#Gordon stirs the pot

[forzalando]

anyone can cook

max + cooking date - 3k celebration driver scenario for @foreveralbon !! liyah, i do not know what happened but somehow this turned into just jokes and banter. i am so sorry, i hope you still like it!!!! special bonus scene at the end that is the most unserious thing i have ever written and i apologize profusely for it but i was writing this past bedtime and couldn't get it out of my head this is the end of the 3k celebration blurbs, i am kind of sad but also feel accomplished🥹 i only had to write 6 but i am notorious for not finishing things. patting myself on the back today! pairing: max verstappen x fem!reader word count: 660 words tw: none, unless boxed pasta offends you

“MAX! I said salt the water, not create the sixth named ocean,” you said through giggles. “Here, let me help.”

You cupped your hands under his, leading him to the sink to dump a considerable amount of salt under the rushing water.

“Use about…this much,” you mumbled, tongue poking out and concentrating on dumping the granules into his hands without spilling any onto the floor. Jimmy and Sassy were weaving in between your legs and you didn’t want them tracking salt into every room or, heaven forbid, rolling around in your bed.

After guiding Max to the boiling water, you turned your attention back to your blistering tomatoes and garlic, but not before passing a cheese grater and block of parmesan over to him.

“Cooking is so much work,” he whined. “How do you enjoy this?”

“Max, you’ve literally done two things. You filled a pot with water and salted it, how many things do you have to do simultaneously while in the car?”

“That’s different, it’s fun!”

“Cooking can be fun! Cuisine is an art – it’s therapeutic, calming, and you get to eat something delicious after all your hard work!”

“Yeah, and do a million dishes,” he grumbled under his breath. You immediately shot him a steely glare and he smiled big enough that his eyes crinkled. “But I love doing dishes with you! Quality time, right?”

“Nice save, Verstappen.”

For the next few minutes you worked in tandem and in silence – Max furiously grating cheese and hissing every few seconds when he accidentally caught a finger against the sharp holes, you stirring and perfecting your sauce with ease.

The stove timer interrupted the peace and you called Max over from his place at the countertop.

“Ok, lesson number three of the evening – ”

“What were one and two?” He interrupted you, hints of hesitation and guilt in his voice. When you turned to look at him, your mouth open in exasperation, you saw the teasing look in his eye and rolled yours in return.

“If Gordon Ramsay were teaching you, you’d have been called an idiot sandwich twice and kicked out of the kitchen by now.”

“Lucky me, you’re way nicer, way more patient, and way prettier than Gordon.”

He tickled your ribcage lightly, causing you to flip a spoonful of pasta water across the room.

“New lesson number three – no tickling the chef when boiling water is nearby. Lesson number four, previously lesson number three – never trust the cook time on the pasta box. A true pasta chef also finishes cooking their pasta in the sauce, so we’re taking it out a few minutes early.”

“Wouldn’t a true pasta chef use fresh-made pasta?”

“You’re on thin ice, Max.”

He leaned in swiftly to kiss your cheek and stole the pasta spoon from your hand. “I’ll be dumping the water, I don’t want it to splash on you.”

“Don’t forget to – ”

“Reserve a cup of pasta water, where is your faith in me? I pay attention to everything you say, mijn liefje.”

It wasn’t long before you had served up plates of pasta as fresh as you could make considering you’d just gotten back to Monaco that morning, slightly burnt garlic bread because Max forgot to set a separate timer, and a mixed greens salad so Max’s trainer wouldn’t sue you for mistreatment and neglect.

“I’d say this was a very solid date night,” Max said between chews. “Thank you for teaching me and being patient with me – I take for granted how much you do for me when we’re home.” He pressed another kiss to your cheek, this one longer and messier than the one before.

You couldn’t help but grin at him, a devastatingly lovesick grin, and your stomach fluttered when he returned the exact look. He had a tomato sauce stain in the corner of his mouth and a droplet of spilled wine on his shirt but to you he’d never looked more beautiful.

bonus snippet (i couldn’t help myself, please accept my apology)

“Y/N, I cannot cook. I can count on one hand the number of times I have cooked for myself in the past ten years. I will blow up the kitchen.”

“Relax, I’ll guide you the whole way! You’ll never be near an open flame unsupervised, no sharp knives, we can even start with something simple! Pasta al pomodoro – you’ll love it!”

“When the rat said anyone can cook, he did not mean me, I promise.”

You looked at him quizzically – “Max, what rat?”

“The little French rat, not Esteban, the one who lives in the chef’s hat and makes soup for him.”

“…Are you talking about Remy? From Ratatouille?”

“I don’t remember his name, I just know you made me watch a movie one time about a French rat that could cook.”

“Ok, well, that’s an animated kid’s movie, and actually Chef Gusteau said anyone can cook, but he's right! Anyone can cook, Remy is proof, so get ready to cook on date night.”

“Thanks a lot, Remy,” Max huffed, crossing his arms in defeat.

--------------------

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[puppetwoman17]

Billy Batson is Gordon Ramsey in the kitchen. I don’t know why I think this, but I do.

Like I’m imagining there’s gonna be a party at the watchtower and Billy said he’d do the food. Everyone’s cool with it cause they know how good he is.

I think he spent some time at the Cafe of Eternity, looking through cookbooks and watching the cafe actually do the cooking process instead of the food just appearing.

And then someone makes the mistake of asking if they could help…

Billy’s all smiles, telling them that he can handle it, and he’s also a bit of a perfectionist in the kitchen. He doesn’t want to get mad at someone when he feels stressed. The other hero shakes their head. It’s fine! Billy’s chill! How hard can being his kitchen attendant be?

Oh my god it’s even worse than they thought.

If it’s a tiny mistake, like they got a measuring cup instead of one of the cans, Billy’s cool with it. But if you don’t stir that damn pot to perfection…

It doesn’t matter where in the Watchtower you are. You will hear this fourteen year old boy yell at this grown hero who looks like they went to be anywhere but here. They look completely traumatized.

Soon enough a small crowd is gathering, hiding behind a wall or even just watching in front of the kitchen. This does not deter Billy, especially after his assistant adds too less garlic for the pasta sauce. Do they want to numb their tongue or something??? Are they stupid? Billy grumbled as he takes the pot away and does the whole pasta dish himself.

Needless to say, no one volunteers to work with Billy in the kitchen. But everyone wants to eat his food. 🤩

[julia-lestrade]

A Soap-y Christmas

Soap x gn! reader

Tw: fluff , romance

Snow fell gently on the Scottish Highlands, blanketing the rolling hills in pristine white. You tightened your scarf as the frosty wind nipped at your cheeks, following the sound of cheerful humming coming from the kitchen. John had been at it all morning, clattering pots and pans, claiming he was preparing a “proper Christmas feast.” You had your doubts.

“Johnny,” you called, stepping into the cozy kitchen, the aroma of something savory mixing with what you suspected was… burnt cookies? “Are you trying to poison me for Christmas or what?”

“Oi, don’t you start with me!” Soap spun around dramatically, a dusting of flour on his cheeks and a candy cane tucked behind one ear. He was wearing the ugliest Christmas sweater you’d ever seen—a knitted monstrosity featuring a winking Santa holding a pint of beer. “This is culinary artistry at work!”

You stifled a laugh. “Looks more like culinary chaos.”

He grinned, brandishing a wooden spoon like a soldier ready for battle. “Mock all you like, but I’ve got Gordon Ramsay shaking in his boots.”

Leaning against the counter, you watched him stir a pot of something suspiciously thick. John was the definition of unpredictable, but he wore his heart on his sleeve—especially when it came to holidays. It was his idea to rent the little cottage for Christmas, insisting it was the perfect getaway from the chaos of work. He wanted a “proper” holiday, complete with mistletoe, a roaring fire, and enough food to feed an army.

“Alright, let me help before you burn the place down,” you teased, reaching for a nearby dish.

He held up a hand dramatically. “No way. You’re the guest of honor. Just sit back, relax, and enjoy the magic.”

You crossed your arms, quirking a brow. “Magic? Is that what we’re calling this?”

He laughed, and the sound was warm enough to rival the crackling fire in the living room. “Trust me. It’ll be grand.”

Hours later, you sat at the candlelit table, the feast laid out before you. To your astonishment, the food looked… edible. More than that, it looked incredible. A perfectly roasted turkey sat in the center, surrounded by golden potatoes, bright cranberry sauce, and steaming bowls of sides.

