assorted bowls

She’s Just Not That Into You » Part II (A Harry Styles Miniseries)

Miss the first part? Find it here.

Once again, this miniseries is dedicated to @stylesunchained​. I love you, B! This time around, the ever-so-lovely @chrissy22787​ helped me out, and I thank you - immensely - for that, my dear friend. 

Let me know what you think! Happy reading.

Originally posted by cinemagraphs

Even if Nick did piss him off, Harry couldn’t help but be proud of his best friend whenever he was awarded opportunities. He worked hard, and it was nice to see that hard work pay off in the end. So, when Nick mentioned that you were having a viewing party for his appearance on The Big Fat Quiz of the Year, Harry feared that he wouldn’t be able to celebrate the milestone with him.

“Ask her,” he demanded one afternoon.

Nick laughed, his eyes widening at Harry’s insistence. After little pleading from his friend, Nick sent a text asking you if Harry could be his plus one for the dinner party. Once he’d sent it, Harry forced Nick to show him the text for proof, figuring that it was just like him to say he’d asked you when he didn’t, instead showing up to the party with Harry anyway, thinking it was funny to throw both of you for a loop. Nick’s phone dinged minutes later, your name lighting up the screen. Your response of “Sure.” had caused Harry to go into an existential crisis, the wrinkle in his brow deep as he pulled at his lips.

“She doesn’t want me there,” he grunted. “‘m not goin’.”

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ends of the earth || stuart twombly (princess squad july 2017)

word count: 2,372

warnings: none

author’s note: and i’m back again with some of my favorite noogler! this is a drabble for the ‘princess squad’ that i whipped up in a couple hours! i hope y’all enjoy this cute little oneshot! you can find the other drabbles with this same prompt right here!

pairing: stuart twombly / reader


coming soon

“You’re always reading that one book. There’s so many other books in the world, why that one?”

We all the know that one girl that’s obsessed with reading and always has her nose in a book. She’s usually reserved and quiet, but when she does talk, she’s kind, fun, and beautiful, inside and out. Stuart knew that girl. He had a crush on that girl. He didn’t know why. Maybe it was the way she smiled at him when they walked past each other in the big building that was Google HQ. Maybe it was the way her eyes twinkled when she solved a problem with her team. No one else on their team noticed. Not Billy or Nick, not Neha; no one except Stuart Twombly.

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First Sight, Daveed Diggs x Reader

Prompt: Rafa sets Daveed and Reader up.

Words: 978

Author’s Note: Day 5! Two more days to go! I might have to wait until 1000 followers to do this again because we’ve already gained 40 followers in the past 5 days! You guys are so amazing!

Warnings: None?

Askbox | Masterlist

Rafa and you were rather unlikely friends, from rather humble beginnings. Partners on a random project in a high school English class turned lunchroom pals. You’d pass notebooks back and forth, ideas thirty years into the future, rhymes that weren’t quite great yet - but you were working on them.

Those midday scribbles in a year old notebook turned into college applications and an apartment rental split between the two of you.

Eventually, you had to go your separate ways - with promises of future support and care packages already planned out.

Your departure to the east coast put a strain on your friendship. There was an occasional get together when you happened to stop by for the holidays. Sometimes he would meet up with you, in town to ‘meet with some colleagues’.

You started to gain traction with your spoken word. Enough to pay the bills, but not enough to feel compromised.

Rafa visited more often as he grew closer to his new ‘colleagues’. He started inviting you out with these people, but you always politely declined. He insisted he could connect you with the people you deserved to be connected with, you insisted you were happy where you were.

“That’s not what I mean.” He told you one day over coffee, “Not professional connections. A personal one. You have a fan.”

“A fan?” You challenged. “Sounds…insane.”

“He’s very cute.” He insisted.

“Then you date him.”

“He’s got his eyes on you.” He sat back in his chair, “But believe me, if there was any inclination he was interested in me-”

“Alright, set it up.” You brushed off, nonchalantly, which was quickly met by a loud cheer of celebration from him.

He went to work quickly, texts at three in the morning on if it was appropriate for him to bring flowers for you, and whether or not you felt a coffee date was just a bit too casual.

