#homemade flour cookbook
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homemade love | leah williamson x reader
why am i getting attached to a fake scenario i made up in my head i need help.
anyways happy valentine’s day & enjoy this blurb of pure fluff !
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"do you want mamma to pour the flour or is wren doing it?" the blonde asked the nearly three year old next to her as she made sure to get the measurements right.
"wren do it!" taking the measuring cup that leah held out for her she dumped the contents in the bowl, being a little off target and some ending up on the counter instead. "good job beautiful."
leah had decided to surprise you, her fiancé, with breakfast in bed. it was valentines day after all and she loved to treat you in any way possible. she roped your daughter in of course, jumping at any opportunity to have the extra bonding time with her mini-me.
today was one of the rare instances where leah was actually awake before you considering it was often you having to pull the defender out of bed which was not an easy task could you just say.
"okay crack an egg into the mixture." she read from the cookbook open in front of her. "watch these skills kiddo." leah smirked as she took the egg and attempted to break it with one hand only for her to fail miserably and have the shell fall into the batter. wren giggled "silly mamma."
"shh don't tell anyone." she picked out the unwanted bits and booped her toddler's nose, leaving a flour mark on it.
eventually the pair finished the pancake mix after a quick flour fight and leah poured the mixture into the pan, flipping it with ease much to wrens amusement shown by her excited claps.
the skipper plated them up and let wren take control of the cream "okay! that's enough darlin." grabbing the bottle off of her after seeing what was practically a mountain of the whipped substance. finishing off the meal with a few strawberries and blueberries leah moved it all onto a tray.
"lets take this to mummy shall we?"
you stirred in your sleep as you felt a weight press onto your stomach. "mummy! mummy! wake up." the infant babbled as she continued to climb all over you.
"morning bubba." you gave her a weak smile while adjusting to the light coming through the window. "i made you bekfast!"
“oo did you now?”
"i'd say it was more a joint effort but i suppose she was the better chef." you looked up to see leah stood there with a goofy smile on her face holding a tray just above her waist.
"happy valentine's day baby." she placed the food down onto your lap, bending down and planting a sweet kiss on your lips.
"oh my, thank you guys." your heart swelled at the gesture - just picturing the behind the scenes you wished you were awake to see. "eat it?" wren who had now cuddled into your side looked up expectantly.
"hm i think wrenny should have first taste, considering she did make it after all." cutting a triangular piece out the stack you fed it to the young girl watching as her eyes lit up from the taste of sugar. "is it good?"
wren nodded vigorously and gave a thumbs up making both you and leah chuckle. you had to admit, they were good pancakes, almost too good considering leah's cooking history, she was by far not the designated chef of the family.
"wait hang on i forgot your present." leah suddenly realised as she dashed out of the room.
you look quizzically at your toddler "what's she got up her sleeve now?" only getting a shrug in return.
your fiancé now came back with her guitar she had been learning to play for a couple of months in her hand. "may i present to you ‘you are in love’ leah williamson version."
you couldn't help but laugh when you figured out what she was about to do. playing the chords to the song she began singing looking directly at you the whole time.
''cause you can hear it in the silence
you can feel it on the way home
you can see it with the lights out
you are in love, true love
you are in love'
you loved seeing leah like this; all cheesy and goofy, a complete 180 to how she was on the pitch. she may not be fully in tune but she did have a good voice that you could happily sit and listen to all day long.
wrapping the song up she took a bow as you and wren applauded her. "surprised it wasn't 'our song'." you say knowing how that was the older girl's favourite taylor song.
"thought i'd be a little spontaneous gorgeous." she winked as she now plonked herself on the bed so wren was in between the both of you.
"well i guess it's my turn now huh." rooting through your bedside table drawer. "i don't know if I'm going to beat the pancakes and serenades but here." you passed both wren and leah neatly wrapped gifts. "princess open yours first." you didn't have to tell wren twice before wrapping paper was flying everywhere revealing a baby doll wearing an arsenal shirt with the number 24 on it.
you looked at leah for any form of reaction but she clearly hadn't caught on yet simply sharing wrens excitement at the new toy "you can bring her to mummy and mamma's games."
"okay leah open yours." anticipation was bubbling inside the both of you.
the blondes mouth dropped open when she picked up the items at hand. "are ya serious?" doing a double take at the pregnancy scan photos and test she was holding in her hand. "it worked?"
nodding she rushed off the bed to your side, picking you up and twirling you around. "okay okay put me down! i don't want to start being sick before i have to."
she did as requested and held the scan right in front her face still in disbelief. "september 2024, twins.`' casually slipping it into conversation.
"fuck off." she said incredulously which earned her a glare off you, reminding her there is a child in the room.
"wren your going to be a big sister!" now shifting attention to her daughter - it being her turn to be picked up and bounced around.
"sister?" the little girl questioned. you pointed at your stomach "there's two babies in mummy's tummy." wren reached her small arms out to touch your belly "hello!"
"they can't talk yet love, they've gotta grow for a while in there, make sure they're strong and healthy just like you." the centre-back explained.
you smiled at the interaction. leah was such a good mum. you couldn't wait to make your family even bigger in a few months time. "good valentines day gift then?"
leah pulled you in to her side with her free arm. "the best. i love you." she pressed her lips onto yours, conveying every emotion possible. little laughs coming from the small body in the older girl's arms as she watched her grossly in love mothers.
"oh you find it funny when we kiss do you?" you quirked an eyebrow and watched as she nodded.
you pecked leah's mouth again..and again, hearing the giggles make a return.
"i think it's someone else's turn now." the defender smiled smugly and you quickly caught on, both bombarding your daughter with kisses on the face as she squealed happily.
god you loved your valentines.
#leah williamson#leah williamson x reader#woso#arsenal wfc#arsenal women#woso community#lionesses#england lionesses
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Mind control tanguish?? (i was gunna offer time loop for the hell-raisers as another one, but ut canon is Basically a time loop aint it SO!! Make tanguish do something wild)
Helsknight hummed tunelessly under his breath as he cooked dinner, piling some chicken and mushrooms into a pan to fry. He didn't know when Tanguish would be home [every trip to Hermitcraft was a gamble, when it came to time] but he figured whenever the little pest came home, he would be hungry. Besides that, Helsknight was hungry, so he might as well do something about it. Worst case scenario, he would just reheat a plate for Tanguish on the furnace when he got here. Or threw away wasted food. The point was he was hungry, so it wasn't wasted time at least. He pulled some flour out from a cabinet, frowning down at it and wondering what his chances of making a decent gravy were.
[Gravy was the bane of cooking. It either turned out like wallpaper paste, or it turned out like soup. Rarely, when every god and saint turned their greatest blessings on Helsknight for a moment, and every star in every heaven aligned, and every angel and allay and fairy-dust creature held its breath and crossed it's fingers, he would make a passable gravy.]
Helsknight sighed, tossed a few spoonfuls of flour into a pan, and resigned to try his luck. He didn't feel very lucky today, but then again, any day he made gravy, he didn't feel lucky, even if it did taste good in the end.
"I should learn how to bake," he grumbled to himself, eyeing the little bag of flour dispassionately. Tanguish would certainly appreciate it, and it would be cheaper to make a batch of muffins from scratch, instead of buying them from a cart four times a week. Helsknight stirred his fledgling gravy absentmindedly, waiting for the flour to brown, and considering his chances of finding a half-decent cookbook the next time he went to the market. Behind him he heard a clatter of claws, the unmistakable noise of Tanguish stepping into hels. A soft breath of chill dampened the room like a breeze. Helsknight threw a glance over his shoulder.
"Hey, what's your opinion on homemade--?"
Instinct made Helsknight slam to the side as Tanguish propelled himself over the kitchen island, Helsknight's rondel dagger in his hand. The point dug itself into the wall over the stove at about chest-height, a very intentional, very lethal lunge. It missed him by a decent margin; Helsknight was quick, even when he was caught off-guard. That one look over his shoulder, and years of Colosseum training and instincts, had saved his life.
Anger, hot and baffled and electric, raced through Helsknight's chest. He backpedaled towards their little dining table as Tanguish yanked the dagger out of the wall. He needed distance, he needed room to move. [He needed a house that wasn't so saints-damned small.]
"Tanguish, what in hels--?!" Helsknight managed before Tanguish was lurching for him again, a sharp, quick, dagger-pointed shadow dappled in flickering stars. Helsknight snapped a hand out, trying to bat him aside, only for Tanguish to duck nimbly beneath his outstretched arm. The dagger stabbed in towards him again, and Helsknight barely twisted away in time.
"Tanguish! Stop!" Helsknight shouted, confusion and adrenaline crashing together in his chest, muddling up his instincts. His training, his impulse, his experience in the Colosseum, demanded he fight back. He was unarmed [why would he stay armed and armored in the safety of his own home, when he planned to stay in the rest of the day?] but that didn't mean he wasn't dangerous. He knew a few ways of disarming someone with his bare hands, and he knew how to punch, and kick, and break bones. But his louder, conscious mind screamed at him this is Tanguish! He can't break Tanguish.
Tanguish didn't give him long to be horrified by the thought. He was lunging again, arrow-quick, and this time when Helsknight jolted backwards the blade nicked his out-flung arm. He didn't know if he was proud, or if he regretted how sharp the blade was -- his training had come in handy.
[It was marvelous really, how deadly his little pest could be when he put his mind to it. Helsknight had always thought Tanguish learned more than he let on. He was simply too scared of causing harm to use it. But he wasn't scared of causing harm now. No, he seemed hels-bent on shredding Helsknight where he stood, and he didn't know why.]
