five minutes.

I let the ganache set for a second on the stove so it would stay warm for the time being, and I began the buttercream frosting. Oh, what a glorious bitch that was buttercream frosting.

I switched on the mixer to low speed and took another glimpse up to the shelf with the boxes of cake decorations. A part of me wanted to whip out the fake blood again, just to see how they would react across the street. I may have been a baker, but I was a baker who gave a blessing to the kitchens I worked in.

I had my witchcraft, and they both had the shadows on their eyes and the hair as black as night. A rumor or not, it made sense in the strangest way as the cream manifested itself right before my eyes. I switched off the mixer, and within seconds, the timer went off. I put the mitts back on and took the cake pans out of the oven: the rich dark chocolate batter had risen toward the edges of the fine silver pans in a slight dome shape, and I knew they were done with a mere pat of my fingertip.

I let them cool for a few minutes before I took each of them out of the pans and spread the ganache over the bottom tier. It seemed a bit of a rush as the tiers had to cool all the way, but I figured that it was cool enough in that kitchen that they would temper down enough to work with. Or perhaps not as they steamed once released from the pans.

All the while, I flashed a glimpse over at the refrigerator door, and I thought about that cheesecake. It had to chill before I could do anything to it, and so far, it had only been about an hour.

I was going to have to spill to Alex once I walked on out of there with the Bailey’s cake for Pete.

I cleaned up the kitchen a bit so as to let the tiers cool some more, and I once again had another flashback to Ben. When the rumor that we were using human flesh and blood in our baked goods, and I was supposedly the one responsible for it, I thought about Ben talking about being a twenty-year-old kid and living on Bainbridge Island, far removed from the rest of the world. Chris had said the last thing any kid would ever want to do was knock on Ben’s door for any reason whatsoever, not even if his house was on fire, because Ben would greet them with a double-barrel twelve-gage. I always wondered how much truth there was to that, and if any kid had ever gone to the hospital with a slug of lead embedded in the back of their head.

I was in love with a potential murderer as far as I knew, and I shuddered at the thought.

As I wiped down the counter over the display case with a cloth, I looked on at myself in the reflection of the shiny silvery metal. As silver as the tiny plume in Alex’s hair.

Oh, flesh and blood. The thing that bounded us and the thing that could have done us in more so than the nickname of the “tombstone mile”.

A shadow emerged from behind the glass front door, and I took a glimpse up for a look outside there. A tall, burly man with long wavy hair the color of the Bailey’s cake, smooth skin kissed by the sun, and long lanky arms strode across the street; when he extended his hand out to the door handle, I caught a glimpse of the silver cross on his middle finger.

“Hey!” he greeted me once he stepped inside; he took off his mirrored sunglasses and showed me brilliant blue eyes in sharp contrast of his dark skin.

“Hey!” I returned the favor, albeit with a bit of reluctance as he was just a stranger to me.

“I’m with Alex, who came in here earlier,” he told me as the door closed behind him. He lightly smelled of cologne, beer, and incense, and it helped that he donned a turquoise bracelet on his left wrist. “I’m Chuck.”

“Chuck! I’m Hannah. What can I do for you?”

“I just came to see how you’re doing,” he replied. “He told me about you and the cheesecake you’re making just for him.”

“Aw!” I brought a hand to my chest at that, and I could feel my heart skipping a few beats. This was a first for me, especially after everything that Ben and I had gone through before. I could feel my face growing warm as a result of that.

“And let me guess, you want a slice yourself,” I quipped, to which he shrugged.

“Maybe. I guess I could also check out what else you got given this is a bakery and a rather infamous one at that, as well.”

“The cake has to cool for eight hours,” I told him, “and we’re not that infamous, either.” I flashed him a wink, and he returned the favor with a sly grin. His luminous eyes swept down to my chest and the pendant around my neck for a moment. He squinted at it, and then, like the sun outside of there, his face lit up.

“Oh, that says ‘Soundgarden’! Love those cats.”

“Favorite band in the whole world,” I said with one hand on my hip as if to indicate my pride. “I wrote a string of letters to their bass player Ben.”

“Oh, that’s so cool! Anything come of that?”

And I sighed through my nose. He raised his eyebrows at that.

“Really?”

“Yeah, I used to like him,” I confessed with a shrug. “I never did get even so much as a ‘boo’ out of him.”

Chuck leaned over the top of the display case and folded his arms over the edge.

“You deserve better,” he assured me in a low voice. “You deserve so much better than to be left in the dark like that.”

I showed him a smile.

“Thank you, that’s really sweet of you,” I said.

