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najia-cooks · 4 months

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ID: First image is a close-up on a plate of small flatbreads topped with ground ‘meat’; second is a cross-section of one of the breads. End ID]

صفيحة فلسطينية / Safiha falastinia (Palestinian topped flatbread)

صَفِيحَة ("ṣafīḥa"), also transliterated "sfiha" and "sfeeha," is a flatbread eaten in Palestine, Lebanon, and Syria, comprising a yeasted dough topped with a filling made from ground lamb or beef, spices, and chopped aromatics and vegetables. It may also be called "اللَحْم بالعَجِين" ("al-laḥm b al-'ajīn," "meat with dough")—this phrase is the source of the Turkish "lahmacun" and the Armenian "Լահմաջո" ("lahmaǰo"), which describe a closely related dish.

The word "صَفِيحَة" literally means "thin plate" or "sheet"; it comes from the root ص ف ح‎ (ṣ f ḥ), which produces words related to flatness. Compare for example "صَفَّحَ" ("ṣaffaḥa") "to flatten," "صَفْحَة" ("ṣafḥa") "page," and "صَافَحَ" ("ṣāfaḥa") "to shake hands."

A common part of everyday Palestinian cooking, صَفَائِح‎ ("ṣafā'iḥ"; plural of "ṣafīḥa") are often eaten as a snack or a portable lunch. They may also be served as a مَزَّة ("mazza"; "appetizer") for عِيد ("'īd"; "feast," "holiday"; often transliterated "Eid") or Christmas.

Safa'ih are shaped into pinwheels in the port city of يَافَا ("Yāfā"; often transliterated "Yaffa" or "Jaffa"), stuffed with ground meat or spinach. In the Bethlehem region the topping is often mixed with tahina, as well as vinegar or lemon juice, and perhaps pomegranate molasses. Other versions of the meat topping omit tahina and vinegar, and are more tomato-heavy instead.

This recipe is for mazza-style safa'ih, with thick crust that's crisp on the outside and light and fluffy on the inside. Vinegar and pomegranate molasses provide a bright, slightly fruity lift to the topping, while tahina grounds it with a toasty, nutty aroma. Black pepper, allspice, and a green chili pepper add complexity and heat.

Support Palestinian resistance by donating to Palestine Action’s bail fund; buying an e-sim for distribution in Gaza; or donating to help a family leave Gaza.

Ingredients:

Makes 24 small safa'ih. Serves 24 as an appetizer, or 6-7 as a main dish.

For the dough:

5 cups (600g) white flour

A cup (230g) non-dairy yoghurt (لبن رائب) (I used soy)

1/2 cup (125 ml) olive oil

1 1/2 Tbsp (15g) dry yeast

1/2 Tbsp (4g) kosher salt

1 tsp (5g) sugar

A scant cup (220g) of water

A more "everyday" preparation of this dish might make larger, flatter safa'ih out of a dough without dairy. This holiday variant includes yoghurt and makes smaller, fluffier safa'ih; but the yoghurt may be omitted (or milk or milk powder may be added) without injury, and the flatbreads can be made any shape you like.

Leila al-Haddad writes that, in Gaza, white flour used to be eaten as a treat and for special occasions before it later came to replace white whole wheat flour in many kitchens.

For the topping:

500g ground beef substitute (as a replace for minced lamb; I used Beyond)

1 medium tomato, minced

1 medium onion, minced

1-2 green chili peppers, minced

2 tsp kosher salt (1 tsp table salt)

3/4 tsp black pepper

3/4 tsp allspice; or Palestinian 7-spice / mixed spices (بهار مشكل)

1/4 cup tahina

2 Tbsp pomegranate molasses

2 Tbsp white vinegar, or lemon juice

For a tomato filling, omit the tahina and vinegar, and instead use 2 Tbsp tomato paste; or 8 diced or puréed tomatoes, cooked down.

Instructions:

For the dough:

1. Combine all dry ingredients in a large mixing bowl.

2. Make a well in the center and add in the yoghurt, olive oil, and water. Mix them together and then combine them with the rest of the dough. Add water or flour as needed to obtain a soft, slightly tacky dough.

3. Knead the dough on a clean surface for 5-10 minutes, until it bounces back when pressed. Allow to rise, covered, in an oiled bowl for 1-2 hours, until doubled in size.

For the filling:

1. Mince vegetables, or run them through a food processor. Mix all filling ingredients together.

To assemble:

1. Divide dough in half, and then half again; roll out each quarter of the dough into a cylinder and cut it into six equal pieces.

2. Roll each piece of dough into a ball between your hands, and then flatten it into a disc about 1” (2 1/2 cm) high and 3” (8cm) wide. Place on a baking sheet prepared with parchment paper, leaving an inch of space between each circle.

3. Press the center of each dough circle down slightly to create a crust around the edge. Add a few spoonfuls of filling to the center of each safiha and press flat.

4. Bake safa'ih in the middle of an oven at 450 °F (230 °F) for 25-30 minutes, until crust is golden brown.

Serve as an appetizer alongside vegetable salads, pickles, olives, &c.

#the essay proper will come later inchallah #I just wanted to squeak this one in before Christmas in case anyone is still planning their menus #Palestinian #Armenian Palestinian

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lex-the-flex · 4 months

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Snow Being Your Taste-Tester

The chaos in preparation for Reaping Day filled Coriolanus with an uncomfortable amount of dread. So much that when the agonizingly long week seemed to drag on for far too long, he needed to find an escape.

And his escape was in the heart of Panem inside a little bakery.

Opening the oven, the scent of your freshly baked bread filled your tiny bakery with a warm and welcoming feeling. Breathing in the fresh sensation, you watch the hot steam rise from the loaves of your medium sized sourdough bread. Carefully setting the tray on a wooden board, you started to fan the bread to cool when the bell above the entry door jingled, alerting you that a new guest had come in.

Walking to the counter, your face lit up as you turned to see Coriolanus Snow standing in your shop.

“Coryo! I didn’t expect to see you today." You said, walking around to give him a hug.

Returning the embrace, he places his chin on the top of your head before swaying the two of you back and forth.

"I know I was supposed to be here tomorrow, but I had to get out of the Academy. All the professors and Dean Highbottom are starting to drive me crazy. Reaping Day is only two weeks away and I desperately needed a break." He explains, rubbing your arms.

"I'm sorry, Coryo. I can't imagine the stress you're going through right now. How do you think I feel? I've been trying the new recipes that Clem recommended, but they're taking forever." You reply.

Pinching each of the sourdough loaves, you silently start to prepare them for the display case, only realizing that you baked one too many.

"Hey, would you like to try the sourdough? It's a new recipe, but it doesn't taste all that different to me. I can give you some honey with it." You say, placing the loaf on a separate cutting board.

"I'd love to, Y/N. I'll try anything you make." Coriolanus answers, leaning on the counter.

Smiling, you cut him a thin slice before topping it with a little drizzle of honey and a piece of your leftover Swiss cheese. Taking a big bite, the crust is crispy and Coriolanus practically collapses against the counter.

"Oh my God, Y/N! You've done it. This is the best piece of bread I've ever had in my life and I've eaten a lot of horrible bread." Coriolanus compliments.