"Could you at least tell me what the hels I did to bring this on?" Helsknight demanded, a grin writhing across his teeth. It was something he knew intimidated people, intimidated Tanguish. There was something about baring teeth while fighting that seemed dangerous. If Tanguish cared, it didn't show, and he didn't respond. He just crouched low and gazed back at him, eyes half-shut in something like concentration. It gave him the look of a sleepwalker, and Helsknight didn't like it. He was used to the wide, curious, cat-like gaze, glittering in dandelion yellow.
"Tanguish?" Helsknight breathed, taking advantage of the pause. "Look, I don't want to hurt you--"
Tanguish lunged again when he was mid-sentence, something that might have killed him, if he hadn't seen Martyn do it a thousand times. Even with that knowledge, he almost reacted too late, side-stepping and slamming a heavy palm into Tanguish's shoulder, tossing him off-balance. Helsknight let out a short breath through his nose when Tanguish regained his feet, undaunted.
"I'm not running away," Helsknight said witheringly, dashing for the door. He could feel Tanguish following like a wasp over his shoulder, more the impression of danger than a true knowledge of what he was doing. Helsknight ducked out the door and managed to yank it shut behind him before Tanguish could follow, and was treated to a heavy slam as Tanguish tried to follow. Helsknight held it shut for a second, trying to figure out -- trying to figure out anything.
[Would Tanguish try to break down the door? Surely he couldn't. Even as... weirdly determined as he was to harm Helsknight, that wasn't something he was strong enough to do, especially with Helsknight bracing the other side. But the house had windows. Would Tanguish care about glass? It would cut him to ribbons. He could seriously hurt himself if he -- why was he worried about Tanguish jumping through a window? If the little idiot wanted to deal with a face full of glass--]
Helsknight released the doorknob and stepped aside. He needed to get that knife away, pin him still, preferably without hurting him too badly. His guts gave an uncomfortable squirm.
[How bad is too bad? And why? Why was this happening? It wasn't just strange, it just wasn't Tanguish. He didn't have a dangerous bone in his body.]
The doorknob clicked. Helsknight pressed himself against the wall, hiding behind the door as it swung open. He just needed a few seconds. He was stronger -- that's all he needed. Tanguish stepped onto the street, and before he had the chance to look around, Helsknight lunged forward and wrapped his arms around him, pinning his arms to his sides. He lifted Tanguish off his feet, trying to keep the thrashing feet from kicking anything.
"Tanguish, I need you to--"
Tanguish's head snapped back suddenly, slamming into Helsknight's mouth and nose. He swore, and his grip loosened, and Tanguish's sharp elbow dug itself into his side hard enough wince away some of his breath. A clawed foot came down on his ankle, and then Tanguish was twisting, and Helsknight, whose only objective narrowed into [don't get stabbed you fucking idiot] drove a punch into Tanguish's sternum. Tanguish's breath left him in a whoosh, and he curled in on himself a little, some sense of self-preservation kicking in. But he didn't cry out in pain, and he didn't drop the knife.
A lancing, twisting feeling darted through Helsknight's guts. It was a feeling so unfamiliar it was nearly foreign, hard to place, and hesitant to name. Dread. Dread as Tanguish turned that sleepwalker's gaze on him again, re-positioned his dagger to continue fighting. His tail gave a contemplative lash, a cat figuring its best approach on a bird, and it had been a long, long time since Helsknight felt like prey. Dread made his mouth dry, closed his throat, blanked his already reeling thoughts.
[What should he do? What could he do?]
Helsknight took a hesitant step back. Tanguish's eyes narrowed, and glittered blue.
[Blue? Blue. A little ring of blue, like a clear, winter's morning, ringed his yellow iris. That hadn't always been there. He knew the color of Tanguish's eyes.]
"Tanguish, talk to me," Helsknight said, taking another hesitant step back. "What happened? Whatever it is, we can fix this. I promise."
Tanguish let out a slow breath, and the blue ring around his iris seemed to flicker, then flashed brighter. Helsknight swore again as Tanguish pounced. He caught Tanguish's wrist, and might have even considered breaking it, had Tanguish not twisted out of his grip in the second of hesitation he gave in to. Helsknight's perception narrowed to the point of the knife as he dodged it, sidestepped it, and then spun on his heel and ran.
Helsknight needed time to think, needed time to figure out what was, whatever was happening. And he was faster than Tanguish. Even if he couldn't fathom harming him, he would always be faster. And armor-less as he was, he felt unnaturally fleet, near to flying. He was down three blocks, into an alley, over a wall and two more blocks over before he stopped, panting, to check for pursuit.
"I'm not running away," he breathed again, to himself, to his Saint, to Tanguish. He wasn't. He just needed time. He just needed to pull himself together, to figure shit out, to stop shaking. To stop shaking? Helsknight looked down at his hands, at the tremor starting. He swallowed hard.
[Okay, he was a little freaked out. He was allowed to be a little freaked out. His best friend was trying to kill him, and he didn't know why, and apparently the veil between "Nice Normal Tanguish" and "Silent Death-Machine Tanguish" was unnervingly thin. And Helsknight wasn't used to someone trying to kill him assassination-style, through dogged pursuit and bloodless silence. He was used to arena fights, and occasional back-alley brawls, where things were loud and obvious and made fucking sense.]
"I'm going to kill him," Helsknight hissed, stealing down the alley as fast as he dared. He didn't know who he was going to kill. Whoever had done this, maybe. Certainly not Tanguish. He hadn't really tried, physically he thought he could, if he'd just commit. But he had no weapon, and his options for killing his best friend [one of a slim handful of people he would gladly die for] were all slow and grim and painful, and not something he would inflict on anyone willingly.
[He would just have to evade, and try to knock some sense into him? But head wounds were difficult. The margin between unconsciousness and death was illusive, and he was a knight for helssakes he didn't bludgeon people. He was so ill-equipped for something like this, it was staggering. But why would he be equipped for his best friend randomly trying to kill him?]
There was a sound. There must have been. The whisper of breathing. The slide of claws. The crackle of gathering frost. Something set Helsknight's hair prickling, the gooseflesh on his arms raised.
[The rooftops.]
Helsknight didn't have time to look up. Suddenly a weight fell on his shoulders, and he was slamming to the ground. Tanguish's hand dug claws into the back of his neck, his knees dug into his shoulders. Helsknight twisted his whole body as hard as he could, wrenching his elbow back to slam into Tanguish's side. He flipped over, throwing Tanguish off him for just a moment. He got an arm underneath himself, tried to scrabble backwards, boots digging into tiles. Tanguish lunged on top of him again, and Helsknight threw a hand between them. A noise escaped his throat as the knife slashed through the webbing between his thumb and his forefinger, but he managed to wrap his fist around the hilt.
Tanguish was on top of him, bearing his full weight down on the dagger, trying to drive it into his throat. Helsknight clenched his bleeding hand around it, while is other arm scrabbled at the cobblestones, and through the haze of half-panic finally found its way around one of Tanguish's wrists. They were too close. He couldn't make full use of his longer arms, his strength, his leverage, and while his feet scrabbled, Tanguish's long tail twisted out for balance, and he held firm.
There was a buzzing starting in the back of Helsknight's mind, a panic he wasn't used to. His hands shook. His hand was bleeding, and it had to be his hand, didn't it?
[Note to self, Tanguish had laughed once, Helsknight is weak to hand wounds.]
He couldn't pass out. Little sparks and stars crowded his peripheral vision, his awareness narrowed itself to the space between his hands, and the slickness of the dagger, and the tear in the webbing between his fingers, and how stupid that was. A Colosseum gladiator, a knight of Blood and Steel, laid low by a flesh wound.
"Tanguish, you don't want to do this," Helsknight grunted, his voice buried beneath the buzzing of panic and his heartbeat in his ears. "You don't want to hurt me."
Tanguish threw his shoulder forward, and the twist sent tearing pain through his hand, and his grip slipped dangerously. Every muscle in his body tightened in dread and desperation, and he screwed his eyes shut as he clenched his bloody fist tighter. An undignified wince of a noise squeezed its way out of his throat, but it was better than screaming.
"Okay! Maybe you want to hurt me. Fine." Helsknight grimaced. He could feel the blood from his hand dripping onto his neck. A dangerous foreshadowing of just where the blade was aimed. "Tell me why. Tell me anything."
He managed to crack an eye open, to blink away the blooming stars. He gripped the knife and a spinning world in his bloody hands, and clung to consciousness and life with equal fervor. And Tanguish watched him, impassive and cold, that little blue ring a persistent chain around his iris. It reminded Helsknight of something, something that made his stomach twist. It took a moment to place a coherent thought to the feelings, a long moment where he breathed and shook and bled, and Tanguish watched.
[Wels. The open sky blue of Wels's eyes. Ice dagger blue. He clawed at his memory for any way that made sense, and in his flailing finally remembered what Tanguish had said about those golden, inescapable commands. How far could they compel? Surely not this far. Surely--]
Helsknight swallowed hard.
[Right. He just needed to break the command. That was all. That was all.]
Helsknight reached into himself for any lie of calm, any ghost of reassurance. He tried to steady his voice. Tried to force command, and calm, and certainty into his words. Stilted and shaky, and hoarsely whispered, he half commanded, half pleaded.
"Tanguish, let go of the knife."
Above him, Tanguish blinked. The pressure on the knife didn't relent, nor did the blue ring around his iris.
"Please let go of the knife."
Tanguish's fist balled tighter, and as it did the knife twisted just barely. He felt the burning in his hand, and Helsknight lost his words behind pain that should have been insignificant, and stars and noise in his head.
"You're scaring me," Helsknight whimpered, and then managed more firmly. "You don't scare people. This isn't you. You don't want to do this to me."
He searched Tanguish's eyes again. Was that a flicker in the blue? He couldn't tell. He couldn't tell.