“See?” He said proudly, sliding into the chair beside you. “Told ya I could cook.”

“You had me worried with all the smoke earlier,” you joked, raising your glass. “But this is amazing. Merry Christmas, Johnny.”

His grin softened, and for a moment, his usual bravado gave way to something more sincere. “Merry Christmas, bonnie. Here’s to a year full of laughter, chaos, and you putting up with me.”

The two of you clinked glasses, and as the snow continued to fall outside, you couldn’t imagine a more perfect Christmas.

After dinner, you found yourselves curled up on the couch, a cozy blanket draped over both of you. John handed you a small, neatly wrapped gift, his expression surprisingly shy.

“Go on,” he urged, scratching the back of his neck.

Curious, you tore into the paper, revealing a simple wooden ornament carved in the shape of a snowflake. Your name was etched delicately in the center, along with the date.

“Did you make this?” you asked, touched by the thoughtful gesture.

“Aye,” he admitted, cheeks pink. “Figured we’d need somethin’ to remember this by.”

You leaned closer, your heart full. “You’re full of surprises, MacTavish.”

He chuckled, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “Only the best for you, lass.

And as the fire crackled and the snow glittered under the moonlight, you knew this Christmas would be one you’d cherish forever.

——————————————————————

I hope y’all liked it ❣️ merry Christmas and happy holidays! 😙 💖

[harleehazbinfics]

I like to think that with the cannibal chef overlord spin off that Chef has a 5 star restaurant and it’s Hell’s Kitchen (love that show) and when she’s not with Alastor or the others she’s kinda like Gordon with her employees (btw the souls she owns) idk I think that would be so funny!

Like Alastor sees her working and yelling at everyone and he just has heart eyes 😍

A moment in Hell's Greatest Kitchen [Cannibal Chef!Reader Spin-off]

a/n: ngl, i loved writing this. thank you for the ask!

Cannibal chef! reader m.list | Author profile

"YOU FUCKING IDIOTS! CAN'T YOU PREPARE A SIMPLE MEAL?"

I flinch at the sound as I almost cut my finger from chopping the vegetables. I peeked out of lashes to see my boss cussing out my co-workers while they cooked sweating profusely from the heat and the insults being thrown at them.

"EVERYONE CLEAN YOUR STATIONS! IT LOOKS LIKE A GODDAMN PIGSTY HERE. I'M RUNNING A RESTAURANT, NOT SOME ESTABLISHMENT WHERE YOU BRAIN DEAD LITTLE PIGGIES CAN SHIT IN."

I immediately threw my peels in the bin and wiped the counter then placing my knives back to their drawer.

This was my boss. Hell's largest Cannibal Overlord, (y/n). Aside being a household name in hell to be wary of, she was also a well-respected chef. I idolized her even before we died. I lived during her era and even got the opportunity to work in her restaurant when we were alive. It was tough to get in and work with her, but it was tougher to stay there. Thankfully, luck was on my side to work with her for 6 years before her death.

She was as mean as she was before, however, I do get jumpy at loud noises. She was tough on us, prioritizing the customer's satisfaction and cleanliness around the

Even after she was outed as a cannibal and was executed I devoted myself to her and followed after her. Which led me here.

"You! Daniel! Pick up the pace! Table's 5 and 10 are done with their appetizers," she yells at me making me flinch and nod.

"Yes, chef!" I replied making her give me a nod of acknowledgement. i blush while doing my duties as I replay her calling my name in my head. 'She remembers me!' I scream giggling in my head.

"Pardon me. I apologize for getting in your way," the tall red deer demon apologizes after bumping into me, I nod dismissing it and stirred the pot I already seasoned.

He gives me a tight-lipped smile and walks forward to a corner to avoid getting in our way. He stares at Chef (y/n) with adoring eyes and a large smile as she pinched a sinner by the ear and twisting it then screaming on it. Which the red hair only gives out a dreamy sigh.

That was Alastor, the Radio Demon. He and my boss had a very special relationship, it's quite intimate from what I've seen. From what I heard, Alastor approached Chef (y/n) and submitted his soul to her, and from then on, they were inseparable. Chef had a soft side when it came to him, she'd latch on to him and lean on him even often baby talking to him. It had us all stunned when she first introduced Alastor to us, her change in demeanor was very telling she liked him a lot.

So, whenever we were in a pinch.

"Uh! Chef! Sir Alastor is here!" another sinner tells her, in an attempt to save our co-worker.

You then turn to the direction they pointed and skipped towards the deer, "Alastor, honey!" she greets before giving him a kiss.

The sinners in the back on their knees thanking the Radio Demon for saving their asses.

"Good morning, madam," he greets holding onto her waist, "A lively morning, isn't it?"

"It's better now with you around," (y/n) coos as she snuggles deeper into his embrace.

And this is how every morning in Hell's Kitchen. Gore, Food and Love.

🔗Cannibal Chef! Reader Taglist:

@bonnie-02 @marxo5 @whaatttlaufey @froggybich @rybunnie @midorichoco @lucifers-silhouette @kimmis-stuff @bontensbabygirl @janey @akiqvq @wonderlandangelsposts @spoiled-slutt @roboticsuccubus83 @atlas-rin @yuriohoe04 @azullynxx @milk-bulb @hahalame @aria-tempest @speedycoffeedelight @0strawberrysorbet0 @amitiel-truth @corvid007 @kaminarithebest @enby-goblin @whydosnakesnotdance @wtvbabes @willow404 @psychoanalyze0 @sweetadonisbutbetter @manachpo @dionysusismypatrongod @obessivlyonline

[ratsoh-writes]

Say hello to farmswapfell!!! Here’s a little info about the au first:

Farmswapfell is mainly an agricultural au! Humans and monsters were mixed together on the surface like the other farm AUs. However a war years ago had left almost every area fragmented. With the governments all over in shambles, and harsh lines of different battle sides still dividing the people, there was chaos all around.

Due to the lack of structure, there was no enforcement of the law. Groups of bandits roamed the land. Farms became fortresses while others hoping to get rich or take over territory formed packs to take on these homesteads.

Right before the situation blew up and started another war though, the monsters and many humans were pulled through the crash into ebott! And here they are today!

Meet the farmswapfell bros!!!

Swine Wingdings (farmswapfell sans)

Swine is a skeleton monster standing at 5’8 with a reddish orange magic. He has sharp teeth and slightly droopy eye sockets with one thick scar across both sockets. When wearing his ecto he has a rather chunky build. He’s aged at 92.

Swine is a confident and outspoken monster with a rather troubling tendency to pick fights or stir the pot. He’s known yo he rather shameless, attempts to fluster or guilt him rarely work. Swine is a clever monster, easily picking up new skills, and because of this he looks down on those who are less flexible. While he struggles with empathy, he’s deeply loyal to those thick skinned enough to stick around. He’s a true ride or die friend. He adores animals of all types

Swine works in Goldenvalley as a pig farmer. He owns a nice plot of land where he raises a large herd of swine. His farm definitely isn’t one of the fancy ones. While the pigs are clean and treated well, he’s fine with feeding them anything that won’t make them sick. As a side hustle, he allows others to use the pigs to get rid of… unsavory merchandise

Swines magic weapon is a rocket launcher shaped as a decapitated pigs head lol. It’s more show as the weapon he made is rather slow, but if you’re uncoordinated enough to actually get hit, it packs a massive punch

Swines special ability is called gluttony. His ectos dissolving function when eating is much stronger than the average monster making him able to safely eat materials like plastic, metal, stone and even some plants that are poisonous to monsters. He simply burns them too fast and hard for the poison to enter his body. Unfortunately this comes with the side effect of a constant nagging sense of hunger/appetite

Things he loves: bacon, just meat in general but especially bacon, watching Gordon Ramsey on tv, the British bake off and any other cooking show, the color pink, the gun range, hunting, his hunting dogs lass and lady, contraband human food from outside of ebott, punk rock and country music, dandelions

Possum Wingdings (farmswapfell papyrus)

Possum is a taller skeleton monster standing at 6’8 feet tall! He has a reddish purple magic and a double set of teeth with two top sharp canines in front and sharp teeth underneath. Possums right eye socket has a large scar from top to bottom. The eyelight in that socket no longer works. He is 38 years old.

