#Stove Kraft

[aastarions]

thinking about the love of my life (mac and cheese)

[masoncarr2244]

[justsomeweirdbandkid]

I forget I'm legitimately a really good cook sometimes 💀

[corrodedcoffins-blog]

Surprise

luke hughes x actress!reader

note: love them and this request ���

warnings: eating, food, calling kraft dinner bad even though i eat it like once a week

word count: 840

Y/n was so excited to see Luke, they haven’t been together in person for around a month because Y/n was busy in LA filming the next season of the Evelyn Hugo series. And now that that was done filming she quickly got on the next plane to New Jersey to see the boy. She purposely told him she would be there a day later than she actually was because she wanted to surprise him.

Just now she was in the elevator of the building, Jack had told her the code to get into the apartment building so as to not alert Luke of the surprise, when she got a call from the very boy she was going to see. Fishing the phone out of her pocket and glancing at the caller ID brought a soft smile to her face, “Hey, baby.” “Hey” 

She heard the sound of pots and pans crashing together in the background of the call, “What’re you doing, hun?” “I’m cooking!” “You know how to do that?” She said in a teasing voice as the elevator door opened to the boy's floor, she continued the conversation as she walked towards his door. 

“Yes! I do..” His voice slightly unsure, “Sounds like you’re having trouble.” She mumbles, now at his door trying to be quiet and waiting to knock, “Well the directions are unclear.” “Well, I’ll help you.” “How-” He was cut off by the sound of knuckles knocking against his door. He mumbled a small ‘one sec’ before making his way to answer the door which made the girl laugh.

The door opened revealing the smiling girl, and the very happily shocked boy. Almost without thinking Luke brings Y/n into a big hug, lifting her off the ground with his hand under her thighs. His forehead rested against her collarbone, as if he didn’t believe she was there, like she would slip away at any moment. After a few more moments, whispering their greetings small ‘hello’s and soft ‘i love you’s coming from both.

Luke finally let the girl slip down, her feet once again finding the floor. And as Luke goes to grab his girl’s suitcase, said girl did a once over of the apartment only to see water boiling over the pot and all over the stove, “Luke!” She rushed over to the stove a took the pot of the element and turned the heat down, “Who let you cook unsupervised?” “Jack usually does it.” 

He walked past her, giving her a kiss on the top of her head and walked down the hallway to his room where he set the girl’s bags down and came back to the kitchen to now find that Y/n had taken over the entire operation of making dinner.

“You’re not having boxed mac & cheese for dinner.” She muttered, shaking her head and placing the box back in the cupboard. Collecting a few things she sees in the cupboards and fridge to make him a good dinner. She found an onion, which she was very surprised by. It must have been the influence of Jack’s girlfriend. 

Y/n was already cutting up the onions when Luke came back into the kitchen, and ofcourse Luke came up from behind, his hands wrapped around her waist and his chin rested on her shoulder to watch her actions. He eventually asked to help so she gave him little jobs. Then they sat on the couch, Y/n between Lukes legs as they ate dinner and ended up watching ‘10 things I hate about you’ per Y/n’s request, really it was just because she loved Luke’s reaction when she wouldn’t shut up about how hot Heath Ledger is in it.

“-and he is just, like, beyond what should be humanly capable, y’know?” Grabbing his drink from the side table, Luke says, “He’s good as the joker.” This caused the girl to let out a small laugh.

After the movie the two turned on a show, and just cuddled and talked until they would hopefully fall asleep together.

“Why do all NHL players like golf?” “I don’t know.. It’s a sport to play in summer? And I guess you don’t have to think too hard, and we can just hang out and talk?” 

They were now laying across the couch, Y/n’s head on his chest, Luke’s hands running up and down the girl’s back under her shirt as ‘Bob’s burgers’ played in the background. She drew small doodles on his bicep, as they both lolled each other to sleep as they talked. 

“That makes more sense than what I thought.” “What did you think?” “I thought it was because it’s the same action.. Or close.” 

She didn’t expand thinking Luke understood, she assumed that was self-explanatory, but then Luke asked, “What?” “Y’know, like, shooting a puck and hitting a golf ball is the same action in the hips.” “Okay.” Luke said, softly chuckling as he brought one hand to the girl’s hair, giving her head scratches and twirling the strands between his fingers. 

~taglist~

@bunbunbl0gs @daisysthings

[monayen]

how about something sfw for a change? can you do a ranking of who’s best at cooking?

Cooking Headcannons

➷ Paring - Multi x Fem!Reader [Randal's Friends / Ranfren]

➷ CWs - very light mention of consuming blood and cannibalism. that’s about it !!

a/n - i feel like im a bit rusty at pure sfw stuff… but i will try for NNN ~_~ this isn’t a ranking, since a good chunk are either just bad or barely cook. mostly just hcs about food they like, what’d they’d make you, and habits etc. ratmen are excluded cus you know those boys scavenge rather than cook !!! also ignore any mistakes i wrote this really fast

Sebastian

While Sebastian did work at a pizza place for a bit before becoming Randal’s pet, it was just as a delivery boy

I like to think he was in the training process of learning how to make the food, but he got lost before he learned anything skillful. He does have half the recipe for garlic knots memorized though 

A personal hc is that his parents were semi-absent with him (which probably helped lead him to being in the adoption center in the first place), so he survived a lot on sandwiches and microwave meals since they were easy and available

He wasn’t a big fan of it then, but now he craves them a lot. His favorite were the microwaveable kraft dinner mac & cheese cups. Foods like that are a comfort for him, and he’ll love you forever if you manage to get some for him to eat

Luther doesn’t trust him in the kitchen, so even if Sebastian wanted to cook, he wouldn’t be allowed. Deep down, he doubts his cooking skills anyways

Randal

A terrible cook. He has no idea how to properly prepare a meal and his attempts often end in disaster

Randal doesn't understand the concept of recipes or following instructions. He just throws random ingredients together and hopes for the best. “How to Basic” levels of culinary skills

Despite his terrible cooking skills, Randal still insists on trying to make meals for people (or you) to try. Truly believes he's good and everyone else just can’t handle his exquisite tastes

Once, Randal tried to make surprise pancakes for breakfast. He used baking powder instead of baking soda and the pancakes turned out hard as rocks. He still ate them anyway, breaking a couple of his teeth in the process. Don’t worry, they grew back by supper

He used to try to cook at least a couple times a week, but Luther banned him after he 

somehow managed to set water on fire on the stove. Now he’s restricted to just the microwave. Which is alright, just remind him to add the water in his instant noodles before they explode

Randal will also eat almost anything if it's covered in enough sauce or condiments. He's been known to put ketchup on his cereal and maple syrup on his pizza. Swears by it, will probably make you try all his weird food combinations

Satoru

This little show off!

Cooks and bakes purely to give it away to you or Randal. He doesn’t even eat them himself, always insisting you try his new recipe

The reality is that he steals most of his ideas from cookbooks. While he has the skill to execute them, coming up with his own dishes and perfecting them is a bit beyond him—but that’s a secret he keeps to himself!

He’ll sit there, watching closely as you eat his carefully prepared food, studying your reactions and asking if it’s good, like a chef waiting for feedback

But he’s memorized what you like already, and he makes sure to tailor his dishes just for you, hoping to earn your praise when the flavors hit your tongue

Exceptional at chopping, so fast at it you worry he’ll cut a finger off or something if he’s not careful enough. A part of him doesn’t mind if you taste something that has a little bit of his blood in it…

Doesn’t exactly have a favorite meal or food, he likes whatever you like :) is a bit partial to Japanese cuisine though, especially sashimi

Nyon

Nyon's cooking skills are quite limited. As a catman, his preferences lean more towards raw meats and simple  foods. Or whatever Luther gives him

Doesn’t mean he doesn’t like a good home cooked meal, but if you put him in a kitchen with every ingredient and tool that could potentially make something avant-garde or delicious… he’d probably just end up making hard boiled eggs

He does have an odd skill of picking though. Pickled cucumbers, onions, beets, all in unlabeled, merky, mason jars. Has a goal to pickle everything that can be pickled, just to try

Keeps a stash of it in the pantry and munches on them when he gets high. Will share if you ask (he kinda wants you to, pickling takes practice!) 