"Aw, thank you Coryo. That means so much. Well, consider yourself my official taste-tester!" You beam, watching your friend devour the rest of his snack.

snow taglist ~

@dreamliners

@xplore-the-unknwn

@princessismx

@caffess

@writing-fanics

@wetsandpaperroll

@aemvnd

@ghostfacd

@lovelybeesthings

@motley-baby

@nctizen1270

@notarabellasstuff

@victormydarling

@0hsweetnothin

@ntlmundy

#coriolanus snow #coryo snow #coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus x reader #coriolanus snow x you #coriolanus snow x y/n #coriolanus snow fanfic #coriolanus snow fanfiction #coriolanus snow fic #coriolanus snow fluff #coriolanus snow imagine #coriolanus snow headcanon #the hunger games #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #ballad of songbirds and snakes #tom blyth

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thyme-in-a-bubble · 1 year

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kelp

summary: after being taken captive by a band of pirates, Y/n is caught off guard by a gentle soul that roams the barbaric ship.

warnings: Remus Lupin x reader, smut, angsty, pirate au, historical au, pirate!remus, reader is taken prisoner by the pirates, alcohol consumption, kissing, fingering, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, creampie, dirty talk, remus being a strong boi, desperate you have to stay quiet kind of fucking

word count: 3160

∼ gentle reminder that feedback, but especially reblogs are the way you support writers on here ∽

masterlist | join my taglist

We have a code. No women, no children. So, today is your lucky day, miss. You get to live. For now at least…

The captain's words still rang in your ears, even now as you were fighting hard to stay awake, jerking every two seconds to rip yourself out of slumber. Even with cold and heavy manacles restricting your movements and effectively keeping you upright on your tired feet, sleep was still inevitable, no matter how uncomfortable or scared you were.

You were down in the makeshift brig below decks, it was really just some chilly quarters used for storage purposes but being chained to one of the thick wooden pillars standing tall by one of the forever-dampened walls made this room on the black sailed ship seem like as much of a prison as any to a young and wide-eyed lady such as yourself.

Suddenly, the heavy door creaked open, letting in a sliver of moonlight from above. Stirring, you jolted upright and warned the unwanted guest still completely enveloped in the shadows, “don’t come any closer! I swear, I-I’ll scream!”

“Miss,” the man's tone was careful not to spook you, “you forget you’re on a pirate ship.”

Suppose that was true. You had screamed yourself hoarse till the sun went down and not an eye had come down to check on you.

Stepping into the low light, you saw a young man. Catching you off guard, behind the scarred and rough exterior, peeped a pair of kind amber eyes. His unkempt chocolate hair was tied together with a thin leather cord and in his clearly yielding, upturned hands were what looked like a stale piece of bread.

“I just thought you might be hungry,” he offered, but when your frightened expression didn’t waver, he said, “tell you what,” and unholstered the small blade at his side, causing you to flinch, “how about I set this down right here,” letting it clang atop a barrel by the door, “I promise that is the only weapon on me.”

When you didn’t reply, he simply accepted that would be as much of a confirmation as he would get under these pressing circumstances.

“Here,” he held out the chunk of bread for you to take a bite, but when you simply eyed it mistrustingly, he added, “it’s not poisoned, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“Why should I believe you? You’re a pirate after all.”

Tearing off a corner of the crust himself, he chewed, “see, if it is, then I’ll join you in the grave.”

Holding his gaze, you slowly opened your mouth just ever so slightly. Lifting it up to touch your lips, you eventually bit down on the rough bread. Chewing on it for what felt like forever, it completely dried out your mouth and made the swallowing part even more difficult. Maybe because he himself just had a taste, “oh, here,” he got out his waterskin, “this might help,” and popped off the small cork.

Carefully helping you take a sip, the strong drink within it made you cough and nearly choke on the last remaining crumbs.

“Sorry,” he apologised for the unexpected beverage and instinctually caught the drop of rum that trickled down the corner of your mouth with his knuckle, unfortunately causing you to jump back at the contact.

After an apologetic glance, he aided you in the consumption of the rest of the simple meal, till no crumbs were left.

You didn’t remember seeing him on the boat when the rest of the pirates pillaged and slayed the small crew you travelled along with to get to your destination on the other side of the ocean.

As the man turned to leave, you finally spoke up, “wait,” and he turned to look at you, “what’s your name?”

“Moony, miss,” he answered out of habit, but then corrected himself, “or that’s what the crew calls me. My real name is Remus. Remus Lupin.”

As Remus sneaked down to see you, scavenged food in hand, every night for weeks, the primal desperation to simply settle your rumbling tummy gradually turned into something else. He became an unexpected comfort on this horrid ship.

Early on in his visits, he had pushed one of the heavy barrels over towards you, giving you a spot to sit on and a chance to rest your sore legs.

When noticing how you slowly began to relax more around him, he found his mouth running off as he helped you eat, telling you cautionary tales of creatures of the sea. Everything from mermaids to krakens flowed from the natural storyteller’s lips, legends that often stretched out long after you had had your last bite.

But tonight, when he wrapped up his dramatic fable and turned to leave, you yelped, “wait! don’t go! Please, not yet. Just stay until I fall asleep.”

Not needing to be convinced, he simply smiled and scooted a large crate over beside you. Feeling a couple of butterflies flutter around your belly as he moved it with surprising ease, you averted your gaze. As per usual, the sleeves on his tunic had been rolled up, making it easy for you to spot how his burly forearms flexed and danced under the strenuous work. Taking a deep breath, you tried to settle the flutter, though it didn’t help much when the crate finally came to a stop right beside your makeshift chair, and he hopped up to sit down right next to you.

“Just as long as I get back before people start to wake up, then I can stay here as long as you want,” he bowed his head to catch your eye, offering you a kind smile.

Feeling your shoulders relax, you asked with a low voice, “could you maybe tell me another one?”

The corners of his lips curled up once more and he breathed out, “sure,” leaning back against the wall, he found a spot on the ceiling to fix his gaze upon and let out a soft hum, thinking of what story to tell next.

When he finally began, it didn’t take too long for your tired neck to give in and bend down to rest your head upon his broad shoulder.

“What’s with all the yelling?” you asked as soon as you saw the face of Remus appear and before he even closed the door completely causing him to shoot you a nervous look, wordlessly telling you to lower your voice, and flinched to look around the outside before carefully closing the door behind him.

“They’re not yelling,” he scratched the back of his neck, “they’re singing.”

“That’s them singing?” you quickly silenced the burst of laughter that bubbled out of you, flashing your companion an amused yet apologetic look.

“Yeah, they were bored, so they decided to throw a bit of a party tonight.”

By now you were well aware of how he usually waited to sneak down to see you till the majority had fallen asleep and only the unperceptive night watch was there to fear. “Won’t they come looking for you?”

“No, they won’t notice that I’m gone, they are all drunk out of their minds.”

“Remus…” your tone made him avoid your gaze, “should you really be down here and not up there? What if they notice? I mean, why even are you down here? Wouldn’t you much rather have a night off, relax a bit?”

“Like I said, they’re drunk out of their minds,” he bit down on his lip and admitted, “I just got a bit nervous that’s all. Couldn’t stop imagining what a drunk group of pirates could come up with as entertainment when a beautiful lady was in their reach…” had he just called you beautiful or had you imagined that? “So, if you don’t mind, I’d very much like to just stay here and sleep by the door, just in case.”

“You're willing to miss a party in order to protect my honour?”

Finally meeting your gaze with just the hint of a smirk, he said, “who says I didn’t bring the party with me?” and conjured a bottle filled with dark liquid.

