#aluminum foil is safe to wrap

[pragyaflexifilm]

Aluminum Foil Sheets: Practical Uses Around the Kitchen & House

Want to know How are Aluminum Foil Sheets Created, Is Aluminium Foil paper Safe for Food, What Can Aluminum Foil be Used For, Aluminum Foil Usage Around Kitchen & House, aluminum foil is safe to wrap, etc. If you want Trusted Aluminium Foil Manufacturers, Call Pragya Flexifilm, today!

[bettysupremacy]

hii! I was wondering if you could write a fic with reader and any marauder (they all fit) and maybe helping or becoming protective over the reader after a concert or party after a creep follows the reader? 😭

I went through a similar experience with a guy following me around after I went to the restroom after a concert, and it ruined my night if i'm being honest, I was scared 😞 I'm not the most shy of people and usually I can handle myself but it was pretty dark and idk the adrenaline from feeling happy to scared shifted pretty quickly. Luckily I found my friends and let them know and we quickly went back to our car (along with a few dirty looks from my friends god bless lol). I swore I could go to the restroom by myself- will not be doing that again :(

you can ignore this request if it makes you uncomfortable!

thank uu

i’m so sorry that happened to you! “(they all fit)”= poly marauders!

There’s something about post concert depression, especially when you’re with the band.

Your glitter eyeshadow is smudged, eyeliner untouched. You’d been shaken around in the pit of your boyfriends fans, and yet the paint hasn’t budged. God bless water-proof makeup. The world seems prettier like this, touched by alcohol and the feeling of soaring pride for your boyfriends. The glittery lights and signs of time square never fail to dazzle you, even now as you lean against Sirius morosely.

“M’hungry.” You frown, toes tipping up towards Sirius, though you fear the mumble may have been more for yourself.

His attention is diverted towards the boys as they discuss what to do now. Plans of how to get home and where to eat. His finger taps your cheek slowly, his focus paying you no mind. Words like Uber, hotel, room service echo throughout their very repetitive conversation.

“Sirius.”

He looks down, a little shocked and sorry at his own attention. “Yes, lovely?”

“M’hungry.”

“Hungry?” He asks, cringing. You’re about thirty minutes from the hotel, and even then, room service will take another thirty.

“So hungry.”

He sighs, unsure of what to do.

“There’s a hotdog stand over there.” You grab his tattooed bicep to balance yourself as you point to your right.

He thinks, peering down at you. “This won’t ruin your dinner?” It’s midnight, but still.

“No,” you sing, reaching up to cup his cheeks. “I really want a hotdog.

He flushes, looking away from your wandering eyes. Normally he wouldn’t let you out of his sight. They would never let you out of their sight in a place like this. But the cart is in eye view of the boys, and he has faith in you not to stray, even in your inebriated manor. It’s not that they don’t trust you, they just prefer to keep you safe themselves. Is that okay?

“Okay,” He murmurs, pulling out his wallet, handing you his card. “At least get the good toppings.”

“I always get the good toppings.” You pull away.

The walk is short and the cart is colorful. Red and white stripes, curvy calligraphy. It shines in your inebriated vision. Beautiful. The queues not long, just an older man waiting in front of you, but it feels like forever as the generous man (with the toppings as well) takes your order and wraps it in warm aluminum foil.

You take the hotdog eagerly. “Thank you.”

It’s heavy in your hands, warm too. You yell Sirius’ name excitedly, waving the hotdog above your head for him to see. He laughs, thumbs up until you bump into a man, smile fading, concern etching his brows.

“Oh,” you murmur, looking up. “I’m sorry.”

“No problem,” he smiles. It’s uncomfortable, not the smile of a friendly civilian.

You laugh. It’s polite, anyone can see that, but he leans closer. He smells like liquor, a disgusting discovery that has you subconsciously leaning away.

“You new around here?”

An actual laugh stumbles out of your lips. “London? No.”

He takes this as an entrance. “You should show me around.”

“No, thank you.” You try to walk past him. Towards Sirius who’s already walking over. “Goodnight.”

“Wait,” he grabs your arm, pulling you back. His fingers dig into your elbow painfully.

“What the fuck,” you gasp, pulling your arm away roughly. “don’t touch me.”