Nyon has the stance that he’d much rather wash the dishes and put away the ingredients than actually prepare the food, as it’s a lot of effort and stress on his part that’d he’d rather avoid

Nyen

Really only ever cooks for himself. Not a fan of sharing and to be honest… you probably wouldn’t like what he makes anyways

Lots of slabs of undercooked chicken and beef, barely seasoned because “it doesn’t need that.” Protein buff, but not keen on eating beans… or eggs… or fish… Okay, usually just eats chicken to maintain his muscles

Unironically picky, doesn’t eat a lot of what isn’t what he usually eats. If you give him a plate of pasta or something, he’ll just stare at it like you handed him a severed cow head. Even Luther knows this, making sure he keeps the fridge stocked with Nyen favorite foods so he’s in the best condition to get through the day!

Does have a small sweet tooth, so you can coax him into baking if he’s in a good mood. His favorite are raspberry muffins :)

You still might have to do most of the work, but he’ll mix shit and keep track of the dessert in the oven for you. Don’t ask him for anything else—just hand him a muffin and clean up the mess, okay?

Luther

Quite the chef! 

He’s domestic, and even though Randal always begs him to get fast food to eat, he always prefers to make something at home

Uses “passed down” recipes. Passed down from who? Who knows. He keeps them all in a little old notebook, pages yellowed and worn out. The last ingredient in all the recipes is always “love ♡”

He’s also a big fan of those southern mom baking shows, especially during the holiday season, he’ll bake like a madman!

Likes nature, so he does have a small garden in the backyard of the house he’ll tend to when he has the time. Specializes in exotic vegetables you probably aren’t used to eating. Ask him how his kohlrabi harvest is going, he’s quite proud!

The type of humanoid to surprise you with your favorite meal after a long day. Makes enough for everyone, of course, but Luther puts in effort to see the smile on your face when he presents you with it at the dinner table

He does expect compliments after you eat any of his food, even if it’s something as simple as scrambled eggs. It means a lot to him, so don’t forget to do so. He might take it the wrong way if you don’t 

Luther swears up and down that he’d never eat a human. Cannibalism is wrong! But he did get very close to once… just to “expand his pallet”

[artaxlivs]

Let Me Be Your Man (I want to hold your hand)

CW: none * Rating: Mature (frottage) * Pairing: Steve/Eddie * Prompt: Mixtape

“Okay! Okay! I’m coming!” Steve yells when the pounding on his door gains momentum to add to its volume. Grumbling, he peeks out the side window and sees one of the kid’s bikes thrown down in his lawn. Little assholes. 

When he yanks the door open, Mike Wheeler is just raising his fist to pound it against the door again. “I need your help.” His face is red and sweaty with exertion as he shoves past Steve into the house. 

Immediately, Steve reaches into the umbrella stand and pulls out the only thing in it - his nail bat. “What’s happening?” He asks, rounding toward Mike, “Why didn’t you radio or call? What is it? Vecna? Jocks? Where’s everyone else?”

Mike skids to a halt and stares at Steve incredulously. “What? No. Put your bat away, dumbass.” He rolls his eyes. “I need your help.”

Relaxing just a small amount, Steve lets the top of the bat rest on the entryway floor. He probably looks as confused as he feels. “What? Why are you saying it like that? What kind of help?”

Mike huffs, throws his hands up and spins on his heel, stalking into the kitchen. Before Steve follows, he counts to ten, puts his bat away and curses the day he started dating Nancy Wheeler. Always the goddamn babysitter.

At the breakfast counter, Mike is deflating, shoulders drooping in what looks like defeat, chin braced in one hand, elbow pressed against the cool tile. With the other hand he’s tracing the lines of grout between the tiles.

On a whim, Steve detours to the fridge, loading up his arms with the makings for sandwiches. Back at the counter, he pulls out four slices of Wonderbread. “So - what brings you to my door?” He shakes the mayo and Mike nods so he starts to slather it on two of the pieces. Mike nods again to the mustard so Steve slathers that on the other two. Giving Mike the time to gather his thoughts.

“Um, well…I, uh, I like someone.” Mike sighs, looking down at the tile where he’s still tracing the lines. 

Someone not a girl. Someone. Will. It’s gotta be Will. Steve has seen the way that they both look at each other when the other isn’t looking. He and Robin have talked about it, about which one to approach first to let them into their elite Hawkins Gay Club which currently has two members. Not one and a half, Robin. Being bisexual still means he’s a whole gay. Dang it.

“Cheese?” Steve asks, peeling his own out of the Kraft plastic wrap. When Mike nods, Steve pulls out a second one for him. “Turkey or ham?” He pops open both and proceeds to put both on his own sandwich.

“Both, please.” Mike says and then jumps down, well, steps down because his gangly legs are much longer now. He goes over and grabs the salt and pepper from the back of the stove lip and sprinkles some of each on his, raises an eyebrow and when Steve nods, he sprinkles them on Steve’s as well.

Fancy.

“You want lettuce and tomato?” Steve says, slicing his own. Mike does not, he does go into the pantry and grab a bag of chips though because the kids are way too comfortable in Steve’s house apparently. 

“I need your help making a mixtape.” Mike says as sits back down.

Steve frowns. “Why are you here for a mixtape and not at Eddie’s? He’s the music guy.” And really - that’s a no brainer.

Groaning, Mike flops his head down his folded arms on the counter, narrowly missing the bag of chips. “Eddie cannot be trusted to make mixtapes. I was there for four hours, Steve. FOUR HOURS. And all I got was a lesson on ‘real metal versus sell out metal.’” He groans again. “He was so excited to help me but then we just recorded an hour of Black Sabbath songs. W- this person doesn’t even like metal!”

“Well, you’ve come to the right place.” Steve gives Mike an encouraging smile as he cuts their sandwiches in half diagonally. Who cuts sandwiches across the middle? Vecna probably. Monster. “Mixtapes aren’t just about your favorite songs or even their favorite songs. It’s songs that you want to share with them and songs that remind you of them. And, of course, songs that tell them how you feel about them.” He plates both sandwiches and slides Mike’s across the bar. “It helps to know who the person is because mixtapes should be personalized but as long as you know their music, I can probably help you.”

Chewing the first bite slowly, Mike nods like he’s agreeing or gearing up to talk. Steve grabs them each a soda out of the fridge, sliding Mike’s over and taking the bag of chips. “My sister really loved the one you made for her. Well,” He reaches into the chip bag and pulls out a handful before pushing the bag toward Steve, “she still does actually. She plays it sometimes.”

Steve stops with his hand half inside the bag, “She does?”

“Yeaaaah.” Mike drags it out, putting a chip in his mouth but then talking around it. “She said it was the tape that made her realize she needed to break up with you.” Steve makes a little grunt of outrage but Mike pushes through, waving his hand to stop Steve from interrupting. “No, no, she loves that tape. Seriously. She said that listening to it made her realize that you’re the kind of guy who loves forever. But that you loved this girl she made up, she was pretending to be, even though she knew she’d never be that girl again…not after…you know.” He shrugs his bony shoulders and looks down at the counter again.

