biscuit smell

The only acceptable use for chopped/powdered tea leaves (+bonus)

Q wakes, sore in the most gorgeous way.  His ear feels bent from resting on Bond’s shoulder all night; the fingerprint-shaped bruises on his hips call the press of his own against their shape.  Bond is snoring, and that in itself is flattering: Bond–James–sprawled like a starfish in the bed, so unconcerned for his own safety.  There are weapons within a hand’s range of the bed, he’s sure, but Bond’s palms lay curled where Q’s head had been, draped over the dent left by Q’s hip in the feather coverlet.  Q staggers on coltish legs just this side of achy–they burn in the pleasant memory of stretching just a bit past their limit as Bond held him open and–a delicious shiver works its way through him.

Bond’s kitchen is spartan.  There’s not a lot beyond the staples in the fridge–a little cream for coffee, cocktail onions–and the cabinets are nearly bare, as well.  A sad box of Twinings and sugar, some flour and the usual spices; there’s butter and eggs on the counter, and Q’s not surprised to find takeaway menus in the drawer by the fridge.  A thought occurs–grabbing the necessaries, it’s a matter of moments to whip up a treat, and scarcely ten minutes later he’s sneaking back into bed.  Cooking can happen later.

–The Recipe–

Tea Shortbreads

  • 4 tea bags or 2T tea, any flavour (Earl Grey is good, as are chais and other strongly-flavoured black teas)
  • 250g or 2 c plain flour
  • large pinch of salt
  • 60g or 1/3 c sugar
  • 225g or 1 c butter
  • orange zest, vanilla, or other flavourings to complement your tea, if desired
  1. Mix tea, flour, and salt with a whisk or sift together.
  2. Mix butter, sugar, and flavoring with a whisk or electric mixer until light and airy
  3. Add dry ingredients to wet and fold until just combined
  4. Portion dough into logs and wrap with baking paper or wax paper.  Freeze until firm.
  5. Preheat oven to 176 C or 350 F 
  6. Slice into disks .5 cm or ¼ in.
  7. Bake until just barely golden at the edges (about 12-15 minutes)
  8. Let cool completely before removing from the pan or they will crumble

The bed is still warm when Bond wakes, for all that he’s alone in it.  In the other room–probably the kitchen, Bond presumes–he can hear Q pottering about, humming tunelessly, and yes, the kettle Bond has more because he’s British than out of any particularly keen like for tea is burbling away.  There’s a rich, nutty smell in the air, and when he finally manages to get his pants on and wander out, the Waitrose bag on the counter belies the cheeky nymph wearing nothing but an apron.  There are tomatoes on the cutting board and sausages waiting patiently for frying, corners of toast standing dripping golden butter, and a veritable mountain of little biscuit coins that smell rich and buttery and sharp with bergamot.

“You’ve been busy this morning,” Bond says, and Q’s laugh is bright.

“Your cabinets looked like a uni student’s.  I was surprised not to find curry beanz and cup noodle,” Q scolds with sparkling eyes.

“Are you looking to fatten me up?”  Bond grins, snagging a tomato slice and popping it into his mouth before Q can threaten him with his paring knife.  Q snorts.

“Who says you’re getting any of it, you lieabed?  I’ve already been to the shops and back and you’re only now getting up at the crack of ten!”

Bond’s laugh stirs the curls at the nape of Q’s neck as he wraps himself around him.  Q is a lithe furnace against Bond’s front; he goes for another tomato and Q sighs, put upon.  “Let me spoil you, then–I’ll take it from here.”

It’s a favourite, something he always has at hand.  It’s after-mission food for when he’s looking for familiar, for cozy.  He’s never had someone over in the morning to make it for–a frission of something that hasn’t shaped itself yet dances up his spine and Bond coughs, fetching out the saucepan and turning on the hob before he can do something ridiculous like asking Q to stay for breakfast tomorrow, too.

He could do this in his sleep: a knob of butter, chilled from the fridge, and Bond casts a gimlet eye at Q for using the whole dish from the counter, though honestly it doesn’t matter whether it’s soft or not.  He drops the butter into the saucepan to melt and checks again the heat is set to low.  Then eggs: two for each of them, whole in the pot.  He beats them into the butter and when they’re starting to thicken, he pulls the pot from the stove to even out the lumps.  Back onto the hob, he stirs until it curdles, lumps of scrambled egg forming beneath his spatula.  Off the heat again, then when it’s even and creamy again, back on.  He does this again until the egg is cooked through, then just a splash of cream–back on the hob until the chill is off–and salt, pepper.  He dishes it up with a flair.