Could you call it a party if it was just two distressed people sharing a drink? Who knew, but at least you tried. Keeping your voices hushed, not wanting to call attention to your small gathering, he expertly helped you take small sips, being quite good at the motion by now.

The strong liquor warmed you up and quickly brought on a wave of hope and happiness that you gladly let wash over you.

In order to be able to hear each other's soft whispers, Remus had periodically moved closer and closer to your bound form. Leaning against the barrel, you rested your now slightly dizzy head against the beam you were chained to and let out a warm giggle at the amusing yarn Remus was spinning you.

Tilting your chin up again, this time he seemed to be standing even closer, causing your laughter to die down. The room was spinning, and you didn’t know if it was from the alcohol or the proximity.

And in a flash, before he had even finished his sentence, you lifted yourself up onto your toes and pressed your lips against his.

It took him a long moment before he realised what was happening, but when he did, you felt his large hands glide over your waist, pulling you in closer. In the haze of it all, he had completely forgotten about your limited field of movement and began to sway back, pulling you with him.

You let out a small hiss as the manacles stopped you from straying any further.

“Ouch,” you stumbled back, making the chain slacken and giving your bound-up hands the opportunity to rest somewhat more comfortably against your heaving chest.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to-“

“Shut up,” you caught just the essence of his tunic between your knuckles and tugged him closer, “please,” your short words came out sounding breathy and desperate.

The corners of his lips curled up into a genuine smile before he gently grabbed both sides of your face and bent down to kiss you once more. And in time, as his lips moved over yours and his tongue snuck its way past to dance across your own, you felt the terror that was your reality slowly drift away.

Sliding his palms down your body, he tugged at every inch of your dress just to somehow ground himself in this dreamlike moment. As he pressed his body impossibly close to yours, even through the fabric of your dress, you felt the rapidly growing bulge, chasing after your warmth like a compass searching for its north.

As he instinctually began to grind against the fabrics of your skirt in pure desperation, you let out a gasp and parted from the kiss. Halting his movements, he stayed there, completely close to you, nose still ghosting against yours as he searched your eyes and watched as they grew heavy at the thunder he had started inside of you. And after many heavy shared breaths, when he finally confirmed the obvious storm that was brewing under your skirt, he pushed back in, kissing you passionately once more.

Palming your bottom through your dress, he quickly grew more desperate and started to gather up the material. Sneaking a hand in from behind, palm curving around and under your ass, he supported some of your weight with a tense forearm as his fingers found your weepy cunt.

As his bullying fingers found your swollen pearl, your side of the kiss faltered, letting out a shaky moan instead. Your lips were parted, and your glistening tongue still rested against your bottom lip.

Slowly, he stuck out his own and swiped it over yours, swapping even more saliva and licking up your whimpers.

Sinking his fingers into your waiting hole, his dark eyes bored into yours as he mocked, “oh, now who needs to shut up, huh?”

You tried to answer, you really did, but only more mewls escaped your lips, mixing in with the sloppy sounds of his fun beneath your skirt, as your heavy lids fought to stay open.

Placing a small peck on your parted lips, he reluctantly withdrew his fingers and pleaded, “come on darling, we have to stay quiet,” swiftly lifting up one of your legs, resting it nearly all the way up on one of his shoulders.

Biting down on your lip in an attempt at stifling your sounds, you saw him quickly free himself from his breeches. Since your dress had bunched up around your waist and he had already cracked you wide open, nothing stood in the way of his bulbous tip to brush up against your drooling folds. Feeling the head nudge up against your clit, you felt his right hand flex and fondle your ass, moving your frame against him.

But as he bucked his hips, stuffing you full in one fell swoop, his left palm came up to clasp over your lips, silencing your shuttering sob.

“Please stay quiet,” he whispered, resting his forehead against yours, “don’t let the others find us, I beg of you,” you could easily hear how hard he tried to stifle the filthy sounds that so desperately wanted to escape his lips, “don’t let them take you away from me, please, I’ve barely even had a taste.”

You tried to keep quiet, but with every hard thrust of his hips, whimpers bubbled out of you and vibrated against his rough palm. Digging your fingers into his shirt, loathing the fact that it was the only part of him within your limited reach, you felt him kiss your brow and bathe you in quiet shushes.

Clenching your jaw, you finally managed to swallow most of your moans, although when he pulled back and removed his hand, the eye contact that he ignited made the mission to stay silent seem unbearable.

Scooping you up into his arms as if you weighed nothing, nearly folding you in half in the process, the gentle pirate then continued to bounce you up and down his rock-hard length, sinking impossibly deep within your fluttering hole.

How could you feel this good when you were being held captive on a ship seemingly sent from hell itself? Why did you have to be in the wrong place in order to find something this right?

Within just a few more overwhelming flashes of him repeatedly impaling you on his dick, the floodgates opened, and you creamed all over his cock, soon thereafter, his movements eased down and you felt his own essence begin to leak down your inner thighs as he needily kept on stuffing your sensitive hole, right until you assumed that his painstakingly slow thrusts might just pick up again.

Though when he finally pulled out and carefully set you down on your wobbly feet, leaving you a dripping and trembling mess, you heard his heartsick voice find your ear, “I promise I’ll get you out,” as he held you tight in his arms, “whatever it takes.”

“Did you get them?” you asked frantically as Remus returned. The visage of him in the doorway made you feel as if you might start crying out of pure relief that his risky stealth mission had gone to plan.

“Damn nearly woke up when I grabbed them, but yeah,” he proudly held up the captain's jingly ring of keys, “I got them.”

Rushing towards you, he reached up and worked to free you of your binds, huffing and cursing damn near every time the key didn’t match. But when one of them finally did fit and your left bruised wrist fell free, a triumphant breathy sound escaped your lungs, half a cry and half a laugh.

Feeling tears prick the corners of your eyes, within but a moment you had reached up and kissed him, effectively choking out your sob against his lips. Finally tangling your fingers into his soft hair, you heard the keys fall from his grasp and onto the floor in a soft clang.

Pulling back, you rested your forehead against his for but a moment before he recalled the task at hand and swiftly bent down to snatch up the keys, freeing you completely.

As soon as the last lock clicked open and before you could begin to blubber out an affectionate string of thanks, he informed, avoiding your teary eyes completely, “Smithy is asleep at the helm tonight,” his voice was shaky but sure, as if he was attempting to hold back tears himself, “so no one should notice you till you're long gone on the dinghy.”

“Remus…” you raised up a palm to cup his cheek, letting your thumb dance over his cheekbone, ready to catch any tears that dared to escape.

“No,” he kept his eyes on the floor and shook his head lightly, “I already know what you’re gonna ask and please, I beg of you, don’t.”

“Remus-“

“No, I can’t go with you,” he snapped, finally meeting your gaze, “I am a wanted man. Even though the claims aren’t true, it is still my head the bounty is still out on and not the actual person who killed them.”

He had previously told you about how after a mysterious murder, his hometown had turned against him, pinning evidence against him, and forcing him into the barbaric life he now led, simply in order to not rot in prison for the rest of his days for a crime he did not commit.

“They’ll hang me if I go back there,” his fingers gently wrapped around your bruised wrist and pulled it down, removing your hand from his cheek, “do you know what the punishment is for hiding a fugitive? They’ll probably hang you as well if you try and help me, for all I know!”

