#No I never use the oven or the gas burner

[chicago-geniza]

Have mostly gotten over my fear of HVAC and household appliances re: combustion risk (at one point refused to turn the heat on in a polar vortex because I was terrified of a spontaneous conflagration) but the last bastion of this neurosis remains "I can't leave the house with the dryer running because if I leave it will catch fire"

Applying watched-pot-never-boils logic to, well, other heat-related reactions

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

The Farmer's Daughter 14

Warnings: non/dubcon, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Characters: Walter Marshall

Summary:��You notice a peculiar change in a family friend. (short!reader, sorry size kink is out)

Part of the Backwoods AU

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

You wake up with your head on Walt’s arm. You lay on your side, facing him as his chest rises and falls, a rumble thundering through him with each breath. His warmth has you in a sheen of sweat. You hesitate to move, not wanting to disturb him.

As you lay and listen to his snores, your stomach topturns. The realisation flows through you and turns to ice. As unusual as this awakening is now, this will be your forever. That’s what you agreed to. Your days, your nights, your everything will belong to Walt.

You squirm as suddenly you’re on fire, your scalp speckling with impending doom. You shift onto your back and slowly sit up. You bend your head forward and cover your face as you try to ease the spinning in your head.

You drag your feet from beneath the blankets and turn to sit with your back to him. To your future husband. You just can’t make it sound normal in your head.

You stand cautiously, mindful not to jostle the bed. His low snores carry through the air as you walk across the creaky floorboard, peeking over with each step. Your legs prickle with goosebumps as you get to the door. A shiver rolls over you and you hug yourself as the morning air flows up the bottom of the flannel shirt.

You leave him and find your way downstairs. You turn on the space heater and linger before it, building the courage to detach yourself from the glow of heat. You continue into the kitchen and carefully make your way around it.

The least you can do is make breakfast. You suppose that will be expected from now on. It’s not so out of the ordinary, it’s only Walt will be more than just a guest, more than a friend.

You take out eggs and a tray of breakfast sausage. You pause as you wonder if it’s too much. You hope he doesn’t mind.

You do your best to be quiet as you put a skillet on the oven to heat. You line a pan with the sausages and preheat the gas stove. You flutter your fingers anxiously as you wait, staying close to absorb some of the heat.

“Morning,” Walt’s gritty timbre sends a tremor through you.

You glance over as he enters, a brown robe around him as he rubs his eyes and sweeps his curls away from his face. You return his greeting as you crack the eggs into a bowl to whisk. He hums and nears the counter, grabbing a tin near the back.

“Coffee?” He wonders.

“Oh, no I–” you set the bowl down, “I didn’t– I can do that now.”

“Mm, thanks, sweetheart,” he puts the tin down and sidles closer to you, “sleep okay?”

His hand touches the small of your back as stands close. You nod, “mhmm,” you step up to the counter and grab the beat-up percolator. “Thanks, I… I did.”

“Rain’s let up,” he reluctantly parts and peers through the window as you fill the percolator from the tap, “should go out and check on the truck after breakfast… then we can head up to the bank.”

“The bank?” You shut off the faucet and loud the grinds, then pop the metal lid into place. You put the metal jug onto the burner and twist the knob.

“Get some thing’s sorted. I told your mother I’d bring some paperwork,” he explains as he sits in one of the wooden chairs. He watches you intently as you face him. He’s quiet as his eyes rove you from head to toe. A breath fills his chest, “and we can tell her the news.”

You try to smile and quickly turn your attention back to the eggs. You put oil on the skillet as you clear your throat, “yeah, she’ll… I think she’ll be happy.”

“Could do a lot worse around here,” he grits.

“I didn’t mean…” you shake your head as the oil sizzles, “I only… I’m getting used to the idea still.”

“Seem to be getting used to it,” he remarks, “lucky me got a woman like you to wake up to, make me breakfast…”

“Uh, yeah,” you pour the eggs into the pan.

He lets a long exhale and the chair groans beneath his weight, “it’s like a dream come true. Finally,” he drawls as the savoury smell of sausages blooms from the over, “about time I settled down. Least that’s what the old crones whisper down at the grocery store.”

“Oh, ha, well, everyone talks,” you shrug, “I’m sure they whisper about me too.”

“Uh huh, I heard them,” he scoffs as his tone harshens, “about you talking to Odinson… making eyes at him.”

“What–” you nearly choke, “I…I didn’t— I wouldn’t.”

You scrape the pan to scramble the eggs as your voice knots in your throat. It feels like an accusation but you know it was harmless. Thor was just being helpful and that was weeks ago.

“Well, you won’t,” he says tersely, “from now on, I don’t want you being friendly with the likes of him. He’s no good.”

“Walt, I wasn’t–”

“That’s before,” he interjects, “this is now. We’re gonna be married. Things are different.”

“I know,” you eke out, “but I wouldn’t… I wouldn’t do that.”

“Uh huh, but you flirted with me,” he insists.

“I…” you stop yourself before you begin. You didn’t flirt with him, you were nice to him. Like you always were. Like you had been for years.

“Sweet thing like you, it’s easy to get the wrong idea and men like Odinson, they always get the wrong idea,” he growls.

The percolator trembles and you turn off the burner. You quickly twist the other down to low and put a lid over the eggs to keep them warm. You turn to the cupboard and pick out a mug with an ombre of brown. You pour the steaming coffee and bring it to him.

“You don’t have to mope, I’m just making you aware,” he says, “you’re too sweet to see it. I’m protecting you. That’s what a husband does, right?”

You make yourself smile and swallow, “of course, thank you.”

“No, thank you,” he takes the mug from you with a wink, “look at you, my sweet little wife.”

[docholligay]

For HLF : Any advice for cooking on a crummy electric stove top? My apartment has one, and it takes 5000 years to get hot enough, I swear it takes 20 minutes to boil water. I mostly just want to not have to spend forever cooking shit.

You know, we as a global community have figured out the best way to do things cooking-wise, broadly, and I gotta tell you it blows my mind that electric coil cooktops are still being fucking MADE. They suck so much. They take forever to heat up or cool down, there's no responsiveness whatsoever, and they stay hot even when they do not LOOK hot, making it easy for someone to get hurt or melt a bowl.

The only thing worse than an all electric range is that of the "I hate you actively and hope everything you make turns to shit" combo of a coil cooktop and a gas oven. What sort of bullshit is that about?

Anyhow, when we bought our house it had an electric coil cooktop and i told my lovely bride that if we bought the house we were either paying to run gas, or paying for induction, and we have an induction cooktop right now that I mostly love. (my issues with it are not related to it being induction, and also, I have never met a perfect cooktop. I'm me)

So this is easy, actually! Buy one of these:

This is a portable induction burner. This is an Avantco, sold through webstaurant, for 130 bucks with free shipping.

This is better than anything you can get on Amazon. This is a fucking workhorse. if you are only going to have one burner that responds and kicks ass, let it be this one. I recall that you rent, so don't offer to buy a nicer range for your fucking landlord. You can take this with you when you go! Frankly I would love to have one of these, and I have a full range, I can just always use a spot for another pot. Actually it looks like the double is available for only ten bucks more.

They say this is for light duty, but remember this is a restaurant supply store that just happens to be open to the public--they mean light RESTAURANT LEVEL duty. Your daily cooking will be fine. It only takes a pan up to about 10 inches, and I would only use a nine inch if you want true edge to edge, but I don't recall you being a stockpot cook, so it's likely not an issue for you.

This is the solution to your problem. Even I, magic and very talented and also wise as I am, cannot make an electric coil cooktop suck less.

[parkeryangs]

matt woebegone "they have accidentally caused a fire - how did they do it and how do they react to it?"

x

Matt was trying to make breakfast.

It was he and Mike's first morning in their new apartment. The place wasn't great; Mike had already found a mouse hiding in his bedroom the evening before, they didn't have any hot water yet and had to carry their trash half a mile to the nearest dumpster, but—well—it was home.

Mike is sleeping in and Matt is currently having trouble with the stove. Preheating the oven was simple enough, if the rapidly rising red numbers on the small display are anything to go by, but the stovetop seems to have it out for him in particular. The knobs keep catching, and, with Matt being used to electric stoves, the gas heating element alone is a new sort of beast, but after a few shameful Google searches and nervous frowns at the sharp exhale of gas from the lines, he gets it lit.

Dressed in nothing but boxers and a ratty old band t-shirt he’d probably stolen from Mike, Matt grins in satisfaction at the flames licking up around the back left burner and then digs through the cabinets for the secondhand skillet they’d unpacked the day prior, before a whirlwind of a shopping trip for the necessary groceries.

As much as he loves him, Matt hates shopping with Mike, for groceries in particular. Trips to a bookstore or anything of the sort were fine, but if they were buying food, Mike was never one to stray from the predetermined list, or spend more time in a store than was needed, even though Matt likes to wander and shop without a hyperspecific list in his mind. Usually they rush through it and will still manage to forget an item or two, but after a quick glance through the fridge, Matt thinks they've made it out fine enough.

He settles on making bacon and biscuits and gravy. The gravy was a mix that had come in a pouch, and the biscuits were canned, but Matt, well aware of his limitations in the kitchen, figures that Mike probably wouldn't even notice in his early morning haze, and would just be glad there was any food to eat, as they hadn't picked up anything prepackaged after Mike’s claim that they needed ingredients first, before anything else.

Still—fifteen minutes pass and the biscuits are in the oven, the gravy is done and thick enough to cut with a fork, just the way Mike likes it, and Matt is standing at the stove nudging strips of bacon around on the skillet. He feels Mike before he hears him, when two arms encircle his waist, the other clearly pleased as he then rumbles, voice heavy with sleep, “You really know the way to a man's heart, Possum,”

“Good morning,” Matt drawls in response, spine straightening with the unexpected touch. “Also, when did you get so quiet? Jesus, Mikey, I’ll have to put a bell on you,” Mike laughs at that, and Matt can already imagine the sort of smile that's crossed the other man's face, sleepy and sweet. Yearning to see it for himself, he gives the bacon a few more experimental prods with a fork before flipping them over, then twisting in Mike’s grasp amidst the low sizzle of the meat, coming essentially face-to-face with the other man as he shifts.

“You made breakfast,” Mike states flatly, though he's still grinning and there's a bright gleam of pleasure that Matt catches in his eye. “You made biscuits and gravy,”

“Yeah, y-yeah, I know how serious you are about biscuits and gravy. I, uh, hope it's edible; this stove is weird,” Matt says, all too focused on the soft curve of Mike's mouth in the dim half-light of the kitchen. He kisses him, then, just because he can, one hand finding its way to Mike's jaw as the other earnestly deepens the kiss.

Mike mumbles something about being glad he’d brushed his teeth already, then nudges Matt away from the stove, backing him hurriedly up against the fridge. Matt hears a magnet fall as his spine collides slightly too roughly with the stainless steel door, but can't find it in himself to really be bothered, all too enamored with the way Mike is already clinging to him like a lifeline.

Truthfully, neither of them can be sure when the fire started after that.

Matt smells it first—the sudden rush of smoke mixed with charred meat—and he all but tears himself away from Mike, hitting his head on the fridge door in the process. He curses at the spark of pain, then curses again when he sees the now-flaming pan, still perched neatly over the burner. “What the— I-I’m going to burn the fucking apartment down on our first day,” he hisses, then falling into another string of swears.

To his part, Mike has accepted this turn of events rather well, turning off the burner before darting towards the pantry and chattering half to himself about whether or not they'd grabbed a box of baking soda.

“Fuck,” Matt snaps again, frantically tearing through the drawers before snagging another pan, flipping it over to crush the flaming bacon beneath it and the other pan. This has the desired effect of killing the source of oxygen, treating him only to another nasty cloud of smoke after he lifts the pan off of the charred remains of their breakfast following an agonizingly long wait.

The other then opens the kitchen window without a word, fanning the smoke uselessly towards it. “Well. I think we should probably change the battery in the smoke detector soon, huh.”

Matt can't help but laugh, fidgeting with the burnt pieces of bacon in the pan. “I hope you like your bacon…crispy?” he offers with a shaky laugh, tipping the skillet to show Mike the wrecked remains. “Maybe ashy is a better word. I think it’d crumble if you tried to eat it; sorry about breakfast. I-I wanted to surprise you,”

“I’m plenty surprised,” Mike snarks quickly in return, before his gaze flicks in the direction of the pot of gravy and biscuits, untouched by the fire. “That still looks edible, though. A-and once you get past the burnt smell, it does smell good in here. You did good,”

Matt smiles, and, leaving the remains of the bacon behind, they eat biscuits and gravy on the floor of their living room, paper plates cradled in their laps and shoulders brushing together whenever one of them moves.

[ramblingsofaculinarystudent]

A PSA About Propane

So, I was absent this week for a multitude of things: first, I had an ovarian cyst burst out of nowhere, and was planning on doing a post about diet changes that are supposed to prevent cyst formation. Second, there was a propane leak in my apartment, and I spent Thursday and Friday getting that resolved.

Because of the recent events in Farmington, Maine (a town that's about 30 minutes from me), and my own run-in with propane, I'd like to make a safety PSA for every one of my followers, so that if you encounter a leak, you will have the tools to handle the situation safely and effectively. A lot of industrial stoves use propane, so this can be helpful in both home life and in the restaurant kitchen.

Safety Tip #1: Sniff close to the floor and around devices that use propane if you think there's a leak.

Propane is a heavy gas: it stays close to the ground when there's a leak. That's why if there's a gas leak coming from the top floor apartment in a building, you smell it more on the first floor. If you think you smell propane (Ethyl Mercaptan is added to propane so if there's a leak you can smell it. It smells like either sulphur, onion garbage, petrol, or skunk), get your face closer to the floor and smell. Also, check around your stove: sniff your oven, burners, behind the stove, the drawer at the bottom of the stove, etc. If the smell is more intense near the floor or around devices that use propane, it's probably a leak.