Possum is at first glance sleepy and absent minded looking. In reality he’s a sharp observant little sneak. Possum has found over the years how to stay silent and blend into the background to avoid suspicion. He’s gotten very good at being overlooked. He’s rather stiff and simple worded around those he doesn’t trust, but with loved ones he’s sarcastic, a bit pushy, and has a small mischievous side.

On the surface, possum is swines farmhand and known around the town for doing odd jobs for extra cash. However his true job is a little less legal. Possum is the middle man for an illegal shipping gang. He picks up contraband items smuggled into Portland or Steeler, and will resell or move them around Goldenvalley. And of course if he ever gets caught, his supportive brothers pigs are great at eating the evidence.

Possums magic weapon is a small dagger easily hidden in his sleeve. The real danger in the admittedly weak weapon lies with his special ability that the blade can use

Possums special ability is called blood thinner. If he can make contact with the blood of his target, he can make that person dizzy, tired, and forgetful. The effects last as long as possum is near the victim

Things he loves: old western movies, breakfast sausages and maple syrup, dumpster diving, hunting, his brothers hunting dogs, exploring abandoned buildings, contraband from outside of ebott, sunflowers, blues and country music

Side characters:

Beetle (farmswapfell muffet): she is swines closest friend, practically a sister to him. She was a neighbor in his old au that joined forces with him and his parents when things started going to sh*t. Beetle was the one to steal a child possum away as swine fought off the thieves that killed his parents. She had personally hunted down the monster who scarred his face and together they held the farm up until the crash happened. These days beetle is enjoying her time on the pig farm. She’s the secretary handling the selling of the animals and buying of the supplies. Occasionally for extra cash, she’ll make a little moonshine on the side ;)

Rooster: a large tree golem, this monster is a sailor in Steeler who is possums main contact when it comes to receiving illegally imported goods. The two bonded over hating ebotts restrictions and being from farmswapfell. Rooster has a massive crush on beetle but is too scared of swine to confess lol

[goqmir]

if you want to be a chef in this day and age you have to want to fuck the food. it used to be that you could get away with just desiring food-related sex-- in western saloons in the late 1800s, for instance, there were often gouges in the floorboards leading from the cook's favorite lovemaking bedroom in the inn to the nightly spot laid out for the salad bar trolley. Now, though, you have to have sexual urges about the food itself. If you don't, you will be easily outclassed by those overworked bakers who stop for condoms on the way home after they score some extra jelly-filled pastries from work, or the Michelin star chefs who have hours of mac and cheese stirring ASMR saved in a YouTube playlist. They simply want the food more than you do. Every chef with a decent career in the fine dining world has that not-so-hidden secret. If you can afford it, expensive dishes usually have wonderful texture-- just ask Gordon Ramsey and his fridge full of crab puffs-- but if you can't, I would recommend first starting out with something affordable you can easily keep on hand, with little preparation time and a decent texture. Of course, not all beginning chefs follow this advice-- a lot of dedicated chefs attempt to start fucking the food after learning about this subculture, leading to an alarming number of juice fetishists in the sous chef workforce. Unfortunately, many learn too late that you need substance in your food-- some decent texture to rub against-- or you won't get the same experience with food you need in the industry. By that time, of course, the juice kink has set in-- if you see a sous chef pouring apple cider into a pot of mac and cheese, you don't have to ask what it's adding to the flavor profile. A lot of popular picks are easy to reheat in the microwave, not quick to perish, and give a decent enough texture to be satisfying. A common pick is simply bread; filled donuts offer a pleasant pocket and satisfying orgasms; muffins are thick enough where working a hole from its bottom to its top is not only possible, but expected; almost all of the kitchen staff at Red Lobster leaves for the night with a few extra-soft biscuits in their bags. Others have more interesting taste: melty cheeses, the pointiest carrots and pineapples, the claws of lobsters, the most decadent helpings of whipped-cream topped parfaits. This all works fine for a number of years, until you notice your skill as a chef starting to plateau. Many chefs simply stay in this zone, as well enough preparers living happy lives at good jobs. But the best chefs, the headliners, those who prepare the best meals the world has to offer... they take it to the next level. They spend a good, long time preparing the dish they are covering in their cum up to four nights a week. Hours of baking, broiling, dirtied pots and pans. The food preparation is like foreplay, one of the most creative parts of sex and cooking alike. A good chef gets hotter with the pasta in the pot, sizzles along with the eggs in the pan, finds themselves on edge with each slice of the potato into the crock. Until finally, hours into the night, cock hard like a lamppost, after dicking down that beautifully prepared pasta frittata since the sun was still up, they orgasm all across its gorgeous pasta fillings and creamy cheesey insides and finally Understand food. After learning all of this, you may be tempted to go down to your neighborhood spot and ask the chef what they do to deepen the connection between themselves and their meals. Of course, if the neighborhood spot happens to be a bar, you'll probably actually have a line cook-- where instead, you should probably ask what they like most about putting their cigarettes out on twinks.

[devilat-thedoor]

i know it’s late, but enjoy this fun lil nsfw thanksgiving Jake blurb based on a conversation between @stardustvanfleet and i🤍🦃

Danny made one comment about Jake being “the best cook” and it went straight to his head….

He had an opinion on everything. Stuffing? “Add more sage, love.” The mashed potatoes? “They’re gonna turn out lumpy if you don’t add more milk…”

The comments and critiques started off mild and you let them roll off your back….until Jake decided that he was in charge and it was his way or no way. The arguments came one after the other; “No, babe. The marshmallows don’t go in the sweet potatoes yet!”

You were sick of it. You’d tried your hardest not to fight in front the family but he was becoming insufferable. “Jake, you’re not fucking Gordon Ramsey and this isn’t a Michelin Star establishment! It’s thanksgiving, for fuck’s sakes!” You threw the bag of mini marshmallows on the counter with a growl of frustration.

He stopped stirring the gravy to turn around and face you. “You’re getting mad for no reason. I’m just trying to help with dinner.” His voice was hushed, clearly trying to keep the conversation between the two of you, but you were well past the boiling point.

“Mad for no reason? Are you kidding me?” You were almost yelling, your tone growing louder with each word. “You’re not trying to help, Jake, you’ve completely taken over! Why does everything have to be exactly how you want it?”

Jake turned back to his pot, picking up the spoon to stir again. “Lower your voice. Our guests don’t need to hear us arguing.” His words were meant to be final. He expected you to fall into submission and just let him be the boss.

You released a laugh of disbelief and watched his jaw clench at the sound. “There wouldn’t be anything to argue about if you didn’t fucking criticize every little thing I did!” Now you were shouting out of spite, trying to get under his skin as you began to mock his words, “Ohhh… hey, babe, that’s too much onion. No, wait, you’re gonna dry out the turkey… blah blah fucking blah! I’m so sick of it, Jake! You’re being an ass!”

He cut the burner off and whipped around to glare at you, “We’re not doing this in front of everyone.” He came at you, grabbing your arm and pulling you out of the kitchen, “Let’s go fucking settle this now.” Before you knew it, he was yanking you into the bathroom and locking the door behind you. “What’s your problem? Why are you throwing a temper tantrum?”

“I’m throwing a tantrum? Why does everything have to be your way? You don’t need to have complete fucking control of everything!” You spat the words with venom, looking him straight in the eye. Your composure faltered when you watched his expression darken and you knew he saw the slight shift in your body language.

Jake took a step towards you, his mouth threatening to lift with a smirk. “Keep running that pretty little mouth and we’ll see who’s in control.” He was close enough that you could feel the heat pouring from him and you just couldn’t help yourself…

Dropping your voice low, you leaned forward until your faces were just millimeters apart. “Fuck you, Jake.” You flashed an evil grin and spun around to open the door, but his hand was wrapping around you and pulling you flush against his body.

“That’s what you want, huh? Want me to fuck you? Show you who has control?” His free hand weaved into your hair and pulled, tilting your head back onto his shoulder so he had access to drag his tongue up your neck. “I’ll do it, baby. I’ll fuck you so good…but after I make you cum, I don’t wanna hear another argument for the rest of the day. Understand?”

“And if I make you cum first…” You reached back, palming his cock through the denim of his jeans. “You don’t step foot in the kitchen again until after dinner.” You gave him a firm squeeze, smiling to yourself as he let out a hungry growl.