But with your heart burning for him the way that it did, his warning didn’t overrule your stubbornness and you exclaimed, “then let's go somewhere else! Someplace where no one can find you, where it’s just the two of us.”

Almost taking a step back, he blinked down at you, “…you’d really do that?”

“I would do anything for you,” you caught both of his hands in yours, “I don't-… I don’t have anyone… not anymore…”

That was the reason why you had been on that ship the pirates pillaged. Your parents had gotten sick and soon thereafter had died, leaving you to be shipped off to some far-off relative that you had never even heard of. Someone who was undoubtedly going to marry you off as soon as you landed on shore, just to get you out of their hair.

“You have me,” he promised you, a single tear slowly rolling down his cheek, glistening as it caught in his scraggly beard, “from now until the day I die, you will always have me.”

“And I you.”

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tabbystardust · 1 year

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#finnish food

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angelsdean · 5 months

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get those men some pasta. bread. meatballs. chicken parm. and allll the thin crust new york style pizza you can get. need to lock dean in an italian restaurant actually. that one in lebanon. what do u mean they only eat pasta ONCE in the entire show. chuck hates them fr

#it's funny when ppl say they're having 'italian food' bc to me that's just my baseline regular food #'american' cuisine isn't real 2 me #but yeah. they. they've been living off diner food their whole lives #i need to feed them like a nonna #vic.txt

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dykedteach · 3 months

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The Terror lads as breads: a discussion between me and @ickyhands over crumpets

Crozier: a solid round of soda farls

Fitzjames: crumpets - quintessentially british, best when buttered up, full of holes

Blanky: a sturdy white loaf with a good amount of crust

Jopson: a soft bap/roll/batch/bun

Little: a tortilla wrap (flimsy, thin little scrap, but flexible and surprisingly resilient although it looks like it’ll fall to pieces at any given moment)

(to be continued)

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livebloggingmydescentintomadness · 4 months

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i was just reading a fic where someone said they needed to set aside their pasta dough "to rise", and that made my eye twitch badly enough that i would like to give you all a quick lesson about dough for all your writing needs.

without getting into fussy details, there are four basic types of dough/batter. yeasted doughs, quick breads, laminated/pastry doughs, and unleavened doughs.

the only one of those that ever needs to rise is yeasted dough.

yeasted doughs are, as the name suggests, leavened with yeast. yeast is a microorganism that, when activated in water, feeds on sugars to produce gas. that gas, when trapped in dough, creates bubbles. most breads are yeasted, as are things like bagels, rolls, pizza crust, soft pretzels, english muffins, etc. yeasted doughs are also typically made by kneading, a process that develops the sticky gluten in wheat and makes the dough strong enough to hold onto itself and gives a pleasantly chewy result. (sourdough is also yeasted, but it's made by capturing wild yeast from the air rather than using prepackaged yeast.)

quick breads are leavened with baking soda and/or baking powder. these agents do not need rise time, as the chemical reaction happens when they are introduced to water/acid and heat. muffins, pancakes, cake, and sweet breads like banana, pumpkin, and zucchini are quick breads, and not only are they not kneaded, they shouldn't be overworked. overworking activates the gluten in the wheat, which isn't desired in these soft, tender breads. cookies and brownies would go under this umbrella as well.

laminated/pastry dough is leavened by thin layers of cold butter reaching a quick boiling point and releasing a steam that separates the layers of dough. this effect can be most clearly seen in something like a croissant, though croissants are also yeasted. pie crusts, most biscuits (the american kind), scones, and many other types of pastries are made this way. any time a recipes instructs you to "cut" butter into flour, this is what you're doing. phyllo, the type of dough used to make baklava, uses a similar process where oil or melted butter is brushed between paper-thin sheets of dough.

unleavened dough is exactly that, unleavened. there is nothing in this dough that makes it rise. pasta, many crackers, some flatbreads like tortillas - they don't rise at all. you do, on the other hand, typically have to let it rest for at least fifteen minutes, as the mixing of the dough creates elastic gluten strands that will resist attempts to roll it out.

special mention: whipped egg whites. when eggs are whipped into stiff peaks, they become filled with air, and some recipes use whipped egg whites folded carefully into batter as a leavener. angel food cake, for example, is leavened with nothing but egg whites. many cake recipes use this technique, as it creates a very light and delicate result.

SO. please take this knowledge and incorporate it in your writing as you will. thank you. <3

ps: things that are gluten free never require kneading, as there is no gluten to develop. gluten free baking is an alchemy which i do not pretend to understand.

#note: i am not a professional baker just a home baker #and not the kind that goes on GBBO just an amateur #but i know enough to share the knowledge so #writing #mini mine

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winter-rp-memes · 10 months

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Food preferences meme

🌭 - Hotdogs! Do they eat hotdogs at all? Do they use a lot of contiments? Toppings? Or just plain?

🌽 - CORN! Do they eat a lot of corn? Do they ever eat it by itself? Have they ever tried corn on a cobb? They put any butter or pepper on their corn?

🍿 - Popcorn! Do they have butter on their popcorn? Extra salty? Do they get any of the colored popcorn at movie theaters or just the usual stuff?

🍕 - Pizza! How many toppings? Which toppings? All the toppings? Stuffed, thin or regular crust?

🍔 - Burger! Do they prefer them on a charcoal or propane grill? No preference? How do they stack their burgers? What type of bun do they use?

🥪 - Sandwiches! What's their usual go to when it comes to a sandwich? PB&J? BLT? Ham and Cheese? Do they still cut the crust off their sandwiches? Preference on sandwich bread?

🥗 - Salads! Do they eat their greens? What vegetables do they like? Favorite salad dressing? Do they usually have a lot of crackers and cheese on their salad?

🧀 - Cheese! What kind of cheese do they like or consider their favorite? Are they the type of person that will put cheese on almost anything or do they use it sparingly?

🍳 - Breakfast! Do they have a big or very light breakfast? What's their go to breakfast food? Do they eat breakfast at all?

🥧 - Pie! Do they like pie or have a favorite type of pie? Do they prefer cake instead?

🥣 - Soup! Do they have any soups they like? Do they make it from scratch or just get canned soup? Is it something they commonly eat or is it reserved for a sick day?

🍚 - Rice! How do they season their rice? Do they eat rice by themselves or do they combine it with something?

🌯 - Fast food! Do they eat fast food often? What's their favorite place to do? Do they settle for something greesy or are they very picky about where they eat out at?

🌶 - Spice! How well do they handle spicy food? Do they usually put hot sauce on lots of their food? Or do they avoid it at all cost?

🍦- Ice cream! What's their favorite flavor? Do they get any toppings? Syrup? Whip cream? Do they prefer it in a cone or in a cup? Do they eat on warm days only or on cold days too?

🍧- Shaved Ice! Have they ever had it? What flavor would you get? Does ice hurt their teeth? Do they have to wait until it melts and it's more of a slush?

🍩- Doughnuts! Do they get a plain glazed? Icing? Jelly filled? Settle for Doughnut holes? Or do they want powdered sugar?

🍤 - Seafood! Do they have a favorite type of seafood? Like seafood at all? Have they had any bad experiences with seafood in the past?

🥩 - Meat! Do they eat meat? Are they picky about how it's cooked, where it comes from, and how to eat it? Do they prefer red or white meat?

☕️ - Coffee! Do they like it black? With lots of sugar and cream? Do they drink a lot of it or only in small amounts?