“C’mon,” The man slurs, fingers reaching for you again. “Don’t be-“

“Hello?” Sirius walks up, all stock. He grabs your forearm pulling you to him firmly, getting in between you and the man. He’s not much taller, but more intimidating in demeanor. “Do we have a problem?”

“No,” the man scoffs.

“Cause it looks like you put your hands on her.”

He scoffs again, clearly inebriated. “We were just talking.”

“Well, conversations over now.”

“She can make her own decisions.”

“Fuck off, bro.” Sirius waves his hand dismissively. Quickly, he walks you towards the boys who are peeking their eyes up from the Uber app.

“She was asking for it.”

Sirius reels back, dropping your forearm to shove the scary stranger in the chest. He pushes hard, the man losing his balance as he falls to the ground in a sickening thud. You gasp loudly, the unexpected conflict startling you. Vaguely you hear Sirius say something to him, but you’re too focused on the way the man looks up at you.

James and Remus are there in seconds, quick on Sirius’s heels. They pull at him, up and off the man. There were no real punches thrown, no real injuring blows, it wasn’t even enough to form a crowd. But still, you’re shaken. You shiver like a leaf under your James’ leather jacket, suddenly not feeling the warmth of the alcohol you’d consumed before the concert.

Slowly, you stumble back and way from your boys, to the bench next to the shitty bar you’d passed on your way home. That had been scary, but you’re safe; that had been scary, but Sirius dealt with it. You bring your hand up to your chest, setting the hotdog you had been eager to buy down next to you.

“Hi,” Remus pushes aside the hotdog to sit next to you. “Are you okay?”

You look up to the boy, blindingly beautiful in the streetlights and advertisements. “Yes.”

He pushes some stray hair from your face. “He didn’t hurt you?”

“I think it was more startling.” James sits on the other side of you, kissing your temple firmly. “I’m sorry he did that.”

“It’s okay, I’m okay.”

“She’s okay.” Sirius gruffs from where he walks over.

He sounds cooler than he thinks he looks. He’s not bruised, bloodied, or bandaged, if he were he thinks he’d look cool enough to breeze over. But then again you look mad, so maybe he doesn’t want that.

“Don’t be upset,” Sirius crouches to your level. You’re in the arms of a solid Remus. “he was a creep.”

“Are you hurt?”

“Are you trying to tell me something?” He laughs roguishly. “I thought I looked good tousled.”

He does, and you know he’ll look good on the tabloids tomorrow too. Sirius black gives black eye? You sigh at the thought.

“You do.” James feeds Sirius.

“At least someone in this relationship cares for my ego.”

“You look good.”

“Oh, now you tell me.”

You laugh, letting Sirius stare at you like you hung the moon.

“Kiss em?” He pushes his knuckles in front of your lips. His fingers throb lightly, you can feel it on your lips.

“That was stupid.”

“C’mon,” Sirius’ eyes roll as he pulls you up. “You’ve got a hotdog to eat.”

[aylacavebear]

2/1 With A Twist Pt. 1

It was bad enough being on the run—worse when you didn’t even know what you were running from. Shadows moved wrong around you. Eyes lingered too long. You’d always been different, but never understood how or why. The only thing that made sense was the way your blood could help people. Heal them. Quietly slipping into hospitals, leaving behind recovering patients and no trace of yourself—that had become routine. You didn’t know it was also how they were finding you. And now, your life was about to change in ways you couldn’t begin to understand

Pairing: Eventually Dean x You/Reader

Word Count: 7361

Warning: Show level violence, Season 2 episode 1 rewrite, Past trauma, Soulmates, Mention of Angels, Bastet, Chuck, John being John, Angst, Tension, Mentions of Demons, Mentions of Death.

A/N: I honestly don't know if this will be more than three parts. No matter how much I try to "wrap it up," it just keeps flowing out of me. I also am not sure exactly where this one is headed.

----------------------------------------- You’d been driving for a week—no real destination, just away. Running on caffeine, gas station food, and whatever was loud enough to keep your eyes open. Classic rock trickled through the speakers, but you weren’t listening. Your mind hummed with fatigue, vision fraying at the edges. 

I need to stop.

You knew better than to push yourself like this. But ever since the thing with the black eyes—since it had slammed you into a wall without laying a hand on you, whispered about your blood like it was gold—you hadn’t felt safe. You were still trying to piece together how you’d escaped that one.