Seemingly at the speed of light, Jake had you bent over the sink with your chest pressed into the cold marble and your pants around your ankles. “Already, love? This is gonna be easy.” He chuckled condescendingly as he slid his fingers through your soaked folds.

You looked over your shoulder at him and swatted at his hand. “No fucking cheating, Jacob.”

The sound of his zipper echoed through the room before you felt him at your entrance. “If you want my cock that bad, just say the word, baby.” He was pushing into you before you could respond, drawing a moan out of you instead. “That’s all it takes to shut you up, huh? Needy fucking thing.” His fingers dug into your hips as he gave deep, calculated thrusts. Jake kept talking, whispering the dirtiest things to you, because he knew that would drive you to the edge.

“Shut up and just fuck me….please…..” The same way his words worked on you, your begging would work on him, and you used that to your advantage. “God, baby…. deeper….please don’t stop….”

His hand came down hard on your ass, leaving a stinging pain in its wake. “You think I don’t know when you’re faking?” He replaced his grip on your hips and began pulling you back to meet his hips with every thrust. You could hear the smile in his voice when your true moans came back louder, “There she is. That’s my pretty baby… It feels good, doesn’t it? I can fucking feel you getting tighter, love.”

You were never one to concede, but he was meticulously hitting the perfect spot and successfully shoving you closer to your climax and you welcomed it. “F-fuck, Jake… Right there, baby, you’re s-so fucking deep.”

“I wanna be deeper.” He growled the words before pulling out and spinning you around to lift you onto the sink top. Jake hooked your legs around his waist to bury himself back into you with a sigh. “You’re close, love. I know you are. Just let me have it…” He pulled you to the very edge of the counter, fucking you as deep as he could.

Leaning back on your hands, you watched his face while his gaze stayed trained on where your bodies joined. “I am close, baby, so…..fucking close.” It was true…but he was right behind you and you took the opportunity to squeeze around him, making his movements stutter.

His eyes shot up to see your wicked smile and he returned it with a knowing look; almost like he had a secret that you weren’t keen to. “Can you really feel how deep I am, baby?” A patronizing laugh escaped him when you met him with a questioning stare. “Can you feel me…..here?” He pressed a palm against your lower belly, the pressure immediately sending you into a plummet.

Your head dropped back as a cry started to rise in your throat. Jake clamped his palm over your mouth to stifle the sound and you could feel his hand shake as he met his own release, nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck as he spilled into you. The both of you took a few moments to regain composure before he finally pulled out and grabbed the hand towel from the rack. He ran half of the towel under warm water and took his time to wipe you down, the smirk never leaving his face. “Yeah, you fucking won, Jake. I won’t argue anymore.” You held your hands up in surrender as you hopped down from the sink to pull your panties and leggings back on. “We’ll do everything your way, baby.”

He pulled you against him, kissing you softly. “Just the words I wanted to hear. Let’s go finish dinner.” He led you to the bathroom door and pulled it open, revealing Sam on the other side with his fist raised as he was getting ready to knock.

Sammy dropped his hand to his side and bit back his laughter, “We were wondering when you two would be done. Food’s getting cold and we’re all hungry.” He turned away and began walking towards the dining room.

Jake followed him, tugging you along. “What do you mean, I haven’t finished cook-.” His mouth hung open as he took in the buffet of food set across the large table.

Josh came out of the kitchen, then, carrying a handful of serving spoons. “We finished up while you settled whatever tension was going on between you two.” He shrugged as he placed a spoon in each dish.

You looked at Jake’s scowling face, unable to contain your giggles as you slid into the seat that his twin had pulled out for you. “Looks great, guys. I’m starving…”

[forest-falcon]

The Butterfly Effect

Chpr 9

⚠️ Trigger Warning for whump and angst.

🧡💙🩵

John brought the space elevator to a smooth halt just above the caldera.

He wanted to get a birds-eye view of One before he touched down.

The elevator door opened, and the astronaut made a conscious effort to coordinate his limbs; the additional gravity about as welcome as a new Fischler Enterprise venture.

John cracked his joints.

"Alright. Time to fly."

The astronaut leapt from the elevator and his jetpack deployed.

*. *. *.

Kayo flailed midair.

There was no time to think, only feel.

Her stomach seemed to drop faster than terminal velocity.

Darkness was swallowing her as light flew from view.

A hand grasped her wrist.

"Kayo. Glad I caught you!"

"John!" Kayo gave an incredulous half-laugh.

"Am I glad to see you!"

"Hold on..."

John guided the two of them back to the relative safety of the poolside.

As soon as his boots touched the ground, Kayo wrapped her brother in a Virgil-esque hug.

"K-ay!"

Kayo indulged herself the human contact a moment longer, before the sound of a jet engine could be heard approaching the island.

"Protocol Phoenix."

John had practically exhaled the words. Relief and disbelief was etched in his features, as though he had forgotten that he himself had summoned them.

"Here. Help Scott."

John shed his jetpack and ran to meet the carrier approaching the beach.

With feline accuracy, Kayo caught the pack.

Hold on Scott, I'm coming.

*. *. *

"Scott? Scott? You with me?"

Scott stirred, his brain registering the noise, but not the name.

"Scott, it's Kayo. Come on, sleepy head, no snoozing on the job. Can you open your eyes for me?"

A muted moan rattled around his ribcage.

His head hurt.

He was vaguely aware of his eyelashes flickering. Jeez...the last time his head felt this bad, he'd sampled some of Gordon's homemade moonshine. The memory curdled his stomach and he whimpered.

"You're okay. You're okay. I'm with you."

Kayo's slender fingers were resting on his face...on grazed cheekbones. It didn't hurt, not really. Not compared to the other injuries his body sported; but there was something in the sensation that registered as uncomfortable; an invasion of personal space that had him pulling away from her touch.

"Scott, try not to move for me, okay? It's very important that we keep your neck and head still."

His eyes finally opened.

"There you are."

Kayo offered him a warm smile. A smile saturated in love and reassurance. A smile that told him that he was going to be okay.

"-ay?"

Eurgh, his mouth was dry.

"I've been called worse," her expression shrugged, but her hands remained steady.

"Head."

It hurt. He still didn't know why. Where were they? Building collapse?

"You've been in an accident."

"Air?"

"Air?" Kayo parroted.

"I'm not sure I follow. Your oxygen stats look good... Or do you mean you were flying in the air?"

"Wh-w-where?"

His lungs felt like they were out of sync from the other muscles it took to breathe.

"Oh! You're home Scott. Well, the pool...kinda."

Scott blinked at her.

"Not your finest landing."

Landing.

Like a circuit finally completed, the jigsaw fell in place.

He'd been fixing One's overhead locker when the call came in.

Some pot-holers had managed to get themselves wedged in a remote location and needed assistance.

Gordon and Alan were already out in Four, and Virgil was off rota, so; One was required to safely extract the group.

His mind had switched to rescue mode. Muscle memory fulfilling the required procedures to launch his Bird. Truth be told, he couldn't remember stashing the Toolbox he was using in the very locker he had been fixing, but his head injury attested to the fact that he had.

The mission proved to be a straightforward one. Honestly, the GDF could have taken it; but given the limited information they had to go on, they weren't to know.

With no visible injuries and paramedics having arrived on scene; Scott fired One, and headed home. It wasn't until she made the switch to horizontal flight that the toolbox had shifted. In any other locker it would have been fine, but...stupid is as stupid does. He'd shoved it in the faulty one.

...which promptly opened.

...allowing the contents to rain down on top of him.

Judging on colour alone; the wrench was the offending item that had clipped him. The grease rags had mercifully missed.

What happened next was all a bit of a blur.

All he could really remember was wanting to make it home to Virgil.

"Vir-gil?"

"We'll get to Virgil. Right now, you're my priority."

"Pri-rity?"

"Yes. John and the rest of Phoenix are heading to him now."

Scott felt his veins turn to ice.

"No, no, no... Virg-l!"

Kayo's hands were fussing around him.

He pushed the aid away. This was his fault.

He did this.

Kayo attempted to thwart his thrashing.

"Geroff me and help Vir-"

"Sco-"

"VIRGIL!"

"-Shut the hell up Scott and listen!"

Two cat-green eyes pinned him.

"One is compromised. You not listening endangers us both, get it? I'm not leaving you, so either you let me do my job, or we both die here."

Scott's brain cowered. She meant every word. Kayo, like the rest of them, was loyal to a fault. She wouldn't leave him.