🫖- Tea! Do they have a favorite type? Do they drink any herbal tea for health benefits? Do they drink it warm or cold?

🍫- Chocolate! Do they have a favorite? Do they like dark chocolate or prefer it be as impossibly sweet as possible? Do they settle for low end stuff or get the expensive brands?

🍪- Cookies! Favorite type of cookie? Do they eat cookies a lot or just on occasion?

🥃 - Alcohol! The stronger the better or do they have a low tolerance for those type of thing? Do they drink alcohol by itself or do they commonly have it with a meal?

#inbox meme #rp meme #roleplay meme #muse meme #ask meme #CORN

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strawurberries · 1 year

Note

i loved your post about vash and reader’s stretch marks. i was wondering if you could write something where the reader is afraid of getting fat, so she skips meals or replaces them with water?

Missed Meals

Summary: Vash notices a change in his companion's behavior. Worried, he decides to confront her.

Authors Note: I'm glad you liked my other post! I hope you like this one as well (though I'm a little nervous because I got stuck writing this and I'm afraid it came out bad). Also, just want to add, I've struggled with eating disorders before (not from self-image but more like Vash's "I don't deserve to eat") so I understand. Everyone is beautiful in their own right and deserves to eat!!! Love all of you guys!!

Warnings: Self-hate, eating disorder.

It started off small; giving her bread to Milly instead of finishing it off, ordering a lighter meal instead of the usual hardy one she adored, and sometimes she simply said, “I’m not that hungry”. But actions like hers always lead to a slippery slope, one that tends to wrap its dirt-crusted nails around its victim and drag them into an early grave. She had never been someone who ate enough to feed an entire village, but not even she could survive on sips of water and the guilty crumbs she rarely allowed herself to consume. After a while though, it became natural, second nature to head off to bed while the sun still hung in the sky, claiming that exhaustion outweighed her hunger—which, she supposed, wasn’t all a lie.

The best lie, she had been told once, is the one that includes the truth.

Now, she recalled that advice as she sat at a table in the back of this dingy town bar. What should she say? What could she say? Recently she had been using up all her excuses left and right, the hunger in her belly growing and the pain in her heart becoming ever more sharp. The group had decided to stop by a local bar before heading to the hotel for the night, nearly everyone complaining about the rough day that had been forced to suffer through. And, to them, a drink was something they were eager to welcome. She, if she hadn’t been too preoccupied with her stomach pains, probably would’ve ordered a whiskey to clear her head of every annoying little thought.

She opted for water though. The least she could do was drink water; she owed it to herself, and so she honored that obligation. Throat parched, mouth achy; the water tasted amazing.

The bar erupted in a shout as someone tripped, roaring laughter drowning out the domestic conversation of her table. Too loud. Vaguely she heard someone mention dinner—she cringed. She did promise herself that she’d finally eat a crumb or a bite tonight (after nearly passing out yesterday she became all too aware of her weakness). She wasn’t dumb, she knew she’d have to eat eventually, that she’d wither away—but one more night, one more meal skipped, it couldn’t do any more harm, right? Besides, from what she had seen on the menu, the foods were all greasy, full of fat and carbs, and wouldn’t help her figure at all.

I just want to look pretty, she reasoned, skipping a meal tonight will help that. God forbid she ate too much and all her progress disappeared: letting that baby fat back under her chin, the muffin-top around her waist, or even the extra flesh on her belly? She’d rather die than let her body look like that again, much less look worse. It terrified her to her core. She needed to look good, and that meant, to her at least, that she must be skinny, thin, and agreeable. Starvation is a small price to pay for beauty.

A waiter slowly started to make their way across the room, eyes set on her table.

I need to go.

She stood up, giving a small smile, “I’m gonna head back to the hotel.”

“You’re leaving already Miss?” Milly asked, “it’s still early enough for one drink! C’mon!” She raised her glass and grinned, “look! Mr. Wolfwood and Mr. Vash are already enjoying themselves!”

Drunken giggles erupted across the table.

“Oh Milly,” Meryl sighed, “let the girl get her rest. God knows we all need it.” She waved her hand with the flick of her wrist, “if it wasn’t for the trouble you’re all bound to cause, I would’ve already left myself.”

“Hey!” Wolfwood barked out, “we’ve never caused trouble a day in our lives. . . well, can’t say much for Needle-noggin’ here.”

“It’s not my fault!” Vash cried, “trouble finds me! I always run away from it!” He sobbed into the table, “can’t a man catch a break?!”

Wolfwood laughed and patted him on the back, “it’s all God’s plan, my friend.”

“Well he sure does have a stupid plan!”

With a smile and silent wave, she slipped out from the table and weaved through the bar, the happy expression quickly falling off her face. I’m tired, she thought to herself, ignoring the biting air of the night. A dull ache in the pit of her belly made her stop for a moment, really tired. . .

She barely remembers getting back to the hotel, much less how she managed to get dressed and settled in bed before that wretched knocking woke her up. With a skip of her heart and a rapid smack of her arms to get the blankets off her cold body, she jumped out of bed and reached for the gun she had tossed on the floor. One smooth movement and she delicately wrapped her fingers around the metal. She didn’t even think about the possibility of her friends needing help, or perhaps just room service making their rounds; the only thing on her mind was the fact that she wasn’t prepared to die that night.

“Who’s there?” she grumbled out, ducking to hide beside the door, back to the wall. She rubbed lazy circles into the metal, finger twitching every so slightly over the trigger. She had never been the greatest shot, nor the most eager to kill, but she would do what had to be done if it came down to it.

“Vash.”

She blinked, sleep-clogged mind getting dunked into a vat of mean, old reality. Her situation hit her upside the head and she resisted the urge to put her face between her knees and groan about how dumb she is. Instead of wallowing in her stupidity (which, if you really think about it, wasn’t the worst reaction she could’ve had), she sighed, “oh.” A spike of relief shot through her like a summer’s breeze on a warm day. Shoulders relaxing and muscles begging to be sent back to bed. . . only, she wasn’t tired anymore. I’m not sleeping tonight, am I? Her heart still beat like a drum, thumping in her chest like no tomorrow, and her body—taunt and tense, ready for a moment's attack; that’s how she’s survived this long, by being prepared for every situation no matter the outcome.

“Can uh. . . can I come in?” Squeaked out Vash.

She cursed and opened the door, wooden creaking echoing throughout the hotel hallway, letting her occupied hand hang by her side, “yeah, sorry. What’s the matter?”

Vash stood in his usual clothes—red coat, ridiculous pants, and bulky boots; his gloves though, she noticed, he wasn’t wearing gloves. He gave her a small smile, “sorry did I scare ya?”

The smile made her less mad about the ordeal, kind and small. He never smiled too widely or genuinely, just enough to show that he cared, that he knew what happiness looked like—though she knew that he thought he’d never be able to obtain happiness, a faraway dream is how he described it to be. Oh, how if given the chance, she would give him all the joy he would ever want.

She shoved that thought aside.

“A little,” she raised the gun and gestured with it for Vash to come inside. “Why are you up so late?”

He slid into the room silently, walking over to sit on the edge of her bed, “couldn’t sleep.” he sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck.

That was a lie. She could tell. “Want to talk?” She locked the door and once again tossed her gun next to her bed, hoping it wouldn’t go off from the rough handling. “Or jus’ need someone here?”

“Just talking, if you don’t mind.”

She nodded, “a’right. How was your day?”