“I mean it, though!” Chuck insisted. “You deserve to feel something in the midst of everything.” He ran his fingers through his dark waves, to which he craned his neck for a look into the kitchen behind me.

“By the way, what else is baking in here? It smells wonderful.”

“A chocolate cake laced with powdered espresso and Bailey’s,” I replied. “A favorite at St. Paddy’s Day and a special one for a guy who came in before Alex.”

Chuck paused for a second.

“Was it a tall guy? Taller than me? Long jet-black hair and big bright green eyes? Looks like he could either drain you of your blood or kill a man with his bare hands?”

“Yes, actually,” I stammered.

“He and his band are staying right next door to us,” he replied. “We’re on separate tours, but we’re in the same hotel.”

“Oh, my god, really?”

“Yeah! Small world, right?”

“As small as the petits-fours we’ll be making coming up here soon enough,” I quipped. Chuck took a glimpse down to the case before him right then: the glass always got too warm if someone leaned up against it like that, but he seemed to be double-taking on something under the glass.

“What’s this right here?” he asked me with a gesture to the box on the shelf right before me.

“Malassadas,” I replied. “They’re basically Portuguese donuts, covered in cinnamon and sugar. Pretty big over in Hawai’i as well as the Azores, and also me as I’m Portuguese.”

“I’m Mexican and Native American,” he added. “We’re curators of the damned.”

“And I’ll be damned, too,” I cracked, which in turn brought a big chuckle out of him.

“I’ll take one of those, and how long do you think that Bailey’s cake is going to be?”

“I took the tiers out of the oven about ten minutes ago and they have to cook before I could frost and assemble them,” I explained. “So, about… twenty minutes or so.” I paused. “Why?”

“Let me walk you over there once it’s done,” he suggested. “You know. Woman walking across the street in L.A. with a chocolate cake in her arms.”

I squinted my eyes at that. This totally was nothing like Ben, or like Soundgarden for that matter.

“Let me get that malassada for you,” I said to him in a low voice.

#fanfic #fanfiction #testament #testament fanfic #testament band #chuck billy #oc tag #chapter 2 #type o negative #soundgarden #ben shepherd #peter steele #also on ao3 #writing #text #the confectioner’s tale fanfic #the confectioner’s tale

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saucymincks · 8 months

Text

Ganache is one of the greatest culinary tricks in my pocket. You want something to sound fancy? Add ganache. You want to make people think you know big chefy terms? Say "ganache". You want to make a pie that will make people FREAK OUT because it's so good and rich and smooth and gorgeous and wow what is the recipe omg it's so delicious? GANACHE.

But here's the thing about ganache: it's easy.

I made a dark chocolate ganache pie for Rosh Hashanah dessert last night. It's in a shell made of pecans and walnuts with pumpkin pie spice. It's topped with pomegranate and sea salt. It sounds fancy! But it's not.

Ganache is just 14 oz. of chocolate chips and 5 tablespoons of cubed butter in a bowl. Ganache is just 10 oz. of heavy cream microwaved for two minutes and poured over the chocolate and butter NO STIRRING DO NOT STIR IT. Ganache is just cover the bowl with plastic wrap and ignore it for five minutes. Ganache is just whisk it until it's all smooth and shiny and then that's it you have ganache.

Go make yourself some ganache and impress people.

#cooking #chocolate #ganache

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secretobsessionstuff · 2 years

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Love your writing, and as a person currently accepting she's bisexual, your Blair stories especially have been a treat when I'm in an emeto mood. I wanted to request a story, if you're up for it, with Blair overeating something delicious, but heavy, and getting burpy/gassy for a bit before throwing up for a few rounds. Comfort from Dakota great, but my special request would be that Blair gets to feel good and relieved afterwards. Love the relief portions of your fics! TY for your amazing writing, please keep it up. <3

Hello lovely Anon! I too get the bi panic over Blair. I had so much fun with your request! I hope you like it 💗💜💙

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Cheesecake.

That was the only thing on Blair’s mind. Full stop. There was no more to that sentence. Only one word was necessary to convey her feelings. Blair didn’t know if cheesecake could be classified as an emotion, but she was certainly feeling it.

She thought of one particular piece of cheesecake, and it currently sat in her fridge at home, waiting to be eaten. All day, that singular slice called out to her. This was a very attractive slice of cake because it came from The Cheesecake Factory.

She’s been surprised when Dakota suggested such an expensive restaurant for date night. Not that she was complaining. They didn’t go often, but when they did, they came home with their own personal slice of cheesecake. Dinner had been much too filling for dessert, but that never stopped them from taking their cakes to go. Dakota had gotten a Reese’s peanut butter chocolate cake and Blair got Dulce De Leche Caramel Cheesecake.