"Helssakes," he swore. His hand grasping Tanguish's wrist reached up to grab the back of Tanguish's head, fingers tangling in his hair. He wished he could force Tanguish to focus, to center that sleepwalker's stare on something other than his general direction. "If you're going to kill me, look at me."
Tanguish blinked again. There was a shimmer in his eyes, and Helsknight winced as a tear dropped onto his face. A grim smile worked its way onto his teeth. No, that blue ring hadn't flickered. Tanguish had simply started crying.
"You're not going to kill me." Helsknight whispered. He closed his eyes, and his voice was a prayer, and it was a command. "You're not going to kill me."
He couldn't tell how much of the shaking in his arm was from him, or from Tanguish. He couldn't tell if the pain in his hand was from pressure, or from the wound. But he knew this was hurting them both, and he needed it over with, one way or another.
"You're not going to kill me."
Helsknight had been killed by wounds to his neck before. The Colosseum was a terrible place to die sometimes. He told himself he could bear it. Told himself if the pain came, he would try to hide the terribleness of it. He wouldn't gasp, or scream, or any of the other horrible, dramatic thrashings a person could do when they bled. He would make himself small and silent. He would respawn, if he could, and he would find his way back here, and he would find a way to fix this. Helsknight released Tanguish, and, eyes closed, braced himself for whatever happened next.
He couldn't stop himself from flinching when a few more teardrops fell on his face. But the blade didn't come. Helsknight dared to crack an eye open.
"Tanguish?"
Tanguish moved, and Helsknight stiffened, only to relax again when the blade clattered to the ground beside them. Helsknight let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding, and before Tanguish could scramble away from him, or devolve into a blubbering mess, or shake apart or fall under some new spell, or any of a thousand other things Tanguish could probably do, Helsknight wrapped his arms around Tanguish's neck and dragged him into a hug.
"Helsknight--"
"You idiot," Helsknight snapped, crushing Tanguish against his chest. He had the grace to drag them over to the side, so he couldn't bleed quite so much on both of them, but when Tanguish squirmed he held him tighter and refused to let him go. "Don't scare me like that again."
"H-helsknight I'm s-"
"You're sorry," Helsknight interrupted him, screwing his eyes shut, suddenly scared he was going to start crying too. From relief. From the ridiculousness of whatever had happened. From the closeness to disaster. From how angry he was that Tanguish felt the need to apologize. "Gods. I thought I'd lost you."
Tanguish had the audacity to laugh, a miserable hiccup of a noise that tangled itself in growing sobs, and muffled itself against Helsknight's chest. "You thought you lost me?"
"You were so quiet," Helsknight said, feeling dread lance through his stomach like a knife wound. "It's like you weren't even there."
"I was there," Tanguish whispered, his fists balled into Helsknight's shirt, like he could somehow cling closer. "I was there."
"Of course you were," Helsknight murmured back. "Of course you were."
#Situation Asks#RnS asks#helsknight#tanguish#countthelions#you. you knew EXACTLY what you asked for you fiend#tw blood#tw fighting#tw wounds#gosh but it was amazing angsty fun to write#probably won't get to any more of the asks tonight this one took awhile#but feel free to send more#all terrible things happen in the kitchen jsyk#rns ficlet
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Girl Put Your Records On (Tell Me Your Favourite Song) | Sydney Lohmann
warnings: syd’s injury 😔
word count: 2077
summary: requested, domestic fluff with sydney
a/n: syd’s back! syd’s back! syd’s back!
It’s no secret that Sydney loves cooking. She has even said that if she wasn’t playing football professionally, she would be a chef.
And maybe you’re a little biased as her girlfriend and frequent beneficiary of her cooking but you are sure that she would have made an amazing one.
The German woman cooks a large variety of things and she is always down to experiment but her favourite is pasta.
Sydney’s homemade pasta is one of your favourite things to eat and you would even go so far as to call it your comfort food.
Your girlfriend makes the entire dish from scratch and you swear you can feel the love and care she puts into it.
The extent of your fondness for it and for any of Syd’s cooking really, is well known. There has been more than one occasion where your fellow Bayern teammates have teased you that you’re only with Sydney for her skills in the kitchen.
That couldn’t be further from the truth though.
You love everything about your girlfriend, from her every perfection down to her littlest flaw.
If it were up to you, you would say that a certain Sydney Matilda Lohmann is complete perfection.
There is so much you adore about her and that includes each moment that you spend with her.
Making pasta together with your girl is one of your favourite moments.
You and your girlfriend frequently have teammates over for meals. Sydney’s cooking tends to have that effect on people and while making pasta with friends is nice, you love making pasta with Syd much more.
When it is just you and her, the Bayern Munich midfielder putting her vintage record player on to as she put it, set the vibe.
Your girlfriend spins you around the kitchen when any of her favourite records come on and you’d ask her, her favourite song in between fits of laughter.
Sydney’s favourite song changes all the time based on how she’s been feeling so you like to ask her what it is. It gives you an idea of her current mood and state of mind.
Her hazel eyes are always bright when she answers you and you cherish all of her answers and the way she looks as she gives them.
More often than not, she has flour on her clothes and hair. She leaves streaks of it behind on you, a visible reminder of her hands on your body.
You love these smudges of white, left on your hips, shoulders and stomach, sometimes on your cheek if Sydney’s feeling mischievous enough to swipe her flour covered finger across your cheek.
It’s especially heartwarming after tough games and it goes like this.
Sydney makes her pasta dough and you hand her the ingredients in the right order, reading out the recipe from one of her cookbooks. Her scribbled handwriting in the margins of said cookbooks mark them as hers.
You continue leafing through the recipes, giggling at some of the notes and comments she has left while your girlfriend wraps the dough up before putting it to chill in the fridge.
The German woman then proceeds to make the sauce, tomato or cream based, depending on her mood.
She lets it simmer over the stove and it always smells so damn good. Syd stirs it and lets you taste test it as she cooks. The Bayern player feeds you those spoonfuls of little tastes with anxious smiles and hopeful looks, always waiting for your feedback.
You don’t know what she’s worried about because her pasta sauce is constantly amazing.
It gives you great joy to watch her face light up whenever you tell her so.
Sitting on the kitchen counter, most of the time in Syd’s clothes as you swing your legs back and forth, you fall even more head over heels in love with her.
You love watching her hum along to the song playing as she does little dance moves whenever inspiration strikes her.
Every now and then, she turns around to check on you and you have no shame in showing her just how captivated you are.
You’re starstruck because of her.
The way you look at her makes her blush and your girlfriend often ducks her head, looking back down at her pot of sauce to hide it. It really is cute of her.
When the sauce is done, Sydney washes her hands before pulling you off the kitchen counter. The German woman always takes the opportunity to kindly suggest that she can help pass the remaining time more quickly.
And you always take her up on it because who would say no to what she has in mind?
Making out with your girlfriend is like something out of a dream. With her lips on yours and whispered sighs, her hands skimming your bare skin, well you’re in love with the feeling and her.
The last minutes of chilling time for the pasta dough go by fast and then Sydney is waltzing you back into the kitchen.
You stand beside her, the only place you ever want to be, even if you are given the whole world to choose from and roll out the pasta dough with her.
The both of you take turns to run the pasta wheel over the rolled sheets and Syd never fails to make fun of you for how much neater hers turns out.
It is quick work after that, for the meal to be ready.
You set the plates out and your girlfriend finishes off her dish.
It is almost sacred to be able to curl up with the hazel eyed woman, with whatever show the two of you are binge watching playing on the television while you eat together.
Moments like that give you the much needed break from football. It’s lovely to be able to chase a dream you’ve had since you were a little girl but it’s also lovely for you to be able to spend time with your girlfriend.
Since Syd cooked, you pick up the plates and take them to the kitchen to wash.
It is everything to you, to be able to share this domestic bliss with Sydney.
******
Now that she is injured, things have to change.
Not by much but rather, a simple reversal of roles.
You make the pasta and let your girlfriend taste the sauce. The German player directs you from your usual perch atop the kitchen counter.
As much as she insists that she wants to help, you simply shake your head, giving her a firm no.
You just want her to rest her ankle.
The injury had been a devastating blow to your girl who had been so excited to start the season. Prior to the injury, her form had been brilliant and she’d just come off a solid win against Iceland.
Your girlfriend was just getting back the sparkle in her eyes every time she steps onto the pitch. It had been missing since Germany’s exit from the World Cup and now you feared it would be a while more before you saw it in its full beauty.
You hate how injury prone Sydney is, hate the way the world is so unkind to her. Her bad luck has it that she is always getting into a really good flow right before it is cut short. Fate is cruel sometimes.
There’s nothing you can do about that but you can make her dinner. It is the least you can do for the hazel eyed woman you are so in love with.
You’ve only finished simmering the pasta sauce and turned off the stove for a moment before Sydney is making grabby hands at you.
It’s tomato tonight because that is what the midfielder had been wanting.
You laugh at her gestures and scoop out a spoonful of sauce as she’d asked.
Carefully, you feed it to her but not before you make a show of blowing on it, to cool it down.
‘Good?’ You ask, taking a step back expectantly.
‘It’s really good.’ Your girl replies.
‘Yeah? Why do you sound so surprised?’ You tease.
‘I’m not! I-’ Sydney backtracks defensively, her eyes widening rapidly.
It’s adorable how easy it is to fluster her.
‘I’m just kidding sonnenschein.’ You admit and she scowls, crossing her arms and huffing, ‘I knew that.’
‘You sure?’ You mock and the taller woman deigns to reply you by dramatically rolling her eyes.
‘I’m sure. I am also sure that your tomato sauce isn’t as good as mine though.’
‘I know. Yours will always be better.’ You shrug easily, stepping back in between Syd’s legs and planting a gentle kiss onto her lips.