The last sign you remembered said “Welcome to Missouri.” After that, everything blurred until the empty stress of some no-name town rose out of the early morning haze. The glowing Vacancy sign outside a squat little motel felt like salvation.

Check-in was blessedly uneventful. The man behind the counter barely looked up. You paid in cash, took the key, and disappeared behind the door of Room 6. You didn’t bother unpacking. Just locked the door, dropped your bag, and collapsed onto the bed.

—---------------

You woke to sunlight cutting through faded blinds. Your body ached from the drive—shoulders tight, back stiff.  The streets outside buzzed with activity as you took in the room. Typical low-class motel, you thought to yourself, swinging your legs over the edge of the bed.

The motel room looked like it hadn’t changed since the seventies. Faux-wood paneling lined the walls, chipped and faded in places where time had peeled back the varnish. A dull floral-print carpet, worn thin by countless boots and suitcases, muffled every step with the faint scent of stale cigarette smoke and motel-grade disinfectant.

One bed, full-sized, topped with a faded breadspread that looked like it had seen better decades. The nightstand between the bed and wall held a cracked plastic lamp with a yellowing shade and a crusted-over ashtray that hadn’t been emptied since the Clinton administration. A Gideon Bible, missing half its cover, lay half-tucked in the drawer.

Near the window, an old box TV sat on a laminate dresser, the kind with push-button knobs and rabbit-ear antennas wrapped in aluminum foil. A lone wooden chair rested in the corner under a framed print of a duck-filled marsh—generic, impersonal, and hung slightly crooked.

The bathroom was tiny, tiled in avocado green with a rusty shower rod and thin white towels that felt more like sandpaper. The sink had a slow drip, and the mirror over it was cracked in the top corner, warping reflections just enough to be unsettling.

It was cheap, anonymous, and quiet. A perfect place to lay low from whatever had been chasing you relentlessly.

Your stomach growled, loud enough to echo off the walls. You hadn’t eaten anything that wasn’t packaged or preserved in days. Across the street, a diner sign flickered in the almost afternoon sun, and the scent of frying bacon, coffee, and something sweet—pie maybe—floated in through the cracks.

You didn’t bother changing. Just threw your hair up in a messy ponytail, grabbed your keys, and stepped out into the almost afternoon. 

The town was a little larger than it had looked last night. A few shops, a hardware store, one of those gas stations with half the sign burned out. You kept your head down, instincts sharp, senses on edge despite the normality of it all. Licking your lips, you made a beeline for breakfast and the only beverage that could pull the nails from your temples.

Inside the diner, it was warm. The kind of place that hadn’t changed its menu in twenty years. You slid into a booth and ordered the first thing on the list with the largest amount of food—something called a Big Breakfast.

As you enjoyed the warmth of eggs, hashbrowns, bacon, and sausage, you perused the newspaper you’d picked up on your way inside. The comics and horoscopes always helped take your mind off the reality that was now your life. 

The food and black coffee had helped, but it didn’t ground you—not really. You still felt like you were drifting, untethered in a world that kept twisting just out of reach. After breakfast, you crossed back to the motel, pushing the door open with your shoulder and tossing your keys onto the nightstand.

The room was stuffy, despite the weak hum of the AC unit. You peeled off your clothes as you walked toward the bathroom, kicking your boots into a corner. The shower tiles were the same sickly avocado green as the rest of the bathroom—faded, cracked in a few places. One tile was missing completely, a jagged rectangle of concrete peeking through.

You turned the knob and waited as the pipes groaned to life, spitting brown for a moment before the water cleared. It never got hot—just lukewarm, enough to be tolerable. You scrubbed fast, avoiding the edges of the curtain, which clung to your skin like cold, wet plastic. The mirror fogged quickly, but you didn’t linger.

Ten minutes later, you stepped out, towleing your hair and pulling on a clean pair of jeans and a fitted tank top. You hesitated at the door, then grabbed your flannel from the duffel bag. Hospitals were always cold, and you’d rather not stand out more than necessary. Phone, wallet, keycard, car keys—check. You locked the motel door behind you, hoping this town wouldn’t give you a reason to run again.

