You asked, and Tastes of Tamriel has finally answered! After much experimentation, here is the sweetest sweetroll recipe you’ll ever need! Crisp and crunchy on the outside, moist and soft on the inside, this is a truly legendary treat!
Note: This recipe calls for real vanilla for a taste that will send you to Sovengarde, but if you don’t have that on hand, 1 tsp vanilla extract is fine too. The icing is also quite a conservative amount- just enough to glaze the top. If you want a dripping sweetroll experience, you can double the amount.
You will need:
1 large bundt tin (or 2 smaller ones)
2 cups plain flour
1 tsp baking powder
¾ cup milk
¾ cup water
½ cup caster sugar
1 cup maple syrup or honey
3 eggs, beaten
60g butter, melted
1 vanilla pod, scraped
3 tsp cinnamon powder
1 cup melted butter
1 cup icing sugar
1 vanilla pod, scraped
Preheat oven to 200C/392F and grease your bundt tin well with butter.
In a large mixing bowl, combine all the baking ingredients and mix well. Pour into the bundt tin/s and bake for 45 minutes, or until brown and risen. It should be firm and crusty on the outside. Flip onto a wire rack to cool before transferring to a plate.
For the glaze, combine the melted butter, sugar, and vanilla in a small bowl and whip until well blended. Drizzle over the top of your sweetroll and wait til icing has hardened before eating.
Bittle’s quiet, at first, when Jack kisses him. It isn’t what Jack would have expected, had he allowed himself to expect anything. The Bittle he knows is bright as a sunbeam, a starburst, singing and cajoling and regaling and chirping. He bestows pet names on those he loves and “bless your heart"s on those he doesn’t.
He’s the guy belting Beyoncé too early in the shower, getting it stuck in Jack’s head day in and day out until Bittle’s there at the back of his mind and–
Honestly, Jack thinks, he really should have figured things out sooner.
When Jack kisses him, though, Bittle goes quiet, soft and pliant in Jack’s arm, warm and smelling of flour and brown sugar. He melts like butter, their lips clinging, and Jack’s heart aches with everything he feels.
But he wants to hear Bittle. Wants to hear him sigh and moan, to say his name–*oh, Jack*–breathless and overwhelmed. He’s felt it, just beneath the surface. Pressed his hands to the span of Bittle’s shoulders, the small of his back, and Bittle has parted lips against his own and pushed forward. Kissed Jack within an inch of his own life.
It’s wonderful. Jack loves it. He loves kissing Bittle. He loves Bittle.
Jack nuzzles at the line of his neck, the curve of his shoulder. Fits his mouth there and sucks. Against him, Bittle stiffens. His hands on Jack’s shoulders tighten. A sound, barely there, gets caught in Bittle’s throat, stopped before it’s released.
"Bitty,” Jack says, voice rough, muffled. “Please. I want to–I want to hear you.”
A breath. Another. “You do?”
Jack pulls away to look at him, taking in his dark eyes and flushed cheeks, his kiss-bitten lips. “Always,” he says. “Yes.”
“Jack,” Bittle sighs.
This time, when Jack kisses him, Bittle isn’t as quiet, and all (well, maybe not all) Jack can think about are the times he tried to shut Bittle out and how happy he is to let him in.
He’s gasping lungs
and cracked open ribs as he clutches the acceptance letter in his pocket and
glances up at the frost laced rooftops of Diagon Alley, realizes that there’s
an entire world beyond the manor walls and he hadn’t even realized it.
He’s eleven and
catching sight of her through shop window reflections like crystal balls.
Dragging himself into Florish and Bots because there’s curiosity, no, interest, no, enchantment, maybe,
ebbing like magic through the whorls of his fingertips. And she’s in his
peripheral, schoolbooks clutched to her chest and smile soft, eyes wide and
lashes fluttering. Luminescent in the light filtering through the window.
Draco watches as she
rolls her sleeves up to her elbows and tucks a lock of hair behind her ear,
strains on her tiptoes to reach a book on one of the higher shelves and –
“Here,” he says,
grabs the book and slips it into her hands. Ignores the spark that catches
between their fingertips and tugs, oh yes, he’s close enough to see the color
of her eyes like rainbows reflected through a prism, the butterfly soft smile
that traps itself against her mouth as she meets his eyes –
Says her name, “Y/N,”
like wind chimes or a symphony.