Your girlfriend chuckles and your heart lightens.
******
Eating dinner with the German player sitting next to you has your heart fluttering in all kinds of good ways.
You are never going to stop cherishing these moments with her.
Syd notices you staring at her and she blushes, mumbling, ‘Why are you looking at me like that?’
‘Because you are so incredibly beautiful and I love you.’
It is a simple, effortless confession but your girlfriend’s face lights up.
‘I love you too.’
She sets her plate down on the coffee table and smiles, ‘I fall more and more in love with you with each and every day that I spend with you.’
Sydney’s words give you the warmest of feelings inside and when she smoothly straddles you, despite the walking boot she has on, you know the feeling is mutual.
‘Syd…’ You groan, torn between wanting to make sure she is being cautious about her injury and wanting her to kiss you.
‘I’m being careful.’ She insists before leaning down to connect her lips to yours.
She tastes like tomato sauce and cheese but you don’t care because it’s Sydney.
Sydney who is the living definition of sunshine. Sydney who for reasons you can’t fathom is as in love with you as you are with her.
You have a lot of reasons to be thankful but your girlfriend is the biggest one.
******
It’s with kiss swollen lips and messy hair that you take yours and Syd’s dinner plates into the kitchen.
Your girlfriend trails behind you with her crutches, her lips and hair in a similar state.
There is no mistaking the satisfied smirk on her face though.
‘Here.’ You breathe, lifting her up onto the kitchen counter after depositing both your plates into the sink. Her crutches are propped next to her.
Sydney wiggles comically as she gets comfortable and you giggle.
You put her record player on and start on the dirty dishes.
‘Let me help please?’ The hazel eyed woman implores.
You’re going to refuse and assure her that you manage but remember how helpless the rehab has been making her feel despite her best attempts to hide it.
Ever selfless, you know that Syd would never do anything she deems might harm the team dynamic, even if it really wouldn’t.
You want to spoil her but know that that is not what she needs right now.
So as a compromise, you offer her a dish towel and ask, ‘You can dry if you like?’
The Bayern midfielder gratefully takes the towel from you. She knows you know and the soft look of adoration in her gorgeous hazel eyes makes you melt.
It’s quick work, made enjoyable by the music playing and Syd’s humming along.
******
Normally you brush your teeth together and your girl links her little finger with yours but now you support her with an arm gently wrapped around her waist.
Syd has taken her walking boot off for the night so she needs to be careful not to put any sort of weight on her injured ankle.
Before she’d taken it off though, she had affectionately touched the yellow smiley face sticker you had put on it.
She hopes you know how much you and all your little gestures mean to her.
Her injury is hurting her but you make it all bearable.
So she leans into you and soaks in your touch, giggling through the toothpaste foam in her mouth.
Your gaze meets hers and you know that you want this to last the rest of your life.
With the way Syd whispers about how much she loves you as she settles down to sleep with her head on your chest, you know in your heart that she wants the same.
German Translation:
sonnenschein - sunshine
#sydney lohmann#sydney lohmann x reader#sydney lohmann imagine#dfb frauen x reader#dfb frauen imagine#gerwnt imagine#gerwnt x reader#woso#woso imagine#woso fanfics#woso x reader#fcb frauen
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It was just a night, much like any other, when everything changed. Kara was tired- between the apartment fire and her work that day at CatCo and mopping up another alien crime ring, she’s barely slept in four days and had been skipping meals. It was a rare thing indeed when Lena was pestering Kara to eat lunch.
As soon as she reached the house, she glanced up and tilted her glasses down. Lena was in the kitchen, hard at work. A quick scan of the countertop revealed the mess she’d made putting together her homemade gyoza. As with everything in her life, when Lena decided to learn to cook, that she might pamper her girlfriend and her superhuman appetite, Lena went into it fully, taking culinary classes and equipping the remodeled kitchen of their suburban homestead with every conceivable gadget. Lena’s first change to the house was a bump-out that turned the already expansive “chef’s kitchen” into a near-commercial level culinary laboratory, and she threw herself into making dumplings with the same gusto with which she had set about solving the energy crisis, as if the freshly made potstickers awaiting the oil heating in the gas-powered commercial wok were as vital to humanity’s future as the fusion plant she was building in the desert.
Kara stopped in the entryway to the kitchen and drank Lena in, enjoying the fleeting moment before she was noticed. Hands covered in flour the elbow, Lena hunched over her cookbook, expression furrowed in deep concentration. She’s dressed down in a baggy flannel and patterned leggings that hugged the inviting curve of her hips that cried out for Kara’s hands, and wore her hair in a simple, loose ponytail. Everything about her was soft and cozy and home, and Kara would trade a king’s feast for one taste of those soft lips.
The whole scene played out in her mind. She’s sidle up behind Lena, who’d crack a joke about Kara being dressed as the CEO, and pretend she hadn’t noticed Kara’s return. Kara would let down her hair and bury her fingers in it, then her nose to devour Lena’s scent. As soon as Kara’s lips found the curve of Lena’s jaw, dinner would be indefinitely postponed and Kara would sate her hunger in other and better ways.
Then, she heard it. Beneath Lena’s heartbeat, strong and steady and safe, was another. A tiny, racing thing, like a baby bird. Kara stood there dumbfounded for too long a beat before she understood and let out a soft cry.
Lena looked up.
“Darling? What’s wrong?”
Kara fought to keep her voice from choking but failed. “I love you.”
“Did something happen?” Lena said, turning from the counter. “Kara, what is it?”
“I love you. I’m not angry and we’re okay. I just need Alex. I’ll be right back, I promise.”
Lena nodded. “Okay.”
Kara was out the door and in her suit and flying just fast enough not to endanger Lena. They’d been trying for months for this; dozens of visits to the Fortress, tests, experiments. She knew that, eventually, it would work.
It was hitting her now. Kara landed a little too hard on Alex’s back porch and knocked on the glass.
Alex was there in an instant. “Kara? What’s wrong? Is everything…”
“Lena’s pregnant.”
Alex’s face went briefly blank. “Oh.”
“Can I come in?”
“Yeah.”
Kara stepped into the house, sat down. As she took a seat, sweeping her cape to the side, Alex poured them both glasses of seltzer water and joined her. They sat quietly for a long time.
They were both quiet for a few minutes before Alex said, “How did you find out?”
“I heard it. I don’t know if she knows.”
“Kara,” said Alex, “did you run?”
Kara looked up sharply, eyes stinging with tears. “What have I done?”
“I don’t understand.”
“We made a baby, Alex. A little person, a living being we’re bringing into the world. What have I done?”
“Kara?” Said Alex, resting her hand on Kara’s. “Slow down, okay? Breathe. Tell me what you’re thinking.”
“Lena and I talked about this,” said Kara. “This life we have, being together, all the risks. We agreed to it. This little baby didn’t. She’s going to see her mom getting her head punched in on TV. What if I get sent to the Phantom Zone again? What if I die?”
“You won’t-“
“I already have,” Kara snapped, surging to her feet. “How many times, Alex? How many? What if there’s no magic grass to bring me back next time? What if I leave them alone?”
Alex stared at her, face an unreadable mask, heart racing.
Kara turned, frantic, and paced Alex’s kitchen, her eyes drawn inexorably to Esme’s drawings on the fridge, to the pictures of Alex and Kelly on the living room wall.
“So don’t,” said Alex.
“How?”
“Maybe it’s time for Supergirl to hang it up.”
Kara froze, and this time it was her own heart she heard hammering in her chest, batting against its cage of ribs as if it might break free. Her eyes found the mirror above the living room sofa and she saw herself now in the colors and crest of her house.
Her house.
“What do you mean?”
Alex stood up. “You have died three times,” she said. Clinically dead. I was there. Maybe it is time for it to stop.”
“I can’t do that to them again,” Kara agreed.
“No, but I’m not saying this for them, Kara. I’m saying it for you. You paid. Whatever debt you think you owe, you’ve paid it.”
Kara covered her mouth in her hand, biting back a sob as the tears came.
“Why should I have this, huh? Tell me why I should have it? Just because they all died and I didn’t?”
Alex stood there, stuck silent. Kara knew the hug was coming before it arrived, and melted into it. Alex gripped her firm and strong.
“I have so much to lose now,” Kara sobbed.
“No, Kara. You have so much to live for now.”
Kara’s eyes flicked open. She stared last Alex, ignoring the sting of free flowing tears. The thought of all that had come before. The sight of Krypton, crumbling in a green flash as if devoured by some great primordial dragon. Reign and Red Daughter, the darkness that has gripped her between death and Sol’s loving warmth, gifted by the soul of this Earth herself.
They were not grave markers but way stones, not portents of doom but a map. A map that led only one place.
“I have to go. Lena.”
“It’s okay,” said Alex. “Go home to your girl, Kara. Call me when you’re up for it, and maybe you can talk to Kelly, too.”
“I’d like that.”
A few minutes later, Kara came to a gentle landing on the upstairs balcony and entered through their bedroom. She could smell dinner, and a quick glance told her that Lena had finished cooking and was waiting for her downstairs with a glass of juice- not wine. Lena turned it in her fingers, her face a mask of worry. Beside her sat the potstickers in a big bowl, kept warm by a damp towel. Another look revealed a pregnancy test hidden in Lena’s shirt pocket.
Kara reached up to slip on her glasses and dissolve the suit, the stopped.
Instead, she took it off, slipping out of the suit before changing into a threadbare sweater and some joggers. Later, she would fold it, put it in a box, put it away.
Right now she slipped into the kitchen, padding silently behind Lena on bare feet, savoring the quick flutter of Lena’s heart when Kara embraced her from behind. Kara made sure to press a kiss to her cheek before deftly sliding the test from Lena’s pocket.