Safety Tip #2: Don't turn on anything, not even your cellphone!

If you detect a leak, don't turn on a fan or even your cellphone! Whenever you turn on electronics, it causes a spark in order to get the electronic running. That spark, even though it's small, is enough to cause an explosion. Open a window, evacuate the building, and call the fire department/gas company/land lord from a safe distance. Propane is highly flammable, and so don't even smoke while in the building.

Safety Tip #3: Propane fumes are poisonous

There is such a thing called "Propane Poisoning", and it's a serious affair. Here's a link to an article about it from the Propane Council.

Safety Tip #4: You can actually purchase propane detectors

They're called "explosive gas detectors" and can help people who are unable to smell. They run from about $17-$100.

I hope that none of you have to use these tips: propane leaks are nasty to deal with. If you do have to deal with something like this, remember these tips and stay safe. What happened in Farmington, ME was a tragedy, and I hope it never repeats itself.

I hope you eat something awesome this week, and please hug your loved ones when you can.

[meikaalove]

Samsung smart gas range- Brand New

**Price**: $1500 _ negotiable

Brand new in box! Selling a Samsung NX60A6711SG Smart Gas Range. This is a top-of-the-line model featuring Wi-Fi connectivity, 5 burner cooktop, convection oven, and more. Never used and still in original packaging. Retails for $1750-$2500; asking $1500 for a quick sale.

Cash only via CashApp, Zelle, Or Venmo. Serious inquiries only. Perfect for upgrading your kitchen with smart technology!

Location is Indio, but will discount further if you handle pickup or delivery

Contact via the app and I will reach out accordingly. Thanks!!!!

[movingtothefarm]

What a great stove design! The surface to the right of the burners is so useful for hot pans coming out of the oven or to keep food warm. 2 ovens, 2 broilers Add windows to the oven doors and done. As we modernize, I want manufacturers to remember functional design.

Gas, Electric or Induction Cooktop?

I have never used an Induction cooktop. It claims faster cook times and requires magnetic cookware - stainless steel, cast iron, enameled iron, or nickel base. I would like to test it, like when you have it on high to bring liquid to boil then reduce the heat to simmer.

Consumer Reports says, "An induction stove is 5 to 10 percent more energy-efficient than conventional electric stoves and about three times more efficient than gas stoves."

I'm not a fan of cooking on electric burners. I see reports that gas stoves are being phased out for environmental reasons. If homes stop using gas will there be less drilling? Are restaurants also changing from gas to induction or electric?

The baker's triumph. Better homes and gardens. May 1947. Ad detail.

Internet Archive

[bestovenkitchen]

Gas Smell When Oven Is On

Hey there! Have you ever noticed a strange smell when turning on your oven? If so, don't worry. You're not alone. Many people have experienced the same thing and it's usually nothing to be alarmed about. It may just be that something is off balance in your gas lines, or maybe even something as simple as an open window letting outside odors into your kitchen. In this article, we'll explore some of the possible causes for why you might be noticing a gas smell when your oven is on.

Clogged Gas Lines

I have recently started to notice a gas smell when I turn on my oven. It’s worrying because it could mean that there are toxic fumes in the house, which can be hazardous for health.

The most common cause of this issue is clogged gas lines, usually due to ventilation problems. This happens when air from outside doesn't reach the burner, preventing the flow of gas properly and causing the build-up of dirt and debris inside the line. To check if this is what's going on in your own home, you should take a look at your oven burners and see if they're clean or not. If they aren't as clear as they used to be, then it might be time to get them cleaned out by professionals who know how to do so safely without risking exposure to toxic gases. You should also make sure that any vents near your stove are open and unobstructed so that air can circulate freely around it. The best way to ensure that these issues don't arise again is by regularly cleaning your oven burners and ensuring proper ventilation in your kitchen area. With regular maintenance, you'll never have to worry about noxious smells coming from your oven ever again!

Leaky Gas Connections

When it comes to gas smells when the oven is on, one of the culprits could be a leaky gas connection. Faulty valves and connections can mean that gas escapes from the oven in an area where it shouldn't, leading to a worrying smell. It's important to take this seriously as any type of natural gas leaks can lead to serious health issues or even explosions if not dealt with properly.

If you suspect there may be a problem with your stove's gas lines, then contact a certified appliance technician immediately for help. They will have the tools and experience necessary to track down the source of the leak safely and repair what needs repair without endangering anyone in your home. In some cases, they may need to replace faulty parts such as valves or hoses - but thankfully most repairs are relatively straightforward. The best way to avoid problems like these is by having regular maintenance checks done on all of your appliances. This will ensure that everything works correctly and prevent potential hazards around your home before they become an issue – so don't delay getting it sorted out!

Unburned Gas In The Oven

I've noticed a gas smell when my oven is on. It's really concerning and definitely not normal, so I did some research to figure out what might be wrong. Turns out, the most likely cause of this issue is unburned gas in the oven due to faulty components or a malfunctioning gas valve. If this is the case then it could potentially be dangerous as there's a risk of carbon monoxide poisoning if left untreated. The best thing to do if you notice gas smells coming from your oven is turn off all sources of ignition and open windows for ventilation before calling an expert to come take a look at it. Make sure that you don't use any matches or lighters near the area until repairs are made.

Poorly Maintained Gas Pilot Light

I'm worried about the gas smell when my oven is on - it could be a sign of a poorly maintained gas pilot light. There's a danger of carbon monoxide poisoning if the pilot light isn't working properly, so I need to get it checked out. Ignition problems can be caused by a number of things, so I need to make sure the gas is flowing correctly and the igniter is working. Lighting the pilot light can be tricky as well, and I don't want to risk making it worse by trying to fix it myself. I think I'll call a professional to come out and take a look at the oven and the pilot light. I'm sure they'll be able to get it sorted quickly and safely. Danger Of Carbon Monoxide When I think of the dangers of poorly maintained gas pilot lights, one of the first things that comes to mind is carbon monoxide. It's a silent killer and can be especially dangerous when leaking from deteriorating seals or faulty valves in an oven with a gas pilot light. Not only does it have no smell or taste, but it can cause dizziness, nausea and fatigue even at low levels. Plus if not addressed quickly enough long-term exposure could lead to coma or death. So if you ever notice any kind of strange smells coming from your oven while it's on, don't hesitate to call for help - better safe than sorry! Ignition Problems Another issue that can arise with a poorly maintained gas pilot light is ignition problems. If the igniter or spark module become faulty due to lack of maintenance, then it may not ignite correctly and cause the oven to preheat improperly. This could lead to food coming out either undercooked or even burnt in extreme cases. Also, if you're dealing with an old range, more often these days they come equipped with electric igniters instead of manual ones which require less maintenance but still need to be checked for wear and tear every now and then. It's also important to remember that all components involved in creating a safe combustion should be inspected regularly as well - from the seals around the burners to the thermocouple safety valve - any worn parts could create dangerous situations when using your oven at home. So if you ever hear strange noises coming from the oven while it's on, don't hesitate to call for help! In order to prevent such accidents, make sure you always inspect your appliance before use and check whether everything is working properly - after all prevention is better than cure! Difficulty Lighting Pilot Light Lighting a pilot light that hasn't been maintained can be very difficult. Aging parts or broken seals around the burner assembly can make it hard to ignite, and any debris in the gas line could prevent enough fuel from reaching the pilot light. It's always important to inspect these components before attempting ignition - if you're not sure of what you're doing, then don't hesitate to call for help! If your oven is older, it may require manual lighting using matches or a lighter. Make sure all safety precautions are followed when lighting the pilot light this way as there could still be dangerous amounts of gas present even if no visible flame is present. And if you find yourself having difficulty getting it lit, then take a step back and re-inspect all areas involved with creating safe combustion first. This will ensure that everything is working properly and reduce the risk of an accident occurring due to improper use. Overall, proper maintenance and inspection of your appliance should come first whenever dealing with potentially hazardous materials like natural gas – so keep these tips in mind next time you go to cook up a storm in your kitchen!

Ventilation Blockages

When ovens are on, the smell of gas can be concerning. It could mean that your gas pilot light is not adequately maintained and needs to be checked out by a professional. Another cause for this issue may be due to ventilation blockages in stovetop vents or blocked filters. If you suspect it’s an issue with ventilation, first check the range hood filter if present. The filter should have no sign of grease build-up as grease has been known to clog up the fan motor and restrict airflow. Additionally, make sure all vent openings around the stovetop are free from debris - crumbs, dust bunnies, etc. Cleaning these areas regularly can help ensure proper air flow. It’s also important to keep any furniture away from blocking any exhaust or intake vents as this too could disrupt air circulation which could lead to unpleasant smells when using your oven. If you still detect a strong odor when operating the oven after taking these steps then it would be best to contact a qualified technician who can further inspect your system and resolve any issues with your appliance and/or ventilation systems.

Frequently Asked Questions

  How Can I Prevent A Gas Smell When My Oven Is On? If you're experiencing a gas smell when your oven is on, there are several cooking methods and ventilation issues that may be the cause. To prevent this from happening again in the future, make sure to always use a fan or vent above the stovetop while cooking and avoid using higher temperatures than necessary for baking or roasting. Additionally, keep an eye out for any loose seals around the oven door and check if it's properly connected to a gas line. If all else fails, consider calling an expert technician who can help identify and resolve any underlying problems with your oven safely. What Types Of Maintenance Do I Need To Do To My Oven To Prevent The Smell Of Gas? To prevent the smell of gas from your oven, proper maintenance is key! Regular inspections and ensuring proper ventilation are important to keep an eye on. If you don't already have a plan in place for regular checks, it's time to put one together. This would involve making sure that all parts of your oven are clean and free of blockages, as well as checking any vents and filters regularly. By doing this simple upkeep, you can help avoid any unpleasant smells coming from your oven. What Are The Safety Risks Of Having A Gas Smell When My Oven Is On? When it comes to the safety risks of having an oven on, there are several things you should be aware of. Firstly, if your oven is running at too high a temperature, this could be dangerous and can even lead to fires in some cases. Secondly, gas leaks from appliances such as stoves and ovens can cause carbon monoxide poisoning which is incredibly serious and needs to be dealt with straight away. So it's important that you keep an eye on the temperature of your oven and make sure any potential gas smells are investigated quickly and properly. What Is The Best Way To Detect A Gas Leak In My Oven? If you're wondering how to detect a gas leak in your oven, the best way to start is by making sure it was properly installed. This includes checking for ventilation issues that could be causing the problem. If after doing this and you still suspect there may be a gas leak, contact a professional who can come out and inspect it for you. They will know exactly what needs to be done to make sure your oven is safe and functioning correctly. Does The Gas Smell When My Oven Is On Indicate A Serious Problem? It's normal for your oven to emit a faint gas smell when it is on, but if the smell is strong or lingers after you turn off the oven then there could be a serious problem. Possible causes of this include faulty wiring, inadequate air circulation and even a gas leak. If you are noticing an unusually strong or persistent smell coming from your oven, it is best to take action right away and call a professional to diagnose and repair any potential issues quickly and safely.

Conclusion

The smell of gas when your oven is on can be a sign that something isn't quite right. Taking the time to do regular maintenance and detect any potential gas leaks is essential for safety and peace of mind. It's also important to remember that if you're ever in doubt about what might be causing the smell, it's always best to consult a professional who specializes in oven repair or replacement. In short, taking preventative measures now will help ensure that your oven functions correctly and safely in the future. Read the full article

[1860gellimited]

Forge Build Part III: Finishing the Forge

Painting the Forge

Using high temp primer and paint (rated at 1500°F) I painted the forge. I followed the instructions on the cans (2 coats each if I recall correctly). After the paint was on and dried, the instructions say to cure the paint in an oven. Since my wife didn’t want this beauty in her new oven, I got out the heat gun and slowly moved it around the forge. This paint has held up really well over time. The key is having the patience, which is hard for me at times.

Insulating the Forge

I lined the forge with a special ceramic fiber forge insulation, two 1″ thick layers. It isn’t cheap but very necessary (link to it on Amazon at the bottom). Once in the forge, I lightly sprayed water to the inside surface and I then thinned some ITC-100 refractory cement with water. The wetting of the insulation helps the cement adhere to the insulation. It is also best to dab it on with a brush and not use strokes. Keep the refractory cement stored properly as it will be used again. Once in a while, you will need to touch up as it is brittle and its good to have around for that.

Be sure to follow ALL of the safety instructions with the insulation, which includes wearing gloves and a respirator.

You can put the firebricks on the bottom before or after the cement coating. I put them in prior and it worked fine. These come in a box of 6 and I used two. If you ever use borax flux (for forge welding) it will wear on the bricks over time. Having extra around never hurt.

Firing the Forge

With the forge done, I went outside and fired it up. I was a bit nervous and excited before the initial firing, but I kept safety at the forefront of my thoughts. I put the tank as far back as possible, and I lit it by putting in a small piece of scrap wood that I lit with a torch and then slowly let the gas in.

Now I am more comfortable and light it directly with the MAPP torch. Before lighting, I set the system pressure to about 10 PSI before opening the valves to the burners. Once pressurized, I drop the chokes on the burners and expose the intakes, insert the end of the MAPP torch (it has a curved burner so my hands with gloves on are off to the side) and open the main gas valve then the burner valves.

When I shut it down, I make sure to close the chokes, disconnect the gas, and let the forge sit and cool. I make sure to not start it up if I don’t have the time to hang around while it cools, which isn’t fast.

I know this isn’t very detailed, but a long read (it took even longer to make) but I hope you enjoyed it. If you want to build your own, be safe, I am not responsible for your actions. This is how I went about making mine.