Which is how you found yourself in a snooty New York bar, one beer in, wearing a dress Rafa had chosen for you. He had yet to show, and through it was still fifteen minutes until the time you had agreed upon, you were beginning to wonder if he ever would show.

“Y/N?” You heard.

You whipped around, only to be met with exactly the opposite of who you expected. Rafa had restrained himself from describing him - something about the element of surprise, and a poet’s first sight of love and blah blah blah.

He was certainly something. You didn’t know what to focus on, really, there was just so much to take in.

Then he smiled, and there was nothing else to look at. He raised his eyebrow expectantly at you, and you realized he was waiting for something from you.

“Daveed.” You answered, much more breathless than you wished to be.

“What brings you to New York?” You asked, after an extensive background of just how proud he was to be a west coast native.

“Broadway, I’m in rehearsal for a show right now.” He brushed it off, as if it was nothing out of the ordinary.

Ooh, la, la! The lavish life of a Broadway actor!” You mused, ordering a water.

“Right.” He laughed, “Hardly lavish. This is the only solid food I’ve eaten all week.” He pointed to the bowl of assorted nuts, which he had been nervously picking at all night.

“Maybe we should have gotten dinner instead.” You faltered for a moment, realizing just how flirty that came off. He huffed out a laugh at your embarrassment.

“There’s always next time.” He told you, “Although, maybe we should be careful. Rafa might actually have a heart attack if he knows he set this up.”

You felt his hand on your knee - the first intimate moment you shared. You suddenly remember the rant Rafa had gone on that you half-listened to. The poet’s first sight of love.

“I had it with you.” Rafa told you, “When I met you, I knew I loved you. Pure, platonic, creative love.” You cooed out an awe, attempting to pinch his cheek, which he batted away, “I think there could be something there between you. Just give it a chance!”

“Do you have a pen on you?” You asked frantically as Daveed fished one out. You snatched a napkin from the stack near the end of the bar, scribbling away as fast as your hand would allow.

“What’s going on?” Daveed asked after several minutes of your insistent writing. “Did I do something?”

“No.” You mumbled, “You’re fine. Just-” Your pen faltered, you took a breath and met his gaze, “We should go out again.”

“Okay.” He said excitedly. “Whatever you say. When? Where?”

“Tomorrow morning? Breakfast before you go back to your ‘starving actor’ gig?” You stuffed the napkins into your purse, recapping his pen, shoving it in his hands.

“Keep it, it seems like you’re putting it to better use.” He glanced at his watch, checking the time. “We should get going, I have a hot date tomorrow morning that I can’t miss.” He tucked your hair behind your ear, balancing the pen on your ear.

He escorted you to the curb outside, quickly hailing a cab for you.

“Can I ask? What were you writing?”

You paused, wondering if it was too early to share. You took the plunge, fishing in your purse for the first napkin you could find. You pushed it into his hand without second thought and climbed into the taxi before you could second guess yourself.

He watched for a moment as your taxi retreated into the busy street, letting out a breath that was visible in the cold New York air.

He unfolded the napkin, barely able to make out your rushed handwriting.

The poet’s first sight of love - why Rafa may one day be my maid of honor.

Breakfast in Bed (Andre Silva)

a/n: here’s a little cute & cuddly (but still smutty) Andre :)

You were awakened by a hand running up and down your bare waist. Your eyes slowly fluttered open to take in your boyfriend Andre, standing over you with a tray of food in his hands.

“What’s this babe?” You asked, still confused with sleep.

“It’s breakfast in bed, scoot over.” He smiled.

Andre was like this sometimes, very spontaneous that is. He loved to give you little surprises. They could range from a gorgeous gold bracelet, to him taking you to see the stars at one of his favorite parks. There was a time he woke you up in the dead of night just to go outside and kiss him. It was raining profusely, but there was also a full moon out. That might have been the night you realized you loved him, as corny as it sounded.

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Mise En Place

Baze is cooking, and Chirrut can smell the spices and the hot oil in the air. He knows without even having to make a cursory trip around their small kitchen that Baze has already laid everything out, perfectly measured and sorted the ingredients into that assortment of glass bowls they bought. Mise en place, Baze had said as he touched them in the store, the glass making soft ringing sounds as they clicked against each other, which helped Chirrut imagine them, small to large and not as perfect as the tone in Baze’s voice. Everything in its place. It was such a perfectly Baze thing to want, such a perfectly Baze thing to think, that Chirrut hadn’t even been able to come up with a word of protest, though in retrospect he has many.