—-----------------

St. Mary’s Hospital was tucked between a row of brick buildings that looked like they belonged to a different decade. The automatic doors hissed as you stepped inside, greeted by the sterile chill of recycled air and the faint scent of antiseptic. Nurses moved like clockwork behind the counter, their voices low, clipped, efficient.

You kept your head down, slipping past without drawing attention. You didn’t always know how your ability worked—there was no ritual or magic word—but you could feel when someone needed you. Like gravity pulling at something inside you. A hum beneath your skin.

The pull led you to the ICU.

Second floor. Room 237.

You didn’t know how you knew. You just did.

You moved like a shadow, hugging the walls as you navigated the hallways. When you reached the door, your fingers hovered over the handle, hesitating. The only sound on the other side was the steady cadence of machines—keeping someone alive.

Inside, the man lay pale and unmoving, a tangle of wires and tubing trailing from him to machines on either side of his bed. The monitors beeped in time with a heart that was struggling to hold on. He looked younger than you expected. Strong jaw, scruffy chin, faint bruising across his cheekbone. Even unconscious, his brow was furrowed like he was mid-argument.

You stepped closer, the tug in your chest deepening into something near magnetic. Not words. Not thoughts. Just need.

The room felt colder now, enough that the hair on your arms stood on end.

You sat on the edge of the bed, brushing your fingers over his wrist. His skin was cool under your touch.

“I don’t know who you are,” you whispered, voice barely above a breath, “but you’re not supposed to die.” Normally, you’d find a wound—drip your blood into it, let it do its job. But with him, that wasn’t an option. 

You moved to the door, quietly closing it, then searched through the drawers and cabinets until you found what you needed. A syringe. 

You drew the blood from your own arm, halfway filling the barrel before returning to his side. You found the IV line and injected it directly, your hands steady despite the weight of what you were doing.

Your blood would work slowly—mending what was fractured, coaxing life back into places it had started to slip from. Just as you withdrew the syringe, the overhead lights in the room flickered. The air went frigid. You held your breath.

Something felt it.

Quickly, you discarded the syringe into the waste bin and slipped out of his room before the flicker became more than coincidence. You couldn’t risk being caught, asking questions you had no way of answering.

—----------------- Dean’s POV…

The room flickers—once, then again, the overhead lights humming like they’re caught in a tug-of-war between this world and something just outside it.

Dean watches from the corner, weightless and invisible, tethered to his own damn body like a ghost.

He doesn’t feel pain. Doesn’t feel much of anything except that low, vibrating tension—like adrenaline with nowhere to go.

Then she walks in.

Not a nurse. Not a doctor.

Just a woman. Slipping through the door like she doesn’t belong there.

He watcher move—quiet, cautious, too damn smooth.

Hunter instincts flare. 

She closes the door, searches the room, finding a syringe like she knows exactly what she’s doing. His stomach twists, even though his body doesn’t react.

Then she jabs herself. Draws her own blood. 

What the hell?

Dean tries to shout, standing right behind her. She can’t hear him, no matter how loud he gets. He’s stuck, watching helplessly as she injects her blood straight into his IV line.

Poison? Spell? Trying to turn me into a monster? What the hell is she doing?

The lights surge again, brighter, harsher with his anger.

She freezes like she feels it—feels him.

Their eyes don’t meet. But she glances toward his body, toward him, like something brushed across her skin.

And then she’s slipping out of his room.

Dean stares at the door long after it clicks shut, mind racing.

Later that night…

Dean leans against the wall of his room, replaying every second of what happened earlier. The flickering lights. The syringe. Her face.

The door opens, and Sam walks in—carrying something tucked under his arm.

Dean trails him as Sam sits on the floor, just past the foot of the bed. He pulls out a wooden Ouija board.

Dean smirks. Smart, Sam. Then, he drops to the other side of the board as Sam rests his fingers over the planchette.

“Come on, man. Just… give me something.”

The lights don’t flicker this time, but the planchette jerks.

“Holy—okay. Okay. Dean?”

The planchet slides across the board

YES

“Thank God. Okay. Okay. Are you in pain?”

NO

“Are you scared?”

A pause.

NO

Then, a beat later:

GIRL

Sam’s brow furrows as he keeps track of the letters the planchette moves over. “Girl. What girl?”