Source : https://althoffwoodshop.com/blog/forge-build-part-iii-finishing-the-forge

[mayonnaisevirtuoso]

soup eat is SOUP are have dinner for dinner breakfast lunch snack soup is eat SOUOP stir with spoon lick up with tone druink swallow and nourish into the floorboards get table put SOUP in bowl have drink eat warm soup spoon warm eat is meal have door lick door up soup with your spoon warm spoon have eat soup for carrots vegatable matater vitamin a mashed powtatoo eat a soup and then have is are soup for your soup when have is around round bowl eat lots of a then are soup eat have bowol table food floor lick up with tonue or eat out of spoon blow on it first it's hot eat is soup are good is foodo good for human s animals and bugs do be eating of drink soup when you warm on ooven with stirring ladle headt to a hot temperature so it's hot but blow on it beofre you put it in your mouth with a spoon or rlicki t up with your tongue soak it into the floor or carpet under the neath underneath the carpet but not the gaucamole never guacamole the only couusp eat unless guacamole soup i guess but better carrot potato meat vegatable broth eat when bot not bang on heada but stir on burner of over gas oven or electric oven is okay remember to use napkin maybe eating while is soup eat are sis dodor eat athe door go into to invite friends to have SOUP is are ieat is are are soup the when to soup not in nose but in so the your tongue you can lick it up with or also oeat aof out of a spoon or like drink with a spoon too don't drink the spoon with your eyes nos eor mouth just eat the soup with your face but soup are is have SOUP dinner when do you don't burn yourself missing school soup u burns bad situation just blow on it before you eat it by out of spoon ofr oro by just licking it up animals can't eat spoons but they can eat souop so give serve soup for your friends is the door window even really good window soup glass soup eat except no eating bglass berfect for babies animals elederly adults teenagers stupuid if drop on floor but seat still could eat or drink the soup every day you want is to have make souop and have carrots and potatoes and lemon maybe if you soup lelmon lime carbonation alongside soup if like soda next to soup just no soda is dous soup only SOUP is soup eat with potato or next to onion or put onion in the soup have is are the floorboards smell like soup because floor soup the floor is hungry for your soup and it will eat your soup and the floor is watching your every move because specifically it wants your soup and for not any other reason when soup is are SOUP have tasaty good food the we the table is are might be watching but only sometimes just soup blow on before eat theh soup the watch calendar a for the soup day when day soup make soup the flor is watching me make soup floor needs soup lick it up and give rest to the floor theh trees ahve died to make the carrot s that go in theh goups soup and

[skarabrae-stone]

Do your characters have running water?

I keep seeing this in fics, and I thought it was kind of funny so I thought I’d write a post about it.

So. Your characters are in a rural cabin, far from anywhere... and the power goes out. How do they cope? And more specifically, do they have running water?

Well, unless they have a generator, and depending on how rural the cabin is... the answer is probably no.

You see, most houses that aren’t in a village, city, or suburb aren’t connected to the public water supply-- they have a private well. And if you have a private well, the pump probably runs on electricity. So once the power goes out, you’ll have a few gallons in the pipes that you can use, but once you’ve used that up, the pump won’t pump any more water and you’ve run out.

So, what do your characters do? That depends on why the power went out in the first place.

If the power went out due to a snow or rainstorm, the characters can collect water, either by putting a pot/bucket/mixing bowl out to collect rain, or by scooping snow into a pot and heating it inside. If they have a bit of water to spare, it’s best to mix that with the snow so the pan doesn’t scorch (snow has a LOT of air in it).

If they knew the storm was coming, they might have collected water first. If they were REALLY prepared, they might have filled a 5 gallon bucket with water so they can flush the toilet.

If the power went out for a different reason (say someone ran into an electric pole, for example), they may be in more trouble. They might need to drive into town to get water or ask a neighbor for help (if that’s possible), or they might need to rely on whatever bottled drinks they have with them. Again, they will have some water left in the pipes, so they won’t run out immediately. They definitely won’t be taking any showers, though, and they’ll need to avoid flushing the toilet!

If the power outage is due to a blown fuse or tripped circuit, they can replace the fuse or flip the circuit breaker to restore power (although this might not be very narratively exciting.)

If they’re really stranded and have no access to rainwater or snowmelt, they may need to go looking for a spring or stream, or use plastic wrap to collect condensation for drinking water. (It depends on how survival-y you want this story to get!) Remember that they can boil water to clean it.

Side note: If they have a gas stove, the stove-top will still work even with the power out. They will just need to use a match or lighter to light the burners. The oven won’t work, though.

That’s about it-- I had actually never experienced water that didn’t shut off when the power went out until I was living in a city for college, so I’m always a little bit confused when it happens in fics. If the fic is set in a city, though, that’s perfectly realistic!

I hope at least a few people find this helpful! :)

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Sarita!

Red, point, defense

CW: Pet whump, some noncon implications (vague)

"So you played well, then?" She sets a plate down in front of the hungry teenager, who picks up the enormous slice of pizza and folds it in half, like some kind of bastard taco, and takes an enormous bite. Tomato sauce stains the corners of his mouth, and she smiles, as if her entire existence revolves around making sure he eats.

Her master's son nods, grinning at her with tomato sauce smeared on her face like fresh blood before he remembers to close his mouth and starts chewing, picking up a glass and drinking from the cup of Sprite. She watches the bubbles move along the glass, his throat bobbing.

Then he exhales. There's a pause, and he burps, and then laughs, blushing with embarrassment, while she pretends she didn't notice, politely waiting for his reply.

"Yeah," He says, finally, almost breathless. He looks folded up, just sitting on a chair, in his red jersey and shorts. His long legs and arms look like spiderlegs, like his father's legs. She doesn't think about that. She just moves until her back is against the kitchen counter and crosses her arms. She's in pajama shorts and a large button-up matching shirt. "I made a three-pointer, which was pretty cool. Mostly I'm good at defense. Well, not good. You know, I'm not... great at basketball, but like, I'm definitely getting better."

"Good!" She grins at him, entertaining the idea of feeling actual pride. Her hair, pulled tight into the bun at the nape of her neck that the master likes best, makes her scalp ache.

She ignores that like she ignores everything else she doesn't like. It picks at her, though, inside her thoughts. She isn't as good at ignoring what she doesn't like as she used to be.

"Yeah, I hope I get even better. I mean, maybe." He shrugs, and somehow half the pizza slice is gone. Is he just inhaling them? She's never quite understood how so much food could go into such a lanky boy. But it's a little fun, watching him grow.

She wishes she'd been a Domestic instead. It would have been nice, to have everything in her life be about this boy. He's a good kid. He's good to her.

Unlike his father.

Speak of the Devil, she thinks, her joy souring as she hears the telltale thump on the stairs.

Her master comes down with a half-cocked grin, changed into sweatpants and a t-shirt himself. He ruffles his son's hair as he moves past behind him, and the boy hunches over, scowling a little.

The pizza is gone. She puts another slice on his plate without needing to be asked, and then turns to put a slice on a plate for her master.

He comes up behind her, and she stiffens, eyes closing as she feels him press against her back, leaning in to kiss her neck, over her collar.

I hate you, she hisses with all the venom she can imagine inside her mind.

"Maybe next time I'll bring you to the game," He murmurs against her ear. His teeth graze the shell of it and she tries to tell herself it feels good. It doesn't feel good. It never feels good.

"That would be nice," She replies, and she's almost honest. If she could just get out of the house, she could make a break for it. This house is a cage.

She stares at the pizza box settled over the oven. Underneath, the burners, ready with a turn of a knob to flicker into a gas-fed flame. She imagines the fire dancing, weaving and bobbing, back and forth, back and forth.

His hand runs over her ass, fingers toying up under the hem of her shorts.

"Be a good girl and I'll think about it," He whispers.

"Dad, Jesus Christ," His son groans, covering his eyes with one hand. She thinks about the son's white teeth, red with tomato sauce, red with blood. "Don't grope the fucking Romantic while I'm right here at the table."

She sets her jaw, closing her eyes, imagining the flame.

"Fair enough." Her master steps back, giving her ass a smack loud enough to nearly echo through the room, jerking her forwards with her hips banging into the edge of the stovetop. She bites down on her lower lip until the pain there is greater than the pain from the soon-to-be-forming bruise. "Sorry, kiddo. Can't help myself. You'll see for yourself one day, to be sure."

"Gross. Wrong son, Dad. Unless about three things about her change wildly, i'm not interested."

Not because she's what she is. Not because she's his father's pet, not because underneath all of it she has the sneaking suspicion she is a human fucking being. Oh, no.

No, it's because she doesn't have a dick that he won't think about it. That's all.

She keeps forgetting he's as bad as his father.

Thankfully, he keeps reminding her.

She hands her master his pizza and puts a smile on her face, and in her mind she thinks about how easy it would be to turn the gas on and light a match.

[babbushka]

5 Times Flip Ruined Valentine’s Day (And 1 Time He Didn’t)

Flip Zimmerman x Reader (Darling Jewish Wife AU)

11k ; cw: mild angst, mostly fluff & humor, mentions of baby zimmerman, mentions of war, mentions of undercover with the klansmen, brief hospitalization (sex injury), NSFW (PIV, fingering, praise kink, begging, finger sucking, multiple-orgasms, mild lactation kink, implied marathon sex) 

Available on AO3

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

L is for the way you look at me

February 14th, 1962. Flip Zimmerman is twenty-three years old and has finally worked up the courage to ask you to be his girlfriend. After months of pining, months of agonizing, months of Jimmy makin’ fun of him for being such a chicken, he finally asked and you stunned him by saying yes straight away. It’s his first Valentine’s Day with you, but more than that, it’s his first Valentine’s Day ever. Flip has it all planned out, he’s going to make sure that this memory is a perfect one, wanting to prove to you that he can be not only your best friend, but the best boyfriend.

Oh, if only life were that easy.

It had started out innocently enough, at least he likes to tell himself that. Not wanting to go too big too fast and run out of room on the very first holiday, Flip decided to keep things simple. He was going to cook you dinner. A real dinner too, with all five courses and a dessert. You didn’t know this, but Flip had been taking cooking lessons secretly after his shift at the lumber mill twice a week. He felt bad, knowing that you always do the cooking whenever you’re together, and dammit he plans on marrying you one day, so he figures he better get his act together now. His Ma had even given him the go-ahead to use the good china.

He doesn’t know when exactly, it went wrong.

“Hey Jim, are you busy?” Flip’s just finishing up his shift at the mill, when he calls his best friend to try and get some extra muscle, “I’m about to head to the market, help me with these groceries?”

He had told Jimmy about the plan of course, mostly because he told him everything. He loved telling you everything too, but this was one of those things that he had made Jimmy swear to secrecy, so as to not fuck up the surprise.

“Sure thing, pick me up?” Jimmy’s cheerful voice crackled over the phone line, and with an affirmative reply, Flip is practically bounding out of the little office where he works, and is grabbing his keys.

Ten minutes later, Jimmy is in the passenger seat, reaching into Flip’s jacket pocket for the grocery list, wondering what the hell Flip needs his help for.

“So what’s on the list anyway – holy shit this is a lot of stuff, Flip.” Jimmy’s eyes widen comically when the grocery list seemingly never ends, and he tries to make heads or tails of Flip’s shitty handwriting.

“I know! I’m doing a soup and a salad and then making these bread rolls that I know she’ll love and then for the appetizer course I’m doing – ” Flip doesn’t catch the concern in Jimmy’s voice, so focused on driving down to the market, focused on his mission.

“Uhh, are you sure about all this? Don’t you remember what happened that time you tried to boil water?” Jimmy very gently cuts Flip off, only keeping his best friend’s interests at heart.

Flip, for his part, sours and shoots him a glare, snatching the list back from his friend’s hand.

“Shut the fuck up, I’ve been taking lessons. I got this, now would you help me find everything? I figure it’ll be faster with the two of us, and I really need to get started before she comes over.” There’s a distinct edge to his voice that’s the closest thing to panic that Jimmy’s ever heard – at least since the day that Flip broke his clavicle on that snowboarding accident a decade ago.

Once in the grocery store, Flip can’t help but feel cocky. Between the two of them, everything on the list is found with time to spare, which is good because now that he’s really doing this, Flip won’t deny he’s got butterflies. It has to be perfect, he thinks, it just has to.

“Alright that’ll be everything I think – oh!” At the checkout register, Flip quickly grabs a big chocolate bar of your favorite kind, and adds it to the already enormous pile of shit, “And this too, please.”

Jimmy helps Flip load all the paper bags into the car, and then is a good friend and helps bring everything inside the house. Flip doesn’t let him stick around to help, instead shooing Jimmy out with a big plate of his Ma’s homemade cookies as a payment for all the help, and finally letting out a deep breath that he didn’t even know he had been holding.

“Okay Phil, you can do this.” He whispers to himself, “It’s just like class.”

And surprisingly, it was just like class. Flip prepared all the vegetables and got all the dishes starting in the correct order so they’d be finished in time for your arrival – which was in exactly half an hour. He doesn’t know how the fuck he managed to pull this off, but he’s not about to go tempting fate or anything, so he decides that now would be a good time to freshen up so he doesn’t smell like raw onions when you get there.

Flip agonizes over what to wear, eventually settling on a nice dress shirt and some slacks, willing his hair to part neatly. He hopes you don’t think he looks stupid, he – the doorbell rings, and he sucks in a sharp breath to himself.

Without another second’s hesitation, Flip moves to the front door and opens it, momentarily stunned by your beauty. He should have lit up a cigarette, he thinks, because all of a sudden his hands are shaking, just from the sight of you.

“Hi.” He blurts out inelegantly, but you only give him a big smile.

“Hi, you look really handsome.” You bat your lashes and bite the inside of your cheek, and some of the tension in Flip’s shoulders slip away, because he realizes that you’re nervous too.

Taking in the sight of you, it’s very clear that you tried hard to look nice for him, something that blows Flip’s fuckin’ mind. How’d he ever get so lucky to have a girl like you want to be his? Your nails are freshly done, and he’s pretty sure he’s never seen you in this dress before, you even put on some perfume. The scent of it curls up in his nostrils, and he tries to think of something to say so that he isn’t just staring at you.