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I want to talk to y'all about my messy-ass altar.

From DollarTree:
-green eucalyptus candle
-pie tin (for burning things)
-white votives in glass (2 for $1)
-wax incense melter
-red votive under incense melter (4 for $1)
-black sand 1 bag
-4.5 hour emergency candle (6 for $1)
-bag of assorted rocks

-wooden bowls x2 (maybe .50 or .25 each?)
-glass candy bowl (used for protecting candle flames from the wind)

I made:
-an empty beer bottle (holds emergency candles perfectly)
-small ceramic bowl (from a highly regrettable ceramics class in college)
-runes (dollar tree rocks + literally a sharpie)

-iodized salt
-little glass bottle from Michaels (.50)
-Rider Tarot from Juju Pittsburgh ($22, awesome lady owns the shop, shop locally if you can!)
-leftover sparklers from the 4th
-one artisan witch-shop-made black candle
-wax incense cubes from walmart
-tea light holders from Michaels (.50 each)
-some old votive holder from Yankee Candle which at a whopping $13 is one of only two items on my alter which cost more than $1

If tools are important to you, YOU’LL FIND A WAY! You don’t have to have the perfect altar, or drop big bucks on your craft to be a solid witch. NOW GO AND BE THRIFY!

Korean Food Vocabulary

 these are just some of the basics obiously, but it’s a good place to start (by the way some of my pronounciatians might be a bit off, sorry if they are)

밥 [pap] - steamed rice

반찬 [panchan] - side dish

김치 [kimchi] - kimchi

국 [kuk] - soup

김밥 [kimbap] - rice rolled in dried laver

비빔밥 [pibimbap] - a rice bowl with assorted ingredients

볶음밥 [pokkeumbap] - fried rice

찌개 [jjigae] - stew

갈비탕 [samgyetang] - chicken soup with ginseng and various ingredients

불고기 [pulgogi] - korean barbecue

떡 [tteok] - rice cake

Mistaken Identity (Part Two)

Anonymous asked: omg, I’m reading through your fics and they’re amazing, I loved Mistaken Identity, would it be too much to ask for a second part? maybe one where the reader is trying on clothes or something like that in Alex’s apartment and they’re just joking and being cute with eachother. And suddenly John Laurens comes in, beacuse yes. Kay rant done, sorry, you write amazing, keep it up!

A/N: when I originally got this, I was surprised because this was my first fic??? like wtf??? why are y’all reading that garbage????? the first part is here if you want to cringe really badly at my earlier writings. 

WC: 1337

TW: Swearing, sexual innuendos, actual trash, food mention. 

AU: Modern

Pairing: A. Ham x Reader

The man you had met merely minutes before was tightly grasping your hand, leading you up the stairs to his apartment. You had already discarded the soaked black hoodie and started to make work of  trying to untangle your hair with your fingers when Alexander opened the door and pulled you in.

“Again, I’m so so SO sorry, it’s just that I was having a ba-”

You held up a hand, which halted his beginning of a long rant. “Alex, it’s fine. I get it. We’re all good.”

Hamilton’s brow furrowed, and he frowned before turning away from you and entering the kitchen. “I know,” he called. “It’s just that I still feel bad and-”

Hamilton,” you warned.


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anonymous asked:

Everyone helping Percy and Annabeth move into their new apartment but the day just goes by with building cardboard box towers, drinking from assorted mugs and bowls and ordering over $100 worth of pizza and Chinese food

This is exactly how it would go down and no one can convince me otherwise. 

Annabeth’s cardboard box fort would put the others’ to shame, and they’d all have a fight over whether to order Pizza or Chinese so they’d just end up getting both. They’d unpack two boxes labelled “kitchen” before finding enough dinnerware for everyone, and then they’d all try to squish onto the couch to watch the tv, which Leo set up on top of a particularly sturdy box. Annabeth would sit in Percy’s lap on the couch, Hazel and Frank would sit next to them, Jason and Piper would end up on top of each other in the one armchair and Leo would be forced to curl up like a cat in the inflatable bubble chair he’d bought them as a joke. (”Bubble furniture! You know, because you.. blow bubbles… under the sea?” “Very funny, Leo.”)