Without thinking about it, Steve’s eyes flick up to look out of the kitchen window where he can see the corner of the pool. He nods, saying dejectedly, “Yeah, I get that.” 

“And sometimes, when Jonathan is being Jonathan, she listens to it to remind her that you saw her as strong and brave - that’s what she said, strong and brave - before she even saw herself that way.” Mike opens his sandwich and puts down a layer of chips on top of the meat, squishing the top slice of bread back down before taking a bite. These kids are such weirdos. With his mouth full, he continues, “She said it reminds her that she doesn’t need Jonathon. Or any man. That she won’t settle for a life she doesn’t want. Not even for a guy like you.”

“Huh.” Steve replies, taking another bite of his own sandwich, chewing thoughtfully. “A guy like me?” 

Rolling his eyes, Mike makes a sound like he’s tasted something bad and says, “Yeah, don’t get a big head. You still suck.”

Steve snorts. The audacity of this kid is truly admirable. He’s still not sure that makes him feel better but Nancy deserves to get what she wants so he can be happy for her. Even if his tape is part of what drove her away. He shakes it off, though, “Okay, so what type of music does this person like?”

They spend the rest of the afternoon and well into the evening going through the tapes and albums Steve has and making a list of the ones that Mike has that he thinks might work. Then they pair them down to make an album that flows, “like a story” Steve tells him. The playlist has a song by Bowie because really every playlist should. One from The Smiths because Steve knows Will loves them even though he doesn’t mention that part to Mike. Mike picks the one metal song that Eddie suggested that he thought made sense, they all sound alike to Steve so he doesn’t pay attention to which one it is. The others are sprinkles of songs both boys have shared memories about.

“It’s really the last song that matters,” he tells Mike. “You’ve laid the groundwork for blending your stories together and that last song is the one you have to be brave with. The words matter. That’s the song where you say what you wanna say. Even if it’s the scariest thing you’ve ever done.”

Mike nods slowly, like he’s really focusing on the meaning behind Steve’s words.

The last song, after the Mike and Will songs, after it’s clear that this is a story of the two of them together , is “I Want to Hold Your Hand,” by the Beatles. It’s the only song like it on the whole tape so it stands out clearly. It’s a love song without being slow and romantic. It’s honest. And it says, “let me be your man.” So there are no wrong pronouns. Again, Steve doesn’t mention it. 

After running by the Wheeler’s to pick up a few of Mike’s tapes, they pull by the trailer park and Mike runs in to borrow the one that Eddie suggested. At the trailer door, Eddie looks over at Steve waiting in his car and gives him a head nod. Smiling fondly, Steve wonders if those two know how dorky they look in their matching Hellfire shirts and cut off jeans, if Eddie is aware that Mike is trying very hard to be as cool as he thinks Eddie is. Probably not. Eddie is pretty oblivious. 

Case in point, Steve’s been hitting on him for weeks with not a single sign that Eddie is aware of it at all.

Maybe Steve should make him a mixtape. He gives a little finger wave that Eddie returns, looking thoughtful as Mike lopes back to the car with his goofily long arms and legs flailing and throws himself into the passenger seat. Steve backs out and drives away, watching Eddie get smaller and smaller in the rearview.

Steve picks them up burgers on the way back to his house and then they lay on his floor next to his big fancy stereo, recording the songs in order, from tape to tape. When they get to the Beatles song, Steve makes an excuse about cleaning up the kitchen and leaves Mike with the tape insert and a pen. 

When he comes back, Mike’s folding a piece of notebook paper and tucking it inside the case as well. He must have had a lot to say. His eyes are a little red rimmed but Steve pretends not to notice of course.

In the Wheeler driveway, after he helps Mike dislodge his bike from where they half tucked it into the Bimmer trunk and just let the lid sit on it because it doesn’t actually fit all the way, Steve leans against the car with his arms and ankles crossed, trying to look as relaxed as he can. He wants to say something, let Mike know he’s a safe person to talk to. That they’re alike. He’s not sure how to without scaring him, though.

“Uh…thanks for this, man.” Mike snorts a laugh and gives that snotty side smile of his, “Maybe Dustin’s right about you.”

Steve grins, “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.” He nods solemnly, “You don’t totally suck.” But then he grins back all cocksure like the almost sixteen year old that he is.

Scoffing, Steve kicks out and hits one of Mike’s bike tires with his shoe, “Thanks, asshole.” Pushing off the car, he starts to turn away but then, “Hey, if it’s who I think it is, you can talk to me - I…I get it. Understand?” He makes sure he catches Mike’s eye so the kid can’t look down and away like he usually does. Steve sees the flash of fear but it’s quickly replaced with hope, maybe even trust.

Mike just nods and Steve gets out of there before he embarrasses the poor kid again. On his drive home, he rolls the windows down, turns his car radio up too loud and sings along, uncaring that he’s probably out of tune. 

Steve’s been home for maybe an hour when someone knocks on his door again. There’s less noise this time but it’s still just solid pounding without giving him the chance to get to the door. Everyone he knows is an asshole apparently.

“Alright, alright, keep it in your–” He yanks open the door and finds Eddie standing there still wearing his ripped cutoffs and his Hellfire shirt. Well, the version two that he designed for the club when he handed it down after graduation. “-pants.”

Eddie smiles, sly and flirty, “You sure?”

Steve rolls his eyes, “What are you gonna do when I call your bluff someday?” Because although Steve has been honestly flirting with Eddie, Eddie’s just been over the top hitting on Steve with innuendos and double entendres that don’t mean anything serious. Well, Steve can’t tell if they mean anything serious at least.

Which is part of why Steve hasn’t at least tried to make a move.

“We’ll see when that day comes I guess.” Eddie leans in and taps on Steve’s chest with the tip of his pointer finger. “I made you something Big Boy.”

There’s a circle of burning fire in the spot where Eddie’s finger was. His touches always seem to leave flames in their wake. Steve wonders if Eddie feels them, too “Is it dinner? Because I already ate with Baby Wheeler.”

“Nope.” Eddie drags out the “p” making a popping sound. “Baby Wheeler mentioned you were helping him with his mixtape - said you were some kind of expert.”

Scratching the back of his neck, Steve nods, admitting, “I don’t know about expert. Sorry, though, didn’t mean to step on your toes.”

“No, no, it’s cool.” Eddie leans his shoulder against the door jamb which is weird because he’s usually pushed past Steve to make himself at home by this point. Or Steve has invited him in. But they’re just standing here in the open doorway. “Besides - Wheeler informed me that I suck at mixtapes. Something about telling a story and not shoving metal down people’s throats.”

Steve crosses his arms defensively, “Don’t take it personally. You’re great at dragon stories. Gotta leave something for the rest of us to be good at.” He’s looking down so he misses the expression that accompanies the scoff Eddie gives but it sounds exasperated.

“Well.” Eddie says, bringing Steve’s eyes back up to him as he pulls a cassette tape out of his vest pocket. “Anyway, here.”

It shouldn’t make him feel the way it does. But it does. Steve’s heart flutters and his stomach swoops and the finger that brushes Eddie’s as he takes the tape feels like it’s charged with lightning. He’s still not sure, though, it could be that kind or it could just be Eddie trying to prove that metal is the best.

Before he can stop himself, he asks, “You made me a mixtape?” And the hopefulness in his voice is as clear as day. But then it’s met with a look in Eddie’s eyes - fear, denial, like he wants to take it back, so Steve pivots, teasing, “Is it an hour of metal? Did you do a voice over?”

Rolling his eyes and stuffing his hands into his vest pockets, Eddie hisses, “No. Jerk.”

After a moment of indecision, Steve asks hesitantly, “Do you..do you wanna listen to it together?”