“You too.” Is the genius move he comes up with, immediately tripping over his tongue, “I mean, you’re beautiful, not that you’re not also handsome, if you want to be, I – ”

“Can I come in?” You give him a break, and he’s grateful for it.

Opening the door wider for you, he steps to the side and mentally kicks himself for being such an idiot.

“Yes. Yes please do, please come in.” Flip tries his best to remember the manners that he was raised on, although it’s difficult when you’re so beautiful and you’re here and you’re his girlfriend. “Let me take your coat?”

“Sure, thanks.” You grin, before your smile falters and a deep concerning frown dimples your forehead, “Say, something smells…um…Flip is something burning?”

Flip frowns too then, filling his lungs, trying to figure out what you’re talking about when it hits him --

“My roast!” Flip shouts, bolting into the kitchen.

What had just been a perfectly cooked dinner not thirty minutes prior, was now a large grease fire, with flames licking up high high high into the air, threatening to touch the ceiling and spread across the kitchen.

“Fuck – fuck shit! God dammit!” Flip frantically begins searching for something, mind going into overdrive to put the fire out. He grabs a bag of something, he doesn’t even know what it is, flour maybe? All he remembers from the class is to never ever throw water on a grease fire, otherwise he’d really be in trouble.

“Oh my god the stove!” The soup on the stove has boiled over and hit the gas burners, there’s smoke coming out of the oven in thick dark plumes, and you scream, “Where’s your fire extinguisher?!”

“Under the sink!” Flip remembers all of a sudden, and lunges to the cabinet under the sink, yanking on the pin and letting the white frothy foam explode out of the nozzle.

Flip pushes you to stand behind him as he puts the fire out, like some hero in an action movie, but instead of praising his heroism, you run out of the room to the phone in the hallway and dial the emergency number.

“I’m going to call the fire department, the flames could be inside the wall.” You shout to him, opening up the windows to air the place out as you go.

Ten minutes later, the fire department is crawling all through his house, and every single one of the neighbors is standing outside on their front lawns like the nosy people they are. Flip is sitting with you on the front porch, his head hung low between his knees, as you rub his back.

“God my Ma’s gonna fuckin’ murder me.” He groans, praying that the fire didn’t get big enough to ruin the whole kitchen.

“We’ll explain to her that it was just an accident.” You lean your head against his shoulder and keep him calm, a soothing balm that cools all his frayed edges. “We’re okay, and that’s what matters most, right?”

He looks at you then, cups a hand to your cheek and gives you a sheepish sigh.

“Yeah.” He grumbles, really desperate for a cigarette now, “I’m real fuckin’ sorry sweetheart, I had it all figured out and then…”

One of the firefighters walks past him, and Flip just gestures to him with a sigh.

But you, somehow, somehow you’re an angel and all you do is laugh, nudging his side with your elbow, making him look at you with an eyebrow raised. Of all the reactions that he had expected you to have, laughter wasn’t one of them.

“Hey, at least we’ll have a story to tell the grandkids one day.” You offer, and in that one little sentence, Flip’s heart beats double time.

“You’re not dumping me?” His eyes widen in surprise, because he was sure, so sure that that’s where this fucking day was going, he wouldn’t blame you if you had, he almost burned the house down after all.

“Dumping you! After how hard you worked and tried? No way.” You shake your head, almost sounding offended by the thought. “In fact, I think it makes me want to date you even more now. Just promise me next year, we stick to flowers or chocolates, okay?”

“Oh, speaking of which – ” Flip remembers, reaches around for something in his pocket, “Happy Valentine’s Day.”

It’s pitiful really, the way that the chocolate bar from the grocery store has slightly melted and broken while being in his back pocket this entire time, but he figures, no better time than right now to give it to you.

And even though you’re laughing, your arms corralling him into a tight hug to kiss the side of his face and reassure him that you think the gesture was very sweet, Flip still can’t help but feel…well…burned.

O is for the only one I see

February 14th, 1967. Flip Zimmerman is thirty years old and officially (!!) your fiancée. It only took him five years to propose, but you knew Flip, and you knew how hard and long he thought about things like this, wanting everything to be perfect. And it had been, the trip to Egypt was a dream come true! The wedding was set for next month, March 18th to be exact, but Flip didn’t want to rest on that excitement to not give you the incredible Valentine’s Day he’s always dreamed of giving you.

True to his word, the previous few holidays have been spent very lowkey, a quiet night at a nice restaurant, dinner prepared by someone that wasn’t him, chocolates and champagne and big bouquets of roses.

But things were different now, he wasn’t just some lowly boyfriend who worked at the family lumber mill – no, now he was a Detective with the CSPD and more importantly, your fiancée and that had to mean something. He wanted to prove to you that he wasn’t going to start slacking now that you’ve agreed to tie the knot with him.

“Ketsl? It’s me.” Flip’s just finished changing out of his work clothes in the rec room, into something more put together for the surprise date he’s about to take you on.

“Hi honey! I’m almost ready, I’ll be all done by the time you come home.” Your voice is bright and fills him with warmth from the other end of the line.

“Remember to wear something comfortable.” Flip flicks the ash of his cigarette into the ashtray on his desk, looking at the picture of you he keeps framed right next to the phone, that way it’s like you’re really there, even when you’re not.

“Will you tell me where we’re going?” You have that pleading tone in your voice that usually Flip can never deny, but today is a different day, a special day.

“No way, then it won’t be a surprise, would it?” He chuckles into the receiver, and you groan playfully, eventually conceding.

“Okay, I love you, see you soon.” You blow kisses into the phone, and Flip shoots glares to any and everyone who dares to make fun of him for that.

So what if he’s in love? Who could fault him for that?

He had it all figured out. After the disaster that was the grease fire, Flip decided that this year there would be no adventurous cooking. Since that Valentine’s Day, he had moved into a small house right off 21st Street with you, and the last fucking thing he wanted was to burn down that kitchen too.

Instead, Flip had gotten tickets to a play you had been dying to see at the Denver Center for the Preforming Arts. It was a bit of a drive, but the trip would be worth it, especially considering the seats he was able to get thanks to a friend over at Denver PD. He was going to take you out to a nice dinner beforehand, which meant if you were going to make it in time, he needed to hit the road now.

His car makes it halfway to his house, when there’s a strange rattle that comes from somewhere inside the dash.

“Excuse me?” Flip says out loud to himself, praying that what he thinks is happening, isn’t happening right now.

A light goes off on the dash, and then another, and then somehow another light, all lighting up on the dash, as his car rattles and makes all sorts of noises that he knows he can’t fix with his tire-jack.

“Oh no,” He groans, as the car comes to a rolling stop, the engine failing for whatever fucking reason, “No no no.”

Glancing at the clock on the dashboard, he’s already doing the mental math and knowing that he’s going to be late – if he gets home to you at all. To avoid risking an accident, Flip manages to urge the car to the side of the road, and he chucks the flashers on.

“This cannot fucking be happening, not now.” Flip gets out of the car, goes around to the front and opens up the hood. It wasn’t like he didn’t know how to fix things, he was handy and took mechanics in high school, but shit high school was some fuckin’ time ago and he doesn’t even know where to look first, anger and frustration bubbling up inside his chest. “How the fuck am I – Flip, remain calm. De-escalate the situation.”

Two seconds later, he still can’t figure it out, and he slams the hood shut with a loud, “God fucking dammit!”

There’s only one choice, Flip knows. He has to walk to the nearest gas station and use their phone for help. Luckily, he knows of one not too far away, you always give them a gift basket of homemade treats for the winter holidays.

As he walks down the sidewalk, leaving his car there on the street without much other choice, he feels…something.

A light plip of water on his shoulder.

Dread creeps up into his throat, because that plip turns to a downpour in five seconds flat, and Flip really had to just stand there, take a moment, and try not to scream out his frustration as the rain pours and pours and pours out of fucking nowhere.

By the time he makes it to the gas station, he is soaked to the bone, and livid.

The door to the gas station swings open and Flip steps inside, taking deep breaths to try and preserve some dignity that he has left. Of course, he had an umbrella, but it was in the car, and he wasn’t about to double back when he was already wet. The look on his face must have been murderous, because the cashier at the counter approaches him tentatively.

“Hey man, are you okay?” The guy asks. Really he’s a kid, probably not more than sixteen, and Flip composes himself as he lights up a cigarette now that he’s sure the drenching downpour won’t put it out immediately.

“My car broke down a couple miles up the road, can I use your payphone?” He sucks down a couple drags, pulling out his wallet and fishing for a few coins.

“The payphone is out of order.” The kid replies, and Flip freezes, letting that information settle into his bones.

“Of course it is.” He mutters, teeth nearly pinching through the cigarette that he’s now smoking like it’s the last one he’ll ever have.

The kid notices Flip’s darkening mood, and thinks for a minute or two, before noticing one of the other people in the gas station.

“But hey! My buddy here is a mechanic and drives a tow truck. He can give you a lift, can’t you Tony?” The kid offers on his friend Tony’s behalf, and Flip tries not to get his hopes up.

Tony, another teenager who looks like he just got his license, maybe a little older, pops up from around one of the aisles with his arms full of chips.

“Sure thing sir, where you headed?” Tony smiles brightly, and Flip just smokes smokes smokes.

“21st street.” He offers, praying that this kid knows where that is.

By the way his eyes light up, Flip thinks that maybe, just maybe, his luck is turning.

As it would turn out, Flip’s house isn’t too far from the mechanic shop that Tony works at. On the way to his house, they strike up a deal to get the car looked at and fixed up before the day was over.

It’s still pouring rain, Tony pulls the tow truck up to the curb and Flip opens the door, reaching over to shake his hand.

“Thanks, I appreciate this a lot.” Flip says, feeling much less angry and now sort of…defeated.

“No problem, I’ll give you a call when we’ve fixed her up.” Tony gives Flip’s hand a hearty shake, “And thanks again for paying for my snacks, that was pretty cool.”

They part ways, and he only gets two steps closer to the front door when it flies open and you’re rushing out into the rain to hug him, holding him close.

“Phil!” You bury your face in his chest, and automatically Flip’s arms wrap around you tight. “Oh thank god I was so fucking worried about you! It’s been hours! What happened?”

You pull away enough to cup his cheeks in your hand and search his gaze, eyes wide and worried, and Flip’s chest sinks. It’s like the first Valentine’s Day all over again, he sighs to himself, feeling just as shitty now as he had when it was a disaster then.

“The car’s in the shop, I’m sorry ketsl, I tried.” Flip shrugs, not knowing what else to do, or say.

“I know handsome, I know.” You stretch up onto your tiptoes to press a deep kiss to his lips, before grasping his hand in your own and tugging the both of you out of the rain, announcing, “But I planned for this.”

“How the hell could you have planned for this?” Flip mumbles, but you just throw a smile over your shoulder to him, trying to get him into a better mood.

“I had a feeling you’d do something extravagant, and we both know how that tends to turn out – ”

“Hey.”

“So I made us a special dinner and figured we could watch those old black and white movies together like we used to do all the time. Maybe have some champagne in the bubble bath as a pregame.” You waggle a brow, as the both of you find shelter in your front room, door locked safely behind you.

Water drips from your hems onto the floor, and you reach for a very conveniently placed towel that happens to be right by the door, offering it to him.

He has never wanted to marry someone more, in his entire life, than he wants to marry you.

“Next year will be better.” He promises, kissing you sweetly, before taking you up on that promise of a bubble bath.

V is very, very extraordinary

February 14th, 1968. Flip Zimmerman is thirty-one years old and celebrating the holiday, the first Valentine’s Day together since you’ve been married, overseas.

This year was not, in any way shape or form, better.

He listens to the tape you’ve sent him, plays it over and over again just to hear your voice, hoping to drown out the harrowing experience of war just beyond his headphones. He listens to your voice, and wonders if you’re relistening to the voicemails he’s left you once upon a time, wonders if you’re having dinner with your friends, if Jimmy brought you those flowers like he had asked.  

He rewinds the tape, but he knows it’s not the same.

E is even more than anyone that you adore can

February 14th, 1972. Flip Zimmerman is thirty-five and finally back home from Vietnam. He surprises you one sunny day last summer, and the two of you are practically in each other’s back pockets every day thereafter.

There is no place Flip would rather be, than with you. To anyone who didn’t know you, it might look suspiciously lovey-dovey, but no, that’s really just how you are now. You nearly lost him over there, in the war. You went three years without him by your side – you didn’t want to be more than a foot away from him if you could manage it.

This Valentine’s Day, Flip has arranged everything so that you could do just that. He had a fantastic fucking date planned for you – nothing too fancy, but special nonetheless. It was going to be a complete throw-back, he’ll take you to the diner where they now serve the Zimmerman Special -- a combo of the sub sandwiches you always order, and a chocolate milkshake to share; you can’t get the sandwiches on their own, they have to be ordered together, something that always makes your heart flutter – and then afterwards, he got passes for the mini-golf place, one of the very first dates he had taken you on all those years ago when you were first stepping into more-than-friends territory.

You’re about ready to walk out the door, and Flip is right behind you when the phone rings.

Exchanging glances, Flip seriously is tempted to ignore the phone altogether, but you raise a brow at him and he lets out a disgruntled groan, dragging his feet over to the hallway and picking the phone up.

“Zimmerman, it’s Harry.” His boss’ voice has a tone to it that already has Flip developing a localized headache right in his temple.

“Why do you sound like you’re about to give me bad news.” Flip grumbles, and Harry just sighs.

“Because I have bad news.” Harry replies, and you already seem to know what’s coming, because you close the door with a sad sigh and step out of your shoes, “Look, I’m really sorry, but Ron just gave us some new intel, looks like the boys are having some sort of get together at the Bloomin’ Tulip, and we need you there.”