And Draco thinks
that it might as well be a spell.
He’s glances cast
across a classroom, over his shoulder, when he hopes that nobody is looking.
Fingers brushing and elbows knocking and, “Excuse me, I didn’t watch where I
was going.” He did, and he’d be lying if he said that touching her felt
anything less than a charm.
He’s twelve and he’s
the pride swelling in his chest at his first Quidditch match when he can hear her somewhere below him, cheering his
name. He tells her that she’s his good luck charm the next day, doesn’t quite
catch the blush that suffuses her cheeks before he turns away.
But it’s the last
day of term and she’s slipping by him in the train corridor and, “Have a good
summer, Draco,” she says, hesitates, brushes her lips against his cheek.
He hadn’t quite
believed in magic, until then.
snickering and Pansy’s knowing looks and jealousy, hot and potent, bubbling
like a potion he hadn’t managed to get right
in his stomach as Cormac McLagen smirks and smiles and sidles up beside
Y/N in the Great Hall during breakfast one day.
He’s thirteen and he’s
fucking captivated as snowflakes dust Y/N’s lashes and the wind twirls the ends
of her scarf, as she wipes butterbeer from her upper lip and giggles at
something that one of her friends whispers into her ear.
“I’ll help you back,”
he offers, seizes a chance, when her friends have run ahead of her on the path
back to the castle.
And she smiles at
him, tucks an arm through the crook of his elbow. Tells him about the trouble
she’s been having in Transfiguration lately and if she can’t figure it out her
parents will have her head for sure and –
“I can tutor you, if
you’d like,” he says, wonders if Blaise had spiked his pumpkin juice with Felix
Felicis that morning. Hopes that she can’t feel his heartbeat through the jut
of his elbow.
“I’d love that,” she
And he can’t quite
believe his luck.
He’s library desks
cluttered with books and ink blotches, Madam Pince’s furious hushing when he
and Y/N forget to be quite. The way light streaks and shimmers around her,
distorted as though they’re drowning in the Black Lake.
He’s fourteen and
strangely, oddly hopeful as he clasps her fingers, marvels at the fit of her
hand in his, shows her the correct hand motion and heart stops, starts,
stutters when she doesn’t quite pull away.
“I aced my last
test,” she tells him, runs towards him in the corridor, throws her arms around
his neck till he can feel her heartbeat crash against his.
“I guess you don’t
need a tutor anymore then,” he says. A frown is burgeoning on the cusp of his
“No, no,” she says
hurriedly. “I still do.”
And he isn’t sure
why he hasn’t transfigured this, them into something else yet.
He’s the firewhiskey
on his lips and the castle floor on the palms of his hands as he reaches forward
and spins the bottle yes, hopes, wonders, waits as it spins, spins, lands on
her, oh yes.
He’s fifteen and he’s
the lip-gloss on her lips, the way they crash head on like a train-wreck, a car
crash and he doesn’t have an algorithm for this: him, her, the kiss.
Because her mouth
fits neatly against his and she tastes like melted sugar, like cotton candy,
all soft edges and fluttering pulse points. His eyes are closed and he can’t
quite believe/ only he can, he’d rigged
He pulls her into a
broom cupboard and threads his fingers through her hair, tastes butterbeer on
her tongue and feels his tonsils glued together because this is a secret and he
can’t quite find the right words to say.
But things are
different, they’re different and he
holds her hands as he walks her to class, kisses her across the tabletop in
Honeydukes and grabs her, twirls her after Quidditch matches. He wraps his scarf
around her neck and they pass notes in class, sit at the top of the astronomy
tower at night and map out the handful of constellations that they know.
It’s this: him, her,
and how he hadn’t anticipated that the winds would change.
He’s late night
kisses and early morning platitudes, worried questions and, “Draco, I know
something’s wrong.” The mark on his arm and the worry that’s coiled tight in
his gut as he attempts to keep it covered up.
He’s sixteen and he’s
breaking, the world too heavy on Atlas’ shoulders. Because he has a noose
around his neck and he can’t do it, can’t, can’t, can’t.