He ends up watching with bated breath as Q takes his first bite, grinning helplessly at the groan that follows.  It’s breakfast.  Just breakfast: eggs and tomatoes and toast and tea.

It’s still somehow more than breakfast.  Bond wipes a stray smear of egg from Q’s lip and Q smiles.

mychakk  asked:

Sherlolly: it was one of *these* days.

The kind where nothing was truly bad but everything was annoying. It was raining and she couldn’t find her umbrella. The coffee maker in the break room was broken and the vending machine was out of crisps. The restroom closest to her was closed so she had to take the stairs up a flight on a full bladder. Then she dripped mustard on her blouse and had to spend the rest of the day in a stained top.

All of that, however, fell away when she arrived at her building. Even from the street, seeing that the light in her sitting room was on filled her with warmth. It meant Sherlock was there, waiting for her. After years of living alone, having someone waiting for her to come home was a good feeling. The fact that it was her boyfriend was an even better feeling. As soon as she walked into her flat, she could smell biscuits baking. 

Sherlock, as it turned out, loved to bake when he had a big kitchen like Molly’s to bake in. He came out with a plate of chocolate biscuits, a cuppa, and a grin. “Hello, sweetheart. I had a feeling you’d need this today.”

She gave him a grateful smile as she took the plate and cup from him. “You’re the best boyfriend ever.”

He rolled his eyes at the b-word then he grinned at her. “What do you say to making me the best husband ever?”

(That was fun, thanks!)

OKAY SO a lot of you know that I tend to be a Very Vocal Shill for companies I actually like, especially media and small businesses. I really believe that the other side of criticizing shitty business/creative practices is praising the people who do things right. So with that in mind, let me tell you a little story about Paintbox Soapworks.

I first came into contact with the owner of PBSW back in my BPAL days, and I was given some of her soap to sample. Her soaps are lovely, and as the years went on, she started making other products that smell nice (such as sugar scrubs, lotions, wax melts, bath streusel, etc.) and moved from Etsy to her own site. I’ve been a customer of hers for several years, and I’ve always been pleased with her customer service and the quality of her products. She’s a generous person (she includes free samples with every order and often creates products that benefit charity) and has a lot of fun with her stuff.

That’s the backstory. Onto what just happened. 

Now, PBSW has general catalogue scents and limited seasonal ones, and one of my absolute favorite scents of hers is only available in the spring. It’s called Lemony Biscuit and it basically smells just like a lemon girl scout cookie. It is my JAM. Because of my chronic illness, I like to use citrus smells in my house. They help a lot with the fatigue, nausea, and brain fog. That said, this is such a gentle, calming scent that it also helps with my anxiety. One-two punch! Every spring I buy stacks of the wax melts along with some lotion and bath streusel because I know I gotta make it last.

This spring, I made my order a bit later than usual. I knew I’d be getting some money as a gift for my birthday, so I decided to wait a bit and make a big order near the end of May. YOU CAN PROBABLY SEE WHERE THIS IS GOING. I got a very apologetic message from PBSW telling me they only had enough of the wax melts left to send me two packs. She asked me if I’d prefer a refund or a different scent. I told her I’d prefer the refund (so I could get some of the summer scents when they came out) and said I was pretty disappointed because it was my favorite scent so I’d be sure to order earlier the next year.

She emails me back and get this: she felt bad about disappointing me, so she made an entire extra batch of Lemony Biscuit wax melts just so she could fill my order. (I had to wait a lil bit for her to get the supplies, but she combined it with my summer order so I’d only have to pay shipping once.) AND MAN, I WAS SO HAPPY. That’s definitely going above and beyond. I told her that I was super relieved to hear it because I love that scent and use those melts to help with my chronic illness and anxiety.

And that’s when she offered to make that scent specifically for me year-round. She told me she’d make custom orders for me so I could get more product whenever I ran low so I wouldn’t have to worry about running out of the aromatherapy products I use to help with my illness.