He was on this case with a rookie named Ron, something about infiltrating the local klan chapter. He wasn’t happy about it, not in the fucking least, for a lot of reasons. The men were vile, and he hated spending any more time with them than he needed to, and he had really fucking hoped that he wouldn’t need to today.

“Isn’t that a strip club?” You pipe up having overheard the name of the establishment, and Flip blinks, gearing up to start shouting at his boss.

“Flip I know it’s not how you want to spend the night but – ”

“Are you out of your fucking mind? It’s Valentine’s Day! I’m not going to a strip club with a bunch of neo-nazis on Valentine’s Day! Besides, they know I’m married.” Flip seethes, the hand that’s not holding the phone gesturing wildly even though Harry can’t see it.

You light up a cigarette and hand it to him with a kiss to his cheek, knowing he’s going to need it.

“Felix and a couple of the other guys are married too, and they’re going. I’m sorry Flip but we need to know if they’re planning anything serious.” Harry really does sound apologetic, and at the end of the day, he is Flip’s boss.

Flip looks at you, and you look back at him and give him a sad smile, encouraging him to go with a little nod of your head. You knew what you were signing up for when Flip asked your thoughts on him becoming a detective, and you had agreed all those years ago. It was part of the territory, and you weren’t about to make him feel bad for protecting the town you loved so dearly – for keeping you safe.

“When?” Flip sighs into the receiver, and he can practically feel the relief in Harry’s sigh.

“You have to be there in an hour.” Harry replies quickly, already spouting off directions and whatever other bullshit that Flip’s not listening to.

“Tell Bridges I’m pissed about this.” Flip eventually cuts him off, and hangs up the fucking phone without even so much as a goodbye.

With the phone slammed back onto the wall, Flip smokes his cigarette for a second and lets his shoulders sag. He really couldn’t catch a fucking break, could he? Turning to face you, wondering where you went, he finds you settling on the couch, your pretty coat hung up on the hook, reaching for a book to start leafing through.

“Ketsl I – ” Flip’s heart sinks, and he has half a mind to call Harry back and tell him that he isn’t going to go, but you shake your head.

“Go, it’s okay. Work is more important.�� You reach a hand out for him, and he takes a few long strides over to the couch, kneels in front of you and holds it reverently between his palms.

Flip rests his head on your thigh, pressing small kisses to your knuckles, hating this.

“No, it’s really fucking not.” He grumbles, anxious about the thought of leaving you. “How about this: I’ll go for just a couple hours, make some excuse, and then come right back to you and we’ll go on that date?”

He’s really going to give Ron a hard time about this, Flip thinks, when you just pat his cheek lightly and pull out your wallet from the purse you’ve left on the coffee table.

“Do you need some singles?” You rifle through the thick stack of cash and count out roughly fifty dollars.

“Why do you have a ton of singles?” Flip frowns, confused, and the playful suspicion in his tone gets you giggling, a sound that rushes through Flip like the breaking of a dam.

“Don’t worry about it.” You reply, mock-defensively, before you roll your eyes and explain, “It’s from the bake sale, trade me for bigger bills?”

Flip kisses you, a loud smacking smooch right on your cheek, and fishes out his own wallet, not wanting to steal money from the bake sale. Whatever he spends on the case he’ll get back from the station, but still, that money was to go to the children’s hospital.

“I love you more than anything in the entire fucking world and I will be back as soon as I possibly can, I promise.” Flip rushes to say, as the clock chimes, letting him know he’s got to leave now if he wants to make it in time.

“Just go.” You smile, trying to keep the disappointment out of your voice. You kiss Flip once more, and then shoo him away with a parting, “And be respectful to the girls there!”

“Of course! I love you.” Flip calls back as he leaves the house, running back to give you one last kiss, before leaving for real.

Flip has nothing against strip clubs, not at all. He knows and likes pretty much all the dancers, from his days as a rookie himself when he would be the only one around the station to calls on his late night shifts. They know and trust him, and he’s thankful for that; especially when they see he’s clearly undercover, and know to keep an eye on him without making it too obvious.

The klansmen are exactly how Flip had expected them to be – obnoxious, loud, rude. They don’t tip well, spend most of the time jeering at the women and the rest of the time talking shit about their wives or girlfriends. Felix at one point asks Flip to join in, almost a dare to prove how masculine he is, how much of one of them he is, and the words burn in the back of Flip’s throat as he lies through his teeth.

He hates this, he hates them, everything is too loud and the beer is warm, and Flip’s having a terrible fucking time.

He also has no idea how much time has actually passed, because it’s too dark to see his watch, and there aren’t any clocks on the wall. At one point, Ivanhoe decides to get a little too handsy with one of the dancers, violating rule number one of the club, and gets the entire group of them thrown out. Flip had never been happier to get thrown out of an establishment in his life, and used that as an excuse to leave, claiming an early day at work in the morning.

When he gets back in his car and sees that it’s somehow after midnight, he curses the entire fucking way back home.

He opens the front door carefully, not wanting to come home making all sorts of noise in case you’re asleep. There’s an anchor in his stomach, he feels sick, he’s so fucking annoyed with how this day has gone, and all he wants is to be back with you

“(Y/N)?” Flip whispers, making his way through the house. “Are you awake? It’s me.”

He finds you on the couch right where you had been when he left, and despite the valiant effort you must have given to try and stay up for him, it’s undeniable that you’re dozing. Head resting on the arm of the couch, you’ve got your arms wrapped around one of the throw pillows, and Flip’s chest squeezes because he knows that should be him instead.

“Hmm?” You make a little noise as Flip’s arms scoop you up and hold you against his chest, turning off the lights on his way up the stairs.

“Shh, I gotcha honey-bunny.” Flip presses a kiss to the top of your head, feeling like the worst husband in the fucking world, “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay,” You snuggle into his chest some more, voice thick with sleep. “I ordered a pizza, I hope you don’t mind.”

“Of course I don’t, I can’t have my girl starving, can I?” Flip smiles weakly, bringing you into the bedroom and laying you gently down on the bed.

He tugs the stockings off your feet, works on unbuttoning your blouse to unhook your bra, knowing that must not have been comfortable. You, the spoiled princess that you are, don’t bother helping him, liking when he does all the work. Flip can’t even tease you for it tonight, the weight of how the holiday has been ruined heavy in his chest.

“The pizza place was cute, they made it in the shape of a heart.” You say, watching him with soft eyes.

“I’m going to make this up to you.” Flip promises, mind a little too exhausted to figure out exactly how he’s going to do that just yet.

“You’re here now, that’s what matters.” You shake your head, before groaning dramatically as you get off the bed much to Flip’s confusion, “Come on, let’s go shower.”

Flip checks the clock on the wall, it’s nearing up on one o’clock, and he’s sure a shower will just wake you up even further.

“You’re coming with me?” Flip asks, which is a stupid question because in the back of his tired mind, he knows that you always shower together.

“Well someone’s going to have to get the glitter out of your hair.” You give him a smile, and that stops Flip in his tracks.

“…Glitter?” Flip groans, yanking the bathroom door open and turning on the light switch, seeing how he’s completely and totally covered in the shimmery circles that he loathes probably more than anything for the way they never ever come off, “Aw fuck.”

You just laugh, and get the water running, and Flip feels like the luckiest sonofabitch that exists, even if he is covered in glitter.

Love is all that I can give to you

Love is more than just a game for two

Two in love can make it, take my heart and please don't break it

Love was made for me and you

February 14th, 1974. Flip Zimmerman is thirty-seven and is the proud father of two precious little angels, that he absolutely cannot fucking believe are his. Last Valentine’s Day was hectic with the kids being so little, but now that they weren’t so teenie tiny, he has arranged for them to be watched by his Ma for the evening.

She had of course agreed, because any opportunity she could spend with her grandchildren was a good one in her book, which let you and Flip have the evening alone together for the first time in a long time.

It was silly almost, how excited the two of you were to go out to a fancy steakhouse and have an expensive dinner, how hard you both laughed at the comedian that Flip had managed to get great seats for, even so far as being able to meet him after the show and get a photo with him.

You are still laughing about some of the jokes all the way back home, and Flip is trying his best not to feel cocky. Finally, after so many years of trying to have a good and special evening, he’s finally gotten to give it to you.

There’s some gifts waiting for you at the house that he can’t wait for you to open, but when he gets you through the door, you are on him like a bee on honey. Your hands don’t know where to settle, skimming across his shoulders, his chest, cupping his cheeks and tangling in his hair, desperate and excited in a way that makes Flip’s heart pound.

“You are so fucking sexy.” He breathes, crashing your lips to his, throwing the keys and your purse to the ground as he backs you against the door, as he holds you tight to him, licking into your mouth and working on getting you naked.

“Take me upstairs?” You moan as his teeth clamp down onto your shoulder and he sucks hickies all over your throat, head tipping back for him to get better access.

Flip groans, his cock rock hard in his slacks, and he smacks your ass to get you runnin’ up to the bedroom, chasing after you with a hearty laugh. He pinches at you and you squeak out laughter and yelps of your own, as he tackles you down to the mattress, mouth seeking yours at once.

“How’d I ever get so goddamn lucky, huh?” Flip shoves his hand into the waistband of your panties, two thick fingers pressing right up into your pussy, working eagerly to get you stretched and relaxed and ready for a good hard fucking, he grunts and groans as your pussy sucks his fingers deeper, “I’m going to make you come so fucking hard ketsl.”

“We have all night, I want you to make me come all over this house.” Your eyes glitter and sparkle in the lamp light of the bedroom, and he grins, feeling overheated in his clothes.

Pulling away much to your dissatisfaction, he works on getting himself naked, while you deal with your own clothes. He eyes you as you reveal yourself to him, and his dick twitches, wanting to thrust as far as it can go into your body, your perfect fucking body.  

“Oh I will, you better fucking believe I will,” He growls, yanking your ankle and pulling you across the bed with bright laughter. Flip climbs on top of you and resumes fingering you, “This pretty pussy’s in for a long night I hope you’re ready for my big hard cock.”

Your hands squeeze at his shoulders, traveling across his back, gripping him tight as your legs part and wrap around his hips. Flip lines himself up and begins to thrust inside your wet cunt, the pulsing heat throbbing around him and making him groan, the friction so good.

Moaning and sighing together, you gasp out loud as he builds up a speed that has you bouncing bouncing bouncing on the bed. He’s managed to find your gspot right away, and he wants to make good on his promise to get you fucked until you’re thoroughly and utterly wrecked – so he figures the more orgasms he can get out of you, the better.

Kissing you deeply, groaning into your mouth, he doesn’t realize how the way he’s pistoning his hips has you moving across the mattress, until you’re grasping at his shoulders with a surprised gasp, “Wait, Flip hold on we’re a little too close to the edge.”

He shakes his head and smiles down at you, wanting you to know that you’re always safe with him.

“I’ve got you baby, you don’t worry about a fucking thing – ” He starts saying, not realizing just how close you both really were, and with one particularly eager thrust, the two of you go toppling over the side entirely, landing with a loud thud on the floor.

Shit, he thinks, as he rolls off of you, scrambling to pull out and make sure you’re okay.

When he looks at you, expecting you to be laughing and scolding him and telling him all about how you were right, and instead sees a small trickle of blood across your forehead from where you’ve hit your head on the corner of the nightstand, his body runs cold.

“(Y/N)?” At once, he begs smacking lightly at your cheeks, a heaving feeling starting to rise up in his stomach as he shouts, “Oh my god, I killed my wife!”

Flip’s military training kicks in, and all he can think about is getting you to the hospital. He grabs a pair of pants off the floor and doesn’t even realize he’s put them on backwards, as he wraps you up in the sheet and runs with you down the stairs. His heart thuds and tears blur his eyes, but he swallows them down because you’re okay you have to be okay he doesn’t know what he’s going to do if you’re not fucking okay.

“Oh my god,” Flip manages to get the bleeding to stop by bunching up the sheet and pressing it against your forehead, and he keeps one hand on you as he speeds through every single red fucking light in Colorado Springs on his way to the emergency room, “Oh my god oh my fucking god.”  

The hospital isn’t too far, and thankfully him being a police officer gives him some special perks – like leaving his truck parked right on the curb as he practically kicks the doors open. He’s got you wrapped up in a sheet, carrying you bridal style with thick streams of tears pouring down his cheeks, shouting and shoving his way through the waiting room.

“Everyone out of my fucking way – can someone help my wife?” He’s frantic, must look like a fucking lunatic, but, “She won’t wake up I don’t know what to do.”

“Bring her this way, hurry!” One of the nurses who happens to recognize him buzzes him in, and he doesn’t let you out of his arms until you’re surrounded by nurses and a doctor is on the way.

He watches as they wheel you back somewhere he’s not allowed to go, not even as a police officer, and Flip punches the wall, hating that he can’t do anything else.

Twenty minutes later, one of the nurses has found him and given him a shirt, because he had forgotten to put one on in all the panic, and asked him what the hell was even going on. So he hangs his head between his knees and tries not to be sick, tears and snot hiccupping out of him.

“…And that’s when she fell over the side of the bed and smacked her head and started bleeding all over the fucking place which I know she’s going to hate because I just washed the carpeting this morning for her and fuck is she okay? Will she live?” He rambles on and on, twisting the fabric of this shirt that is too small in some places but too big in others, nervously, wondering what the fuck he’s going to tell everyone – what he’s going to tell his kids.

“Live? Trust me, she’s alive and kicking right about now.” The doc comes over then, sees the state that Flip’s in, and scoffs.

The words barely register in Flip’s mind before he’s running. He doesn’t even know where he’s running to, somewhere they’re keeping you, sticking his head into every room on the way in case it’s yours.

He finds you eventually, and relief makes his knees go weak. Rushing to your side, he carefully carefully carefully kisses you, the words spilling out of him all at once.

“(Y/N)! Oh honey-bunny I am so fucking sorry I didn’t mean for you to fall the way you did you were right I should have listened are you okay the doc told me you had to get stitches?” His eyes are wide with worry, but you have something of an amused if dazed smile on your lips as you comb your fingers through his hair.