There’s fear in Eddie’s eyes again and he takes a wary step back, “Uh - no. No, that wouldn’t be a great idea.” He swings his arms, snapping and bringing the flat of one hand against the curled first of the other before pointing finger guns at Steve. It’s so horribly awkward that Steve is filled with hope again. “Uh, yeah, it’s, um, it’s just for you, man.” He’s clearly nervous and waves of anxious energy are almost rolling off of him as he spins and walks away, throwing a confident, “See ya Harrington!” over his shoulder but Steve’s not fooled at all. 

“Oh you will, Munson.” Steve calls after him, slow smile growing when Eddie’s shoulder’s visibly hunch before he leaps into his van and pulls away, tires practically squealing with the force of him gunning it. 

Huh. Interesting.

Closing the door, Steve goes over to the phone on the entryway table where he leaves his keys and Family Video vest every night. He dials and after two rings, Robin picks up, “Thank you for calling Family-oh damn it, I mean, hello?”

“You’re such a mess.” Steve snorts.

“Fuck you Harrington, you’re such a mess!” She whisper shouts, because if her dad hears her cussing, she'll be grounded until she leaves for college.

“I didn’t say I wasn’t.” Steve assures her. “But listen - Mike came over earlier–”

“Mike?!” She actually shouts this time. “Is there a Code Red? What happened? Why didn’t you call me?” There’s the distinct sound of her rolling off of her bed and scrambling for shoes or clothes.

“Calm down, you ninny.” He sighs. “We are scarily alike.”

“Duh.” Then she makes an oof sound as she flops back onto her bed.

“I thought the same thing because when does Mike ever willingly talk to me?” 

“Like, never. Unless it’s to make fun of you – ohhh wait, did he come to talk about Will?” She squees. “Did the baby gay come to get advice from his babysitter?”

Steve laughs, switching the phone to his other ear and sitting down on the carpeted stairs. He should have made this call from his bedroom where he could have laid on his bed, too late now. “Sort of? He asked for my help making a mixtape for ‘someone’ but didn’t tell me who and I didn’t out him by asking but when I dropped him off at home, I hinted that I knew and he could talk to me.”

“Ohhhh Steve, that’s so adorable. If I remotely liked any of your children, I’d be touched.” She straight out lies because they all know she adores Max like a little partner in crime. “Why you though? Why not Eddie?”

“That’s what I said!” He laughs and then dives into telling her the whole story. Eddie’s metal sell out lesson, the hours of pouring over music, Nancy’s love of his mixtape that he made for her back in high school. She comments and laughs at all the right places because they are of one mind, as always. Then though, then, he drops the bomb.

“So, the reason I’m calling is because Eddie showed up at my door. With a mixtape. For me. And he declined my offer to listen to it together.” Steve twists the cord around his finger, waiting until the skin turns red before unwinding it.

“Oh my god! What’s on it?” She shouts, “And why didn’t you lead with that?”

“I don’t know what’s on it. I haven’t listened to it yet.”

“Why not, you dingus?!” Robin screeches then she adds in a subdued tone, “Do you think…?” 

In an equally subdued tone he replies, “I don’t know. I think that’s why I called you first. I’m a little scared to get my hopes up.”

She makes a little noise of agreement. She’s been there.

“And I just…I’m not his type at all. And I know that. But he’s so…” Steve sighs and lays back on the stairs awkwardly, it’s not comfortable at all but it’s keeping him focused. “He’s loud and brash and annoying and I like that because I’m not. But he’s also sweet and squishy and brave and so fucking funny. Argh.”

“And you already got your hopes up when he dropped it off and you don’t want to be disappointed?” Robin asks gently because she really does know him so well.

“Yeah,” he tells her in a hushed voice. “His face when he handed it over, Rob. He was nervous. And then he practically ran away.”

“Well, idiot, you won’t know until you listen.” She says matter-of-factly and he can almost hear her brushing off her hands and standing up. “Buck up. You want me to come over and listen to it with you?”

“Nah. I want to hear it the first time on my own.” That way he can cry before he has to face her if that’s where this is going. “I’ll call you if I need you, though, k?”

“You know I’m always here for you.”

He does.

After they hang up, Steve doesn’t waste anymore time. He doesn’t want to give himself any time to think so he heads into the living room and pops it into the tape deck he and Mike had just recorded ‘someone’s’ tape on. Laying back on the floor he lets the first song play. 

He doesn’t recognize the first chords but the recording itself is kinda fuzzy, like it’s a live version of something. It’s an acoustic guitar, slow but building. When the voice comes in, Steve sits up and turns toward the speaker. It’s Eddie.

I was always trapped. Drowning in this small town, Dragged down by small minds To the bottom of the lake. Spent most of my days  on the run from myself. Running from the me I wasn’t ready to be. Trapped in this small town  with these small minds. That is, until you. Until there was you. You stood your ground. Stood up for mine, too. And I never ran as fast  as I did to you.

There’s a guitar break. It’s beautiful, simple, a slow melody that builds with Eddie’s voice almost trembling when it comes back in.

You’re the boy The boy who stops the world. Stops it from spinning Out of my reach. I want to run to you. But we’re stuck in this town With these small minds, That drag us down. I just wanna be free Free to love you. I only wanna run If you’ll catch me.  In this small town In this small town

The song fades out and there’s the sound of Eddie’s breathing, it catches like he’s going to say something but then exhales and the recording clicks off. Steve speeds through the tape and flips it over and does the same to the other side. The rest of it is empty. He plays the song again. Listening with his eyes closed this time.

Then he jumps up, ejects the tape, grabs his keys and fumbles with the lock on the way out. He doesn’t let himself think. Just plays the song over and over for the fifteen minute drive to the trailer park. All the lights in the trailer are on and the music in Eddie’s room is blaring loud enough that Steve can hear it in his car with his own music still on.

He still doesn’t stop to think, just rushes out of the car and up the steps to pound on the door and when Eddie opens it with wide eyes and a healthy dose of fear on his face, Steve thinks for a second that he should say something, confirm that it’s a song written for him - about them both - but he can’t. Or he’ll chicken out. 

So, instead, he just steps into the trailer, forcing Eddie to take a step back, pushes the door shut behind him and whispers, “Too many small minds out there.” And kisses Eddie. 

It’s a good kiss too. Steve cradles Eddie’s head and tilts him just enough that he can get the perfect angle to …what’s the word in all those trashy books? Ravish. Steve ravishes Eddie’s mouth. It’s not sweet, it’s desperate and filled with need and when he finally lets go, Eddie’ lips are swollen and kiss bitten.

“I hope that song was telling me you like me or this is going to be a very awkward conversation.” Steve says when Eddie’s eyes flutter open.

“I’d have made you a whole mixtape but Wheeler told me this afternoon that the final song is the one that really matters.” Eddie grins then, wide and impish, swooping in to catch Steve’s mouth with his own. When he comes up for air, he whispers, “Besides, where was I gonna get an hour of ABBA songs?”

Growling, Steve walks Eddie backwards until the backs of his knees hit the couch and he sits. “I’m more of a Springsteen fan, actually.” He says as he climbs into Eddie’s lap and swoops down for a kiss.

It’s frenzied and graceless, like the two desperate kids they still are. Neither of them old enough to buy a six pack of beer and both overflowing with the sexual tension they’ve built up between them. Steve can’t seem to stop kissing Eddie long enough to do anything more than grind himself down against Eddie’s lap. 

Luckily, Steve’s been in his old basketball shorts all day and Eddie changed into sweats sometime after he’d gotten home so there’s nothing but a few layers of cotton between their rock hard boners. 

Jesus, it feels like the first time Steve dry humped with some girl back in freshman year. But like, a thousand times better. Not just because they both have dicks but because it’s Eddie .