Sensing his outburst had passed; Kayo began fastening the foam blocks around his head.

She was staring him dead in the face.

"Help is coming."

Now he understood. First responders make for the worst patients. Best he could do was to trust her.

"Okay."

"Good."

Kayo exhaled slowly.

“John's activated Protocol Phoenix. The carrier has already arrived and John's gone to meet them.”

Scott blinked groggily. If Protocol Phoenix had been activated, then this was an even bigger fuck-up than he'd first thought.

“Phoe-nix?”

“Yes Scott. We rise from the ashes.”

"God, that's cheesy."

"Attaboy. Now let's get out of here."

[octaneink]

Chocolates and Risotto

James Marriot x Fem!Reader

Summary : James and the Reader spend Valentines Day together making dinner Warnings : None Notes: Happy Valentines Day All 😚💕

You had to give James credit—he really tried. When he suggested cooking a fancy Valentine’s Day dinner together, you were sceptical. You’d seen the state of his skills in the kitchen during his YouTube videos with Will, and let’s just say it wasn’t exactly Gordon Ramsay-approved. But James was so excited, scrolling through TikTok and showing you recipes with names like “Decadent Truffle Risotto” and “Molten Chocolate Lava Cake.” He even joked about how Will would probably laugh at them if he saw this. “Good thing it’s just us tonight,” he said, grinning. “No cameras, no pressure—just you, me, and Otto.”

The plan was simple: James would handle the main course (garlic butter shrimp and risotto), and you’d take care of dessert (the lava cakes). He was optimistic, as always, convinced that this would be the perfect Valentine’s Day. “It’ll be fun!” he said, waving a wooden spoon like a conductor’s baton. “And if it goes wrong, we’ll just order takeout and laugh about it. Low-key vibes only.”

Things started falling apart almost immediately. James, deciding to multitask, had shrimp sizzling in one pan, risotto bubbling in another, and a TikTok tutorial playing on his phone—though he swore it was just for reference. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, and his hair was already a mess, flopping into his eyes as he stirred the risotto with one hand and flipped the shrimp with the other. 

You couldn’t help but smile at the sight of him, so focused yet so clearly out of his depth. He looked up at you, catching your gaze, and flashed that lopsided grin of his. “Chef Marriott at your service,” he said, giving a mock bow with the wooden spoon. “Tonight’s menu: chaos with a side of romance.”

You laughed, shaking your head as you turned back to your own task—the chocolate lava cakes. Or at least, what was supposed to be chocolate lava cakes. The batter was supposed to be thick and glossy, but yours was more like soup, pooling in the bottom of the mixing bowl. You frowned, stirring it again, as if that would somehow fix it. “I think I messed up the measurements,” you admitted, holding up the bag of flour that had somehow exploded all over your apron. 

James glanced over, his nose wrinkling as he tried to stifle a laugh. “You’ve got a little… everywhere,” he said, gesturing to your face. You reached up to brush it off, only realising too late that your hands were covered in chocolate. James burst out laughing, and you couldn’t help but join in, the sound of his laughter filling the kitchen like music.

The moment was interrupted by the risotto, which had started to bubble ominously. James turned back to it, poking at the glutinous mess with his spoon. “Why is it so… gluey?” he muttered, more to himself than to you.

You leaned over his shoulder, peering into the pot. “Maybe you’re supposed to add more wine?” you suggested, grabbing the bottle of white wine from the counter. Without waiting for his response, you poured a generous glug into the pot.

The risotto hissed angrily, releasing a cloud of steam that set off the smoke alarm. The shrill beeping filled the room, and James leapt into action, waving a tea towel at the detector like a man possessed.

“Okay, maybe we should’ve just ordered food in,” he said, laughing as the alarm finally stopped. He turned to you, his cheeks flushed from the heat and the effort, and shrugged. “But hey, at least we’re doing this together, right?”

As if things weren’t chaotic enough, Otto decided to make his grand entrance. He had been suspiciously quiet up until now, but the chaos in the kitchen was clearly too tempting to resist. With a graceful leap, he landed on the counter, his tail swishing as he eyed the sizzling shrimp with predatory interest.

“Otto, no!” James yelled, lunging to intercept him, but the cat was too quick.

Otto darted toward the pan, his paw swiping at the edge and sending a few shrimp tumbling to the floor. James moved like lightning, scooping Otto up just as the cat was about to pounce on his prize. “Oh no, you don’t,” James said, holding Otto at arm’s length as the cat squirmed indignantly. “You’re not ruining dinner. Well, not any more than we already have.”

You couldn’t help but laugh as James carried Otto out of the kitchen, setting him down in the bedroom with a stern look. “Stay,” he said, pointing a finger at the cat, who blinked up at him with an expression of pure innocence. “Yeah, right,” James muttered, shaking his head as he walked back to you.

By this point, the kitchen looked like a war zone. The shrimp was overcooked, the risotto was gluey, and the chocolate lava cakes were still a soupy mess. But somehow, none of it mattered. James reached out, pulling you into his arms, and you leaned into him, your laughter mingling with his. “We’re a disaster,” you said, resting your head against his chest.

“Yeah,” he agreed, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “But we’re our disaster.” And at that moment, with the kitchen in shambles, the smell of burnt risotto in the air, and Otto’s paw prints trailing down the hallway, you couldn’t imagine anything more perfect.

After the chaos in the kitchen, James declared the cooking experiment officially over. “Takeout it is,” he said, grabbing his phone and scrolling through the delivery app. You nodded in agreement, leaning against the counter as you surveyed the mess.

The risotto was still bubbling, the shrimp were beyond saving, and the chocolate lava cakes were now a solidified puddle in the bottom of the pan. Otto, meanwhile, had been banished to the bedroom after his shrimp-stealing antics, though you could hear him meowing indignantly from behind the closed door.

“I’ll clean this up while you order,” you offered, grabbing a roll of paper towels and a sponge. James shook his head, stepping closer and taking the sponge from your hand.

“Nope,” he said firmly. “We’re in this together, remember? I’ll help.” He grabbed a green food bin bag and started scooping up the ruined risotto, while you wiped down the counters and mopped up the olive oil. It wasn’t exactly romantic, but there was something oddly comforting about working side by side, laughing as you tried to scrub flour and chocolate off the counter.

By the time the doorbell rang, the kitchen was mostly clean—or at least, clean enough. James went to answer it, returning with a bag of burgers and chips from your favourite spot. The smell was heavenly, and your stomach growled in anticipation. “I think this is the best decision we’ve made all night,” you said, grabbing plates and napkins.

James set the bag down on the counter and started unpacking the food, placing the burgers and chips onto plates with a surprising amount of care. “We’re doing this properly,” he said, handing you a plate. “Blanket on the floor, candles, the whole vibe.” You raised an eyebrow but didn’t argue, helping him spread a blanket across the living room floor. He lit a single candle—carefully placed out of Otto’s reach—and turned off the overhead lights, leaving the room bathed in a soft, flickering glow.

You sat down cross-legged on the blanket, balancing your plate on your lap. James grabbed a couple of sodas from the fridge and joined you, sitting close enough that your knees brushed. “Okay, this is way better than risotto,” he said, taking a bite of his burger. You laughed, nodding in agreement. The food was simple, but it was exactly what you needed after the disaster in the kitchen. The chips were perfectly salty, the burgers were juicy, and the soda fizzed as you popped open the cans.

As you ate, James started making up a silly song about your failed dinner, his voice warm and teasing. “We tried to cook, but it went up in smoke, now we’re eating burgers and telling bad jokes…” You laughed, leaning against him as he sang.

The sound of his voice, the flicker of the candle, the way his arm brushed against yours—it all felt so perfect, so right. You couldn’t help but smile, feeling a wave of affection for him. “You’re such a dork,” you said, nudging him with your elbow.

He grinned, setting his plate aside and shifting closer to you, his movements slow and deliberate, as if he wanted to savour every second of this moment. His hand found yours, fingers intertwining, and he gave it a gentle squeeze. “Yeah, but I’m your dork,” he said, his voice soft, almost a whisper, as if the words were meant for you and you alone. His eyes held yours, warm and steady, and there was something in his gaze that made your breath catch—something tender, something unspoken, something that felt like home.