“Hi Philly.” Your voice sounds rough, and Flip could cry, maybe he is crying, he doesn’t know, he’s just so happy to hear your voice. You nod, giving him a little sigh, “Yeah, just a couple right where I hit my head. Was I out for very long?”

“No, but then you were in so much pain they put you under while we worked.” The doc says, because how the hell would Flip know, he was having a nervous breakdown outside. Checking on the machines that you’re all hooked up to, he asks, “How do you feel now?”

“Like I was hit by a truck.” You sigh again, before turning to Flip and giving him a dreamy smile, “But you’re a sight for sore eyes.”

Flip kisses you again, once twice three times right on the lips, before cupping your cheek and not looking away from you when he asks the doctor, “Does she have to stay overnight?”

The nurses come in then and begin to unhook the IV and pull all the cables away, bandaging you up nice and securely.

“No you’re free to go, there’s no blunt trauma or damage to the brain. All you have to do Mrs. Zimmerman, is rest up.” The doc pats your blanket-covered foot at the end of the bed, winking, “And take it easy in the bedroom next time.”

This has the both of you immediately embarrassed, feeling like scolded schoolchildren who got caught ditching class, instead of the grown adults you actually were. You give him a glance as if to say I can’t believe you told them how this happened, and he gives you back one as if to say I had to! I thought you died!

“Yes doctor, thank you doctor.” You cough awkwardly, covering your face and muttering to Flip once you’re sure everyone else is gone, “You think we’d get a free ice cream cone with how often we’re here, hm?”

“I’ll get you ice cream, do you want ice cream? We can stop by on the way home.” Flip kisses your hand, presses the tips of your fingers to his lips and smooches all over them, making you chuckle despite it all.

“Actually, that does sound pretty good.” You mull the thought over in your head, “Okay, just hand me my clothes and after I change we’ll go sign some paperwork and head home.”

It is then, that Flip realizes he forgot much more than his own shirt, when he had carried you up and away to the hospital. He looks around, wondering, hoping that the nurses had brought something for you instead of the little paper gown that you’re currently dressed in, but it seems that that hope was in vain.

“Oh…yeah…” He stalls, “Ketsl, about that…”

“You did not bring me to this hospital naked, did you??” For the first time in a long time, you give him an incredulous look, anger clouding over your face as you demand to know.

“Of course not!” Flip stammers, looking around for the proof that he, “I uh, wrapped you in a sheet.”

He holds the sheet up, still covered in the blood from your forehead,

“Philip Daniel Zimmerman!” You shout, covering your face and sinking back down into the bed, pulling the covers over your head as you realize in horror that he had somehow gotten you into the car naked, and carried through the lobby and the waiting room in nothing but a stained sheet, “God that’s so fucking embarrassing!”

“I love you so much, I love you more than anything in the entire world you are my one true love – ” Flip immediately drops to his knees, really lays it on thick as he winces, knowing that he really fucked this one up worse than all the other Valentine’s Days before it.

“Oh give me the fucking sheet.” You bemoan, snatching it from him and getting out of the hospital bed, taking stock of his own appearance.

He’s wearing his pants on backwards, and a shirt that you’ve literally never seen in your life. He’s got one sock on, and one is missing, no shoes in sight, and his face and hair are a travesty. The poor man looks awful, looks like he had spent the past hour bawling his eyes out, and with the redness in his eyes and around his nose, you’re sure that he has.

Despite it all, you can’t be mad at him. So, instead, you swallow your pride and wrap the sheet around your body like some long avant-garde evening gown, and sigh, “You’re so lucky I’m obsessed with you.”

And if anyone has anything to say about your combined appearances as you leave the hospital and head on your way to pick up ice cream from the drive-thru, neither of you notice, too glad to be alive and together to care.

L is for the way you look at me

O is for the only one I see

V is very, very extraordinary

E is even more than anyone that you adore can

February 14th, 1975. Flip Zimmerman is thirty-eight and he is sick and fucking tired of things getting in the way of this damn holiday. He is determined, absolutely fucking determined, to make sure you have the best day imaginable. He’s done everything right – and he means everything – to ensure victory in this long-sought-after, elusive battle.

Every Valentine’s Day disaster has been leading up to this, he thinks as he drives home from dropping the kids off with Uncle Jimmy. He will not be cooking, he will not be working, he has his truck tuned up and running smoothly, and he is on his way to you right now.

Fresh bagels, breakfast sandwiches, warm pastries and hot brewed coffee from that bakery down the street that you like are sitting in the passenger seat of the truck, and he’s going to surprise you with a perfect fucking day so help him.

When he comes back home, he arranges everything neatly on a tray and brings it up to you, smiling to himself that you haven’t woken up yet. He places the tray – decorated with a little rose in a vase and everything – on the dresser, and settles next to you, petting back your hair from your face.

“(Y/N),” He whispers, trying to bring you out of sleep, “Honey-bunny, wake up.”

“Mmmmorning.” You beam up at him, reaching your arms up for a hug, that he is more than happy to give.

“Hungry? I brought you breakfast.” He kisses you with a smile.

With that, you push yourself to sit up against the headboard and regard him lovingly as he leaves your side and brings the tray over. He settles it over your lap and gestures to the assortment of fresh and delicious looking breakfast choices for you to pick from, but you first lift the little rose up to your nose and give it a deep sniff, happily sighing.

“I thought something smelled good, have you been gone long?” You kiss his cheek and pat the spot next to you so he can lay in bed too, so he does, picking up a muffin and doing his best to not get crumbs all over the sheets.

“About an hour, I didn’t want to bother you on your special day.” Flip sidles up next to you and lights a cigarette, and you rest your head on his shoulder as you smile at him through the reflection of the mirror on your dresser.

“My special day huh?” You tease, knowing the track record for when Flip tries to plan something extravagant.

“Yeah, for real this time.” He’s so determined, so fucking determined, everything is going to go right if it’s the last fucking thing he does, but he doesn’t say all that.

You still hear it anyway.

“Do I get to know what we’re doing?” You prompt sweetly, almost convinced of the fact that it’s because he tries to keep things a surprise, that it all goes badly.

Flip must think so too, because he’s sighing and rolling his eyes, unhappy about spoiling the day but knowing it’s probably for the best.

“Yes, I got us a couple’s spa package. I know things have been difficult with the littles toddling around, and you do so much for them and for me, so today is all about pampering you.” He announces, and you let out a loving little squeak from the back of your throat as you aww at him, making him blush.

“That’s very very sweet, thank you honey.” You beam, excited about the prospect of a professional massage, especially because he was right; you loved your children with your entire heart but having two under two was a bit hectic at times.

“Don’t thank me yet – I don’t want to jinx anything.” Flip is quick to say, and you laugh because you know how he must be feeling right about now.

After breakfast and some lazy lovemaking in bed, the afternoon light shines brightly as you and Flip arrive at the spa.

It’s a real fancy place, the kind with a big water feature right on the wall that makes the entire lobby feel serene and luxurious. Flip is halfway expecting something to go wrong – he keeps bracing for it. But as the nice women at the front desk bring you into the couple’s massage room, everything seems to be going off without a hitch.

Hot stones are all the rage, and so for the next sixty minutes, you and Flip enjoy the peaceful quiet and mood music as the knots in your muscles vanish. Afterwards, they put some kind of mud mask on both of your faces, and add little slices of cucumber over your eyes. You both sit like that for a good while, as you’re each given a manicure and pedicure.

You get your favorite color of polish done, and Flip just asks for a clear coat, wanting his nails to look nice but not necessarily colorful. It’s fun, Flip decides, being pampered with you. Maybe this could become more of a regular thing, he sure as shit could use those hot stones now and again after a long fuckin’ week of stakeouts or pouring over paperwork.

By the time you emerge from the spa, it’s practically evening. You suggest going back home, but Flip has other plans – namely, to keep you out of the house for a little while longer. He brings you to a pizza spot that you remember fondly from your days of dating Flip back when he was working at the family mill he now owns, going out for a slice and a cola and kissing in one of the red booths in the back.

Everything is exactly the same, except everyone’s a little older, but the pizza and the company are still great. Flip can’t help but kiss you, even though you’re not in the red booth in the back, but no one seems to mind anymore. It’s been years and years of this, of Flip loving you, they’re all used to it.

Flip chucks a couple quarters into the jukebox and the two of you dance on the black and white checkerboard like you’re the only two people in the entire pizza joint, because when you’re together, it feels like you are. It feels like you’re the only two people in the entire world.

The clock strikes seven, and he knows the coast should be clear at the house by now, so he brings you home and tries not to act too suspicious. You call him out on it, but he refuses to say, manages to keep his big mouth shut the whole way home, until you’re opening the front lock and pushing the door open to reveal a romantic wonderland.

Ron and Jimmy had been working tirelessly the past two hours, blowing up heart shaped balloons, arranging big bouquets of your favorite flowers and roses of all different colors, and a thick trail of rose petals that led up the stairs to your bedroom.

Speechless, you clasp a hand over your mouth and give him a look, impressed and surprised, and Flip can only grin.

“Go up, there’s more.” He whispers, kissing you on the cheek and patting your ass playfully.

Following the trail of rose petals, you push open the bedroom door and your heart fills with so much love and appreciation for your husband, because on the bed are some carefully wrapped boxes with white satin ribbon bows just for you, along with a giant teddy bear, a bucket of ice and a bottle of expensive champagne, and your favorite kinds of chocolate.

“You are so good, you know that?” You whirl around and practically jump into Flip’s arms, hugging him and attacking his face with kisses, making him smug as shit, but rightfully so.

“Want to open them?” He offers, but you’re so overwhelmed by it all in the best way possible, you just keep hugging him.

“Oh Flip – I will, but first, please, please fuck me?” You bat your lashes up at him, suddenly desperate to feel his body against yours, desperate to feel him in and around you.

Flip hadn’t expected that right away, but that doesn’t deter him. He quickly scrambles to get everything off the bed and onto the floor or up on the dresser, and is back to you within a few moments, kissing you deeply, working to get your clothes off with a deep chuckle in the back of his throat.

“Yes, shit you’re so pretty, my pretty girl.” He scoops you up and drops you onto the bed, wrestles with you a little until you’re laughing and grinning at him, his mouth smacking smooches to your lips as he demands, “C’mere.”

“Please don’t let me fall off the side of the bed this time.” You grip his biceps and he flushes a deep embarrassed red, but brings your attention to the floor where the accident had happened all that time ago.

“One step ahead of you, ketsl.” He gestures to a series of plush pillows that he had lined up on either side of the floor by the nightstands so that if you were to fall – which he’s going to make sure you never ever do again – you’d land on something soft, “A perfectly padded landing platform.”

That is the final thing holding you back from pulling him down by his shoulders on top of you, and Flip happily goes, happily settles you underneath him, eagerly slides the head of his cock through your folds. Your pussy grows wet under his touch, and it’s not long before you’re whining for him to really give it to you, so he does – oh fuck, he does.

Lifting your hips with one of his strong hands, Flip lets your legs wrap around his waist as he thrusts shallowly in small motions, wanting to get you stretched and relaxed as he sinks his cock deeper into you, making you moan, your eyes rolling back into your head when he bottoms out in your hot cunt.

“Oh! Oh yes, right there, right – yes!” You gasp as he begins to fuck you in earnest, holding your legs up and bending your body in just the right way to give him deeper action, stronger penetration that has you gasping.

Your back arches and your toes curl just from the feeling of being so full, your head tossed to the side as your hands twist in the pillowcase underneath your head, reaching up to grip the headboard that begins to shake and smack against the wall as Flip moves his hips faster and faster.

“Look at me?” He doesn’t like that he can’t see your face though, with the way you’re tucked against your arm, so he reaches for it and grips your jaw, pulls you to look at him. Your eyes are already unfocused and glassy but you’ve got the brightest smile on your face, that drops into a beautiful perfect O as he pounds into your pussy, “Fuck, you’re the most beautiful fucking thing I’ve ever seen, you know that? I feel like I don’t tell you enough.”

“Tell me again.” You tease, biting your lip and shaking under him, opening your hips and letting him fuck over your gspot with wild abandon, voice wobbling from the effort, “I didn’t hear you.”

“You’re – so – yes! – fucking – beautiful – oh god,” Flip groans long and low as you clench around his cock, your pussy fluttering and pulsing, the tight we velvet heat sucking him in and never letting him go, making Flip’s ears ring with pleasure, “Do that thing again ketsl, do it.”

You do as he says, and your cunt clamps down hard on him, making fucking you even sweeter, the friction driving him insane, making him grind his cock as deep into you as it can go. You can feel it knocking against your cervix and you whine out in pleasure, tears from overstimulation pricking up at the corners of your eyes, clinging to your pretty lashes.

“Flip! Ohhhhh Flip, that’s so good,” You praise him, only spurring him on, making him sweat sweat sweat all over you, dripping sweat down onto your perfect fucking tits that he just cannot not kiss and lave his tongue over and suck on, “Your cock is so good honey, fuck me harder, please!”

“No, I’m gonna take my time with you, make you fall apart, make this pussy soaking wet by the time I’m done with you.” Shaking his head, Flip pulls one of your nipples into his mouth and makes you moan high and loud, and Flip doesn’t even stop when your body confuses him for the baby, and sweet milk floods his mouth.

“H-honey! Right there, right there just a little faster? Please just a little f-faster -- ah!” You’re crying now, your thighs shaking, feet kicking out your pleasure, one of your hands gripped tight in his hair and yanking hard, making him come a little into your cunt, making him never want to stop.

“I should tie you up, keep you right here under me where you belong,” Flip pulls off your nipple and grips your jaw, “Tell you how fucking pretty you look taking my big Jew dick – suck.”