CAME TONIGHT BLOOD IV

His brow furrowed further, and if this wasn’t so serious, Dean probably would have laughed at how hard Sam was thinking. Sam glanced over at Dean’s body, then back at the board. “You saw someone come in? Who was she?”

DO NOT KNOW MONSTER MAYBE

“You’re not sure?”

HUNTER SENSES SAID NOT SUPPOSED TO DIE

“Dean…” Sam leans in. “Are you saying she helped you?”

YEAH CHECK ME

“What do you mean, check—?”

VITALS TESTS

Sam grabs the board and stashes it fast before moving to Dean’s side. He hits the call button, jaw tight, eyes flicking to the monitors.

Dean watches him, the answers still echoing between them like static.

The nurse arrives within seconds, clipboard in hand and smile already fading as she glances at the monitors.

“Uh… his heart rate just stabilized,” she murmurs, eyes narrowing. “Blood pressure’s improved too. That doesn’t make sense—” Sam stepped outside the room, leaning against the doorframe, watching every move she made.

“Is that good?” he asked, aiming for normal—just a concerned brother, not one taking medical advice from his comatose sibling via Ouija board.

She doesn’t answer right away. Instead, she adjusts one of the IVs and presses the call button again. “I need a doctor in here,” she says quickly. “Now.”

Dean stands near the monitors, arms crossed, invisible and irritated. “Hey, doc, welcome to the Twilight Zone,” he mutters, watching as more staff stream into the room.

A young resident rushes in first, followed by a silver-haired attending who gives off “I’m in charge” vibes and barks orders like she’s in the ER.

They crowd around Dean’s body. Blood is drawn. His chart reviewed. Flashlights in the eyes, tapping reflexes, scanning vitals.

The murmurs start.

“The bruising around his ribs—it’s fading.”

“His heart rate is steady.” “So’s his blood pressure and oxygen.”

Sam stands off to the side, arms folded, jaw tight.

Dean watches him, pride flickering even now. Kid’s holding it together. Barely.

“Could this be a charting error?” one nurse asks.

“No,” the attending doctor snaps. “I did those scans myself last night.” “Is it a reaction to the medication?”

“He’s barely been on anything—just fluids and monitoring. We were watching the head trauma, worried about the early signs of cerebral edema.”

Another doctor leans in, staring at the chart like it might change if she just looks hard enough. “He shouldn’t be improving like this.” “Then maybe you missed something,” Sam cuts in, tone calm but sharp. “Maybe you’re not looking in the right place.” They all glance at him—briefly. No one answers.

Finally, the attending doctor sighs. “We’ll run everything again. Full panel. Imaging. I want to see every inch of him inside and out.” She turns, already speaking into her recorder as she walks out. The others follow, leaving one nurse behind to monitor the machines.

Sam exhales, but doesn’t move, knowing he had to be the one to tell their father. Dean moves to stand right in front of him, willing himself to be seen, knowing he won’t be. “You’re doing good, Sammy.”

Sam runs a hand through his hair before pushing off the wall. Their father’s room was only a few doors down the hall. Bruises, cuts, a broken arm—but John would make a full recovery.

The room is dim, lit only by the soft glow of the wall-mounted light. John lies back in the bed, arm in a sling, bandages peeking from beneath his gown. He looks like hell—just awake enough to be dangerous.

Sam steps in, shoulders tense, expression unreadable.

John glances up. “How’s your brother?” Sam stares at him a second too long before answering. “Better.” John sits up straighter. “What do you mean?” “I mean the doctors don’t know what’s going on,” Sam says, stepping closer, voice sharpening. “His vitals stabilized. Oxygen’s good. Blood pressure’s normal. Bruising is fading.” John’s brow furrows slightly, but no real reaction.

Sam lets out a short breath. “They were watching him for cerebral edema. Remember? Head trauma? That doesn’t just… reverse.” John stays quiet, eyes on the blanket.

“And you’re just sitting here like that’s normal,” Sam snaps.

“I didn’t say that.”

“No, you didn’t say anything. That’s the problem.” Sam paces to the foot of the bed, jaw clenched. “You didn’t even ask how. You just accept it. Like you knew it would happen.” Dean’s spirit stands near the far wall, arms folded. Watching. The tension between them tightens the air. He knows where this is headed.