I am touched and emotional!! These are definitely not things she had to do for me, but they’re going to make a world of difference for my mental well-being. And not that I was planning on switching companies or anything, but that’s definitely how you get a customer for life. All this happened a couple weeks ago, but I waited and asked to make sure she wouldn’t mind me telling friends about the nice thing she’d done (like I didn’t want her to suddenly get swamped with requests for custom orders or something) and she just gave me the go ahead. So! Now you know.

tl;dr, Paintbox Soapworks is an A+ company with affordable products that are good quality. ALSO the owner is a super nice lady who goes above and beyond for her customers and I’m honestly grateful. So here I am shilling, haha.

a list of things I, Tanaé, hate. According to a search through my own tumblr posts
  • when someone who’s just supposed to be a friend that I’m not attracted to at all starts flirting with me
  • when random mfs add me to their group chat on kik
  • everyone
  • people
  • when I’m just chilling, minding my own business and somebody points out the fact that I’m smiling for no reason
  • yall
  • people, so much
  • when stupid people talk to me
  • that I gotta unfollow some of yall
  • Laurent Bourgeois
  • taking naps
  • the way this guy’s chin looks
  • when people try to act like the movie Precious wasn’t funny just because of all the serious shit that happened
  • when people ask me if I remember where I was when Michael Jackson died, and if I cried
  • when I smell buttermilk biscuits then I go down to the kitchen and there’s no buttermilk biscuits
  • when I try to go back to my Chrome browser but I accidentally click on the Internet Explorer icon right next to it
  • the winter
  • attention
  • facebook
  • my mom’s taste in clothes
  • when I say something sexual thats pretty standard and some random nigga come outta nowhere and calls me a freak
  • not being thick no more after my period ends
  • quoting movies and nobody knows what I’m talking about
  • @younganddefiant
  • when job apps ask for my 10 year residential history
  • when men cut all their hair off once they hit their 30s
  • scenes in shows/movies when a couple is arguing and in the middle of the girl yelling, the guy kisses her
  • being in the dark
  • cold weather
  • messaging on snapchat for longer than 2-3 messages
  • the term “cummies”
  • dealing with people who always need my help for every little thing
  • when niggas ask me “so what you like to do?”
  • when I talk to new people and this little girly voice comes out of me
  • you all
  • so-called passionate movie kisses where people just press their lips together hard as fuck and move their faces around
  • when people go through all my pics on ig and dodge all my art but like all my selfies
  • when someone texts me something personal and I don’t know who it is
  • when the husband and wife been married for years and they still arguing over when they’re gonna have kids
  • the song “Last Night” by Diddy and Keyshia Cole
  • hearing the words “bloody pulp”
  • not knowing if I’m supposed to chill out or try harder
  • when my good bread runs out and I gotta eat this nasty ass bread my grandma buys
  • when I want advice on how to handle a situation,  but I don’t feel like telling the entire story behind it so I can get the absolute best advice
  • when people get  multiple tattoos in one spot and they don’t mesh
  • the low quality ass pics people give me to draw
  • old people
  • people who look good from every angle
  • when I don’t know whats happening
  • celebrities that only be fine as hell when they’re in character
  • yall…so much
  • Michael Jackson for making this sad ass song “Don’t Walk Away”
  • cleaning out the little thing that catches my hair when I wash it in the shower
  • when people in court say “numerous of times”
  • that I lose interest in guys so quickly
  • that whenever I fight in a dream, I’m moving in slow motion
  • coconut
  • when people try to console you by saying “death is apart of life”
  • Diddy
  • yall…sometimes
  • mushy shit
  • when people ask me to go look at their art and tell them if I like it
  • that I love “Flex” by Rich Homie Quan so much
  • that I don’t like to hurt people’s feelings even when it’s necessary
  • watching the clean version of Next Friday
  • my black and gray drawings
  • Wisconsin, so much
  • starting the day off on an annoyed foot
  • when I can’t stalk somebody pics on facebook cause we not friends and they got their privacy settings so you can’t see shit they post
  • having little thighs
  • reading old messages that don’t even mean shit no more
  • when people think I’m asking for help with something I don’t need help with
  • when a nigga say something corny under my post and yall actually laugh at it
  • doing voice overs
  • when family members that don’t know me comment on my shit saying things as if they know me

to be continued….

You lied

Guys think about it…

Undertaker eats biscuits and randomly pulls them out of thin air. Now imagine him just smelling like biscuits and Sebastian the dog just constantly attacks this poor dead bean 😂👌
Little scenario:

Undertaker visiting Vincent for a small gather, but refuses to come inside the manor due to the dog.

Undy: Do you have that mutt of yours tied up?

Vincent: Of course I let him out in the garden for the time.

Once Undertaker is convinced Vincent then leads the mortician to his study where Diedrich is. [Ofc stuffing his face with sandwiches] Undy stops at the door and looks Vincent dead in the eyes.