Dulce De Leche roughly translates to ‘the sweetest substance known to man’, or at least that was Blair’s translation given that she didn’t speak Spanish. As far as she was concerned, that was the only definition required. It was some kind of caramelized milk made with sugar. By itself, it was spreadable happiness, but bake that into cheesecake and it becomes the dessert of gods. Like ambrosia, it had a rich, golden colour.

As she came home from work, she checked the fridge to make sure it was still there. It wasn’t that she thought Dakota would eat her dessert (he had his own after all), but her one-track mind was ripe for paranoia. Both cakes were in takeout containers. Good at least they were both there. But that wasn’t enough; she had to see the whole and entire cake for herself.

The first one she grabbed happened to be her own. It was still perfect, with caramel drizzled across the top and flawless dollops of whip cream adorning the sides.

Spoiler alert: taking the cake out of the fridge had been a bad decision because now she couldn’t bring herself to put it back.

Blair dipped her finger into the cloud of whip cream, and melted.

Okay maybe she could have a few bites before dinner. So what if the frozen chicken sat on the counter, waiting to be cooked? Dessert didn’t necessarily need to come at the end of a meal. Maybe she could take small bites while she cooked the chicken and steamed the vegetables.

Yes, that is what she would do. It was a good plan. This way she got to satiate her immediate craving and potentially still have cake to eat after dinner.

First, Blair took the frozen chicken out of its package. She didn’t want to be eating while handling the raw meat, so she made sure to finish that step, and thoroughly wash her hands, before indulging in the cake.

With the chicken seasoned and in the oven, she scooped a portion of the cake onto a fork. The creamy texture of the cheesecake set her tastebuds ablaze. She closed her eyes and moaned. It was exactly as she imagined it all day. Soft and airy caramel mouse. Crunchy almond brickle. Sweet and smooth Dulce De Leche filling. The cheesecake itself was dense. Already she felt her appetite go down a notch, but it was worth it.

“Okay, okay,” Blair mumbled to herself through a mouthful of paradise. “You can have more when the vegetables are in the pot.” And she figured that second bite of cake would be the last one until the real dessert. She still had to save some to enjoy with Dakota.

But putting the vegetables in the pot was not a single task. She had to cut the broccoli, cauliflower, and carrots into pieces. She had to wait for the water boil. Then she had to wait for the vegetables to soften over the steam. Of course, after each new step, she took another bite of cake.

Veggies chopped to desired size? Check.

Cheesecake.

Water taking a million years to boil? Obviously.

Two more bites.

Water boiling and ready for veggies? Yep.

More cheesecake!

Once every part of the meal was cooking on its own, leaving Blair with nothing to do but wait, she turned back to her dessert. To her utter shock and dismay, there was only a single bite left to the cake. Blair could swoon. Where had it all gone?

The sudden gurgle in her belly answered that question quite well. She looked down at her full tummy, noticing for the first time that it was bloated. Now that Blair was no longer puttering around the kitchen, going back and forth between the stove and the sweet treat, she realized how full she had gotten. She exhaled deeply, letting her cheeks empty slowly of air.

She punctuated that long breath with a chesty burp. The belch brought the taste of caramel back to her mouth. It did not taste as good coming from that way.

Blair frowned, realizing that she wasn’t terribly hungry anymore. In fact, she was terribly full. She pressed her hand to her mouth to stifle another burp. She wasn’t sure why she felt to need to supress it, but she did so anyway. Maybe it was the guilt over eating her dessert so quickly and without noticing her gluttony. The cake had been there a second and gone the next, leaving Blair with no desire to eat the dinner that she was making.

The spices on the chicken—paprika, rosemary, and garlic powder—filled the kitchen with an intense aroma. It was not a pleasant smell to Blair. It reminded her of how tight her stomach was.

And here’s the worst part: even though Blair didn’t want to eat the healthy meal, she still turned back to that last bite of cheesecake. It was small, but it had everything. Oozing caramel. A small drop of whip cream. Vanilla crust. It was the perfect last bite. She couldn’t help herself. It wasn’t like she was going to save such a small portion for after dinner. That would have been disappointing.

In a split second, the cake was gone. Blair closed her eyes again, intent on savoring her last remaining moments with the dessert.

Alas, the ending was bittersweet. More bitter than sweet because her tastebuds were oversaturated with the flavour of caramel. It tasted like…nothing. Just a dense glob of cheesecake that she rolled around her mouth.