He rolls his hips, brushing their aforementioned dicks together and swallows Eddie’s groan. Eddie’s hands are on Steve’s hips, guiding him as he rolls them, flexing his hands around the softness there. When Steve moans into Eddie’s mouth, Eddie’s hands slip around and squeeze his ass, cupping it and helping him press their laps together. One of them whines as their dicks slot together just right and they both thrust against each other. 

“Stevie, fuck. Yes,” Eddie swears, “Don’t stop, please don’t stop.” Then his tongue is back in Steve’s mouth, sliding along Steve’s, sucking on his bottom lip. He licks and nips and bites his way down Steve’s throat, probably leaving bruises and Steve should care about that but he doesn’t.

“Eddie, Eddie - I need,” It’s too fast, Steve knows he can last so much longer than this but he can’t seem to slow down. “Oh, god.”

“What, Stevie?” Eddie manages between grunts as they rut against each other desperately, “What do you need?”

Oh god, he’s almost there, Steve feels the warmth pooling in his belly, the muscles in his legs straining, the droplets of precome sticking to his underwear and Eddie’s hard cock pushing against the length of his own as he cries, “You, fuck, just you.” And then he comes, arching and fucking against Eddie. One hand buried in the hair at Eddie’s nape and the other digging his fingernails into Eddie’s shoulder.

Eddie pulls Steve tight to his chest, one hand around his back, holding Steve close while he comes. Eddie’s still thrusting against Steve, rolling and pressing with his hips until he, too, arches and comes with a hoarse shout.

When Eddie relaxes back against the couch, Steve collapses in his lap, head resting on Eddie's shoulder, breath hot against his collarbone. Both fucked out and exhausted.

Minutes later, once the aftershocks have subsided for both of them and Steve’s sweaty forehead is pressed into the side of Eddie’s sweaty neck, Steve admits, “Fine, I like ABBA but who doesn’t? Those songs are catchy.”

Eddie snorts a laugh out. Then, it's a little gross, but they both start laughing and have to peel their damp crotches away from each other. Totally worth it, though, when Eddie brings Steve's hand up to his mouth, kissing the palm before he threads their fingers together so he can hold Steve's hand.

Thanks to @thefreakandthehair for hosting this challenge! It was super fun and I'm so glad I actually made it in under the deadline. Skin of my teeth!

Here's the Ao3 link if you want to drop me some love there - comments make my brain buzz and I'd love to hear your thoughts on the perfect Mike/Will or Steve/Eddie mixtape playlist!

[turtle-steverogers]

Steve coming home late from a mission to find Bucky still awake in the kitchen, dinner warm on the stove and a record on their new sage green Victrola in the corner playing Nat King Cole. He's exhausted, but Steve finds it in himself to smile as he dumps his shield by the mouth of the kitchen, leaning against the door jamb and watching Bucky for a moment.

"You didn't have to wait up," he says, glancing at the clock. It's 3:00 am.

Bucky flashes him a smile over his shoulder. He looks impossibly soft in a t-shirt and boxers, hair pulled up into a loose bun. The whole scene is so incredibly domestic, and such a drastic change from the chaos of the firefight he just left, that Steve finds himself suddenly aching. Home. It's nice to finally have a home to come back to. Before Bucky came in from the cold, all he'd had was a place to stay. But now it's home. Well and truly. Home like he hadn't felt in years-- like he didn't think he'd ever get again.

"Nah, but I wanted to," Bucky says, turning off the stove and moving the pot to the back burner. "I made you that awful Kraft mac and cheese if you want it."

"Hey, it's solid mac and cheese," Steve shoots back, padding up behind Bucky and wrapping his arms around his middle, leaning his chin down on his shoulder. He closes his eyes, feeling like he could fall asleep standing right there. "I'm fucking tired."

Bucky turns in his arms, wraps his own around Steve's waist. Lets him lean on him, as much as he needs.

"I know. C'mon, let's get something in your stomach, then we can sleep, okay?"

Steve sags, relieved that he doesn't have to call the shots anymore. Bucky knows he's burnt out when he comes home. Knows he just wants something easy and light to eat, then sleep. Knows Steve like the back of his hand.

"Okay," Steve agrees, and yes. Home. He's home.

[glacierclear]

Can I... can I ask for some househusband Leon hcs?

alright. okay. we're gonna work with a few assumptions for these headcanons.

this all comes from the hypothetical of leon being fully retired from his line of work. he still has the same backstory, skillset, traumas, everything, it's just...now he's your loyal house husband!

cooking? this all depends on where he's at in life. mid-30s and onward? he's a chef. i don't believe he'd be terribly gourmet about it. you aren't coming home to a roasted duck served with a reduced wine glaze and a perfectly made risotto...but god. he can make some damn fine spaghetti. he'd likely shoot for simple dishes, with perhaps an added flair or two. homemade burgers. lots of steak dinners. he'd prefer anything that can be prepared with minimal mess. recipes that are made with one pot or one pan...a big hit for him. he is not a pretentious eater, and that would reflect in his cooking.

now, if we're talking early to late-20s leon? erm. well. let's just say he's learning. his transition from zombie apocalypse policeman to military meat shield didn't do much for his cooking skills. and a diet of MREs and scrounged up viper parts did even less. if post-re4 leon is your house husband you're gonna be eating a lot of questionable meals. he's not completely oblivious. he won't try and feed you absolute slop, but his abilities don't much exceed kraft mac and scrambled eggs. still! he's a domestic man now. plenty of free time to try out all sorts of new things in the kitchen! be on standby with a fire extinguisher when he decides 3am is a great time to make fried chicken from scratch!

leon's independent food preferences likely revolve around utility. protein. nutrition. careful rations. compact energy a growing boy needs to kill bioweapons. he doesn't strike me as having a particularly strong sweet tooth, but he also won't say no to a bit of dessert! but he's adaptable, of course. one must be in his line of work. your tastes and favored dishes will influence his palate a lot. he'll naturally associate flavors with you and will, over time, come to adopt a lot of your dietary choices.

cleaning? leon will do his best. you can count on him to not accidentally mix mustard gas in your bathroom, but his knack for cleanliness would be...odd. i choose to believe leon has a strict standard for bodily hygiene. his extended exposure to all manner of glop and viscera means he strives to smell nice and stay on top of dirt the best he can when he is able to...on his body. a house is different. he's never had to see it as a home, merely an empty room where he sleeps and eats. so maintaining it as a tidy space might not come naturally, and it's not as if he had a proper upbringing to teach him proper housekeeping techniques (cough, cough, he's an orphan).

man's a fast learner though. expect a lot of trial and error. him accidentally using glass cleaner on the stove. or not understanding the exact purpose of fabric softener. why do we need make our bed if we're just gonna sleep in it and mess it up again? he likely has a lot of bad habits from living on his own, but gentle guidance and persistent advice will go a long way.

of course, leon needs his private time. space for him to isolate and be alone...but, you're at work all day. the loneliness is easily accessible, and now that he has all the time and freedom to be with you...it's grating. his favorite sound is the noise your key makes when it unlocks the front door. he's careful, not incredibly overbearing, but you don't make it more than a few steps into your home before his head is poking around the corner. "how was your day? you look tired. here, let me take your coat off-" leon is a listener. he doesn't talk about himself much, if at all, so he'd prefer to just hear you ramble on about whatever you need to or want to. neck rubs. gentle squeezes on your arm. light kisses on your brow. he doesn't smother. he doesn't drown you in the touch he's so starved of. but you can tell, he misses you a lot.

the real issues will probably stem from the quiet. the absolute lack of danger. take a person out of their traumatic environment and things start crumbling real fast before they can start to heal. he's hyper-aware. paranoid. has all this pent up energy and an instinct to fight. and he has to redirect it all somewhere, right? it'd come out in bizarre ways. diy projects. you come home from work and he built you a fucking chair. you don't even need a chair, but now you have one. lots of yard work. he renovated your patio and set up a birdhouse (also handmade). you didn't really want him to rearrange your living room but he did it anyways.

and it's hard for him to relax. for him to feel truly safe. he'd insist on installing locks on all the doors. bulletproof windows. guns hidden and stashed in corners of the house, just in case. any tech that could impede on his privacy (ie, amazon echos, doorbell cameras, etc) are out of the question. he'd run you through drills and hypothetical scenarios. make sure you know what to do in any situation. he's vigilant, and honestly, you've never felt safer, but it wears him down and you aren't sure if it's truly good for him.