He leaned in, pressing a kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering there for a heartbeat longer than necessary, as if he was trying to imprint the moment into your skin. Then he moved to your cheek, his breath warm against your face, and you could feel the faintest hint of a smile on his lips as they brushed against yours. When he finally kissed you, it was slow and sweet, a gentle exploration that made your heart flutter in your chest. His hand cupped your jaw, his thumb tracing the curve of your cheek, and you melted into him, the taste of salt and fries still on his lips, mingling with the faint sweetness of the soda he’d been drinking.

For a moment, the world outside the two of you faded away. The flicker of the candle, the soft hum of the refrigerator, even Otto’s occasional indignant meows from the bedroom—it all seemed to dissolve into the background, leaving only the two of you, wrapped in a bubble of warmth and quiet intimacy. His other arm slid around your waist, pulling you closer until there was no space left between you, and you could feel the steady rise and fall of his chest against yours. It was a kiss that felt like a promise, like a thousand unspoken words, like the kind of moment you’d want to remember forever.

When he finally pulled back, it was only far enough to rest his forehead against yours, his breath mingling with yours as he smiled. “You know,” he said, his voice low and a little rough, “I think this might be my favourite Valentine’s Day ever.” His thumb brushed against your cheek again, and you could feel the sincerity in his words, the way they wrapped around you like a blanket.

You smiled, your heart so full it felt like it might burst. “Even with the burnt risotto and Otto’s shrimp heist?” you teased, your voice barely above a whisper.

He laughed, the sound soft and warm, and pressed another quick kiss to your lips. “Especially because of that,” he said. “It’s us. Messy, chaotic, perfect us.”

Just then, a particularly loud meow came from the bedroom, followed by the sound of Otto pawing at the door. James glanced toward the hallway, a fond smile tugging at his lips. “Alright, mate, hold on,” he said, reluctantly pulling away from you. He stood and walked over to the bedroom, opening the door just enough for Otto to slip through. The cat strutted into the living room, his tail held high, as if he hadn’t just been banished for causing chaos. He sniffed at the empty plates, clearly unimpressed, before jumping onto the couch and curling up in his favourite spot.

James sat back down beside you, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and pulling you close. You rested your head against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. Otto’s soft purring filled the room, blending with the flicker of the candle and the warmth of James’s embrace. It wasn’t the Valentine’s Day you’d planned, but it was perfect in its own way—messy, chaotic, and utterly, completely yours.

How did people find this? I hope it was okay and hit a craving for something on Valentines Day.

[weirdowithaquill]

Traintober 2024: Day 10 - Flora

Flora and the Great Waterton Flower Show

Flora the tram engine works on a small logging tramway on the eastern side of the island of Sodor. It begins at Vicarstown before heading inland to Great Waterton, the site of a major waterworks. The line mostly transports the water from the waterworks or logs from the numerous small timber plantations that surround the little town. During harvest season, Flora would even take the produce from the farms. Her little line travelled along a road, so Flora needed cowcatchers and sideplates by law – but the road was unpaved, and so very few people liked to drive along it.

The only engines Flora really met were the few who spent time at Vicarstown. She’d made good friends with Bear the diesel and the Scottish Twins, but she avoided the big engines. They were just too pompous for the little sunshine-yellow tram.

One morning, Bear rumbled into the yard to see Flora looking even sunnier than usual! “What’s got you so excited?” asked Bear. “The Great Waterton Flower Show is on tomorrow,” beamed Flora. “And I’ve just been given a new coat of paint for the celebration!” Bear had never been to a flower show before, and thought they sounded rather silly when flowers grew everywhere already, but he decided to support his friend.

“Are you going to see it?” he asked. Flora practically whistled with glee. “They’re holding it at the station!” she exclaimed. “And I’m even going to be decorated! I’m going pull so many passengers in Moseley.” Moseley – Flora’s sleepy tram coach – stirred at the mention of his name, opening a bleary eye. He was getting cleaned for the celebration, and there was a workman polishing his stair railing.    

“See, he’s so excited!” chirped Flora. Bear wasn’t sure what was different about Moseley to hint at excitement, but was happy for his friend anyway.

Flora was so excited that she could barely sleep – but sleep she did, much to her shedmates’ thankfulness – and soon she was being steamed up for her first trip so the Great Waterton Flower Show.

Gordon met her at the platform with a train of his own. Passengers flooded from his coaches to swarm Moseley, who was quite stunned at the turn of events! “I can’t hold this many!” he spluttered. Flora chuckled and went to fetch a couple spare coaches from the carriage sidings. When she returned, she found Gordon staring at her consideringly.

“So you must be Flora,” he said. “I am surprised we have not met properly before.” “Ah, well I am busy,” Flora replied, not wanting to admit that she avoided him. “Well,” hummed Gordon, “that’s alright. Though I do think it mustn’t be that important – you’re tucked away on your little insignificant branchline, after all.” Flora glared, but just trundled away with her heavy train of passengers. She didn’t want Gordon’s dismissiveness to spoil her day.

The flower show was stunning! The various gardens were spotless, with flowers in all shades of the rainbow. Some were tropical, and had special sun lamps to keep them warm and snug while others were from the furthest winters, and were in special pots that kept the soil cool for them. Flora was in love! She spoke to every gardener who would listen, and her driver managed to get a couple to agree to redo the flower boxes at Vicarstown sheds.

Then, Flora went to pick up the special guest. She wasn’t sure who it was, but considering how nervous the mainland diesel looked when he slowed to a stop it was someone very important. Flora had even been given a special, ultra-luxurious coach for the guest, and there was a red carpet!

Then, the guest stepped out and Flora couldn’t hold in her stunned gasp. It was the Queen! “I’m about to pull Her Majesty!” hissed Flora in astonishment. “But I thought the Queen only went to the Chelsea Flower Show?” “She’s come to judge some of the gardens apparently,” her driver replied, equally as stunned. “Let’s give her a grand ride.”

Flora was extra careful as she made her way down her little tramway, wincing at every little bump she felt in the rails. As much as her little line was beautiful, it was also not meant for such important passengers. Flora hoped the Queen was enjoying the scenery more than the track!

When they arrived, there was a great reception waiting! The mayor and the local councillor and all the guests, contestants and locals were waiting for Her Majesty, and had prepared a special high tea for her. But instead of following the mayor, the Queen turned and made her way up to where Flora was standing.

“Thank you very much for a smooth ride,” the Queen said. “You are perhaps the brightest and most cheerful little tram I have ever met. Do you enjoy flowers too?” “Y-y-yes, Your Majesty,” gulped Flora. The Queen chuckled. “There’s no need to be nervous,” the Queen said kindly. “I just noticed your nameplate – were you inspired by the flowers, by any chance?” “I was,” admitted Flora. “I really like daffodils.” “I do too,” replied the Queen, and for the first time, Flora got a chance to see Her Majesty’s outfit – it was the same shade of yellow as her! The Queen waved to someone, and they walked over. It was a photographer. “Would you take a photo of us?” she asked. Flora blushed bright red! “With me!” she squeaked.

The Queen just nodded. The pair posed for the photographer, and then the Queen turned to Flora one last time.  

“I hope you also enjoy the flower show today.” And with that, the Queen headed off for her special tea. Flora felt faint. The rest of the day seemed to just flash by, and all too soon she was backing into the sheds. Both Gordon and Bear were there.

“How was your little flower show?” asked Gordon, smirking at the little tram. “Fabulous!” grinned Flora. "I heard you had a special visitor," said Bear, looking excited.  "Who?" snorted Gordon. "Aslan of Narnia?!" Flora was about to retort when her driver ran over. “Someone’s here to see you again!” he exclaimed excitedly. He nodded his head, and all three engines looked over. Gordon’s eyes widened to the size of serving platters as he spotted The Queen stepping over the rails towards the shed.

“Your Majesty?!” he spluttered. “What an honour!” “Indeed,” replied the Queen. “It is an honour for me to present Flora with a special award: the RHS President’s Award for Best Flora.” She pulled out a large medal and placed it on Flora’s lampiron. Flora was beside herself with excitement! “I also wanted to personally thank you again for such a smooth ride today – your little line is absolutely stunning, Flora, and I wish you many more successful years.” She turned. “As for you, Gordon – well, maybe next year.”

And with that, the Queen strode away, leaving behind a speechless Gordon, a cackling Bear and one very proud Flora!

Back to the Master Post

[noneknxws]

hey hey hey and welcome to

batfam: can they?

todays question: can they cook?