Sam looks up at John again, eyes narrowing. “Dean said something. Back when we were using the board.” John frowns. “What?” “He said… someone came into his room. A woman. Put something in his IV. Blood, he thought.” That gets a twitch from John’s face—but it’s too fast, too faint. Gone in a second.

“You know something,” Sam accuses, stepping closer. “You know something. Don’t you?” “I don’t know anything, Sam,” and for once, John wasn’t lying about that.

“Bullshit,” Sam fires back. “Dean could’ve died, and you’re just sitting here like we’re not standing in the middle of something bigger again. Maybe she did something to him. Maybe it wasn’t healing—maybe it was a curse or possession or—” “Enough.” John’s voice cut through the room like a blade. “He’s alive.” “And that’s all that matters to you?” Sam says, voice rising. “What if there’s a price? What if whatever she did comes back?”

Dean moves forward instinctively, wanting to yell, to shut them up. The tension burns in his chest. They’re wasting time, tearing into each other when all he wants is answers and peace.

“You’re not even curious, are you?” Sam growls. “Just another day. Another hunt. Another secret. God forbid you ever tell us anything.” “I didn’t make a deal, Sam.” Sam freezes. “What?” John holds his ground. “Whatever you think—I didn’t make a deal. I don’t know what healed Dean.” Dean stares, jaw clenched. His fists curl uselessly.

Silence. Thick. Ugly.

Then—CRASH.

The glass of water on John’s tray table flies off and shatters on the linoleum floor. Both men jump.

Sam whirls to the spot. His eyes flicker to the still-air, the tray, the empty space.

John’s voice is quiet. “What the hell was that?” Sam’s pulse spikes. “Dean.” “What?” Sam doesn’t elaborate. He just walks over to the small cabinet, grabs a towel, crouches to pick up the glass shards. His hands shake slightly. “He’s… he’s been trying to communicate. It’s not the first time.” John just stares.

Dean’s spirit stands beside the broken glass, jaw locked tight, voice low and sharp—heard only by no one. “Stop fighting. Please.” Sam tosses the towel on the counter, then looks back at his father.

“I don’t know what she did to him,” he says, “but I’m gonna find out. And if there’s any fallout from it, it won’t be on Dean.” He walks out before John can answer.

John looked down at the broken glass, then out into the hall. His jaw clenched—guilt pressing deep behind the stoicism, but never surfacing. He’d seen her. The girl Sam mentioned. His hunter instincts had flared the second she had appeared in the hall, too sudden, too quiet. He hadn’t realized she’d come from Dean’s room. But he’d seen her—and that was enough.

In the corner, Dean’s spirit lingered, eyes fixed on his father, tension vibrating through him like a struck chord. “What the hell do you know?” he muttered to himself. 

—-------------------------

The walls seem to breathe in this part of the hospital—quiet, sterile, and humming with faint energy. You move like a shadow, tucked into your flannel, slipping through the halls unnoticed. You’ve always been good at that. It’s part instinct, part necessity. No one can see what you do. Not really.

You’d barely stepped out of the man’s room—the one that wasn’t supposed to die—before the pull started again. Low and insistent in your chest, like a thread tugging at your ribcage.

Room 208.

You waited until the nurse disappeared down the hall, clipboard in hand. Then you moved. Quiet. Measured.

The man in the bed was in his eighties, lungs giving out, skin papery and gray. The pain is all but visible on him, clinging like a fog.

You close the door. Draw the curtains.

It takes a moment to find the right vein.

You’ve done this enough times to be quick, careful. Your blood—only a small vial, enough to tip the balance—flows silently through the syringe and into his IV line. You clean up just as fast, no evidence left behind.

By the time you pull the curtain back, he’s breathing easier. Still pale. Still dying. But now there’s time.

You slip out before the monitors catch up.

Room 214 is next. A young woman. Too young. Post-op, in critical condition. Her chart says she’s not expected to last the night.

You wait until her family leaves. Two minutes. That’s all you need.

Same process. Precision. One vial. Mixed into her IV.

You whisper a quiet apology, you know she’ll never hear. You hate using your blood like this—it takes more than you like to admit. But the alternative is worse.

When you leave, no one sees you.