The treat did not feel any better in her belly compared to her mouth. Her already full stomach whined at the addition of more sugar. Almost immediately after swallowing, she let out a thick belch. The burp was so thick that she feared the food was making an escape up her throat.

Luckily, everything stayed down. For now

Blair groaned and rubbed her hand over her abdomen. She felt heavy and sluggish as she took the cooked chicken out of the over. She moved lazily, setting the steamed vegetables aside. She did not bother dumping the pot of boiling water; it would have been too heavy for her tired muscles.

The drowsiness stuck with her even when Dakota got home from work. The first thing he did was lift his nose in the air and inhaled deeply.

“Smells good,” he said, stepping into the kitchen. He eyed the steam coming off the food and smiled. “Thanks for making dinner, Bee.” He gave her a side hug because Blair didn’t turn to greet him. He kissed the side of her head before grabbing a plate from the cupboard.

When Blair still did not move, Dakota said, “What are you waiting for? You must be starving. When did you get home?”

“Maybe an hour ago.” Blair went through the motions of putting chicken and vegetables on her plate. “I’m tired now.”

“Well sit, sit.” Dakota pulled her chair out from the table. “I’ll do all the talking, because ooh boy, there’s a new guy at work and he is a train wreck.”

Blair sat down at the table with him, forcing a smile on her face. “Don’t you always do all the talking?”

“Shh,” he said as if he were drunk. “Story time is about to begin.” Blair had no idea how he could come home from work and still have all this energy. She envied him sometimes.

Dakota was about to launch into his story, but he paused with his fork halfway to his mouth to look worriedly at Blair. “You do look very tired. Would you rather eat in peaceful silence?”

“No. That’s okay.” This time she smiled for real. He was too loveable. “Tell me about your day.”

…

“And that’s the story of how Tim almost burned down the fitness centre,” Dakota concluded as he wiped his mouth with a napkin.

“Wow this guy sounds like a real menace.”

“Nah, he’s good dude. He just needs to adjust to the new job,” Dakota said, rising from the table. He reached for Blair’s plate but paused. There was still a lot of food left on it. “Are you finished?”

Blair looked down at her lap. “Yeah.” If by finished he meant that she was close to throwing up at the table, then yes, she was absolutely finished.

She had managed to eat only a few pieces of carrots and broccoli. The chicken she hardly touched. During the meal and Dakota’s enthralling anecdote, she had cut the meat into smaller sections just to give her something to do while he inhaled his food. Her belly never stopped making noises. Thankfully, Dakota spoked loudly that it drowned out the sick grumbles.

He was quiet now as he carried their dishes to the sink. “You didn’t eat very much,” he remarked as he piled her leftover food into a container. “Were you not hungry?”

“Not really.” Blair shrugged her shoulders, trying to make it seem like a lesser deal than it was.

“Are you sick?”

“No, just full.”

“Alright,” he said slowly. Blair thought he was going to press the matter further, but a sudden realization dawned in his eyes. His face lit up. “Hey! We have leftover cake!”

He hurriedly opened the fridge, easily finding his dessert from last night. He set it down on the counter and took peek to make sure that it was his, before going back for another look. “Where’s yours?”

Blair did not say anything until he was out of the fridge, wearing a puzzled expression. As if to mock her, her belly gave a nauseous flip, forcing her to rest her hand over her churning middle.

“Hey, Bee, I don’t see your cake in the fridge. Did you already eat it?”

There was nothing she could say but the truth. And why not the truth? Dakota wasn’t going to judge her. Still, she was embarrassed about how sick she made herself. Dakota was still looking at her, so she admitted to her moment of weakness.

“Yes,” she mumbled.

“When?”

“When I got home.”

“Just now before dinner?”

Before she could answer, she felt a pocket of air bubble and move beneath her hand. The pressure rumbled up from her belly, coming out of her mouth as a small burp. She swallowed thickly. “…Yeah.”

“Oh, babe,” Dakota said with a laugh. “No wonder you weren’t hungry. Those things are filling.” His playful smile started to fade as he watched his girlfriend’s throat bob with a rising burp. The next belch was loud and burst out of her mouth with a wet sounding squelch.

He raised his eyebrows at her. “You don’t feel good, do you?”

Blair shook her head with her hand clamped over her mouth. Her shoulders jumped as a hiccupped seized her diaphragm. It hurt her chest, making her groan.

“Ugh, Kota. My belly hurts so bad.” She looked at him with big, pleading eyes, as if he could make the stomach-ache go away. “I shouldn’t have eaten the whole thing all at once.”

For some reason, Dakota found this entire scenario quite humorous. He didn’t want Blair to think he was laughing at her pain. He wasn’t. She just looked so small and regretful, burping into her fist. It was so very different from how she usually acted.