Vincent: What?

Undy: You told a lie. The mutt is still inside the manor.

*finger guns* well I’ll leave now *rolls into a black hole*

What The Overwatch Characters Smell Like.

I know this is probly a bit obscure, but I was talking about it with a friend and this is what we agreed on what the characters smell like.

Edit because of Sombra and Orisa:

Lucio- he probably smells like bananas or somethin fruity. A good smel

Reinhardt- Smells like roses, probably a bakery or some little old lady perfume. He smells nice. Like your favorite grampa

Zarya- probly smells either like bubble gums or that cheap generic floor cleaner that’s a bit too strong.

Genji- doesn’t really smell like anything. Probably a nice light cologne tho

McCree- okay, you know those little tourist attractions that are modeled like the old timey cowboy towns?? Like Bonnie Springs? Yeah he smells like that. In short he smells like those cheap rose scented bar soaps and whiskey and horse poop.

Pharah- smells just like home after a nice cooked meal

Reaper- smells like Fabuloso and the Mexican rose candles mixed with decaying flesh.

Soldier 76- smells like Freedom and corn dogs.

Ana- same as Reinhardt, she’s the little old lady perfume. Also smells like fresh baked cookies and soap.

Mercy- smells like antibiotics and heavy iron.

Zenyatta- a nice incense. He smells calm uvu

Roadhog- smells like dirt and heavy sweat mixed with oil.

Junkrat- smells like heavy sulfur and sewer. He’s a dirty little man.

Hanzo- even though he’s my favorite shimada, I gotta be honest with myself.
He smells like armpits and farts.

Mei- antifreeze.

Torbjorn- smells like an autoshop mixed with oil and fig newtons.

Widowmaker- also probably smells like farts.

Tracer- smells like biscuits and failure. Also known as not freedom and not corn dogs.

Symmetra- smells like some expensive perfume that would take me years to pay off. She’s too good. smells super dirty. A mixture of probably sweat and armpit with Dorito dust and sticky old Mountain Dew.

Winston- smells like peanut butter at the zoo.

Bastion- smells like a friend.

Sombra- smells like one of those generic Mexican metro pcs stores. The ones that are no longer actually metro pcs but they sell like phone cases and they fix your phone for you.

Orisa- smells like a bouncy house and multiple traffic cone plastics. Maybe tarp idek she smells like tarp there you go. Her shield and boost smell like berries.

Put one of these sentences in my inbox for my muse's reaction!
  • Is that my jacket?
  • Are you wearing space pants? Because your butt is outta this world!
  • You shouldn’t have called the police.
  • You liar!
  • What’s the worst that could happen?
  • Stay back!
  • Put that down.
  • I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.
  • It’s not my fault they escaped!
  • You forgot to buy the biscuits.
  • Your feet smell.
  • Oh, this looks expensive! …Oops.
  • I bought a cat.
  • You need to leave.
  • Why did you do that?
Tennessee Whiskey (A Mechanic!Dean time stamp!!)

Requested by @ksgeekgirl for winning the Sanctuary give away! Enjoy!

Summary: Dean and the reader spend a lazy day together.

Word Count: 1700

Warnings: fluff, pregnancy, smut

A/N: So excited to visit Mechanic!Dean again! Based on the song Tennessee Whiskey by Chris Stapleton.

Originally posted by mylittlesupernaturalworld

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Happy Birthday @lecteronthelam! I hope it’s a great one! Your gift is fluff (with a side of crack because…it’s me). 

I would like to thank, as always @chronicopheliac and @wrathofthestag for reading this nonsense and making sure my typos weren’t too dreadful. 

         Hannibal pressed his head back into the pillow, stretching his neck as the sweat cooled on his body. He was near limbless, a state only Will could coax out of him after hours of deep kisses, soft bites and languid writhing. He could still smell Will on his skin. He could still taste Will if he pressed his tongue to his teeth. He could still hear Will, because the empath was currently beating out a frenetic staccato rhythm on the carved wood directly over Hannibal’s head.

         Tap-tap. Tap-tap.



         Tap-tap. Tap-tap.

         “While I applaud any musical endeavor you attempt, may I ask what is prompting a timpani performance at this hour?”

         Will’s rhythm faltered for a moment, then redoubled.

         Tap-ta-tap. Tap-ta-tap.

         “What? Is this annoying?” His smile was half hidden, pressed into a pillow.