There would definitely be an entire wall coated in chalkboard paint, and they’d all sign their names in chalk and they’d play Pictionary and it would get ridiculously competitive, especially between Annabeth and Hazel, the best artists in the group. (Hazel should win, but she lets Annabeth and Percy take the lead on the last turn purely because it’s their new apartment. She definitely won’t go easy on them next time.)

And it would be very, very late before everyone headed home and Annabeth and Percy retired to their mattress on the floor, grinning from ear to ear about this place they’d built for themselves.

What werewolves and the sea have in common, chapter 1.

“We’re WHAT?!” Stiles shouted, dropping his bag of lacrosse gear onto the floor with a loud thud. “There’s absolutely no way. Did hell freeze over? Is this a fever dream? Scott, you’re not actually thinking of going through with this, right?” The aforementioned teenage werewolf shrugged, tilting his head to the side while averting his gaze. 

“W-well, I thought it wasn’t a completely bad idea. They did help us with the Jackson-being-a-kanima thing, and maybe we could get a chance to know them better. What could it hurt?” He smiled, running a hand through his tousled brown hair. 

“Me, my status as currently living, and my summer plans of doing fuck-all-nothing! That’s just three things off the top of my head, I’m sure I could come up with more. I can’t even believe that sourwolf would even want to go to the beach, much less act as chaperone to a bunch of preschoolers.” 

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5 minute zucchini noodles

So I ordered a zoodler (that’s what I call them) off of amazon for about $15. I found that I can make zucchini noodles (or zoodles) in a fraction of the time that it takes to make pasta & it’s an easy way for me to add veggies to my meals. This only requires one bowl, and there is very minimal chopping involved, but using a vegetable spiralizer could still be an issue for people with wrist pain.

What you need:

  • Vegetable spiralizer (link to ordering a relatively cheap one off amazon above)
  • 1 zucchini (or more if you want), washed
  • 1 paring knife
  • Large microwave safe bowl 
  • Microwave
  • assorted toppings (i.e. spices, sauces, proteins, whatever you like to put on pasta)


  1. Cut the little brown hard thing at the bottom of the zucchini off with a paring knife
  2. Hold the zucchini by the stem and twist through the spiralizer until as much of the zucchini as possible is in spirals (you can do this directly into the microwave safe bowl)
  3. Microwave for 2 minutes
  4. At this point, you can take out the zucchini & drain any excess water if you wish (careful it will be hot). You can add your sauces, spices, etc now if you want. If you prefer your zucchini more well done, you can microwave for another minute or two. However, be careful because the zucchini can get mushy.

You could probably make this with other vegetable types, as long as you can fit them into the spiralizer, but I haven’t tried any others yet. 

mnemehoshiko  asked:



also filling the prompts “one getting home from work later than the other and stretching out on top of them like a big lazy cat while they sit on the couch in front of the tv” (thegirlofpensandbooks and anon) + “one making awful breakfast for the other and the other eating it because they appreciate it that much” (zataraszatanna and manycoloureddays). In-universe, but canon-divergent. Titles and chapter breaks taken from the song “As Lovers Go” by Dashboard Confessional.

Wonderful As Loving Goes

She said, “I’ve gotta be honest,

You’re wasting your time if you’re fishing around here.”

And I said, “You must be mistaken,

I’m not fooling, this feeling is real.”

Every pair has their own Thing. For Jasper and Monty, it’s the self-high-five. For Octavia and Raven, it’s the mutual eye-roll when subjected to each other’s presence. Octavia’s gotten into the habit of ruffling Monty’s hair, Jasper and Raven bump chests to celebrate their experiments successfully going boom, and the spontaneous thumb-wrestling matches that Raven shares with Finn will never die. Hell, even Finn and Miller have developed this super bro-ish clap-on-the-shoulder trademark between them.

At some point during their fourth year on Earth, Clarke and Bellamy stumble into a Thing of their own, and that Thing is… kissing.