Slipping a few fingers into your mouth to wet them and let them rub against your tongue, gagging you, making the sweetest choking noises spill from your throat as you try to moan and suck at the same time, Flip’s mind blanks out entirely with pleasure, a static sort of hum singing through his body as your pussy pins him and holds him.

“I-I-I’m --!” You wail, and that’s his cue to pull the fingers out of your mouth, drool stringing from your lip to his knuckles, and finds your clit, rubbing steady circles that have your body jackknifing up, tensing up and cry cry crying his name.

“That’s it ketsl, let it out, shh I know it’s good.” He massages your clit slowly, milking it as he fucks you through your orgasm, licks up the tears and sweat on your face, kisses you deeply, passionately.

“Don’t stop, please don’t stop honey!” You beg, trembling against his lips, and Flip wouldn’t dare go against those wishes, not for anything.

You don’t know how many hours pass, before Flip comes in you for the final time. He crashes down onto the bed next to you, chests heaving, bodies sticky with sweat and come and tears of pleasure, of overstimulation, of love.

The night is still young, you still have to open your presents and drink your champagne and all, but for now, all he wants to do is gather your beautiful naked body into his arms and kiss you, so that’s exactly what he does.

“Fuck.” He grunts as his muscles which had been so loose from the spa day, are now burning with all the exertion. He kisses you and pinches your nose, asking with too much hope, “Good?”

“Really good.” You promise him, cupping his cheek with a pleasure-weak hand and kissing him again and again and again, until he’s smiling. You laugh and stretch a little, your entire body made of jell-o, and joke, “At this rate, we’ll be three for fuckin’ three years in a row.”

“Would that be so bad?” Flip thinks of the kids that should be fast asleep by now, and his chest grows warm.

You duck your head bashfully, feeling so loved and cared for and wanted by your husband. You always do, truly, but you can’t deny that it feels a little more special today.

“I gotta say, Flip,” You turn to face him and prop your head up on your bent elbow, “You really knocked it out of the park this time.”

If there were a Heaven, this would be it, Flip thinks as joy and elation course through his veins. He grins and punches the air with happiness, feeling like he suddenly has the energy for a victory lap around the property. You laugh at how display of theatrics, and he surges up then, wrestles with you playfully and nips at your jaw with his teeth, finally finally finally having succeeded in something he had tried for over a decade to do.

“Would you mind saying that again?” Flip echoes your earlier sentiment with cheeky sarcasm, “I didn’t hear you.”

And you can only laugh and tell him again and again, wanting him to know that you have had a wonderful, a perfect, a beautiful Valentine’s Day, not just this year, but every year that you’ve been together.

Love is all that I can give to you

Love is more than just a game for two

Two in love can make it, take my heart and please don't break it

Love was made for me and you

Love was made for me and you

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

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

Tagging some pals! Thank you all for reading, I hope you enjoyed :) @mochabucky @sacklerscumrag  @artsymaddie @bitchydecisions  @direnightshade  @reyloaddict55  @thembohux  @kylorenswhxre  @sunflowersinthesnow  @babayagakeanu  @safarigirlsp  @rennasiance-mama @steeevienicks  @mousemakingjam @the-unmanaged-mischief  @materialisthicc  @drake-bells-waxed-penis @dutchiepie @slut-for-harri  @littleevilme13 @erys-targaryen @leillaa @hswritingrecs @miabelay11 @han68000​

[sylvain-writes]

Cold Pizza (Raphael x Gender Neutral Reader)

Rated: T Gender Neutral Reader, power outage, banter, light angst and fluff, mutual pining, friends to lovers, Raph can cook <5k words

*

Snow falls gently upon the city outside your window, and it should be calm. You should want to listen to soft jazz or something. You should be sipping tea and enjoying the sight. But instead you're stifling a laugh at the sound of Raphael swearing behind you as he stubs his toe in the dark.

"Shit. Why the hell is that in the middle of the floor?"

"It's a coffee table, Raph. It's in front of the couch same as always." You haven't redecorated the apartment in months, but it's only Raph's second visit. You can't really blame him for not knowing the layout of the place by heart. But he's a ninja, isn't he? Shouldn't he be better at finding his way through the shadows?

The table scrapes against the hardwood floor as he drags it back into place and you snicker into the sleeve of your long-sleeve tee. The building only lost power ten minutes ago but your hands are already getting cold.

The crinkle of the last bag of potato chips gets louder as Raphael comes up behind you. "Don woulda neva let this happen."

"Really?" You huff. "Donatello wouldn't have let the blizzard get so bad that it took down the power lines?"

"Well, he woulda made sure the generator was workin', but no. That's not what I'm talkin' about." He crunched and munched in your ear.

As payback for the purposefully annoying chew, you snagged a chip out of his hand and gnashed your teeth over it hard. Crumbs fell to the ground and he snarled, shaking his head.

"You heathen. This is the last of the food! Your cupboards are bare."

"My cupboards? Ok, grandma..." You don't hide your snicker this time. "There's canned soup and, like, other stuff in the pantry, dude. Don't get your panties in a twist."

"We can't turn on the stove if there's no power, genius."

"It's a gas oven, genius."

"I don't know what difference that makes, Einstein."

"It means all I need is a lighter and I can ignite the gas, Einstein."

"Well, you don't smoke, Edison."

"Valid. But I do have a lighter. It's in a drawer somewhere."

It does take another ten minutes to actually find the lighter, in your nightstand, having been tossed there after you used it to light some candles in your room forever ago. And even after you find it, you set a pot of water to boil only to have Raphael complain that he can't find the pasta you were sure was in the pantry.

"Well, what is in there?" you ask as you light a few more candles around the kitchen.

Raphael places a jar of tomato sauce on the counter, but his tone remains unimpressed. "Flour and shit."

"That's fucking gross."

"You know what I mean." Raphael opened the cabinet door wide. "Flour, sugar, salt... I don't know. Like, a thousand different jars of seasonings you've probably never used ever."

"How do you know I've never used them?"

"Probably because they've all got their plastic seals on?"

"Right. I don't really cook that much."

Raphael gestures to the otherwise empty shelves. "I'm shocked."

"Well..." You pass the jar of tomato sauce you were going to use for the pasta you actually don't have from one hand to the other as you think. "There's gotta be something. Grab the cereal, at least."

The Honey Nut Cheerios barely have a bowl left. It's hard to ignore it when Raphael's stomach growls.

"Ok, ok. Maybe we should order take out?" But as you form the question, you notice something more than hunger and frustration in the way Raphael wraps his arms around himself. "You feeling alright?"

"Sure." Raphael shrugs, and though you have to squint in the evening's fading light, you think he looks a little paler than usual.

"Raph?"

He's the master of compartmentalizing and hiding his feelings -- until they bubble over into a fiery mess -- but he's utter crap at suppressing the shiver that runs through his arms while you're staring.

"Dude… you're sick or something."

"I'm not," Raph says, relaxing his arms from around his body to his sides, but his shoulders remain tense. His arms stay tucked tight against his sides. "I'm fine. There's nothin' to say. We're stuck here. Right?"

"Call Donnie."

"He can't… he can't come out in this weather."

"The weather?" The winds had died down. And yeah, the drifts were pretty high in some parts of the city, but it was dark enough that- "Are you too cold?"

Raphael shrugs.

You move closer to him, reaching out, and his arm under your hand feels cold to the touch. "Raph…"

He leans into your touch a second longer than he wants to, chasing the heat as you pull your hand away. You're close friends, but you don't go around holding onto each other or anything. The way he chases the warmth of your hand, the small needy sound in his throat, breaks you inside.

"It’s why we got generators at the lair. They mostly run on street power Donnie got hooked up, but… don't do so well in the cold, y'know?"

"Shit. I'm sorry." You turn on another burner and fill another pot of water. "Can you, uh, get in touch with D? I know there's a way to get the oven going but I, er, don't wanna blow up the apartment in the process."

Raph nods and you notice another shiver. He hunches in on himself as he thumbs out a text to his brother.

While he's occupied, you rush over to the living room and grab a blanket from the couch. You're not sure he wants to admit just how cold he is, so you don't wrap it around his shoulders yourself, but you place it on the counter with purpose and head into the bedroom to find a heavier sweater for yourself. And some socks. You definitely need to double up your socks. And shit, maybe you should offer Raph some socks too.

But what the hell socks do you have that'll fit him?

You grab the comforter from your bed and hug a pair of pillows to your chest. The way to the livingroom causes you to stumble and you know you're not looking the cutest you've ever looked when you crash into the couch with your load, but you manage to grunt like a buffoon when you bounce off the couch cushions and land hard on the floor.

"Graceful." Raphael says from the kitchen counter. He saunters over, wrapped up in the blanket, wearing it like a shawl and looking ever so much like a reptilian version of the big bad wolf pretending to be grandma.

"My, what big eyes you have." You kid, and you smirk, but color blooms high on Raphs cheeks and you watch him duck his head just a bit as he tries not to break your gaze.

"They um… they're the same as always , y'know?"

From there on the floor, you look up at him and wonder when he became so shy. He's been your best friend for ages. He's muscles and bravado. He's a ninja skill set and a heart of gold. He's fire and sugar and the kind of spicy that'll catch you on fire if you stay too close, but you always want to be close to him and you know one day you're going to get burned. It's why you don't touch. It's why you point to the blankets and pillows on the couch and you back away from the pile so he can get them himself.

You know if you get too close. If you let yourself linger near him, you'll stay too long. You'll get burned. What's between you simmers when you keep your distance. That's good. That's better. You don't want him to push you away, so it's better to keep some distance. He hasn't pulled you closer, so you think you're doing the right thing. If you were reading this wrong, there would have been some clue. Someone would have said something. Raph would have said something. He's not one to mince words about what he wants.

He's very much the guy who tells you what he wants when he wants it.

"Don says we can light the pilot and have the gas oven heat the room, but you're gonna have to do it because my hands are too big."

"Know what they say about a man with big hands?"

Raphael crosses his arms over his chest, unamused. "Woulda lit the damn thing myself if my hands were smaller so it don't really matter what people say about big hands. At the moment these big hands are useless."

"Geez, Raph," you scoot around him to get at the oven. "You're not useless. Chrissake."

The oven lights and you crank it up to 500°F. "We can leave the door open a crack and let it warm the room."

"Or we can make pizza."

"Sure. Yeah." You say, dripping with sarcasm. "We could totally learn how to make pizza in the dark with no electricity or ingredients."

"We don't got no ingredients." Exasperated, Raphael throws off the blanket and gestures toward the pantry. "You got spices. Sauce. Flour."

"What about cheese?" Your hands are on your hips and your toe is tapping because you just know he's going to come after your snacks.

"I saw like 7000 Polly-O string cheese things in your crisper drawer-"

"Don't touch my string cheese!" He wouldn't dare.

"We can grate it down for-"

"You monster!"

Raphael is more snarl than laugh when he crows, "You're being ridiculous! I'm making pizza. Are you in?" His gaze narrows and you think he may be serious about tossing you out of the kitchen. "Or are you just in my way?"

As it's the only warm room in the apartment, you're ready to make all the sacrifices necessary to keep your ass in the kitchen.

Raphael and his big hands leave you at a loss as he uses his thick fingers to ever so delicately arrange his phone against the tomato sauce jar. “Sit still ya lil fucker.” With each adjustment he makes, the phone slides down the counter, unwilling to stand in place so that he can read the recipe without getting his phone dirty with sticky doughy hands.

You shouldn’t just stand there watching with a grin, but you really can’t help it. It’s adorable. You really think you may be falling in love with him just watching the way he shifts the phone inch by inch. Then when he finally has the phone in place, he throws his hands up in the air, victory writ large upon his features. His smile is open and wide and it’s such a stark contrast to see him now, his body flooded with joy and warmth as opposed to when he was near frozen, that you can’t help but smile back. You’re a little thrown by just how charming that smile can be. You lock eyes and get stuck. He’s so handsome. He’s so true to himself. He’s just real and raw and he doesn’t care that this is only a tiny victory of some phone vs man vs counter slip ridiculousness. He’s excited and he lets you join him in this celebration because it’s fun and it doesn’t have to mean anything more than fun.

You shake your head as you grab the flour from the pantry and place it on the counter. “One small step for a man, one giant leap toward making a pizza. We actually need to get some ingredients in a bowl, methinks.”

Raphael takes the flour and tears the never opened bag open from the top. He’s obviously never done it before. Flour ends up everywhere and you don’t even bother to tell him that he could have easily unfolded the flour bag and made far less mess.

As you watch his flour dusted face reemerge from the plume of flour, you’re actually glad you didn’t mention it. Or else you wouldn’t have had the chance to see him look so surprised. To surprise a ninja, now that had to be some kind of feat.

Raphael’s green eyes blink at you, stark contrast green from the white floured face around them. His mask is caked in the stuff. You laugh as you reach forward. “May I?”

He hasn’t really said yes, but he’s spoken no objection either, so you slide the mask over his head and dust it off before laying it on the counter.

Seeing him without his mask is always a pleasure. One of the small pleasures you don’t mention out loud. Like standing too close, it runs the risk of being burned. Something Raphael could take away if you make too big a deal of it. So, you try not to stare, while simultaneously trying to memorize every bump and slope of his features.

“You’re a real mess,” you say, wiping Raph’s cheek with a clean hand. “How much of this flour are we gonna lose before you whip up dinner, huh?”

Raphael has been staring at you. He hasn’t even been paying attention to your words. In fact, he’s not sure you’re speaking. Everything feels like it’s moving in slow motion because your hands are reaching toward him for the second and third time today and that never happens. That never happens and Raph knows for sure because he pays attention to that sort of thing. He notices when you come close because he waits for it. He wishes for it. He clocks each step you take toward him and bites back a pout each time you pull away.

When your hands reach for his mask, he doesn’t know what to say, so he stays still. And you unmask him. And the world doesn’t stop turning, but it sure feels like all of the air has been sucked from the room. But you’re smiling, so he knows nothing bad has happened.