[bambiimutt]

I HAVE ANOTHER! Ur hcs are so good bro omg they are so well written 😭❤️ could I have father figure Tim to the edgy teens, but angst?

like for examples: the teen finds Tim having a panic attack and tries to comfort him even though they are bad at comforting, Tim finds out the teen is struggling with a lot, or maybe they have an argument or maybe the teen goes missing for a long time and finally the police finds them, etc👀

SORRY I love angst

Father figure Masky/Tim and teen troubles.

Helping Dad!Tim with understanding you, some angst, he lashes out,just a poor tired man trying to help his kid.

TW!! None I don’t think!

also this songs I feel goes with this.. just the vibes of it.. it really helped to write!

Tim huffed out as his hands used the spatula to stir the food in the pot for the dinner he’d plan to have. You promised him you’d have some father/kid time but as long as you got to go out with your friends. But that was five hours ago and you still have yet to be back.. you haven’t even messaged him. His head is hung low as he ate his food, your plate on the opposite end of the table yet your presence wasn’t there. He shouldn’t be so upset.. though he kinda bailed on for two weeks to do shit that he shouldn’t be doing.. so he can’t be mad at you but still he felt like shit. You promised him; but he still gives you your space and lets you come home whenever.

The trailer is quiet, the lights are dim within the living room as you step in, melting snow falling off of your boots as you slide them off. Your fingers rub through your coloured hair as you peek your head to look around where you could see. “Dad?” You called out maybe a bit too loudly for the quiet home that absorbed you. Your eyes still peered around as you fidget with the cold piercing on your lip, the further you walked into the trailer the more your nose picked up the smell of food. Kraft dinner. Your favourite. He usually makes this when.. ah shit. You completely forgot. You were meant to spend the day with him but you wanted to see your friends.

You quietly ate, figuring Tim had probably gone somewhere. It was cold yet you still ate it, it was the least you could do. Your head rest back in the old kitchen chair, your arms hugging your body around your flannel, damp jeans clinging to your legs due to the snow. It was. A little too quiet.

“Where were you.” You jump softly at the sudden voice, causing you to look up and see Tim walking towards the kitchen, pj pants and a white shirt. He looked like he hadn’t slept. He looked frantic but angry all at the same time. His hands reached for the cupboards, slamming them as he poured himself coffee, cringing at the gross taste. You look around, fingernails picking at the seems of your ripped jeans. “Out.” Was all you got out. You knew where this was going. Another lecture. “And where exactly is out.” He spoke back, keeping that same angered tone. He hadn’t said it like a question but more of a statement for you to answer. You swallow. “With friends.” He breathed in before looking at you “yknow we were supposed to have our day today right? I planned everything out and you bail on me. I was okay with it for the first 4 hours but it’s now..” he looks to the clock on the stove. “Four in the morning. Do you know how worried I’ve been?!” He slams down his cup causing you to jolt again. The snow almost seems to fall more aggressively now. Something you picked up on as you stared out of the kitchen window to avoid eye contact. Funny how beautiful it could be but such angered moments could make things so sicking. The house suddenly seemed foul to you, the fairy lights you helped him put up suddenly became too bright, the food in your stomach suddenly twisted, the anger bubbled.. and bubbled. “Yeah well maybe if you never bailed on me, leave me for weeks on end without knowing where you go, I wouldn’t do this shit. Maybe I’d actually spend more time with you! I don’t even know who you are anymore!.” You finally stand, the strong legs that pushed you up feel shaky all of a sudden. That hurt. That.. tugged his chest in ways he didn’t like. Damn you. Damn you for making him feel what a father feels when they know they’ve failed. “That’s completely different-“

It’s not long before you’re grabbing your patched up coat and trying to rush out of the trailer door. But before you do, you look back. “Don’t say it. ‘I’m your father, it’s different’ news fucking flash Tim. You aren’t my dad. For a while I thought you were.. but you are exactly like him!” Oh dear.. he watches wide eyed as you walk out for house, door slammed behind you and your body running through the deep snow. He should be running after you, what is he doing just standing there?

The bench was. Not comfortable. The snow you wiped off of it had slowly started to cover the bench once more with new snow. Watching your breath turn into to fog put you into a trance, your body shivering as you watched it swirl within the wind. It wasn’t long before there was sirens and a man running towards you with two cops behind him. Arms immediately wrap around you, a blanket placed on your shoulders as the man helps you up. When your eyes flicker up, you see him. It’s Tim. Frantically helping you back to the car, thanking the cops behind him. Once he was in the car that silence itched back again. You stared out of the frosted window. “I shouldn’t have said what I said..” you state.

“It’s okay.” You both stare out of the window, Tim cranking the heat when he notices you shiver. “Do you hate me.” You question, your cracked lips softly frowning as you continue to stare, unblinking. It was quiet as he looks down, eyes closed. “No. No I don’t hate you kiddo.” You swallow before looking at him. “You’re still my dad.” He lets out a soft chuckle “still your dad.” You smile gently, your body finally warming up. “And you’re nothing like him.” His smile softly fades before looking back towards the window and starting up the car. “I should be the one comforting you, not the other way around” he covers it up with a laugh once more. There was an awkward silence for a moment. “Don’t do that again.” Tim speaks up. There’s a hint of a shaky tone, almost like he was tearing up but you wouldn’t pry. You understood why he was upset. “I won’t..”

“Or I’ll kick your ass” he laughs through his shaky voice and looks at you for a moment “love ya kid” he ruffles your hair before placing his hand back to the steering wheel and driving you both back home.

[pxme-granate]

Cooking Headcannons??

Anah

She's very average for an 11-13 year old; she probably helped the nuns make meals by peeling potatoes or something. I don't think she would do that badly if she tried. I also think that by the end of Hollowpox, she has barista-level skills at making coffee.

Thaddea

No creating, only destruction. If someone does not put food in front of her, she will simply drink the blood of her enemies. Good for her, wish that were me

Francis

Hear me out, he's not actually that good jk. I'd imagine he would try to avoid cooking when he's trying to relax, or at least just make simple comfort food if he wants to feed himself (his standards for simple are probably...interesting, though).

Hawthorne

Great at making little snacks he has to share with Baby Dave, also excellent at making mud pies. Very aesthetically pleasing, not so edible.

Morrigan

Has never cooked a day in her life, has never even looked at a stove; the cook at the manor would always chase her out. She would burn water. Every cooking related conversation she has with Francis ends with him staring off into the distance in horrified silence.

Cadence

Assuming she lives only with her mom and grandmother (and goes to school? did the kids go to a school before wunsoc?? 🤨), she probably only has to cook herself lunch sometimes. So she's excellent at making kraft mac n cheese, and not very good at anything else (pulling from experience here lol).