         “It’s childish.”

         Tap-ta-tap. Tap-ta-tap.

         “What would you know about being a child?”

         Hannibal narrowed his eyes.

         “I was second in my class in child psychology, I have 5 years of clinical training with children,” Hannibal listed his accomplishments as though he were stating facts everyone in the world should know. With a sigh, he looked at Will. “Also, I was a child for several years.”

         “Lies.” Will said, mirth lacing through his voice. “You sprang fully formed from a casket in Lithuania, in a tuxedo clutching a glass of Montrachet. You lost the cape at some point, I grant you, but you can’t fool me.”

         Hannibal leveled a glare at Will, who met his eyes and smiled wider. 


         “You’re in a charming mood tonight.”

         “I’m in a playful mood, which you would know if you weren’t born 40 with a trick hip.”

         Hannibal huffed and rolled on his side to scowl at the wall. His hip gave out one time while they were carrying a body, he was hardly infirm.


         A stubbled chin scratched over Hannibal’s neck as warm flesh molded to his back.

         “Pssssst. Hannibal.” A laugh was in Will’s voice, Hannibal closed his eyes and tried to remember all the reasons he wanted Will to live. “Did you ever play games? You know, when you were allegedly a kid.”

         “I was always quite fond of chess.”

         “Ah-ha!” Will’s outburst left Hannibal’s ear ringing. “That my cuddly cannibal is an old man game. I’m talking kiddie games.”

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anonymous asked:

Whats ur favourite quote?? Plz

i have too many.. have a search on my tagged/text for more. but i guess here is just a few of my favourites (i could go on forever i am in love with words, but i have to get ready 2 go to the doctors):

1) To be alive: not just the carcass

But the spark.

That’s crudely put, but…If we’re not supposed to dance,
Why all this music?’ —Gregory Orr

2) She’s never where she is. She’s only inside her head.White Oleander by Janet Fitch (i love this book)

3)  ‘To photograph people is to violate them, by seeing them as they never see themselves, by having knowledge of them that they can never have; it turns people into objects that can be symbolically possessed. Just as a camera is a sublimation of the gun, to photograph someone is a subliminal murder - a soft murder, appropriate to a sad, frightened time’.—Susan Sontag, On Photography

4) ‘Cover me with soft Earth.. jasmine, lilies and myrtle; and when they grow above me.. they will breathe the fragrance of my Heart into space.’—Kahlil Gibran

5)  ‘ Most of our childhood is stored not in photos, but in certain biscuits, lights of day, smells, textures of carpet.’—Alain de Botton

6) ‘ I speak rain,
I spin you a night and you hide in it.’
—Margaret Atwood

7)  ‘ I am cherry-stained
teeth. You are
the absence of yes.’
—Emily O’Neill

8)  ‘I’m… having one of those honeyed afternoons when I don’t know who I am.’—Catie Rosemurgy

9) ‘ The whole universe melting and falling down, the skies all jumbled and soft, all blurred and transcendental with milky light, all immortal, all sacrificial and sighing, all too impossible to keep and bear, so beautiful and so sad.’—Jack Kerouac

10) ‘ Imagine, I might really become somebody. Someday.’Maya Angelou

11) ‘ Lie down and look up at the ceiling and breathe with those curiously fragile lungs of yours and remind yourself: Don’t worry. Don’t worry. All is as it was meant to be. It was meant to be lonely and terrifying and unfair and heaving. Don’t worry.’—Welcome to Night Vale

12)  ‘ To my daughter I will say,
‘See your beauty
without a compliment
or a mirror.’—‘Blind’ by Della Hicks-Wilson

13)  ‘ I see you in colors that don’t exist.’—Paul Matsumoto 

14)  ‘Love him,’ said Jacques with vehemence, ‘love him and let him love you. Do you think anything else under heaven really matters?’”—  Giovanni’s Room, James Baldwin  (this is my fave book)

15)  ‘You are my homecoming. When I’m with you and we’re well together, there is nothing more I want. You make me like who I am, who I become when you’re with me. If there is any truth in the world, it lies when I’m with you, and if I find the courage to speak my truth to you one day, remind me to light a candle in thanksgiving at every altar in Rome.’—  André Aciman, Call Me by Your Name (another of my fave books)

16) ‘ I think of how, in Czech,
“to paint” and “to love”
are only one vowel
away: malovat; milovat.
The salutation alone
is written. I paint
you, I paint you, I paint you.
’—Emily Wilson