You’re smiling so the world is still spinning.

His mask is in your hands and flour is falling to the floor like weightless raindrops and he can almost make out your laughter past the sound of his own thoughts. There’s nothing Raphael loves more than his time with you. The sound of your voice. The curve of your smile. The barely visible sunburst of silver under the pigment of your iris.

He shouldn’t know about that design. He shouldn’t pay such close attention to your eyes that it would be plastered in his memory. But he has. He does. He watches you when you’re not paying attention. When you’re playing around with his brothers or working at your computer. He watches the light reflect off your eyes. He could map the lines of your irises. And that’s probably weird. He’s no artist. He knows that. He can’t do flowery words or paint a picture. But he has a mind like a steel trap. He remembers everything about you.

So, when you tease him about making dinner, he knows you’re probably thinking about your own lack of culinary experience. You’re worried about screwing things up and probably relieved that Raphael is a little clumsy himself.

Raph uses this to his advantage, to make things a little easier for you. With a kind smile, he points to the cabinets. “I need a mixing bowl and some measuring cups. Oil, salt, and sugar. And yeast. We need yeast.”

“Yeah. OK. Like I have fucking yeast up in this bitch.”

Raphael hums and turns. He’s pretty sure he saw something that looked suspiciously like yeast in the cabinet. And there, on the row with all of the other unused herbs and spices, was a jar of the stuff. “You really suck at this.”

You raise an eyebrow in surprise. “Don’t I know it.” There’s no way to argue around it.

Taking orders from Raphael isn’t a turn on or anything. You’re not getting goosebumps from his praise or hanging on his every word like it’s the air that you breathe. But he’s standing close and the way his breath is warmer than the air around you makes your blood feel like it’s thrumming through your veins a little more quickly tonight than it was just minutes ago.

Standing in front of the open oven is hot work. You don’t know much about dough, but you’ve watched enough Great British Bake Off to know this rise is going to happen fast in the hot kitchen.

“We should close the oven door,” you suggest. “Get the inside temperature right and let the dough do it’s thing before we shape it and sauce it up and stuff.”

“Wow, that’s a lotta we talk. You sure you’re up to the task? Thought you were taking more of a supervisory role, here.”

“I grated the cheese, didn’t I?”

“You made more wine than cheese, sweetheart.”

“Yes, well, it was my favorite snack.”

“It’s sacrifice will be worth it.”

The pizzas only took about ten minutes in the oven before the dough was crispy, the cheese not quite burned, and the sauce was bubbly hot. Raphael moved them onto the bare countertop to cool. “So, we keepin’ the oven on or?”

“Of course we can.” You glance at the oven and then at the pile of blankets and pillows in the living room. “Can’t we?”

“I could ask Don? Seems like the power could be out all night. Not sure we should leave the oven on indefinitely.”

“Well… we’ll figure that out after we eat, I guess.”

Eating was weird. You sat close, sharing the light of a candle to make sure you weren’t dripping sauce all over yourselves. Your elbows nudged each other as you moved and you had to stop yourself from shifting further away each time. It would look suspicious. You weren’t close because you wanted to be, because you desired to be as close to Raphael as physically possible without fear of your feelings being known… you were sitting elbow to elbow with him now because you needed to. He wasn’t going to read anything into it.

“You have sauce on your chin.”

“I what?”

“Sauce,” Raphael said, quieter than you expect from him. Perhaps he worries about shouting in your face. Things do seem louder in the dark. So then why does he sound like he’s whispering?

“Oh. Yeah. The sauce is good, Raph. You, uh, know your way around that spice rack.”

“Nah, I mean…” Raphael shakes his head good naturedly and sighs before lifting his thumb to your chin. He takes your face in his hand as he drags his thumb over your chin, wiping your skin clean with a smooth drag of his thumb.

“Raph?” You suck in a breath and you catch his gaze. He’s squinting at you as you struggle to make sense of his sudden closeness.

When he pulls away, you watch as he wipes his hand on his shorts. “You had sauce. Ya know? It was uh, just there.”

“Oh!” You wipe at the spot Raph has already cleaned, your cheeks and ears growing hot. “I… thanks.”

“Yeah, no prob.” Raphael clears his throat and scratches the back of his neck. He’s still not wearing his mask, so each twitch of his eyes is out in the open. But you wonder if it’s a trick of the light, him looking embarrassed and unsure.

“The blankets and stuff. I was gonna say we should tuck under them. I don’t know about you, but that oven’s been off for a minute and I’m already feeling like-”

“The blankets are good.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Raph says, swallowing hard. “The cold makes me a little tired, you know?”

You shrug. You suppose it makes sense. You feel a little tired yourself. “You could sleep. Do you mind if I share the couch with you? That’s my stuff from my room.”

“No. I mean, yeah. I mean. I don’t mind sharin’. Donatello says humans run hot?”

“Compared to you?” You know you probably shouldn’t joke about something like this when Raphael was vulnerable, but you always joke about everything. To not joke about this feels like it would make things worse, make them mean more, give the vulnerability more weight than if you treat it the same as everything else. “Yeah. I guess. We’re warm-blooded.” It feels weird to refer to humans as we and the turtles as they. You rarely think of yourself as different from them. You haven’t thought of them as other than the guys for so long. “It’s um…”

“Yeah, so, like sharing would be fine. It’s cool.”

“You wanna use my body, Raph? That what this is about? You tryin’ to steal my heat? My human fire?”

“Are you kidding?”

“About mi fuego humano?”

“What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“Baby you can light my fire.”

“I don’t even know you.”

“You wanna sleep with a stranger! For shame!”

“Don’t slut shame me. I never slut shame you.”

“Yeah ok, sure, dude.”

“What? I don’t.”

“Uh, you crap on every guy I’ve ever been out with.”

“No, I don’t. No I haven’t.”

Suddenly all the joking isn’t fun. Because if Raphael can’t see how hard you’ve tried to get over him. How hard you’ve tried to move past your feelings for him, feelings that he so very clearly does not reciprocate, then you really don’t want to play this game anymore.

You stand up and move to the couch. You won’t deny him your body heat if that’s what he needs, but you don’t think you can carry on this conversation. By the time he gets to the blankets, they’ll be warm, you think. Then maybe you can have a minute to yourself.

Raphael follows you to the living room in quiet contemplation. “I hate the guys you date.”

“Great. They were real winners anyway so, thanks for running them off. Never did stand a chance with them.”

“They weren’t good enough for you.”

“Pfft.” He doesn’t get it. None of them were good enough, yeah. Because every guy you’ve ever talked to, ever listened to talk about their hobbies and dreams and hopes and family, every guy who has ever taken an interest in you, you’ve compared to Raphael. And every one of them has come up short.

“You know how good you are? Like, a good person. Not like 'tries to be good' or 'does the right thing' kinda good…”

“Gee thanks, big guy. I’m blushing.”

Raphael turns to face you on the couch, his back braced against the arm rest and honest to god shoves you with his bare foot. You can’t help but notice his toes are ice cold. “What I’m saying is you’re the 'real' good. A good heart. You do the wrong shit for the right reasons kinda good. You hurt because you care, yet you still care.”

You let Raph ramble because you don’t know what you’d say if you stopped him, if you acknowledge the things that he says. You let Raph ramble and you pull his ice cold foot into your lap under the blankets. You warm it in your hands. Maybe it should be gross. He’s been walking around the apartment since early this afternoon barefoot. But it’s just feet. Just skin. Just flesh and bone and it’s all so cold between your palms.

Raphael scoots down against the armrest, just a little so that his foot is resting comfortably in your lap. He turns away from you to look at an alert on his phone, all the while still talking about how good you were when you tried to help Leo with his attempt to try every flavor of Pringles that you could find at the gas station mini mart. It was a valiant attempt and Leo didn’t want to do it alone. You both ended up with pretty bad indigestion, but it was fun and Raphael had seemed extra happy to see Leo making a friend and being a total idiot with you.

“Donatello says the power should be up and running again sometime tonight. There was an update on the website or something.”

“They give updates on this shit?”

“I guess?”

Your hands move to Raphael’s other foot as you nod. “I don’t really like the guys I date either,” you admit aloud. “It’s not that I set out ready to dump them, it’s just that they don’t interest me. I try to get to know them, I try to let them get to know me. But it goes nowhere. I don’t get that feeling, you know?”

Raphael’s jaw tenses, but he doesn’t answer.

You think maybe he doesn’t know that feeling. Maybe he doesn’t feel romantic attraction the way you do. “Raph, have you ever-”

“I don’t like it.”

You nod, thinking you’ll get more out of him if you stay silent. But when he doesn’t elaborate, you realize you have to say something. “You don’t like…”

“All those guys goin’ out with ya. They don’t know ya. They don’t treat ya the way ya should be treated.”

“Really? How do they treat me?”

“Like… like… They don’t let ya let go. I see ya going off with them and you go quiet or you laugh too loud.”

“I’m too quiet. I’m too loud. Which is it, Raph?”

“You deserve somebody who lets ya have fun. You make jokes and goof off and sometimes yeah it’s cause you’re nervous but mostly it’s cause ya have funny shit goin’ on in ya head and ya wanna let me in on the joke.”

You nod. You really do think you’re the most hilarious person on the fucking planet. It’d be a shame to keep all the good stuff to yourself. Even so, you don’t share your thoughts with just anybody. Raphael is right, it’s him who you want to let in.

“If I took ya out, it’d be like tonight.”

“Oh. Yeah. Yeah.” You say thoughtfully, sarcastically, poking fun and rubbing at your chin not caring a whit that you just had Raphael’s feet in your hands. “Like tonight. You’d cut the power to the city so we could freeze our asses off, then set up a super romantic dinner where we eat by candlelight.”

“We’d be laughing. Teasin. I’d make you dinner and if you want fucking candles I’ll light you a fucking candle.”

“And I’d rub your feet to thank you for making me such a delicious dinner.”

“Yeah. I deserve some pampering.”

“What about me? I don’t deserve to be pampered?”

“I just made you a romantic dinner with candles and all that shit.”

“Hypothetically. Yet here I am, literally rubbing your feet.”

“So what do you want, you want a foot rub for you too? Huh? You want a little shoulder rub cause you worked so hard watching me work my ass off in the kitchen?”

You pinch his ankle surprised he can feel anything when it all feels like rock solid muscle. Instead of answering with words, you give him a wry grin and move around a bit under the blankets. You relax into his chest, lying your head over his heart and settling your body between his and the pillows. “You’re a real smartass.”

Beneath you, Raphael lies still.

“This OK?”

Raph shifts a bit, you feel his hands rise and fall. “I don’t really know what to do with my hands.”

You hum and nod your head against Raphael’s chest. You reach blindly for Raph’s arms, one by one, and wrap them over your back. “Don’t have to do anything.”

Raphael relaxes a little at the news. He ducks his head low and you think you can feel him breathe you in. He rests his cheek on the top of your head before asking, “This that body heat thing?”

You nuzzle his chest, allowing yourself to slip under his arm a bit. Better position for falling asleep. “Yeah,” you say. “Sure.”

Raphael squeezes his arms around you, but he doesn’t say anything. You have to ask or you won’t be sure. Even if it means getting burned. Even if it means you’ve put too much meaning into things and you’re going to be pushed away, you have to know.

“This is more than a body heat thing. For me.” You bury your face in his chest as you wait for his response. At least, for a few seconds longer, you can pretend his heart is beating for you.

“When I take you on a proper date, there’s gonna be tables and napkins. And maybe something fancy to drink...”

“And then-”

“This. And then, this.”

“I like this.”

“Me too.”

[whatchadoingeorge]

I came across this on Facebook, and hadn’t heard about it before.

Image Description:

Facebook post to Parrot Talk that reads:

In hopes of saving other birds, here’s a post from a a friend yesterday who lost her conures...

“The mystery has been solved. When I was cleaning the stove top with baking soda, I got some in the burners. I picked a bunch out with a skewer, but then thought it would be quicker to just burn it off. Well, apparently, when you burn baking soda it emits a gas that is highly toxic to birds, but only mildly irritating to mammals. So, in spite of only using stainless steel pots, and a few ceramic frying pans, never burning scented candles, never lighting the fireplace, never using the self-cleaning oven feature, being careful with cleaning sprays, etc., I still managed to kill my birdies. I feel like crap, but now at least I can pass on yet another danger to birds.”

[copperbadge]

@feuervogel

where did you get the awesome pot cover thing???

I actually bought mine at the local hardware store, but I think you can get them online pretty easily -- they seem to be widely available, just not something you normally see on store shelves.

@luthienpotter

You can put those covers IN THE OVEN? I have one and I never knew that! My mind, she is blown.

Well, possibly you can, because they are silicone, but that’s not actually a hot oven -- I’m just proofing the rolls, so the oven is heated only by the light and nothing else. I would check with the manufacturer before putting it in anything hot. If the handle is plastic it may melt. 

@dharmagun

Not your fault, but this made me almost cry. I used to cook and bake all the time and now i live in a place with an 80 year old gas stove with one functional burner and an oven that’s so corroded I’m frightened of it. I would kill to make a batch of espresso cinnamon chocolate cookies.

I’m so sorry you can’t cook as you’d like! I will say that my oven/stove are crap too, so I feel you -- I tore the burners out of the stove (I have an induction burner I use) and covered it with a cutting board, which means I have to move a bunch of stuff if I want to use the oven, so I rarely do. 

If you have the space and money, I highly recommend a countertop oven -- it’s just a large toaster oven with a convection function, they cost about $50-$100 depending on the features you get, but they work GREAT and don’t take up a ton of space. Everything I baked today -- 90% of everything I bake ever, from bread to casseroles to frozen pizza to roast chicken -- was baked in an Oster six-slice toaster oven set to Convection. It takes a bit of getting used to and occasionally buying a special pan (I have lots of small loaf pans and cookies sheets) but I have a lot of fun with it.