Arch

Why learn to cook when you can shoplift? jk unless?? I can't imagine him cooking, but I CAN imagine him enjoying a good TV dinner or something. I like to imagine him browsing the frozen meals aisle and picking out the most random and possibly disgusting stuff, like Kids Cuisine Gourmet Shrimp ✨

Lam

She's probably in the same boat as Morrigan...the only saving grace she has is the abiltiy to forsee disaster. Her water may burn, but it will never boil over, yk.

Mahir

I think he might have an idea of basic techniques and what to do in general from studying languages/cultures, but he has never cooked anything before and has no experience. Not quite as bad as Morrigan, but not good either.

Miss Cheery

GREAT at baking; she's only really interested in making deserts and sweets, and every other cooking skill she has is the bare minimum she needs to survive. Undercooked, underseasoned, the whole nine yards.

Roshni

She also has the bare minimum amount of skill you need to survive...she'd rather order something from a cafe and read than make her own food. She has more patience than Marina, at least, so her food isn't so bad.

Jupiter

Maybe he's good at no-cooking-required meals (sandwiches, salads, soups technically) since he has to survive his fancy Captain-y trips somehow. If you actually make him cook something, he will hand you back a burnt crisp that only vaguely resembles the ingredients you gave him.

Squall

I don't think he ever touched a stove before coming to the Republic. The process of learning was nothing short of a disaster in which he nearly starved or died several times, but he's probably good enough now.

[persimmonteas]

Donations to Food Banks

source

Everyone donates Kraft Mac and Cheese in the box. They can rarely use it because it needs milk and butter which is hard to get from regular food banks.

Boxed milk is a treasure, as kids need it for cereal which they also get a lot of.

Everyone donates pasta sauce and spaghetti noodles.

They cannot eat all the awesome canned veggies and soup unless you put a can opener in too or buy pop tops.

Oil is a luxury but needed for Rice a-Roni which they also get a lot of.

Spices or salt and pepper would be a real Christmas gift.

Tea bags and coffee make them feel like you care.

Sugar and flour are treats.

They fawn over fresh produce donated by farmers and grocery stores.

Seeds are cool in Spring and Summer because growing can be easy for some.

They rarely get fresh meat.

Tuna and crackers make a good lunch.

Hamburger Helper goes nowhere without ground beef.

They get lots of peanut butter and jelly but usually not sandwich bread.

Butter or margarine is nice too.

Eggs are a real commodity.

Cake mix and frosting makes it possible to make a child’s birthday cake.

Dishwashing detergent is very expensive and is always appreciated.

Feminine hygiene products are a luxury and women will cry over that.

Everyone loves Stove Top Stuffing.

Check with your local food bank that they accept fresh produce/meat.

[immeasurablesaladagere]

Hi salad! Can i please request an impure regression fic about little!Wilson going nonverbal 🙏🙏

Here you are! I'm almost to the bottom of my request stack, yay! It's late when I'm posting so sorry if I've glazed over any mistakes, I'm sure I'll catch them tomorrow and facepalm lol

-----

Word Count: 1003

Summery: Wilson has been quiet since they got home. House goes to find out what's up and finds him regressed in his room.

-----

If he was being honest, House hadn’t noticed the absence of Wilson’s usual milling around the apartment until his stomach started growling. Ever the motivated housewife, Wilson was always meal-prepping and tidying, and if they had a kid, he would be hovering over them and permanently messing with their sense of independence as all good mothers. He was also usually the one who started dinner after they got home, but now it was nearing eight-thirty and the only thing he’d heard from Wilson was quiet footsteps to the bathroom and back over an hour ago. How very un-Wilson of him.

He grunted as he pushed himself off of the couch and hobbled down the hall to Wilson’s room. 

“You better not be jerking off in here, because I’m coming in!” He announced, before unceremoniously opening the door and walking in. It wasn’t like he cared all too much about privacy, but he wasn’t exactly looking to be flashed on a Friday night; at least, not by Wilson.

There was nothing scandalous going on in Wilson’s room; nor was he sleeping, which was his second guess. Instead, he found Wilson curled up on his side, on top of the covers in a baggy sweatshirt and sweatpants, gripping his teddy bear against his chin. He looked up at House with round, tired eyes, but didn’t say anything.

He fished his bottle of Vicodin out of his pocket and popped a couple of pills. So he was regressed, then. He could probably deal with that.

He still wasn’t entirely used to the whole “caregiving” thing, but he had yet to catastrophically fail and traumatize Wilson’s three-year-old self, so he was tentatively confident as he sat down on the bed by his feet. 

“So… What’s going on here?” He motioned to Wilson’s generally sad, floppy-ness. Now that he was closer it was obvious that he had been crying at some point, his eyes were bloodshot and it looked like someone had vacuumed the soul out of him.

Wilson didn’t respond, which seemed to be a trend with him. Of the few times he had been regressed around House, he had only spoken more than a few words consistently once. Wilson had explained to him that while he technically could speak, it took too much energy and he usually decided not to. He wished adults worked like that, he would go home every day with so many less migraines.

“O-kay… Do you need me to do anything, or are you good to just… be sad?” Wilson seemed to have himself handled, but he figured he should do his due-diligence, just in case.

Wilson looked around the room for a second, thinking, before slowly raising a hand and doing what House recognized as the baby-sign for ‘food’.

“Hungry? Me too. I guess you want me to make you something?” He asked, and Wilson looked away and scrunched up more. “Relax, it was an offer. I’ll see what I can scavenge from the cupboard.” He got up and made his way to the kitchen, and after a minute he heard Wilson climb out of bed and follow him.

Wilson dropped into one of the dining room chairs and watched him intently as he rummaged through the cabinets for something quick and kid-friendly. He pulled out a box of Kraft Mac n’ Cheese. Kids liked this stuff, right? 

“Will you eat this?” He asked, and Wilson nodded mutely. “Perfect.”

He dumped the pasta into a pot of water and began to heat it over the stove, watching as the water turned a murky, starch-filled beige. He remembered seeing these boxes in the store when he shopped with his mother as a kid. She always refused to buy them because “those are just chemicals”, and she was probably right, but he still smirked to himself at the idea of getting to stick it to her after all these years.

Once the pasta had cooked, he strained it and dumped in the neon-orange cheese powder, a spoonful of butter, and some milk. After a quick stir, he had a pot of edible-looking yellow macaroni. It didn’t smell like chemicals. He poured some into two bowls and gave one to Wilson before joining him at the table. Maybe it was the kind that killed you slowly. He could live with that.

Wilson ate his portion far too quickly for the quality of the product, but he supposed he was mentally a toddler. It was okay, all things considered. They sat in silence as House picked away at the pasta and Wilson fiddled with the paws of his bear absently. He was staring off at nothing, and House could see that whatever had upset him earlier was still bothering him.

Eventually he decided to bite the bullet. “Do you want to talk about it? Or— sign or something?”

Wilson firmly shook his head no.

He shrugged. “Okay.” He took both of their dishes to the sink and left them at the bottom for Wilson to clean up tomorrow. “I think it’s time for bed now, hm?”

There was no resistance on Wilson’s part, which wasn’t surprising. He looked so exhausted it was almost unsettling, and easily allowed himself to be led back to bed.

“And this time, we get under the covers. It’s a great invention, I know.” He pulled the covers up over Wilson’s shoulders, and once he looked settled, turned to go back to the living room.

But the second he pulled his hand away, Wilson let out the most pathetic kicked-puppy sound he could possibly muster. With a sigh House sat down on the edge of the bed and put his hand back, and immediately the fussing stopped. He chuckled, “Oh you are needy.” 

With nothing better to do, he began gently rubbing up and down Wilson’s back until his breaths evened out and he was asleep, snuggling his bear. House couldn’t help but smile slightly. He really did look like a little kid. 

“Goodnight, Jimmy.”