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[drabble] reflect

Title: reflect

Rating: PG

Warnings: ambiguous sexual undertones, allusions to fan-theories of what happened in October 2009

Genre: kinda fluff kinda angst

Pairing/s: ambiguous Phan

Characters: danisnotonfire, AmazingPhil

Summary: “Read the following questions, imagining the scenes in your mind, and write down the FIRST thing that you visualize. Do not think about the questions excessively.” Dan Howell is given a form to fill out.

A/N: Thank you for 300 followers. This is my gift to you.

A/N 2: to the following people –
constipatedhowell​ because I found the inspiration of this on your blog and had a go at my computer screen because how dare they say that my friendship is as weak as a styrofoam cup, and also for reading and plugging my previous fic on your blog;
to oopsiwritefanficdonttellmum​ for being my fic-writing goals, I kind of tried your style here, how do you write so beautifully like that I will never know;
to glossybutt​ my Phil, I’m sorry our friendship is a styrofoam cup. I’m just scared that we will break soon but to you we’re ceramic, you have full faith in us and I am sorry I don’t have as much. I still love you though.
to my little child thephandemonium, just because.

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America Has Lost Its Touch

We have allowed ourselves to become raw and exposed as a country. Weak. We’ve spent all of our energy humanizing our enemies abroad, looking for those that we can connect to. Those that are different from us, with less relatable upbringings, who are still pure at heart. We have a habit of putting our brains in the bodies of others and assuming that logic will win out. Our logic. But our logic does not apply to every country or culture. Our logic applies to western life. American life.

And American life hasn’t been that pleasant lately. It’s been quite scary, actually.

This country has never been safe for black people. Very scarcely has it accommodated that subculture, which has been positioned at such a disadvantage. What you’ve seen over the past week, the past months, and last couple of years has been a deserved and long-coming protest against the police and their specific treatment of those with dark skin.

Now, in spite of the brutality, America is currently the least racist it has ever been. But that doesn’t mean it isn’t racist. There are ripples of America’s sordid past lingering in the brains of white police officers who are acting more severe among black perpetrators, either consciously or subconsciously. And now everyone is seeing that - on Facebook, on Twitter, on YouTube… It’s an unavoidable truth. As a result, the #BlackLivesMatter movement formed and more people have been quick to point out the potentially racist behavior of whites - specifically white cops.

This has naturally furthered a division. You have the black community on one end with liberal progressives alongside them and then on the other, you have, well, racists and the people who just don’t get it. The ironic thing is, actual genuine racists make up less than 5% of that branch. It’s really just a bunch of white people who are feeling personally attacked, don’t know how to express themselves, and are afraid of being wrong or having their feelings invalidated. Kind of like those who just didn’t find the Ghostbusters (2016) trailers funny and wound up getting lumped in with trolling, misogynistic YouTube commenters. Except, unlike those rebelling against those who are fed up with the police, the anti-Ghostbusters group has a leg to stand on.

Some of those on the side of #BlackLivesMatter and the left - they get that it’s not necessarily coming from a place of hate. However most are just too pissed off and don’t want to explain to so and so’s blue collar uncle on Facebook why he’s wrong to feel the way he does. He should just know. (Which perhaps he should - but we’re all poorly made.) So they paint that collective as bigots. It’s easier. What does that do? That enforces the shallow, one-sided perspective of their opposition and creates an ‘Us versus Them’ mentality.

One person shouts “Black Lives Matter”, another “Blue Lives Matter”, a third “All Live Matters.” It gets things jumbled rather quickly. What you’re left with is an assorted bowl of M&Ms that all hate one another.

When the murders start to calm, we go back to doing the things we do best: ranting, tweeting, complaining about the news. We scatter and return to whatever it was we were pissed off and concerned about before. But there’s something new in everyone’s brain, and its being fed by clickbait from leftwing websites like Vox and Mic and rightwing political commentators like Rush Limbaugh and Steven Crowder. The division grows and remolds itself from Death v. Life to Black v. White to Men v. Women to Democrat v. Republican to Gun Control v. Gun Rights.