“You used your super senses, didn’t you?” said Lena. “That’s not fair.”
“You know what’s not fair?” said Kara. “Being the most beautiful woman in the world, and in my house no less. The audacity.”
Lena gave her a crooked smile. “Technically, this is my house.”
Kara placed a hand on Lena’s belly and spread her fingers in an wide, protective grip.
“Our house,” she whispered.
The potstickers, unfortunately, went cold.
Seeing their partner make them a meal.
#supercorp#supergirl fanfiction#supercorp fanfic#supergirl#lena luthor#kara danvers#kara x lena#karlena#supergirl fanfic#waff#angst and waff#angst and fluff
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Sugar and Spice
Thank you so much for my beautiful @babygorewhore for this mood board to go along with this blurb !
Thank you to my betas @monstxrteeth @xxhellfirebunnyxx and again my morgy ! Y'all are my biggest support frfr
And a special thank you to @saradika for making those cute dividers 😍
Eddie Munson x Fem Reader
Wc: 1.3K
Tw: Honestly it's pure fluff with like the slightest angst if you squint
Sugar cookies.
That's easy, right? A simple sugar cookie recipe should do.
Right?
So why were you ripping out magazine articles and flipping through cookbooks as if your life depended on it?
You knew the answer and it was that this was the first Christmas season you would spend with the Munsons. Your boyfriend had assured you that store-bought cookies were just fine, but you insisted that your homemade cookies were far better.
The only problem with that was, that you had never made cookies from scratch. Your mother burned everything she had ever tried to make, so you never got that Betty Crocker life of learning how to cook.
So here you were, scattered pages across the kitchen counter and six paper cuts deep into finding the perfect sugar Cookie recipe for you and Eddie to set out for Santa, per Wayne's request. You wanted them to be perfect. No, you needed them to be.
Why did you have to open up that big fat mouth of yours and tell them you could make them from scratch? Why?
A repetitive knock sounding through the house startled you in your search and you grabbed one of the many recipes you had written down. opting for the index card you had jotted the most simple looking recipe on, in hopes that simple meant easy. A hope that easy meant good.
Opening the door you were met with a smile, one of dimples and teasing lips.
“Hi.” You managed to get out.
“Hello, beautiful.” He pulled you into his space letting his lips crash into yours a silent ‘I missed you' that he always greeted you with.
“Are you ready to spend Christmas Eve with me?”
“ More than anything.” A small smirk etched its way to his face. Making that dimple deepen and a stutter to your pulse that makes you clench your thighs tightly together. A soft hand on your lower back and a small smack to your ass had Eddie letting out a soft laugh at your reaction.
He bit his lip with a glint in his eye telling you to grab your overnight bag.
The short drive to the store was torture having to rack your brain at every twist and turn in conversation. To act as if this was a trip you made every year. A trip to gather all the things based on your lie.
Sugar and flour, eggs and butter. Baking these cookies was plauging your thoughts and you had hoped that Eddie couldn't tell.
Eddie saw right through the fasade you had curated just to get through tonight and he was playing along like a feature in his games. A small elf that would help find the ingredients to the quest in relief of refuge from an ogre as an offering. A keebler to the trees. The end goal? His heart in your hands.
Sugar and flour, baking soda and powder. All on aisle three. A search for the dry ingredients has you biting your nails to nubs. Eddie takes your hand in his and brings it to his lips.
"You okay? " A shudder in the breath you let out.
"Wh- yes! Yeah I'm okay. Are you? Okay I mean."
" Can I tell you a secret?"
His voice gets low and he brings you in closer so his voice won't strain in whisper. " I'm nervous." Your brows bow in confusion but he sets your worries straight.
" The excited kind of nervous. I've never had someone I wanted to spend Christmas Eve with."
Your smile becomes bright and you can feel his hand squeeze in your waist as you just stand in awe.
" Come on, let's get the rest of this list so I can take you home." …. Home. His home, something he had been calling yours for a while. If you were honest with yourself anywhere he was, that was your home.
Eggs , vanilla and butter. Some confectioners sugar and a small jug of milk, the final touches to make this recipe complete.
Wayne worked late on Christmas Eve and into the early hours of Christmas day so he could have the next few days off. A tradition for him and Eddie. The day after Christmas was their day of feast. Everyone in the trailer park did a potluck style of bringing leftovers no one wanted to their neighbors and Wayne never passed up anything he was offered.
Willing yourself to breathe deeply as the ingredients littered the counter. Eddie watched for a second, leaning his tall frame against the cabinets for any signs of your lie starting to crumble. Yet there were none. An actress who aimed to win gold, there wasn't even a flicker of doubt in your eyes, no matter how much panic was happening behind them.
Sugar dusted the linoleum and flour found the floor. Eddie was even sporting a light handprint of ingredients after you gave in and let him mix the contents of the bowl for you.
He had been begging to eat some of the raw dough and knew this was his way of sneaking some here and there.
The light shining through the kitchen window had started to cast a glow of slightly pink and soft purple as you and Eddie tried to find more than one baking sheet you could place drops of the dough into. A slam to one of the cabinets as Eddie's hands gripped the countertop in front of him. His shoulders had tensed and you wanted nothing more than to relieve his pressure.
So you did just that.
You walked the few small steps to reach him and tangled your arms around his torso as your face came to rest between his shoulder blades.
“It’s okay baby, we can still make them, it's just gonna take a while longer, but we can still make more than one batch.”
“I should have known, we just … I should have just known. I'm sorry.”
The softness of his tone broke your heart a little bit in the doubts he had from only not having a pan, as if that was a disappointment you would find in him. So when a small laugh left your lips he turned to you as if to accept this defeat. A betrayal of your mind.
“You think I give a fuck about a pan eddie?”
“No, I know , it's dumb. I just wanted things to be perfect for our first Christmas Eve together.” You met his gaze and let out a shallow breath caught in the hazel shift of his demeanor when his head tilted down.
“Eddie, I have never made cookies, not even from a box.” He has a smile, soft and sweet. “Fuck I don't even think I've ever even cracked an egg before tonight.”
Before you can think of something else to say his lips meet yours. Adoration overwhelms you when his lips part and let out a content sigh.
“I know, baby.” Still trying to catch your breath you don't quite understand.
“Know what ed's?”
“ I know you've never made cookies.”
A sudden stiffness like an insect caught in a spider's web, you knew this would come back to bite you in the ass.
“Baby I've seen you almost burn your house down by just looking at the stove.” You let out a laugh, deep and eye watering and it's all Eddie can do not to throw you over his shoulder and take you to his room.
“You knew and you were gonna let me feed these to Santa and Wayne? Looks like someone is just gonna have a stocking full of coal this year.”
The oven sounds before Eddie gets to reassure you of just how good he's been this year, but the look on your face when you pull out perfectly cooked sugar cookies is hands down going to be the best present he gets this year.
#eddie munson#eddie munson x reader#eddie munson x fem reader#eddie stranger things#eddie munson fluff#eddie munson imagine#christmas with eddie munson#eddie munson xmas#eddie munson blurb#eddie munson x female reader#eddie munson oneshot
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Thinking ab Pavia and his sweet tooth! He def takes his gf/partner out for gelato dates. What do you think his reaction would be if his gf made him a homemade dessert? Cute idea that maybe he’s been like “hmm where has she been going these past few days, she comes home late” and then he walks into the house and it is revealed she has been taking baking classes to make him something he’d like ╰(*´︶`*)╯♡
P.AGE OO.7 — 𝐃𝐄𝐂𝐎𝐑𝐔𝐌 & NOBILITY : 交 ✦ ⏱
fem!reader x pavia || baking desserts ::
hLEPDM THIS IS SO CUTE ARGHGGJ making cookies for my love, I stir and mix ‼️ ty for requesting buty beloved
The kitchen is typically a cozy space that you found yourself drowning your thoughts out. A space adorned with the warmth of flickering oven light and the comforting hum of a mixer. There are shelves lined with various ingredients—flour, sugar, cocoa, and an assortment of spices—creating a vibrant palette for culinary creations. Countertops are adorned with mixing bowls, spoons, and trays of freshly baked goods cooling off, infusing the room with a sense of anticipation. The atmosphere is filled with joy, as you meticulously prepare his favorite treats, sharing not only delightful sweets but also warmth, love, and a sense of home.
You recall a time during one of the many dates you had together, Pavia would mark a question that highlighted at the back of your head which initially started this whole ordeal.
" You know, amore. I wish to try more than one flavour.. If I could, I'd bring you the finest desserts of Piemonte. "
More than one dessert? He deserves it. He works hard, day in, day out. So you made it a personal goal to set yourself a deadline to create a few sweets that can be savoured to share between the two of you. Cupcakes, Panna Cotta, Cannoli, Tiramisu.. Oh my, you knew he'd adore Tiramisu.
Weakly, you picked up the spoonful of batter and took a deep inhale of the sweet aroma that infiltrated your mind with a warm sense of joy. You knew what you were doing.
The recipes you could learn from the basic cookbook didn't offer you much help, but you did the best you can. The classes you took, though.. God, it helped a lot. From the moment you started, from the final touches you added to the batter as of right now; you can't help but admire how far your skills had advanced throughout the months. The skilful use of your fingers pinching and twisting the desserts to create a beautiful swirl, the mix of saltiness and sweetness drizzled into every bite one would take inside of the soft filling; you considered to think of yourself to feel as though you were truly a chef.
Even so, you'd ponder in the back of your head if he'd always wonder where on earth you'd be biding your time. That the worry settles in through the depths of his mind that he can't help but weigh the feeling of you potentially.. distancing yourself from him? Questions would probably plague his mind, had he thought, what did he do? Was it something he said to you before? You planned to explain all of it later, but you knew him well. You knew how he'd overthink quite so often.