[masoncarr2244]

[heartbeatbookclub]

We all know Natsuki is the best cook and Sayori is the worst, but how are Monika and Yuri?

Natsuki, is, as stated, the best cook of the group. She's got the most experience, and where baking is a much more exact science, cooking is a lot more of a fuck around and find out type situation. Following a recipe to the T isn't hard and it gets good results, but Natsuki definitely spends a good deal of time figuring out little cheats and tricks to make it taste exactly like she wants. Of course, she makes more than enough to share. It's what she does best!

Sayori, as you surmised, cannot cook for shit I'm so sorry bbgirl you're burning a pot of water on the stove--

Okay, she's not that bad, but she has a tendency to try to prep every part of the recipe early, while other parts are still cooking and need her attention. This results in things being overcooked, occasionally undercooked as she needs to combine them quicker than the recipe requires, and occasionally she just eyeballs the amounts rather than measuring them which can really make mac n cheese taste a lot more soupy than you expected did you guys know that--

In all honesty, Sayori doesn't think she can cook at all in the slightest, and that belief leads her to psych herself out any time she tries, which just ends up reinforcing the belief. She can boil a pot of water and make Kraft Mac n Cheese with some degree of consistency. You're doing fine, lass, that's all you need to cook anything.

Monika isn't great, but she isn't terrible. She has a bit more confidence than Sayori, but she's not terribly confident in her ability to cook. She relies entirely on the recipe and is careful to measure things out and cook things for exactly as long as the recipe says, to the letter. This ends up with dishes which are fine, but taste a little...bland. Or a little TOO flavorful. Believe it or not, some of those recipes kinda suck on their own...especially since they aren't using the cookware YOU are. To break character a second, a genuinely handy tip on terms of cooking is to pay attention to how your cook top and pots/pans specifically heat up. Different cookware heats up at different rates, and different stove tops not only heat in different ways, they also tend to heat at different rates. Medium for you can mean high on someone else's stove, I'm not even kidding, you have to work that out yourself.

Back on track, over time Monika does start experimenting a little bit and start adding her own little flourishes to her recipes (little bit of extra spice here, little bit of extra milk for some added fluffiness, cooking for a little longer, sausage pieces), but she never gets much further beyond that, and has very little confidence as a chef all on her own.

Also she breaks spaghetti noodles in half, which peeves Natsuki. ("What's so wrong about that?" "Just get a bigger pot!")

Yuri tends to cook a lot of the same stuff...which is to say, not a lot. She has a select few foods she really likes and she makes them in a very specific way which she thinks tastes best. She's willing to branch out, and on terms of skill, she tends to be a natural at improvising while making a dish (substituting ingredients which, while they don't sound like they'd work, shockingly do, quite well), but she has...peculiar tastes. What she enjoys isn't necessarily what everyone enjoys. Still, she's a pretty solid cook, though she lacks confidence in her abilities to cook for others.

[deada55]

Kloktober 2024 day 25: inspired by a metal song

Loose interpretation of the prompt. I like to think Murderface was into Danzig.

“TURN THAT NOISE OFF, WILLIAM!” Stella shouted from the stove as she fried frozen chicken patties and stirred Kraft Dinner. Her green beans were also heated on the stove with a glob of margarine for flavor.

William was in his room, door closed, sitting on a pile of clothes, garbage, and stuff that formed to his body like a beanbag, with a Stratocaster in his lap. A children’s toy cassette recorder was loaded with Danzig. The tinny noises the guitar made played unpowered almost sorta sounded like the real thing, almost in tune, when he played something behind it. Otherwise, it was bleak and transparent as a teddy from the JMS catalog. All the old guitar could do was insist, “I don’t hate myself, I don’t hate myself, I am demon, I am demon, I am—“

“WILLIAM! Can you hear me?!”

“YESCH! GOD DAMN!” He turned it down two notches, but when he heard two more chicken patties bubbling in the oil, he turned it back up and kept trying. He’d figured out the first three chords, but there were more than three in the song, right? One by one, he tried to pick every note out, almost dreaming he heard recognizable tones from the guitar. All the while, he wondered how the guitar’s life had even before that. What did it sound like when it played country? What songs had it heard and made heard? Maybe he had to disgrace it with his own dirty fingers, but he was better than nobody, right?

He’d found the old guitar against the wall under Grandpa’s bed, when he had to chase an expensive fallen pill, and he had to wait until Grandma was at the store to slide it out. It’s not like Grandpa could have stopped him. But, unlike some other Grandpas, he’d never said he’d teach Willy to play it someday. No, nothing like that. Still… Grandpa couldn’t stop him from taking it, and he’d never need it again.

The steam and smoke from Stella’s cooking was banking down in the trailer and making William’s room hot and musty. A smoke alarm mouthed off until she beat it with her dusty terrycloth slipper. She mixed powdered lemon Lipton sweet tea in lidded Tupperware cups, one with thickener, for Thunderbolt. She took a prepared chicken patty, and some green beans into a small bowl and beat the shit out of it with a potato masher until it was chunky slop, then she set it on the edge of the sink to cool.

“WILLIAM!” Dinner was almost ready for them, which made it dinner time for Thunderbolt. William started him off, then Stella made their plates and they switched so that neither of them had to nurse Thunderbolt for the entirety of the meal. After long enough, it put you off of eating.

“I’M COMING!”

She sat Thunderbolt up in bed, tied a short apron around his neck for a bib, and set his tray table with his mashed food, thickened tea, and a lunchbox can of chocolate pudding. By the time she was done, she was out of patience. She shoved her head into William’s tiny door, blocked with debris. She was too fat to enter the room, which was William’s preference.

She looked at him and the guitar. He looked at her.

”William, where did you find that?”

He reached over and shut the cassette player up.

”Under Grandpa’s bed.”

Stella tried to open the door a little further. A garbage bag full of… something wouldn’t budge.

“Supper’s ready.”

[porterdavis]

Robyn Berg

Robyn Berg:

"So, I spoke to people getting food at a food bank and here are some things I learned from those in need:

1. Everyone donates Kraft Mac and Cheese in the box. They can rarely use it because it needs milk and butter which is hard to get from regular food banks.

2. Boxed milk is a treasure, as kids need it for cereal which they also get a lot of.

3. Everyone donates pasta sauce and spaghetti noodles.

4. They cannot eat all the awesome canned veggies and soup unless you put a can opener in too or buy pop tops.

5. Oil is a luxury but needed for Rice a-Roni which they also get a lot of.

6. Spices or salt and pepper would be a real Christmas gift.

7. Tea bags and coffee make them feel like you care.

8. Sugar and flour are treats.

9. They fawn over fresh produce donated by farmers and grocery stores.

10. Seeds are cool in Spring and Summer because growing can be easy for some.

11. They rarely get fresh meat.

12. Tuna and crackers make a good lunch.

13. Hamburger Helper goes nowhere without ground beef.

14. They get lots of peanut butter and jelly but usually not sandwich bread.

15. Butter or margarine is nice too.

16. Eggs are a real commodity.

17. Cake mix and frosting makes it possible to make a child’s birthday cake.

18. Dishwashing detergent is very expensive and is always appreciated.

19. Feminine hygiene products are a luxury and women will cry over that.

20. Everyone loves Stove Top Stuffing.

21. Diapers

22. Wipes

23. Buns

24. Baked goods

25. Potatoes

26. Nuts

27. Seeds for eating or cooking

28. Raisins

29. Dishwashing pods

30. Rags and cleaning supplies

31. Pet food

32. Pet supplies

"In all the years I have donated food at the Holidays, I bought what I thought they wanted, but have never asked. I am glad I did. If you are helping a Family this Christmas, maybe this can help you tailor it more. It does for me!"