They lose their
virginity to each other the night before he’s meant to kill Dumbledore. And it’s
like falling through a pensieve to a memory he didn’t know he had; soft lips
and rolling hips and gasps, teeth, fingers fit neatly in the groove of her
Here’s how it goes:
A girl, a boy, a tragedy. He’s Icarus and she’s the sun
and it’s not her that kills him, oh no, it’s the ocean and melted wax dripping
down his back.
He tells her ‘I love
you’ before he tells him ‘I have to kill you’.
And there’s a green
light and he’s Gatsby and he’s never managed to reach what he wanted, no, has
only ever been a cautionary tale.
He’s sixteen and he’s
a mistake, a heartbreak, the boy who made all the wrong choices.
He’s the shards of a
broken chandelier stuck in his mouth, his hands, vocal chords torn to ribbons
as lights flash green and screams echo through the hallowed corridors of the
manor. The letters he’d sent her that don’t have a reply, the ragged stitches
of a heart never meant to mend.
He’s seventeen and
the room of requirement is burning around him, life flashing before his eyes,
flames licking at his heels. It’s her, her, her. And Crabbe’s gone, the room is
charred but it’s not over yet, is never over.
There’s blood on his
hands and in his throat when he sees her again. When he grabs her, yells,
watches as a Death Eater’s body crumbles to the floor.
Her palm is sweaty
against his, breaths ragged and tears sooty.
There’s a war raging
around them and he finds that he doesn’t quite care.
He’s the faded mark
on his arm and the ring in his pocket and the happiness – cautious, unsure, new
– that permeates the walls of his new home with her. Because the war is over
and the world is still turning.
He’s eighteen and he’s
a happy ending, maybe, a fairytale that didn’t quite end with them riding off
into the sunset but ended like this instead: him and her and he thinks that
that’s all he ever really needed.
My life was hurrying, racing tragically toward its end. And yet at the same time it was dripping so slowly, so very slowly now, hour by hour, minute by minute. One always has to wait until the sugar melts, the memory dies, the wound scars over, the sun sets, the unhappiness lifts and fades away
get a lipstick that’s as close to or slightly lighter than your skin on the hickeyed area. i use too faced melted sugar because i like to use a dark powder over it and this makes it even. put this over the hickey. next you’re gonna put pressing powder to set the lipstick. now, put a layer of foundation over. set this. you should be completely covered now. finally, you want to spray setting spray or hairspray if you don’t have it to set it and make it waterproof. it shouldn’t budge!
( PROMPT: We’re making out on the couch when a member of your family - who doesn’t know we’re friends with benefits - walks in and what do you mean I have to be your pretend girlfriend? )
A/N: I’M BACK!! FIRST STORY SINCE MY ARRIVAL IN ROME!! I’ll be posting sneak peeks of my stories, as well as edits and graphics on my Instagram (3rdgymbros), so do follow me there!! Comments and reblogs are appreciated! I love you guys!!
Hands, warm and strong, grip your hips. Peter’s
lips, so firm yet soft, press against yours. His mouth slants against yours,
seeking and ravenous, sucking on your lips and tongue. Moaning, you arch into
him, your fingers tangled in his silky hair.
Chapters: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 Words: 5.5k Genre: Angst, Multiple Personality!Au Summary: Jeon Jungkook is a puzzle with too many missing pieces from his past and too many sides. Somehow, it’s become your job to solve him. → Inspired by the Korean Drama - Kill Me Heal Me Warnings: Topics of mental health, mentions of death and medical disorders. Disclaimer: Although this piece of work required lots of in-depth research and was attempted to be as accurate as possible, at the end of the day, I am not a psychologist and this is fanfiction. Specific things may be altered or exaggerated for story-telling purposes. Please take all medical terminologies and procedures with a grain of salt.
“You need us.” “Jungkook.” “We’re only trying to help you.”
He bolts straight up, only to fall off the mattress and onto the hard ground. The thin, cardinal curtains are closed, trickles of sunlight pouring in and painting the unfamiliar room in a hue of crimson. His head is pounding and his eyes are swollen; he doesn’t know where he is or who he is.
australian etsy shop ivyandtwinestore has a bohemian and minimal vibe (that includes eucalyptus) and i’m totally swooning this monday. i’d love to smell their caramelised brown sugar + fig candle and try out this lovely little soy melt burner <3
A few days ago when I was making bread for Lammas and homemade soft pretzels because I have a real problem with them, I had a request to share those recipes, so here is the first one!