“Ah Bee, it’s okay. You just ate too much. It’ll pass.”

Blair shook her head, still burping up the taste of cheesecake and now broccoli. “I really don’t feel good. I think I need to be sick.”

As much as Dakota was taking this lightly, he absolutely did not want to see his girlfriend throw up, especially not beloved cheesecake from one of the best restaurants. “You sure?”

“Pretty sure.” Blair stood up from the table on shaky legs. She thought the lump in her throat was from a burp, but it turned into a gag. The suddenness of the gag made her lurched forward, bracing herself with her palms on the table.

“Oh whoa.” Dakota was next to her in a flash, taking her by the elbows. “Come on, to the bathroom. That’s it.”

Blair stumbled her way down the hall, letting Dakota guide her. The roiling of her belly was the only thing on her mind. This was not as fun to think about as cheesecake. Unfortunately, the last thing Blair wanted to think about just then was food.

She plopped down on her knees in front of the toilet with saliva dripping from her lips. She was so close to losing it that a shiver ran up her spine. “Mm…I’m so—hic—nauseous.”

“I know,” Dakota said softly, gliding his hand up and down her back. “You’re gonna feel much better in a minute.”

Blair gagged over the toilet bowl, hoping that he was right.

A minute passed.

Two minutes passed and Blair was still suffering on her knees. Her poor full belly ached and sloshed, but still nothing was happening. Every wet burp, every empty gag left her feeling even queasier.

“Ugh, why won’t it just happen?” she groaned. At least during this time, she had the chance to tie her hair up in a ponytail.

“Be patient, honey,” Dakota replied. “Your body will tell you what it needs.”

“Yeah, well it didn’t tell me to stop eating earlier."

“Can’t argue with that.” Dakota laughed. “Was the cake good at least? Caramel or something like that, wasn’t it?”

Blair gagged harshly as the ghost of gooey caramel filling coated her throat. She spat into the bowl. “Stop that."

“What? I thought it would help.” Dakota said, ever so flippantly. He raised his hands in surrender when Blair shot daggers at him. “Fine. Maybe you should try drinking water. Get things started, you know?”

Blair was not keen on filling her stomach more, but she’d try anything if it meant relief. She took the glass of water that Dakota handed her and knocked it back like a pint of beer. Even that image was enough to make her stomach rise in her throat. She kept drinking, feeling her throat work to get the water down.

When the glass was empty, she let out a big sigh and wiped her mouth. Her belly was really gurgling now. The water sloshed around in her insides as the need to burp grew.

Dakota could hear the noises from her stomach as well. He put his hand between her shoulder blades, easing her back over the toilet bowl. “Here we go, you got this.”

An enormous liquid belch burst from her mouth then. Trickles of water dripped from her lips. She felt the contents of her belly move, just as the muscles in her abdomen tightened. What started as the next wet belch turned into a productive heave, sending a sludge of vomit up her throat.

“That’s it,” Dakota encouraged. He was shocked to see the thick torrent rush from her mouth but pleased that she really would start feeling better in a minute.

For Blair, it felt like that minute would last a lifetime as her belly continued to squeeze painfully. She rocked forward, keeping a tight grip on the edge of the toilet.

Another weighty wave splattered into the water below. She tried not to think about the underlying taste of cheesecake and caramel, or else those flavours would be ruined for quite some time. In any case, she didn’t think she’d be asking for that specific dessert for a while.

Each wave made her feel lighter than the last, but she never got a chance to appreciate it because her stomach never stopped spasming long enough for her to catch her breath.

Dakota acted like her coach through the whole, giving her firm pats on her back. “Good job. Keep it up, Bee.”

She kept up this momentum up for four large waves before she finally caught a break. Her belly was sore from the workout, her throat felt raw, and her fingers wouldn’t uncurl themselves, but she felt so much better.

She exhaled and leaned back against Dakota who was not prepared for it.

“Okay,” he said, clumsily catching her. “I guess I’m a pillow now.”

“You’re the best pillow,” she mumbled sleepily, as if she were high. In Blair’s mind she was. She was so high in the air, floating on the lightest cloud. Everything was light and airy. She was weightless. “God, I needed that,” she said breathlessly.

Dakota chuckled. “You really did.” He kissed her on the top of her head. “Do you think you’re gonna go again?”

She shook her head. “No. I’m good. So good.”

“Good.”

“So good,” Blair repeated dreamily.

Dakota’s laugh was easy and light-hearted. “You’re so cute. I’m glad you’re feeling better.”

“Me too.” And she meant it. God, she meant it.

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