He smiled, “good. You?”

“Peachy.”

The conversation died off.

Neither of them really knew what to say—unspoken words disease the heart and kill the soul, making the tongue bloated and thick. She, not knowing how to comfort her friend as her mind wandered from her own problems to the world’s in general, and he wasn’t sure how to get his point across.

Silence.

Vash cleared his throat, finally collecting his words, “are you. . . okay?” The question hung in the air sourly, sucking any sense of comfort out and churning it into an uninhabitable room of misery. He flinched, as if the mood of the room was hurting him physically. “You’ve been acting a little different lately.”

She leaned against the door, hoping the action would give her the confidence to either run away or admit her inner-thoughts.“Hmm? Fine, you?” She turned her gaze away. Could she run? No, he’d catch her in less than three seconds and her trying to slip out of the room would be an admission of her guilt. But she really didn’t want to talk about herself. She’s doing okay, isn’t she? Just a little tired, anxious, and sad. . . but she’ll get over it. Besides, it’s not like she’s dead yet.

“I’m good.”

“Good.”

Oh how painfully awkward this all was.

The bed squeaked as he moved to get into a more comfortable position, “I have some leftovers in my room, from dinner, if you want any.” He tapped his leg with his fingers, head angled slightly to watch her expression.

He knows.

Those eyes, no matter how much of a kind smile or goofy aura he carefully crafted to show everyone, his eyes gave away every part of his secret-self. The part of him that was scarily intelligent, observant, and abnormally calculating—a man smart enough to play dumb and a man strong enough to be kind. That part of him is what interested her so, the gravity that pulled her attention to him everytime he entered a room.

He knows.

With a defeated sigh she rubbed her shoulder and walked over to the bed, shoving herself behind him to lay back down. If she had to bare her soul to him, the least he could allow her to do was to be vulnerable while being comfortable. He moved slightly to allow her more room, facing away from her as if her very gaze would burn him. “I’m not hungry,” she gave one last effort to cover her lie, to toss her truth out the window in the hopes that it would be buried in the sand.

“You said that yesterday too.” He stared across the room, back rigid.

The sands never work in your favor.

“Huh,” she faced the wall, “guess I did.” The blankets were scratchy, old, and ratty, but she pulled them up to her chin nonetheless. She was tired now. All her adrenaline had poured out of her mouth, dripping onto the creaky wooden floor, seeping into the ground beneath.

“And the day before.”

“Are you sure?”

“Very.”

She closed her eyes, knowing she had finally been caught in her web of little half-truths. “Haven’t had the stomach to eat anything lately.” Perhaps she could escape this somehow—even though she knew it was futile, part of her accepting the fact that he wouldn’t let this go—, make him run away and stop caring, God that caring! It annoyed her to ends she had never seen before, yet she loved it so. If only he didn’t care, she clenched her fist into the blanket, then this wouldn’t have happened. And it’s not like she’s dying! Nor is she killing herself or drawing blood, she’s only skipping a meal every once in a while.

“I don’t. . .,” Vash trailed off locking his fingers together, “I don’t mean to pry, but you’re starving yourself.” He sat the words quickly, sharply, and promptly, as if he was afraid of them and needed to throw them out of his mouth as soon as possible.

All lies come to an end.

“I know.”

But wouldn’t it be nice if they could live forever?

He bit his lip. “Why?”

“You’re prying,” she snapped.

“Sorry,” he whispered.

The conversation died off.

She didn’t mean to sound so rough and uncaring—the opposite of that gentleman—but a fear had struck her heart and she couldn’t stop it. The only way to feel okay, to be okay, was if Vash stopped caring, stopped worrying, and walked out of the room without a second glance (no matter how much that would hurt). Only he had the power to alleviate this anxious pain but she knew she would never allow her to wallow in misery alone.

What did Wolfwood say? She thought to herself, misery enjoys company?

The air turned from sour to stiff, oppressing; like a hand had come to clasp her throat, fingers digging into flesh and muscles spasming as they tried to escape the hold, only it was fruitless.

“Sometimes,” Vash’s voice cut through the air, peeling the layers of devilish emotions back. Slowly he shuffled down to lay next to her, on his back, hands laced over his chest. “I feel like I don’t deserve to eat. . . how can I allow myself to eat when I know how the people I failed, the people I let die, will never be able to enjoy things like that again? And, really, I think part of me hopes I’ll die from starvation, so I can take an easy way out.” He paused and let out a shuddering sigh.

She didn’t move.

“I don’t know why you’re doing this, and you don’t have to tell me, but I understand in part. And if you ever need anything, I’m here. Okay?”

Why did he have to be like this? Why did he have to care? And why did she want to accept it so damn bad? If he had never noticed, if he had never looked at her with those eyes, if he had never met her—then she’d be living in her little palace of warped perception like a Queen of nothing but barren hearts. A ruler of her own land, a lawmaker who bows to no one; only this man had come into her secluded little kingdom, raided the halls of the castle, and whisked her away to feel the sun. It hurt her. To know how delicious the outside tasted, yet know how her soul felt safer within her prison.

“Do you think,” the words died in her tongue, nervousness making her numb. To hell with it, he already figured it out. Might as well bite the bullet.“ That I look pretty?” she whispered.

Silence.

Oh, that was a mistake, wasn’t it? The silence hurt in her ways that she didn’t even know could hurt.

Vash choked on his own spit and coughed, “w-what?”

Suddenly she wished the silence was still there.

Of course he’d have a reaction like that! She’s ugly, big, and broken. Why did she think it’s run out any different? “Nevermind.” She buried her face into the blanket, biting back a rumble of sobs in her throat; eyes stinging gently.

“No! No! You—you just caught me off guard! I think you’re beautiful, really.” He turned over frantically, hand awkwardly hovering over her shoulder as he talked into her neck.

“You wouldn’t think the same way if I was bigger,” she curled into herself, “if I was fatter.” She aggressively wiped her tears away, “and skipping a couple meals isn’t too bad if it’s for a good reason, you know?” She wasn’t sure if she was believing herself at this point.

He was silent.

“No matter what,” he twiddled his thumbs, ears turning red, “I think you’d still be beautiful. If you were taller, shorter, thinner, bigger, only had one leg or, um, like lost both eyes or something—” he heard her lowly whisper an audible “what?”, “I’d still think you’d look amazing. And, if anyone says otherwise, they don’t deserve you.” He hesitantly set a hand on her shoulder, rubbing comforting circles, “no matter what, I still cherish you.”

Her voice cracked, “thank you Vash.” His words didn’t convince her entirely, but still, they were nice to hear.

He hummed. “I know my words aren’t going to fix everything, but we can start here, if you want?”

She let out a bubbling sigh, trying desperately to keep her tears away in order not to embarrass herself further. “I'm scared.”

“That’s okay, I get scared all the time. I’ll be right here for you, the whole way.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

237 notes · View notes

astrobei · 1 year

Note

hi suni astrobi my beloved dear suni ❤️🫂

sending you a valentine's day prompt because i can annnnnd.

i challenge you to write miwi bc i need more miwi in my life. you can do whatever you want with this, but i want to see little baby will making a valentine's day card for his best friend, mike. bonus points if it has like paladin mike and dragons and all that other good ole fashioned dnd goodness.

hi andi andiwriteordie my beloved dear andi <3 happy valentine's day !! as a special present for you, here is my first ever attempt at writing miwi :^)

On Sunday night, Will’s mom brings home a bag of candy.