Alfred: do I even need to say anything

Bruce: no. unless he’s following a very detailed Alfred recipe

Dick: he can make a banger stir fry but that’s.. basically it

Jason: yes! He’s a good cook. He’s one of the three batfam members that isn’t banned from the kitchen

Tim: if you count microwave ramen/bacon to be cooking, he’s Gordon Ramsay

Steph: no. Don’t even let her near a microwave. Alfred has definitely said something along the lines of ‘Steph. My dear not-grandchild. If you step in this kitchen something will spontaneously combust and I can’t risk my chicken pot pie’

Cass: yes! she is allowed in :) she likes helping out with cooking, appearing by people’s sides with the ingredient they need right before they realize they need it

Damian: he hasn’t even tried cooking. but if he did it’s no. not that he’d burn everything down by accident, it’s just that he’d burn everything down on purpose (understandable)

Duke: reluctantly, yes. has he almost burned toast and cookies too many times to count? yeah. but has he always saved them before it goes up in smoke? hell yeah he has. he’s constantly testing Alfred’s sanity

[tattedpetticoats]

🌻

BROCCOLI CHEDDAR SOUP

This is one of my dad's favourite soups.

4 tbsp butter

1 largeish onion, finely chopped

3 cloves of garlic (or. you know. measure with your heart).

1/4 cup plain flour

2 cups milk

2 cups stock (store bought is fine we're not snobs here)

3 cups of broccoli florets, chopped fairly small

1 large carrot, finely chopped

1 tsp seeded mustard

paprika salt and pepper to taste

at least 2 cups grated cheese, cheddar with a bit of parmesan is a good combination.

Melt butter in a large pot, fry onion in it with a pinch of salt. Crush/chop the garlic and throw that in once the onion is soft.

Sprinkle in the flour, stir or whisk it all until the flour turns gold and it all clumps up a bit. this is called a roux. Roux is your friend. Slowly (slowly!) pour in the milk, stirring/whisking until smooth. Let it thicken a little.

Add the stock, broccoli, carrot and mustard and stir to combine. Simmer for a while (10-15-ish minutes) until the veg is tender.

Gradually add the cheese, stirring all the while, until it's all melted in. If the soup splits (goes from thick and creamy to watery and kind of grainy) mix up some flour and water into a slurry and tip it in. This will not actually cure the splitting but it will make it thicker and hide it a bit. It'll still taste okay. Don't tell Gordon Ramsay.

Season as desired.

you should serve this with garlic croutons.

[miistymemorii]

Spilled Soup

summery: Adam tried desperately to make dinner for Lawrence.

A/N: this one is based off the lovely request above ! some chainshipping domestic fluff, rated E for everyone. Lawrence Gordon x Adam Stanheight.

Five minutes. Five minutes, just a quick smoke break, then Adam would get back to cooking. He stepped out to the patio of the apartment, lighting his cigarette and taking a deep drag, letting the smoke fill his lungs. Adam exhaled, his head leaning back against the outside door. Cooking was never this stressful, then again, he never really cooked anything that required any effort.

He could make a grilled cheese. He had done it a million times. The recipe he had pulled together, however, was for grilled cheese AND tomato soup, and multitasking was not Adam's specialty. Furthermore, it wasn't a basic grilled cheese, it was an "elevated version", according to the blog post Adam had read. Still, he remained determined, just leaving the pot of soup to heat up before he started making the sandwiches. He was halfway there, and that was a good sign so far. He glanced down at his watch, noting that Lawrence would probably be home within the next fifteen minutes. A breeze blew past him outside, the sudden gust making him shover and inhale. There was the smell of the street, the smell of his cigarette, and the smell of... something else. Adam sniffed the air, his eyebrows furrowing. It was the smell of burning plastic.

Adam quickly dropped his cigarette and stepped on it, sprinting back inside. There was a small fire on the stove, not from inside the pot but from the side of it. He could see that the plastic stirring spoon, which Adam had foolishly left hung out of the pot, had overheated and melted, now dripping down the side of the pot. Adam shouted expletives, running around the kitchen to find a way to put out the fire. Thankfully, Lawrence kept a small fire extinguisher in his kitchen, so Adam was able to extinguish the fire quickly. In the aftermath, there was no saving the soup, so Adam stood frozen before the stove, chest heaving as he began to panic.

The sound of the front door opening made him panic even more, and he quickly grabbed another spoon, taking the lid of the soup and stirring in vain, trying to appear busy.

There was shuffling as Lawrence took his coat off and hung it on the coatrack, then a pause. "Adam?"

"Uh, yeah?"

The sound of Lawrence's heavy footsteps making their way towards the kitchen made Adam fill with more dread. He stood by the stove, defeated, spoon still in hand when Lawrence finally came upon him. Lawrence looked at Adam, then at the pot, then back at Adam. "Is everything okay in here?"

Adam nodded, clumsily leaning against the pot. It burned him, of course, and as he yelped and pulled away, the pot went tumbling to the floor. Adam sighed, clutching his injured hand. He couldn't look Lawrence in the eyes, instead mumbling to himself and hurrying over to the sink, running cool water over his hand. His back to Lawrence, Adam could hear him walking over to the sink. He bit his lip, mentally cursing himself. How could he have ruined things so quickly? There was a heavy hand on his arm, and Adam let out a frustrated sigh. Lawrence gently held Adam's hand, inspecting where he had burned himself.

"I was just trying to make some soup." Adam mumbled, his head hung low as he chewed the inside of his cheek out of shame.

Lawrence held up Adam's finger so he could see how small the burn was. "See, not too bad, but you do need to be more careful when you're cooking."

Adam nodded, pulling his hand away. The burn was barely visible, but stung like a bitch.

Lawrence rounded the kitchen island, examining the now spilled soup. "Grilled cheese and tomato soup?"

"Yeah."

"Did you make the grilled cheese yet?"

"Nope."

Lawrence chuckled, looking over at Adam. The brunette looked up, a small frown on his face. "You could still make the grilled cheeses, no?"

Slowly, a sheepish smile began to blossom on Adam's face. He pursed his lips together and nodded. "I'll clean up first, I can do that, at least."

Lawrence gave him a short nod before exiting the room. Adam was quick with the cleanup, staring at the pan he had set on the stove. It was turned down low, just now starting to heat up. He closed his eyes and let out a low exhale. The sound of Lawrence in the next room brought him comfort. He took his time doing it, and after twenty minutes, the grilled cheeses were finished. Adam put the sandwiches on plates, smiling softly at the finished product. He left the kitchen to look for Lawrence, and found him sitting on the couch, two dinner trays set up next to the couch.

Lawrence had been flipping through channels, but at the sight of Adam, he smiled fondly. "I thought we could watch that new science fiction show you were talking about while we eat. Is that okay?"

Adam nodded and hurried back to the kitchen, fetching the plates. He set one down in front of Lawrence, then took his seat beside the blonde. The two ate and watched in silence, except for the parts where Adam would get really excited and make a comment about a scene. The state of stress Adam had been in over his failed soup was washed away by the feeling of euphoria he got whenever he was around Lawrence. That night, as Lawrence got ready for bed and Adam cleaned up the rest of the kitchen, he couldn't wipe the smile off his face as he thought about how happy he was now that he had Lawrence in his life.

[teacupsandcyanide]

help Inge just randomly dropped in the reveal that [redacted], someone who is a key player in the events her thesis covers, STARTED A CULT?? i'm losing my mind which I think most people would expect but the thing is i'm losing it over the fact that it's [redacted] doing this. I can only describe him as having chronic flop disease. he is in a permanent flop era. he does naught but take massive flops in public.

for example one time he spent months claiming that he knew who had killed a young man who had died that year and that he could prove without a doubt that it was who he said it was. he spread rumours that incited a toxic back-and-forth between two hamlet groups that were allies. he stirred the pot. he threw out accusations. then when people tried to convince him to come to a meeting to talk about his hot shit he refused to come. after weeks of running his mouth at every available opportunity they finally got him to show up at the same meeting as the people he was accusing, and he proceeded to ramble incoherently for half an hour until everyone told him to sit down and shut up. he annoyed so many people on different sides of the conflict that they were united in their irritation and things didn't escalate further.

and HE started a cult? babes the others are 24/7 eating you alive at moots and you thought you could run a cult?

[gordon ramsey voice] my god. un-fucking-believable.