This is actually my mother’s recipe, I can’t even take full credit for this one!
For the yeast mix to start –
1 package of yeast (not the quick active or whatever, just regular baking yeast)
½ cup of warm water
1 Tbs of sugar
For the bread mix –
7 ½ cups of flour
¾ cup of white sugar
½ cup of melted shortening or lard (I personally use shortening)
2 Tbs of salt
2 cups of lukewarm water
How we do it –
In a small glass bowl of the ½ cup of warm water, in this order dissolve completely the yeast (stir it around until it is dissolved if you’re impatient like me) and then dissolve the 1 Tbs of sugar completely. Set aside and let activate (usually about 10 minutes, I go ahead and start the next step while it activates)
In a large bowl (the biggest you have) combine flour, sugar, melted shortening/lard, salt, water, eggs and activated yeast (once it’s all bubbly and bigger), stir and mix well (you can use a mixer with dough hooks, but I don’t have one so I don’t). Cover your bowl up with saran wrap, and set in a warm dark place and let it rise for 2 hours.
Take it out and knead the dough for at least 5 minutes.
Divide into loaves (I usually end up making three like shown above, make them as even as you can and place the dough into your pans (butter the inside first so it doesn’t stick)
Cover again and let rise for another 30 minutes.
Bake at 350F for 35-45 minutes (check it at 35-40)
Butter the top, slice and serve. I find it best warm with butter on the slice, I love sticking it in the microwave for 20 seconds in the morning and having it with breakfast.
I hope you enjoy! Send/tag me in your photos and let me know how yours turn out!
Spring Equinox for me is about Persephone returning to the world above and and embracing her Kore aspect. It’s about light fruit flavors and bright flowers.
In honor of her holiday, I make fruit related tarts as offering every year. This year I decided on lemon-violet.￼
(Candied violets are missing because the cat knocked over the tray onto my floor…oh well).
For the shortbread base*: -1 cup butter, softened (NOT MELTED) -¾ cup powdered sugar -1 tsp vanilla extract -2 and ½ cups flour (I use all purpose)
(*Note: if you want a sweeter base, feel free to use a sugar cookie recipe- I just don’t like super sweet desserts)
Cream the butter and sugar together, then add the vanilla extract. Slowly add the flour in bits at a time, stirring constantly (or have the mixture running, if you use one). When finished, it will crumble a bit but still stick together easily as a single dough when pressed with fingers/hands.￼
Next you want to press about a quarter’s size of dough (quarter like the American coin, not a quarter of the whole dough…) into the bottom of mini-cupcake/muffin pans. I like to use paper liners, but you don’t have to. Bake the shortbread bases at 350 degrees Fahrenheit for approximately 10 minutes. You want to take them out when they’re blond still (not golden brown) so you can press them down ASAP with the round base of a wooden spoon or spatula. This is so you can pipe more lemon-cream cheese topping!
For the lemon-cream cheese topping: -1 package cream cheese (8 oz) -¾ cup powdered sugar -1 tbsp lemon juice -some lemon zest (grated lemon rind)
Cream the sugar and cream cheese first until it’s whipped quality. Then gently add in the lemon juice and zest. Spoon the topping into a piping bag and pipe onto the shortbread base. Then add additional lemon zest and candied violets if you like!
Makes approx 10
¼ cup melted vegan butter or coconut oil
½ cup raw sugar
2/3 cup almond milk (or any other plant based milk) mixed with ½ tsp white vinegar
1 tsp coconut essence (optional)
1 & ¾ cups gluten free (or regular/wholemeal) self raising flour
1 cup fresh or frozen blueberries
1. Preheat oven to 170C and grease a muffin tray with coconut oil/spray.
2. In a large bowl, whisk together the melted butter, sugar and coconut essence.
3. Next, whisk in the almond milk.
4. Gradually mix in the flour and lastly food in the blueberries.
5. Pop into the muffin tin and bake in the oven for approx 30 minutes until golden.
6. Remove from the oven and allow the muffins to cool down before taking out of the tin!
Enjoy!! Lots of love, Ev xx❤😘