This, obviously, grabs his attention before anything else– brightly packaged somethings that crinkle loudly when his mom puts the bag down on the kitchen table. He can see them peeking out through the thin white plastic of the Melvald’s bag, and immediately perks up.

“What are those?” he asks, because it’s not rare for his mom to bring stuff back from work– especially on late nights like this, when she knows that Jonathan is busy with homework and no one’s had a chance to cook dinner, not when she’s been out all day and his dad is– well. His dad sure isn’t about to cook dinner, and Will has learned how to heat stuff up in the microwave but they’re currently out of everything that he can stick in a microwave. Will expects her to whip out a couple of TV dinners, and he kind of hopes she will, because it’s late and he’s hungry.

He peers over the long end of the table, trying to catch a glimpse, because the TV dinners don’t usually look like this– all pink and red and crinkly. His mom laughs, then holds the bag open by the handles so he can look inside. “Candy,” she says, “for your class Valentine’s Day party tomorrow.”

Will stopped listening after the word candy. He doesn’t know what Valentine’s Day is, and he doesn’t really care, because the bag is full of the brightly wrapped candies and chocolates that he saw in the store the other day when his mom took him inside. “Whoa,” he breathes out, and reaches out to stick a hand into the bag, even if just to make sure that what he’s seeing is real. A whole bag, full of candy. The wrappers crinkle some more, loud under his palm, and he pulls out a heart-shaped lollipop, flat and an almost aggressive shade of red. “Is this for us?”

“Oh, no way,” his mom laughs some more. “This much candy? All your teeth are going to fall out.”

Will grins. “My teeth are already falling out,” he says, pointing to where he’d lost his first one just a couple of weeks ago. He’s still not used to it, the strange space in his mouth where there didn’t use to be one before. He sticks the tip of his tongue into the gap there, and his mom rolls her eyes good-naturedly.

“Maybe that’s because of all the candy you ate at Halloween,” she says, and leans over to ruffle his hair. “It’s not good for you!”

“Danny in my class already lost three teeth,” Will mopes, “and he got three dollars from the tooth fairy, so maybe if mine fall out too–”

“The tooth fairy will refuse to give you money because you let your teeth rot on purpose,” Joyce says, and Will slumps into the chair next to her, pouting. “It goes against the tooth fairy laws.”

Will might only be six, but he knows that there’s no such thing as tooth fairy laws. There can’t be rules just for one person. That’s ridiculous. He tucks the lollipop from earlier into his pocket before his mom can see, though. Just in case. “What’s the candy for?”

“It’s Valentine’s Day tomorrow,” his mom says, walking over to the kitchen and opening the fridge door. “Your class is having a party, and these are for your friends.”

Will frowns. “What’s– Valentine’s Day?”

“It’s a holiday about celebrating the people you love.” Joyce emerges with a loaf of bread and a few slices of cheese. “Grilled cheese okay for dinner?”

They’ve had grilled cheese for about four days in a row now, but Will doesn’t mind. His mom makes them perfect. He nods. “Yeah!”

“You have to eat the crusts this time,” she says. “Don’t think I didn’t see you throw them away last time.”

Shoot. So close.

“Fine,” Will agrees, then leans over to pluck another candy out of the bag. It’s pink this time. He thinks it might be strawberry-flavored. Will isn’t the biggest fan of strawberry, but candy is candy after all.

“I heard that,” his mom chides, back still turned to him, as the candy wrapper crinkles loudly under his fingers. “Put the candy back, Will.”

No! So close again. Will scowls at the traitorous sweet in his hand and tosses it back in the bag. “How did you even hear that?”

“I have superpowers, remember?” Joyce points to her ears and shoots him a wink. She’s probably right, Will thinks glumly. His mom has ears on the back of her head– or whatever it is they say.

“Why do my kids in my class get candy and I don’t?”

“They’ll give you candy too,” Joyce assured him, flipping a sandwich over in the pan. “That’s the whole point! You trade candy and Valentine’s Day cards.”

Cards? “What kind of cards?”

“You can look in the bag. I picked some of those up on the way back from work.”

Will sticks his arm bag in the bag and shuffles it around, until soft cellophane gives way to the sharp edge of cardstock. He pulls one out– “Be mine,” he reads aloud, then wrinkles up his nose in confusion. “Huh?”

“Cheesy, huh?” Joyce slides a plate in front of him, and smiles. “Speaking of cheesy–”

Dinner! Will’s stomach rumbles, and in the face of a perfectly made grilled cheese sandwich, thoughts of Valentine’s Day slip instantly out of his mind.

—

They don’t stay out for long, though.

“Jonathan?”

Jonathan’s room door is open, and he has his back to the door, but he turns around as Will peers through the doorway. “Oh. Hey, Will.”

Will shuffles his feet, hesitating. Is this a stupid question to ask? Surely Jonathan won’t think he’s stupid. Jonathan never thinks Will is stupid, even when Will asks dumb questions or says dumb things or acts super annoying. “What’s Valentine’s Day?” he blurts out.

Jonathan raises his eyebrows. “Huh?”

Maybe Jonathan doesn’t know. That’s a weird thought, though, because Jonathan knows everything. He’s in third grade now, which seems big and grown up and far away. It’s old enough for your grade to have an actual number. Not like kindergarten, which Jonathan says is, like, zero grade. “Valentine’s Day,” Will says again. Mom had been so vague about it, and he’s still not sure what’s up with the lovey-dovey stuff. Maybe Jonathan can help. “What is it?”

“Um,” Jonathan says. “It’s– the holiday of love, I guess?”

Oh. That’s lame. “Ew,” Will says, making a face. “That’s gross.”

“Tell me about it,” Jonathan sighs. “Why are you asking?”

“I have to celebrate with my class tomorrow,” Will sighs. “And mom got candy but I’m not allowed to eat any.”

Jonathan makes a sympathetic noise. “Lame.”

“I know!” Will exclaims. “And I don’t even– love anybody. Gross.”

“Well,” Jonathan says thoughtfully, “it doesn’t have to be love love. It can be, um. Any kind of special somebody.”

“Special somebody?” That’s a weird thing to call someone. “Huh?”

“You know. Is there someone special to you? Someone you really like?”

Will likes a lot of people. His teacher is really nice. He likes mom’s boss at the store, because sometimes he lets Will pick out a piece of candy from the display. He likes Jonathan, and he likes his mom, of course. But people who are special–

“Mike,” Will decides immediately. It’s an obvious choice, because Will hadn’t ever had best friends before Mike came into his life earlier this year. They do everything together– playing at recess, eating lunch, sleeping over at each other’s house. The other kids in the class even talk about them like they’re one person– MikeandWill– which makes Will smile. It’s nice to feel like he’s a part of something. Mike is special. Mike makes him feel special.

Something funny happens to Jonathan’s face, super fast, and then it goes back to normal. “There you go,” he says, then nods. “You can make something for Mike.”

“Like what?”

“Um, I don’t know. Draw him a card?”

“Mom already bought cards,” Will sighs.

“Make him a special one,” Jonathan shrugs. “Because he’s– um. Your special somebody.”

Will grins, wide enough that he knows his missing tooth gap is showing. Sue him. He thinks it’s cool, even if Jonathan has, like, five of them and doesn’t care. “Thanks, Jonathan!”