We view ourselves as our own worst enemy. Which, as a nation, is accurate – but not in the proper sense. As we lend forgiving eyes to radical mainstream thinking abroad, in countries where women are treated like punching bags, where gays are thrown off of buildings, and the west is stared back at with intolerable eyes, we’ve begun to demonize our neighbors over lesser squabbles. There is a lack of genuine communication and it has enforced tribal behavior without self-analysis. Selective evidence is brought to the table by both sides to state their cases for any piece of news, arguments ensue, nobody learns a thing, rinse and repeat.

And so when the murders start again, and they have – this time against black civilians and the police – we start to notice an escalation as a result of this lack of progress. There is a building tension and rage among each 'team’ that has not been satisfied. While our leaders stand back and assure us that 'the culprits will be brought to justice’, we play the waiting game until it’s time to fight again.

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Dog Days | Chapter 2: Because of Winn-Dixie

This was Kaeli’s chapter! Hope you guys enjoy!

Chapter 1 | Link

First things first, they need a game plan.

Natsu watches helplessly as the last furry behind rounds the corner, hightailing it out of there with no more than a backwards glance at the couple tangled together on the ground. The words shit shit shit repeat in his head as Lucy wastes no time trying to push herself to her feet. “Trying” being a very important word there. One elbow to the ribs, his hand grabbing somewhere highly inappropriate, and a knee dangerously close to his groin later, and Lucy is standing above him with a horrified expression on her face, twisting and turning in several directions as though not sure which way to go first. It’s too bad they can’t multiply.

Wait, that didn’t sound quite right.

“W-what do we do now?” She whirls around to face him, her eyes wide and desperate as she bends down to help him up, her hands reaching out for his. His fingers lock with hers easily, and he finds himself jerked to his feet as she tugs with both of her hands. He’s mildly surprised that she was able to lift him so easily. He’s not exactly a small guy. It must be the adrenalin. He’s read stories about mothers lifting cars off their babies and stuff like that. Wow, Lucy would make a pretty great mom! Her eyes bore into his, her bottom lip stuck between her teeth. “Do we split up?” she asks shakily. “You know, to cover more ground?”

“No,” Natsu shakes his head, taking a second to think as he brushes dirt from his jeans. Not that the dirt really bothers him, considering it kind of goes with the ripped, edgy look that he’s been sporting since his freshman year of college, but staring down at the faded denim gives him an excuse to look away from his girlfriend’s wide, panicked brown eyes.

“There’s way too many of them to try and split up.“ Especially considering that Lucy would probably end up being dragged off somewhere with all of the dogs. With a heavy sigh, he stands back up and places his hands on his hips, trying to buy himself some time as he looks around absentmindedly. “We’ll be better off if we stick together, so that way one of us can round them up while the other takes the leashes.”

Well, it’s a good idea in theory, at least. What’s the worst that could happen if they stick together? Natsu bites down on the inside of his cheek, crossing his fingers that things start to go their way soon. Lord knows they need all the luck they can get right now. If this is bad karma coming back to bite him in the ass for cheating at strip-poker he’s going to be pissed.

“Okay,” Lucy nods slowly, wringing her hands together nervously and taking short, shallow breaths, fingers trembling. He winces, not entirely sure whether she actually agrees with him about it being a good idea, or if she’s just taking time to process everything that’s happened. She’s always been the more dedicated of the two when it came to work, this mistake must be killing her inside. He watches as she takes a deep breath, turning away from him to try a Hail Mary and whistle in case any of the dogs had decided to stick close by.

Fat chance.

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Lure Lecter!

Hello all! I’m sorry I’ve been away; I’ve been working more than is probably healthy. At any rate, the lovely tattle-crime is running a competition, with the judging assistance of the wonderful delaurentiiscompany and goldberg-variations, and said competition has lured me back to the kitchen to try to entice our favourite doctor back! I made a four-course meal (well, three with tea and nibbles) with rather a bird theme, as Dr. Lecter has up and flown away. 

So let us get to it! In order:

Roast capsicum and tomato soup with sour cream and quinoa crispbread on the side (as this dinner is certainly not vegetarian - this course has “chicken” stock - but is gluten free), paired with merlot (yes, red first and then white, but we do live in modern times…)

“Chicken” breast mignon with a herb and garlic butter, served with a beetroot and feta salad with roasted pine nuts and paired with a semillon sauvignon blanc. 