[timetraveltasting]

RASPBERRY SHRUB (1911)

It's been a hot minute (quite literally - summer is in full swing!), and I've finally decided to jot down my notes on my most recent Tasting History (or rather, Drinking History) concoction: Raspberry Shrub. The recipe for the this alcohol-free, vinegar-based fruit syrup, often used in cocktails and mocktails, was published in 1911 in Good Things to Eat, as Suggested by Rufus by Rufus Estes. Also known as 'drinking vinegar' in the late 19th and early 20th century, this syrup could either be drunk on ice, added to sparkling water, or used in a cocktail or mocktail recipe. Drinking vinegar has been popular since at least Ancient Rome, where soldiers drank a kind of 'energy drink' called posca. However, this recipe for shrub, from the first African American celebrity chef, Rufus Estes, is a thick syrup that is perhaps used best as an ingredient. While this version uses raspberries, Rufus also has a recipe for blackcurrant shrub. You can technically make a shrub out of most fruits! I was very suspect of this vinegar-based drink, as I tend to associate vinegar with savoury flavours, but I decided to trust Max's raving review of Raspberry Shrub added to sparkling water. Max even recommended adding a bit of gin in there - so I wanted to try it both ways, since gin is my favourite spirit. See Max’s video on how to make it here or see the ingredients and process at the end of this post, sourced from his website.

My experience making it:

I stuck very close to Max's recipe this time, although I did halve it (partially because I was worried about ruining expensive, delicious raspberries with vinegar if it all went wrong...). I used white wine vinegar and table sugar, and for mixing the shrub into a cocktail/mocktail, I used Gerolsteiner medium sparking water and Gordon's Pink Gin.

The process to make a Raspberry Shrub was fairly long, but not too involved. The day before I wanted to drink the shrub, I mashed the raspberries into the vinegar and left it in a covered pot on the counter overnight. Between the pot and pot lid, I put a layer of paper towel in order to prevent the pesky summer fruit flies from sneaking in on the hot days - breathable, but protective. The next day, I boiled it briefly before straining it through a sieve into another pan. The smell of vinegar did stink up the kitchen, like Max warned, but the liquid was definitely a beautiful raspberry colour with no solids floating in it. I added the sugar in bit by bit while the liquid was still hot, stirring as I went, then boiled the mixture for 20 minutes, stirring occasionally. At this point the vinegar smell leaked out of the kitchen into the rest of the apartment, so I had to open a window! Once the 20 minutes was up, I let it cool completely over a few hours, then poured it into a clear glass bottle and put it in the fridge. That night, I was having a few friends over to play a board game and planned to use them as guinea pigs for the Raspberry Shrub taste test. I planned to serve it both as a mocktail with ice and sparkling water, and as a cocktail with ice, sparkling water, and a bit of pink gin.

My experience tasting it:

Because I'm not completely mean, I did actually try the Raspberry Shrub myself first before making others drink it. I first tried a drop or two of the syrup by itself first. It had solidified to a decent degree in the fridge, and was already nearly the consistency of honey. It tasted quite flavourful - raspberry being front and centre, but with a sourness and acidity that quite obviously tasted of vinegar. The smell was definitely of vinegar. For these reasons, like Max, I would not suggest drinking this on its own with ice. The consistency would be too thick, and the vinegar taste would be very noticeable. Next, I made myself a mocktail - about 1/4 of the glass filled with the syrup, adding ice, and then filling the rest to the top with sparkling water. Also like Max mentions, the syrup doesn't combine super easily with the water, so you really need to stir quite a bit to get it to mix well. After stirring, my drink was a brilliant raspberry red. I took a sip, and was yet again overwhelmed with raspberry and a bit of vinegar flavour - a bit too strong. To remedy this, I took a big flavourful swig of it to make more room in the glass, then filled that space with more sparkling water. Stirring again, it became a lovely rose colour. Trying it this time, a little diluted, it was the perfect summery drink: fruity, light, sparkling, cold, a little sweet, and a little sour. I could just barely detect the unique taste of vinegar.

I had found the happy ratio of ingredients (about 1/5 or 1/6 of the glass) to serve my guests, so I made them up a drink in my new chalice cocktail glasses. They were a hit! My one friend, who claims she really enjoys the taste of vinegar, was even so bold as to add even more of the shrub to her glass. So, it seems each person might have their own preferred ratio. The second round of shrubs we made, we decided to add some pink gin. In my opinion, it was the perfect addition, since it's a little sweeter than your average gin, but I am known to have a sweet tooth. I could see it working well either way. I could see why these shrubs would be useful - you can store them quite a long time, thereby preserving those tasty fruit flavours longer than they would last as fruit-form in the fridge. I think a Raspberry Shrub, or any other shrub, is a great way to liven up normal sparking water, but I also think it works wonderfully as a cocktail ingredient. The vinegar adds a unique kind of acidity different from lime or lemon juice, in my opinion. Both my friends had a couple cocktails and quite enjoyed their shrubs, and one even asked for the recipe, so I consider this recipe a keeper! It is a great summery drink for young and old, teetotal or boozy. I would be curious, also, to try using the shrub in various other cocktail or mocktail recipes, as I think it would be quite versatile. If you end up making it, if you liked it, or if you changed anything from the original recipe, do let me know!

Raspberry Shrub original recipe (1911)

Sourced from Good Things to Eat, as Suggested by Rufus, by Rufus Estes, 1911.

Put one quart of ripe raspberries in a bowl, add two cups of vinegar, mash the berries slightly, and let stand overnight. In the morning, scald and strain until clear. Measure, and to each cup of juice add one cup of sugar, boil twenty minutes and seal.

Modern Recipe

Based on Good Things to Eat, as Suggested by Rufus, by Rufus Estes, and Max Miller’s version in his Tasting History video.

Ingredients:

1 quart (700 g) fresh ripe raspberries, washed

2 cups (475 ml) white wine vinegar

3 cups (600 g) granulated sugar

Sparkling water, if desired

Method:

Put the raspberries in a small saucepan with the white wine vinegar. Mash the berries enough so that there are no full berries left intact, but it does not need to be mashed to a puree. Cover the saucepan and let it sit for at least 12 hours.

Once the berries have been infused with the vinegar, take the saucepan and set it over a medium heat, bringing it to a boil for 1 minute. Then remove it from the heat and pour the mixture through a sieve into a large saucepan.

Add the sugar and whisk until dissolved, then set the pan over medium heat and bring to a simmer for 20 mintues, stirring occasionally to ensure all of the sugar has dissolved. Remove the shrub from the heat and let it cool completely before pouring it into a container to chill in the refrigerator.

Once chilled, the shrub is ready to use. Pour it as-is over ice, lightly dilute it with sparkling water, or mix it into a cocktail of white wine or the spirit of your choice, and serve it forth.

[saintmeghanmarkle]

here is the strategy the genius Markle will pursue now by u/ElectricalAd9212

here is the strategy the genius Markle will pursue now She has utterly failed in everything.She wanted in-out she failed.She went to war after failing to get in-out and she failed.She has failed in Hollywood, failed in everything she did.Failed at Spotify, Netflix and everything.Failed to annihilated Caterine, she failed. She made Catherine stronger and more beloved, and herself more hated.Her failure is leading them to poverty and bankruptcy.She failed in her car chase hoax.She fails endlessly.The only thing she is a success at, is failureSo she knows she has no option left now but to somehow get some 'legitimacy' back by association with the royal family.And this means King Charles, because nobody else will have anything to do with them.Markle and Harry are about to open up a campaign of psychological bombardment and attempted emotional blackmail of King Charles by leaks and manifesting to the media about his grandchildren.Expect endless variations on the theme of how 'Archie' and 'Lilibet' are crying because they want to meet Grandpa Kingy.It will be drip drip drip.Expect Bryony Gordon of the Telegraph, Harry's lickspittle, to be involved.At some point this year it may culminate in an interview with American TV.And WME will probably be calling in favours to get the message out there for their clientWatch and observe it all happening in real time in the coming months.The aim will be to manifest 'reconciliation' stirring the pot of the British media.And to depict William and Catherine as 'cruel', so it will basically just be another part of their psychotic stalker campaign too​ post link: https://ift.tt/91TMn3Y author: ElectricalAd9212 submitted: January 02, 2024 at 07:52PM via SaintMeghanMarkle on Reddit