Even if you'd been late going back home, it's all worth it.. It's thought that counts, right? Regardless, Pavia always told you that any act of thoughtfulness bespeaks a profound commitment, an investment of time, skill, and meticulous attention to detail, all orchestrated to fashion a sensory delight. So the thought of your worries of him being hurt in the process of your surprise was suppressed at the back of your head. Whatever though.. You knew he never had the time to do fluffy baking with you, but what if you made these yourself? What's more homey than to have a loving girl such as yourself welcome a tired man back to his safe space? A serene thought that make your head swirl with all sorts of concerts that spiralled down into something so deeply fuzzy and admirable..
" Hm.. More sugar? " You asked, quietly mumbling to yourself. Adding more wouldn't spoil the flavour, right?
" He won't mind. " You chuckled thereafter.
The concoction of these delectable treats isn’t merely a culinary endeavor; it’s a soulful expression, an artful symphony that harmonizes flavors, textures, and aromas to compose an edible testament of love. The careful selection of ingredients, the rhythmic blending, and the transformative process within the oven embody the care and consideration invested in the act. Or, that's what you would like to think anyway.
Yet, a soft click ticked in the chains of the door. Maleficent who firmly guarded themself near the entrance let out a quiet whimper that had you peeking your head to wonder if that is who you truly think it is? But the moment you looked down, you realised how dirty you'd become with the flour staining your apron and hands.
" [ Name ] ! I'm home! You're here, no? " Pavia's firm voice had you suddenly unfasten the knot on the back of your apron, throwing it elsewhere before you quickly checked the time on the antique clock at the back. Shit, what time was it? Did Pavia arrive before 10?
You stared at the soft ticks chipping away at the time, noticing how the vintage wallpaper that started to show marks of the cracks wearing in slowly.
You made a mental note to make sure to fix that later.
" [ Name! ] "
Oh, right. You still have time to clear everything away before—
A head slowly peeled out of the corner, the soft licks of Andrea heaping at bare skin of your ankles make you uncontrollably giggle as Pavia followed your voice into the kitchen.
" Something does smell wonderfully sweet. Dear cucciola.." He warmly pressed a soft kiss on your forehead. Suddenly, you witnessed him pause in his tracks to address the sudden situation caving into his mind, trying to piece in every piece of the missing puzzle engraved in his brain.
" But what the hell is this mess, though?.. " His eyes darted towards the counter that littered with sprinkles full of flour and icing peppered across the edge of your fingertips. The stern tone made you quietly snort, immediately casting your gaze away from him.
" N-Nothing, I didn't expect you to come home so early. "
" Likewise. " He stated, bluntly, still taking a good look around the kitchen to see how your quiet, timid self leaned against the counter-top in a sudden weary feeling of dread weighing down in your stomach.
" Ah.. "
You opened your mouth to speak, yet, you couldn't help but stare at him contently for a brief second. How on earth can you possibly tell him that you'd have been spending your time trying to learn how to make simple desserts yet also complex patterns to make them look somewhat luxurious ? You knew he loved the fancy food, but always thought it was a waste to enjoy something once and never have it again. So why not make them so he doesn't have to necessarily waste his money on fancy desserts? Even though this man made thousands.
" Ha.. Alright, you got me. " You raised your hands. Pavia raised his eyebrows at this with the quiet smile lingering in the back.. " You ruined the surprise though.. I expected you to be back home much more later than expected.. "
" Got off the job early today, amore. But, do tell.." He paused, almost in disbelief from the way you seemed to mark his eyes darting left and right to his kitchen being in somewhat of a complete mess.
" Are you.. baking? " He murmured, taking your warm, icing dipped hands into his own cold palms without even having to look at you. You knew Pavia wasn't too mad, (thankfully), but it made you feel quite.. appreciated in some way. Like you could almost tell how he adored the way your smaller figure could even muster such a task to make something as adorable as this?
On the other side of the table, though, it was purely kept clean for the sake of showcasing the desserts in order of height. You remember delicately choosing which place to put each one of them in, from descending or ascending order? Whichever never mattered to you, but now you think about it, arranging them into groups that settled with each other in colours would've been the more suitable order.
" A-Ah..Ha. Well, yeah. I just thought I might do something nice for you. You mentioned quite a while back you wanted to try something new, right? "
" Yes, but I never thought you'd take it quite.. literally. Jesus f*cking Christ, [ Name. ] " The man hastily pressed several kisses against your knuckles, tasting the icing into his own lips before he chuckled quietly to kiss your own. You never had a chance to even say anything before he started confining heated kisses into your face and arms.
" Why do you do such things? What did I ever do to deserve this, amore? " He chuckled softly the moment he pulled away, leaning into your ear to have his warm breath tickle the sensitive area within you. It's as if one part of him felt so relieved that you weren't up to some shady business. He trusted you, wholeheartedly. But could one possibly blame him for having sudden doubts when he thought you might be slowly trying to leave?
"Ha, don't answer that. Your actions speak so dearly.. And your eyes speak the truth of your devotion for me, huh? " And he remembered. He always remembers. All of this was for him. So if you did this, there's no other human or arcanist, be it man or woman or person, who would ever dare to replace you.
This is all your work. Your art. And Pavia guiltily admired every bit of it.
He murmured praises between shaky breathes, unable to stop peppering your lips with eager kisses that may leave you spiralling into madness full of eternal joy. But then, he sighed to let out a quiet mumble, looking directly at you in the face. " Was this why you were so—..?"
" Distant? Yes.. I took the remaining week to partake in some..uh— classes. Sorry.. I didn't mean to come off across as me trying to lea—" Your words, instantly cut off by the touch starved puppy of a man pressing his own body against yours; lips latching onto one another as his previous kisses continued to spill tales of how desperately in love he is with you.
" Jesus Christ, Pavia. " You closed your eyes..
" You did this for me, huh? " He trembled. The warmth of your cheeks heated up, his body starting to succumb into the rising temperatures that combated against the bitter coldness that sunk into his skin like ant bites.
You nodded, sheepishly. The mess was an embarrassment to say the least, but by the gods, if you could, you would describe how utter gratitude wafted over his face, eyes glimmering under the light of the bulbs that flicked a couple of times then and there. He didn't care about the mess anymore, but what he couldn't take his eyes off were the humble sweets you took your own time, money, and effort into making purely for the sake of his satisfaction.
And by the heavenly gods, was he satisfied.
" Come.. Let us clean this space and enjoy your creations, my dear. You truly spent this week to devote it purely for me..? " He still spoke in disbelief, unable to contain the inner childish words that wanted to latch onto this woman and giggle around like a boy that just found a few cents off the ground to buy an ice cream.
You guided yourself to rinse off the icing and batter staining your hands before you sighed to turn around to see your own beloved fawn over at how adorably cute these small treats were. Some were easy, some were as difficult as they looked. Andrea pressed their paws against the counter, equally as hungry as he had looked. The similarities between the two determined the reason as to why you'll forever stick with him and his kin. You are truly his angel, and for this simple gesture, Pavia promises, mentally, that he'd repay all of this back tenfold.
#reverse 1999#pavia#pavia reverse 1999#pavia x reader#reverse#paviarev1999#r99 pavia#reverse 1999 pavia#pavia fluff
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It's bread baking day at the Merriman household, and Felicity is happy to have her friend Elizabeth helping out with the tedious chore. Today they're making loaves of Sally Lunn bread, a soft and dense loaf rich with eggs and sugar, reminiscent of French brioche.
The recipe comes from Felicity's Cookbook, which I've owned for years and have used quite often. I made this bread for the very first time this week, and I was very happy with how it turned out. It's soft, flavorful, and doesn't require any kneading. As much I as I enjoyed it, I don't think it will ever be my go-to bread recipe, since it's so exceedingly rare for me to have eggs, milk, butter, and sugar in my kitchen all at the same time!
Unlike Felicity, I never learned to make bread when I was her age. When I grew up and moved out into my own place, I brought my childhood copy of Kirsten's Cookbook, and the recipe for whole wheat round bread was what got me started and helped me learn to make my own bread instead of buying it. I've been doing that ever since. I even taught my mom to make homemade bread, which had always intimidated her.
Felicity's Cookbook mentions that the origin of the name "Sally Lunn" is not known for certain. It might come from the French words "soleil-lune" which means "sun-moon", or "sol et lune" (sun and moon) due to the golden top (sun) and white interior (moon). I checked to see if this is still a mystery 30+ years after Pleasant Company published this book, and apparently it still is. The Sally Lunn Eating House in Bath, England claims that the recipe originated from a French Huguenot refugee named Solange Luyon, whose name was then Anglicized as Sally Lunn, but there's still no solid evidence of this being true either.
In the UK, Sally Lunn bread is usually made as buns, while in the American South it's a loaf made in a round or tube pan. I thought it would be cute to make it in doll-sized mini loaf pans so Felicity and Elizabeth could help.
The recipe is below the cut, with a few of my (experienced bread baker) adaptations.
Ingredients:
3/4 cup milk
1/4 cup warm water
1 package active dry yeast
6 tablespoons butter, softened
3 tablespoons sugar
2 eggs
3 cups flour
1 & 1/4 teaspoons salt
Shortening or butter to grease the pans
Here are the mini loaf pans I used. Or you can use just one standard sized tube pan or loaf pan, but the minis are cuter and in my experience the bread turns out better in small loaves.
Directions:
Measure the milk in a saucepan and warm it over medium low heat. Turn off the heat.
Measure the warm water into a small bowl. Add the yeast and stir. Then stir the warm milk into the yeast and water. Always use WARM water and milk only, NOT HOT liquids. Yeast is alive and temperatures above 140F will kill the yeast.)