White chocolate covered raspberry pastille “ortolan” served in a dark chocolate and lemon nest, accompanied by an assortment of warm berries, fig and nuts, and served with a cognac (because armagnac is too expensive). 

Spiced white tea with a bowl of assorted handmade cinnamon and merlot marshmallows, which really requires no further explanation except to say that yes, I know it’s a coffee pot, but I don’t have any Lecter-appropriate teapots, and coffee doesn’t go nearly as well with marshmallows. So there. 

I’m going to end with a shout-out to mongooseunderthehouse - I FINALLY MADE THE ORTOLAN DESSERT I PROMISED I’M SORRY IT TOOK SO LONG!

Sorry for the long post, and thanks for looking! :)

Isala Arla - Chapter 12

This is part of a long form multi-chapter Solas x Isii fic. Read the first chapter here.

She came alive among them.

It was a strange sight to see; as heartwarming as it was oddly distressing. Isii had a connection to these people – elves who had been strangers to her only a few short hours earlier. The bond was familial. The great majority of them accepted her as one of their own without question. Though she was the strange woman who travelled with a flat ear, who lived her life among shems, she was still unquestionably Dalish in their eyes. Solas realized with no small amount of discomfort that he no longer thought of her as such. She was so much more than her narrow-minded brethren. She did not dismiss the misery of others based on the shape of their ears nor did she allow her superstitions to overcome rational thought. She was no more Dalish in her manner than he was. He knew it would be a mistake to assume she shared his view in this. It was a part of her identity. It always would be.

He followed Isii’s cues throughout the course of the meal, silently watching as she engaged the others. Most of the camp sat in an imperfect circle atop the flattened grasses and bare earth, ground well-tread by their encampment. The food had been brought out to them by the handful of adolescents who were given the task of serving. The various assortments of worn wooden bowls and plates held a dish of slow-roasted meat and vegetables in a sauce thickened with boiled grains. There were no utensils save for thin rounds of flat bread used for tearing and scooping. It was distinct from the food he had been eating among the humans, though not entirely foreign. There was little in the way of seasoning, probably due to their lack of friendly trading with the local humans, but the freshness of the ingredients lent a pleasant intensity to the flavor.

As the meal drew to a close, musicians pulled out their instruments. A few danced, though they were mostly small children aimlessly stomping out something that resembled a rhythm while the adults laughed. There was a leisurely quality to the affair, most of the elves lingering well after their plates had been picked clean. Solas eyed Isii, wondering precisely how long they were expected to stay. It was already dusk. The thought occurred to him that their hosts may make the gracious offer for them to stay the night. The idea that she might accept did not please him. His desire to leave had little to do with his dislike of the Dalish. His motives were far more selfish. He wanted to be alone with her again. Thoughts of the intimacy they shared the night before left him even more eager in that respect.

The music began in earnest – a series of drummers pounding out a quickened beat as the sound of a pipe pierced the air. Stings followed – an instrument that more closely resembled a human fiddle than anything he recognized as Elven. The reaction from the crowd was almost immediate. Much like the humans at Halamshiral with their interludes informing dancers to take their positions, this was clearly a signal to do the same. Their numbers were few at first, but there were those who rose to their feet, moving to the center of the circle. Some needed encouragement, playfully pushed by those they sat with or coaxed by one of the few who took to the task of inviting others to join. A circle formed, two sets of dancers moving in opposition to one another. The pairs wove in and out of the path – meeting, clasping hands and turning, already reaching for the next dancer to pass in the line. None seemed to lose their stride as others joined, stomping out the rhythm in what appeared to be a way to sync them all to the same beat. A young girl, eager to encourage others to dance, scurried over to Isii with her hands outstretched. The Inquisitor shot a quick glance to Solas, smiling broadly as she leaned in close enough to whisper in his ear.

“Here’s your chance to see me dance like a Dalish heathen.” Her eyes flashed with mischief as she pulled away, quickly rising to her feet. A small grin tugged at his lips as she took the girl’s hand, allowing herself to be dragged into the line. She fell into step immediately, dipping in quickly before becoming a part of the moving stream of bodies.

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