“Uh, yeah!” Jonathan sounds a little confused as he calls after him, but Will is already on his way to his own room. “You’re welcome!”

When Will gets back to his room, he pulls out his crayons and his paper, sits down at his desk, and–

He stops.

Oh no.

What is he supposed to put on a card? For Mike, especially, who’s one of the coolest people Will knows. What if he thinks it’s lame? What if he doesn’t want a card? What if whatever Will makes is so boring and awful that Mike laughs?

Will shakes his head. No, he thinks. Mike won’t laugh at him. Mike would never laugh at him, and that’s why he’s so special– everyone else laughs at Will, sometimes, about his clothes or his hair or the way he talks. But Mike doesn’t. Mike thinks he’s cool, and Mike thinks he’s fun, and Mike likes all the same stuff as he does– the kind of stuff that everyone else in their class thinks is lame but Mike doesn’t.

Will stares down at the blank sheet of colored paper. Blue, because Mike likes blue. And Will’s got a twenty-four pack of crayons and he doesn’t know what color to draw in, but everything else, the candies and the cards in mom’s bag, had been red or pink, so maybe Will should draw in red or pink too. And– everything else had, like, hearts on it, so maybe he can start there.

“For Mike,” Will says aloud, slowly and carefully, as he writes the words at the top of the paper. He’s pretty sure he spelled it right. He knows he’s got Mike’s name correct, at least. F-O-R. For.

Yeah. That looks okay.

The heart is next. Will tries to make it big enough to take up most of the page, where the paper has been folded in half down the middle. It’s a little lumpy, but– yeah. You can totally tell it’s a heart.

Probably.

He opens the card to the inside, and pauses again. Great, he thinks, because what is he supposed to write on the inside? He’d already drawn a heart on the front, and it would probably be a little lame to draw another one on the inside.

“Think,” he groans out loud, putting the red crayon down and peering into the box. Half of them are broken, and some others are worn down to nubs, so it’s not even like he has a lot of options here.

What sort of stuff does Mike even like? Mostly the same stuff Will does, but then maybe that would be like Will is making a card for himself, and not for Mike. He looks at the paper some more, like maybe something will appear on it, fully-formed, if he stares long enough.

Nope. Nothing.

Will sighs, and thinks harder.

Mike had liked that book they read in class last week– something about a knight rescuing a princess from a tower. Will hadn’t really been paying attention, because it was kind of boring and, like, sappy and about love, but Mike had been totally into it. Will had looked over during group reading time and his eyes had been huge and his jaw had been, like, on the floor. Will didn’t really get the appeal, because, again, it had been totally cheesy and sappy and gross. But Mike had found a stick at recess an hour later and brandished it like a sword, and Will had been too busy laughing to properly express how lame he thought the whole thing was.

It wasn’t lame when Mike did it, though. That’s why Mike is special– nothing’s lame when he does it.

Will picks up a crayon. He has an idea.

—

Don’t think it’s lame, Will prays, fighting every instinct in his body that’s telling him to squeeze his eyes shut and hold his breath. Please don’t think it’s lame.

Mike hasn’t said anything yet. Maybe he really does think it’s lame.

Will is starting to wish that maybe the asphalt of the playground could just open up and swallow him whole. Mike totally thinks it’s lame. Maybe Mike didn’t even want a card. Maybe Mike is weirded out. Maybe Mike–

“Did you really make this?”

Will blinks. Mike doesn’t sound weirded out. He sounds– impressed? Maybe?

“Um. Yes,” he says anyway. Mike’s eyes are wide where he’s staring at the card in front of him, and Will holds his breath after all– just a little– for one second, then two, then–

“Will!” Mike says, face breaking out into the biggest smile Will has literally ever seen him smile. “This is awesome!”

Oh, thank god. “Really?” Will can’t keep the relief out of his voice when he asks.

“Yeah!” Mike nods rapidly, never once taking his eyes off the paper. “This is awesome!”

“You already said that,” Will points out, but he’s smiling now too. “You really don’t think it’s lame?”

“No way!” Mike points at the crayon outline of a figure against the blue paper. “Is that me?”

“Duh,” Will says, pointing to where he had drawn an arrow and written Mike. Just in case there was any confusion. “It’s you as the knight. From the story.”

“I love the knight from the story,” Mike announces, and Will immediately feels like a million pounds of weight has been lifted off his shoulders. Thank god.

“I know,” Will giggles. “You almost killed me with the stick you were waving around.”

Mike gasps. “Excuse you. It was a sword.”

“Sure,” Will says. “Okay. It was a sword.”

Mike looks like he’s going to say something else, and then he stops. He shakes his head. His voice is quieter now when he says, “You really made this for me?”

Will doesn’t know why they keep coming back to this. Obviously he made this for Mike. That’s why he’d labeled the drawing with his name. Mike. He’d meant for that to help, in case there was any confusion, but maybe he hadn’t labeled it well enough. Maybe two arrows next time. Or maybe he should add Mike’s last name, just in case Mike thought he made it for the other Mike in their class. “Duh,” he says again, because he isn’t sure what about this Mike isn’t understanding. “It’s for– Valentine’s Day.”

Mike goes a little pink. Will’s not sure why, because they’ve been sitting in one spot for all of recess so far, and Mike hasn’t been running around at all. “Really?”

“Jonathan said I should make a card for someone special.” Will tugs nervously at the zipper on his jacket. Why is he nervous? It’s only Mike. “And I think you’re special.”

Mike’s mouth drops open. He closes it, then opens it again, in an excellent imitation of their class goldfish Bubbles. “Really?”

Maybe Mike’s words just aren’t working today. Will feels like that a lot. He gets it. “Duh,” he says, for the third and hopefully final time. “You’re my best friend.”

“Wow,” Mike breathes out. “You’re an awesome artist, Will.”

“Really?”

Okay, maybe it’s Will’s turn for his brain to stop working. He’s not sure what’s so awesome about his drawing. You can barely even tell it’s Mike.

“Um, yeah,” Mike stares, like this is obvious or something. “You can totally tell it’s me! No one else in our class can draw this good. You should do it more. I think you could get, like, famous or something.”

Will doesn’t know about all that, but something warm and fuzzy is swelling up inside him anyway. Surprised and pleased at the praise. “Oh. Thanks, Mike.”

“I wish I made you something,” Mike says sadly, still staring down at the card, like he’s trying to absorb it with his eyes. “My mom just made me get the ones from the store for everyone.”

“It’s okay!” Will smiles. Really, he doesn’t need a card from Mike. He’s just happy Mike liked it.

“You can have my Reese’s,” Mike offers. He doesn’t fold the card up and put it in his pocket like Will thought he might, but holds it carefully in both hands and looks over at him, eyes wide. “Someone gave me one for our candy exchange, but I think you like them more than me.”

Will grins. “Okay!”

Mike hesitates, then suddenly, moves forward and throws his arms around Will’s shoulders. It’s sudden enough for Will to stumble backwards, a little caught off-guard by the puffy weight of Mike’s jacket and body against his. “Happy Valentine’s Day, Will,” Mike says. “You’re my best friend too.”

#oh this was so fun #unexpectedly hard but in the best way #i don't know how to write little kids #i'm so scared of making them sound too baby #but hopefully !! this was good #thank u sm for this prompt andi it was so so so cute #happy valentine's day i love u much #mwah <3 #byler #mike wheeler #will byers #miwi #fun sized fics #fic #ok byebye #/astro posts

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