Measure the butter and sugar into a mixing bowl and beat them together with a hand mixer or whisk until they are creamy and soft.
Crack 1 egg into the mixing bowl and beat it into the butter and sugar mixture until it's well blended and creamy. Then do the same with the second egg.
Stir in about 1/3 of the yeast and milk mixture into into the butter and sugar mixture, then add the salt and 1 cup of flour.
Once these are all mixed together, do the same with the second cup of flour and another 1/3 of the yeast mixture. Then do the same with the last cup of flour and last 1/3 of the yeast mixture. Mix it all together until it's soft dough with no lumps. If it feels too dry to mix, add one or two tablespoons of milk until it's soft and mixable.
Scoop 1/3 of the batter into each of your three greased mini loaf pan. Or into the single pan.
Cover the pan(s) and let the dough rise for about an hour in a warm place. On the kitchen counter is fine. Or set it in the oven but do not turn the oven on. Don't put it in the fridge or anywhere cold.
After an hour, turn on the oven and pre-heat it to 350 degrees.
Bake for about 20-25 minutes if you're making three small loaves. Keep a close eye on them and take them out once the tops are a nice golden brown, like in my pictures. If you're making a single loaf in a single pan, it will take closer to 45 minutes to bake. Keep an eye on that as well and take it out the moment the top is golden brown.
Let the bread cool off for a few minutes. It will continue to cook on the inside as it cools, so let that happen before cutting a slice with a serrated bread knife.
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sirius learned to cook with euphemia. remus learned to bake with hope. so in 1994 when harry moved in with them into remus' remote old cottage in wales (that's what happened, stfu) the three of them made it a point to heal harry's relationship with homemade meals.
for starters, he was never alone.
in the morning, while sirius took care of the overgrown garden outside, harry and remus would gather around hope's old cookbook and choose the dessert for the day. even if remus tried to tell harry he could choose any recipe he liked, he insisted on minding the man's sensory issues and always picked something he knew wasn't too different a flavour or texture. dessert chosen, they started baking. as in, covered the room and themselves with flour and then managed to actually put something in the oven.
this was sirius's favourite time of the day, because he spent so long missing the sound of laughter and now everyday he got to hear it, loud and clear, from the people he loved the most as he sat under the kitchen window plucking weeds from the earth.
then lunch time came. remus would sit at the kitchen table, legs up on a chair and a book on his lap that he didn't actually have any intention of reading, and watch as sirius cooked and harry obediently fetched him ingredients and utensils.
amongst the chaos of sirius yelling and harry sprinting and laughing, remus would joke about how much they looked like surgeons standing over their critical patient, Mr Stew.
at dinner, it was a much calmer affair. harry, who's making a point to read through remus's whole stack of muggle books from his childhood, is probably already keeping his eyes open by force of will alone, so his godfathers sit him on the counter and just ask him to read the recipe aloud for them.
later they'll sit around in the living room and put a record on, but they all know it's just an excuse to spend a little more time together because, deep down, none of them believe this whole domestic family dream is going to last very long.
#marauders era#hp marauders#remus lupin#sirius black#harry potter headcanons#harry potter#wolfstar#raising harry au#lie low at lupin's
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Trick or treat!
Happy Halloween!!! As a treat, here’s a copy of the recipe for my very favorite cake. It’s a flourless chocolate cake that uses ground almonds instead of flour and it is decadent.
My dad actually makes this for me every time I spend my birthday with my family, but because I get a little sugared out sometimes, he’ll often omit the icing and replace it with homemade whipped cream. 😍
I don’t have the cookbook it’s from on hand (because… I’m in Kyoto) but it’s from The French Kitchen by Fran Warde and Joanne Harris and seems to be faithfully reproduced on that site I linked above.
Gateau Lawrence
Serves 6
For the cake
180g dark chocolate
175g butter, soft
125g unrefined sugar
200g ground almonds
4 eggs, separated
for the icing
100g dark chocolate
50g butter
1. Heat the oven to 150C. Line a 25cm push-up-bottom or spring form cake tin with baking parchment. Break the chocolate into pieces and melt in a bain-marie.
2. Cream together the butter and sugar using an electric whisk, add the ground almonds, eggs yolks and melted chocolate and beat until evenly blended.
3. Whisk the egg whites until stiff, fold into the cake mixture quickly using a large metal spoon until blended.
4. Pour into the prepared cake tin and bake for 30-35 minutes. A light crust will form on top and the middle should be a little squishy. Leave to cool for 10 minutes before removing from the tin.
5. For the icing, melt the chocolate and butter in a bain-marie and mix well then pour over the cake and leave to set.
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Steve's out of bread. Not a big deal, normally. Except today, he's really craving a sandwich. Any other day he'd just run to the store and grab more. Only he doesn't get paid for a couple more days, and the last of his cash just went to putting gas in the beamer. He could eat something else, sure, but he knows he's gonna be annoyed about not getting a sandwich all damn day. He's getting ready to accept defeat and make something else, to just deal with being unsatisfied, when he spots his moms single, dusty old cookbook on the shelf. He knows they have flour and a few packets of that instant yeast stuff...
Bread can't be that hard to make, right?
It turns out bread is actually very, very hard to make. Four failed loafs and a mess of flour later, and Steve STILL hasn't eaten, and he isn't even sure he wants the fucking sandwich anymore if it's going to be this much work. But now he's in too deep to back out. He's GOING to make a loaf of bread if it kills him. And he really hopes the fifth time is the charm because he's almost out of ingredients. He follows the instructions to the letter, making sure not to add too much water (like the first attempt) or too much yeast (the third) and when the time comes to knead the dough it actually looks decent this time. He's maybe being more aggressive than necessary kneading, cooking with hate rather than love, but by the time it's ready to go in the oven he's pretty sure he actually nailed it.
And he's right.
The final loaf comes out perfect, with a golden brown crust and a springy center. It's easily the best bread he's ever tasted, and he feels oddly proud of it. Even if he botched the first few attempts, he got there in the end. After all that work, he has his sandwich, and he has homemade bread.
He ends up buying more flour and yeast when he gets paid, instead of buying more bread. Now that he's gotten the hang of it? He ends up producing loaf after loaf of the stuff. He lets out all his frustration into the dough, and somehow it makes a great taste every time. Cooking with love apparently isn't his style, but cooking with irritation? That he's good at. He ends up going a little overboard, being forced to send bread home with everyone after Hellfire because he made way too much. It's almost embarrassing, until the next day when Mrs. Henderson calls begging him to make more for her. And then Eddie shows up with a few dollars and demands from his uncle to get more of that 'fancy' bread he brought home.
In a few weeks, he's making bread for everyone he knows.
He's perfected a routine and has started setting aside some of the money he gets from it to get an apartment. One with a decent kitchen. He doesn't actually charge anyone, but a lot of the time the kids force money into his hands anyway, and he knows better than to argue with them over something like that. So he ends up with a second job, one that he doesn't hate with a fiery passion, one he enjoys and is good at. Robin keeps encouraging him to get a job baking somewhere, but he pushes it to the side for now. Keeps it as a special idea he saves for rainy days, a daydream that keeps him going when the nightmares leave him exhausted.
Maybe someday, he isn't sure. For the time being he's content baking for his friends, and making sure he has plenty of bread whenever he's craving a sandwich.
#stranger things#steve harrington#stranger things 4#baker steve harrington#this post brought to you by my obsession with making and eating bread
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hello, wanted ask, possible make formula recipe without blender? can't buy one but really want try it
Oh hi! It depends on what your goal is.
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If you're an ARFID kiddo,
I'd really really recommend getting a blender. If you have a Facebook, look for your local Buy Nothing group -- this is your best shot at getting one for free. If you're not, try looking at your local thrift store. (Not Salvation Army; they use their money in very un-cool ways). If you have a local Habitat for Humanity Re-store, maybe they'd even be able to get you a really good deal on one if you explain your situation.
The reason I really recommend getting a blender is that you can use it to do a LOT of heavy lifting in terms of sneaking nutrition.
If you like soups, try blending mild, cooked veggies into the broth.
If you bake, try adding purees into your batters
If you like smoothies, make fruit smoothies regularly
There are lots more ideas than that, but those are a few basic ones. If you want, I can email you some cookbook pdfs along the lines above, if you DM me your email address.
Keep in mind that frozen fruit and veggies are often even more nutritionally dense than the fresh produce on the shelves, and tends to be cheaper per ounce.
Some states will even allow you to use SNAP/EBT at farmer's markets, and if you have a freezer, you can get really inexpensive stuff and let it last for a long time. Sometimes farmers will even let you take produce for free if you help them put their stuff away at the end of the day.
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If you're just interested in formula for baby regression reasons, read on:
You can put some milk in a jar with a serving of "carnation instant breakfast" and shake shake shake! Bunny act,ually likes making a faux Starbucks drink using coffee, Hershey's Caramel syrup, soy milk, and vanilla flavored instant breakfast powder
Just drink applesauce
Nesquik comes in a few flavors, and can thicken up your drink
Oat flour is basically ground oats, so if you cook it in milk like oatmeal, you'll get a thickened drink that's smooth without a blender, probably.
Baby pouch purees? They're not as cheap as homemade, but you can get them from the Dollar Tree for 2-4 per $1.25, and they're okay.
So, those are my thoughts ♡
#sfw age regression#sfw agere#sfw agedre#agere cg#agere carer#agere caregiver#written by rowan#rowan's asks#agere arfid#arfid agere
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Honey Corn Bread
From the preface:
The following recipes have been thoroughly tested in not only the Institute Testing Kitchen but the kitchens of many food companies and in many homes. They are the most approved honey favorites.
New combinations in which honey blends with and endless variety of foods are being developed. If you wish more honey recipes or menus for special occasions, please ask the Institute to help you.
Ingredients
1 cup cornmeal
1 cup flour
4 teaspoons tartrate or 2 teaspoons double action baking powder
1 teaspoon salt
3 tablespoons honey
2 eggs
1 cup milk
2 tablespoons shortening
Directions
Mix honey and fat. Add beaten eggs and milk. Blend with dry ingredients and bake in moderate oven (375 degrees) 20-30 minutes. Cut in 2 to 3 inch squares, split and serve with butter and homemade honey syrup (not included in post). Yield: 10 to 12 servings (Pan 7 1/2 x 11 x 1 1/2).
from 100 Honey Helpings (1939) by the American Honey Institute
This November, we're bringing to you a variety of recipes from the cookbooks in our collection so that you can delight and/or horrify your loved ones at Thanksgiving. We bear no responsibility for the quality of the recipes chosen, so proceed at your own risk. Check out our recipes tag for more ideas, and let us know if you try any!
The Browne Popular Culture Library (BPCL), founded in 1969, is the most comprehensive archive of its kind in the United States. Our focus and mission is to acquire and preserve research materials on American Popular Culture (post 1876) for curricular and research use. Visit our website at https://www.bgsu.edu/library/pcl.html.
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I have been experimenting with the Mormon pioneer cookbooks I brought back from Utah with generally really good results, and had a lot of fun!
cornbread + Danish cucumber salad + homemade blackberry jam (not from the cookbooks, just general home jam I thought would fit nicely with cornbread)
leek pie
corn pudding
buttermilk biscuits
the cornbread and biscuits are essentially variations on the theme of any other cornbread or biscuit recipe i've used, and I've made both from scratch pretty regularly. It was kind of nice to think about these bread products that were a cornerstone of 19th century diets sticking around, though!
the corn pudding recipe surprised me because it didn't contain any flour, so it was texturally different than other dishes called corn pudding I'm familiar with, but also different from the creamed corn recipe I use, which is similar in ingredients but cooked in a pan on the stove not in the oven. It was good, though!
the leek pie was good flavor-wise but I got really sick of eating it several meals later so I think it would be better if you served it all at once to more than one person. Also, the recipe called for the filling in the pie tin and a crust laid on top, and I used a bottom crust because I had a frozen crust, and it got a little soggy from all the water-heavy leeks, so I think following the recipe directly would probably be tastier if less pretty.
No notes on the cucumber salad, it's essentially just a quick pickle recipe but it is a super nice and refreshing side that goes well with anything.
I think I'm going to try some of the more heavily involved/special occasion dishes next!
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will u share more ab the decor around the jigsquad house w amanda, adam and lawrence?
oh happily!!!
they live in some like, victorian style home painted a shade of green that could be mistaken for an office space in a neighbourhood full of them. this is the best visual reference i could find for how i picture it in my minds eye:
amanda built a ramp that they placed over the stairs so it's easier for lawrence on a daily basis
lawrence gets primary say over the interior decor because he technically pays the most in terms of mortgage/bills. which isn't to say adam and amanda don't contribute, because they do, but lawrence IS a surgeon who comes from a wealthy family. so it's only fair that he pays the most, and therefore it's only fair that he fills the place with weird statues and nice pieces of art and intricately carved wooden furniture and silk pillows. and also his clock that we see in the first movie.
however. adam and amanda DO also live there so they DO get somewhat of a say. which is why the house's overall decor has the vibe of "trust fund baby going through an emo phase."
adam and amanda kept sticking posters of bands and movies that lawrence has never heard of to the walls and he decided that it was ruining the aesthetic so he had them framed and now adam's crumbled old nine inch nails poster is hanging in an expensive frame next to some painting that lawrence paid an obscene amount of money for.
the kitchen is...surprisingly very domestic and homey. whether or not the weed and shrooms that adam and amanda are growing on the windowsill adds to that or detracts from it is a matter of personal opinion. but yeah! the fridge is covered in photos of the family and drawings by diana and bills and a grocery list that has everything from gourmet cheeses written in lawrence's unreadable doctor's handwriting, kerosene in amanda's chicken scratch, and pop tarts (FROSTED!!!!) in adam's surprisingly beautiful cursive. they have one of those bread/flour/sugar/rice/coffee/etc ceramic container sets and they are ALWAYS filled with the appropriate things. erratic collection of mugs including: one that 4 year old diana painted for lawrence for father's day, the one adam had made that just has a photo of his cat (bastard) on it, the world's worst serial killer mug that amanda got mark for christmas (he tried to bring it into work one time ""ironically"" and strahm nearly had an aneurysm). shelf absolutely stuffed with cookbooks and a homemade spice rack on the wall and a coat hanger with a bunch of embarrassing aprons (they intentionally bought pink ones with heart shaped pockets or cringe ones like KISS THE COOK because mark does a lot of the cooking and they love to see mark "built like a brick shithouse" hoffman in the most ridiculous aprons they could find). sometimes they work on smaller traps on the kitchen table but for the most part that is done in the basement.
murder basement is dark and gloomy and adam hates being in there because well. it's where they make murder traps. so he tried to liven things up in the most intentionally annoying way possible by putting like, fairy lights and lava lamps and beanbags everywhere. it's tacky and they all hate it but if lounging around on a beanbag is the only way for adam to spend more than five minutes there then so be it. the lock on the basement door is all rusted and they tell everyone that "oh we can't get it open haha we just don't use the basement" which is a horrible cover story but it works so. who am i to judge. the basement is also where they store their holiday decorations so there's stuff like a christmas tree and a dancing skeleton figure amongst their tools designed to maim and/or kill. they're kind of weird.
i think amanda isn't used to being allowed to have and keep things so she's a bit of a hoarder. i said this in my mandy hcs post but she's a big reader and doesn't ever throw out any of her books, which range from big hardcovers to tacky romance paperbacks that are falling apart. the bookshelf is full so there's random piles of them all over the house and she WILL somehow know if one is missing and there WILL be bloodshed.
erratic shared vinyl collection? erratic shared vinyl collection. erratic shared cd collection? erratic shared cd collection. erratic shared dvd collection? erratic shared dvd collection.
lawrence got full control over decorating his and adam's bedroom, which adam didn't really care about because they just use it to sleep and have sex. his only request was that he could hang up a bunch of photos of them (many with diana) and lawrence happily agreed. anyway. it's all a nice wooden bedframe and matching drawers and bedside tables and like, silk sheets and an incredibly expensive mattress. they have a little ensuite and the light is ALWAYS on in there because adam can't handle full darkness anymore, let alone in bathrooms. it's kind of boring but like. whatever. let the murder gays be boring in their love nest.
amanda's room is more all over the place, there's barely an inch of free wall space because again, a little bit of hoarder tendencies. she's got postcards and photos and ripped pages from books and magazines stuck up everywhere. lots of reds and purples with the upholstery and the curtains and whatnot. she's got a little desk that's absolutely covered in sketches and trap plans and poems and letters because she's always working on something. adam is forbidden from smoking in his and lawrence's room (tbh lawrence keeps trying to get them to stop smoking in the house but they don't listen) so he usually smokes with mandy in her room.
adam's cat bastard as her own room. bastard does not usually sleep in her room in her fancy pet bed, because cats are like that. bastard is banned from sleeping in adam and lawrence's room after she ate a bird (that was still alive during) on their nice silk sheets. there are dead things in bastard's room and more toys than any cat could ever have. nobody is allowed in there except bastard or adam unless they want to lose an arm.
the other spare room is for diana, and it is constantly changing because she is a growing girl and her interests are constantly shifting. it is on the top floor of the house and has a giant window that looks out into the backyard.
ik the backyard isn't really decor but they do have a very nice large one and adam has a vegetable patch that he tends to religiously. adam's green thumb is a shock to everyone given that he once tried to serve them pasta boiled in gatorade. but. he loves his vegetables and his fruits and his flowers so love is love. they also have a hammock and a back porch with rocking chairs on it.
#hope this is enough lmao. mny thoughts about murder family living together.#ask#anonymous#jigsquad#sawposting#headcanons
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Hanukkah is a celebration of light, oil-laden delicacies and the gifting of gelt – real or edible coins. Among the many traditional reasons for gifting Hanukkah gelt, one is that we remind ourselves of the Jewish freedom that was gained during the miracle of Hanukkah, as a celebratory coin was minted after the Maccabees won their victory over the Greeks. European Jewish chocolatiers began making chocolate coins for Hanukkah as far back as the 18th century, and in America they became popular in the 20th century.
While edible gelt is most often found in chocolate form, I was inspired to try a savory route when I stumbled on the “Jewish Holiday Cookbook,” and Gloria Kaufer Greene’s suggestion to make British cheese “coin” crackers for the festival of lights. I am an unabashed cracker enthusiast; and I am always pleasantly surprised by how simple it can be to make them at home. Cheddar cheese coins (also called cheese pennies), have the addictive savory tanginess of a Cheez-It, with the hardiness of a homemade cracker.
This retro snack is made with just a few simple ingredients like good cheddar cheese, flour and butter. They’re quick to whip up, and store well in an airtight container for up to one week. Cheese coins are flavorful enough to be served and eaten all on their own, ideally as a light nibble accompanied by a fizzy beverage before dinner. These crackers are extra delightful topped with a fruity fig or plum preserve, or even a slice of cheese on top – afterall, it is “guild the lily” season.
Whether you’re enjoying cheese coins over a game of dreidel, or as a pre-dinner cocktail snack, what’s not to love about salty, cheesy, crispy crackers?
Note: This recipe works best with hand-grated cheese, as opposed to the store-bought pre-shredded variety, which has a powdery coating on the outside.
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