But something is watching.

That familiar cold creeps along your spine—the hairs on your body standing on end, then the shiver.

You never knew what that feeling came from, but it always creeped you out. Like the weight of invisible eyes just watching you. It wasn’t the same feeling that you got from the things chasing you. But you felt it in every hospital, near every person you helped. You pulled your flannel tighter around yourself and kept walking.

—----------

The cafeteria hummed with voices, chairs scraping linoleum, machines whirring behind the counter. You kept your head down and stayed near the far wall, away from the foot traffic. The soup before you is lukewarm, but it’s something. After everything you’ve given today, you needed something.

You lifted the spoon halfway to your mouth when you thought about him—the first one you helped. You never felt them after they woke up, the people you healed, but you often thought of how their lives were after that. The time you’d given them.

Just as a smile found your lips at the thought, the cafeteria doors swung open. 

You barely glance up—but recognize him. The tall one. The man who lingered outside the room of the one you’d saved first. You’d had to wait, time your steps carefully, slip past when he wasn’t looking.

He headed for the coffee, not even glancing your way. His mind was clearly elsewhere, but you didn’t bother speculating where.

He poured two cups, then turned.

Your eyes dropped quickly, pretending to study the soup like it was fascinating.

He doesn’t recognize you. Not yet.

But he’s seen you before. Briefly. Just outside radiology. A flash of red flannel. A scent he couldn’t quite place. A gut feeling.

The hairs on the back of your neck stood on end. A warning. You needed to leave. Your instincts were never wrong, and these meant danger. The man walked past you, out the doors.

You let out a slow breath, letting your body relax, just a little. 

—----------------------

The light above Dean’s bed buzzed faintly—too soft to bother him, but enough to remind him he was still in a hospital. He blinked against the pale ceiling, shifting slightly. Ache radiated in a dull echo through his ribs, but it was nothing compared to before.

His dad sat in the corner, one arm in a cast and sling, the other resting in his lap, looking like he hadn’t slept. Which, knowing him, was probably true.

Dean’s voice was a rasp. “You look worse than me.” John gave a faint snort. “Not a chance.” The door opened, and Sam stepped in, two paper cups in hand. His gaze flicked to Dean and froze. “You’re awake.” Dean offered a weak smirk. “What gave it away? My sparkling personality?”

Sam was already moving toward the bed, relief plain on his face. “You weren’t supposed to be awake yet.” “Yeah, well… guess I’m a dam overachiever.” The doctor entered behind Sam, middle-aged and tired-looking, his coat wrinkled, eyes sharp behind thin frames. He gave a quick nod to both men before turning his attention to Dean. “You’re healing faster than expected,” he said, flipping through the chart. “Ruptured spleen’s sealed, fractured ribs are knitting. The internal damage is… mostly gone.” “Mostly?” John’s voice cut in, low and edged.

The doctor didn’t flinch. “There’s residual inflammation, but nothing life-threatening. He still needs rest. The body needs time to adjust, even if the trauma’s been—” he paused, choosing his words because not even he knew what the hell had changed, “—healed.”

Dean’s eyes narrowed. “You don’t sound convinced.” “I’ve worked trauma for fifteen years. I’ve never seen healing like this. Not without… intervention.” He looked at the chart one last time, then nodded once and left without another word.

Silence settled for a beat too long.

Dean shifted against the pillows. “So. We’re all just gonna ignore the obvious?” John’s jaw ticked. Sam leaned forward. “You remember something?” “I remember her.” Dean’s voice was sure. “The woman—or monster. She was standing over me… warm hands, soft voice. Like she knew exactly what to do.”

Sam straightened. “What did she look like?”

Dean closed his eyes for a second, calling it back. “Dark hair. Flannel pulled over a shirt. Eyes like… like she saw right through me. Not scared. Just calm. Like she’d done this before.”

Sam’s expression changed. “Wait—flannel?” He turned toward John. “I saw her. Near radiology. And again just now, in the cafeteria—same woman. She was just… sitting there like she was trying to blend in.” John sat forward, his mind already working out some sort of plan on how to deal with her. “I saw her in the hall before Dean’s monitors went off. Must’ve been right after.” For a beat, none of them spoke—each caught in his own thoughts. Then John was moving, out of his seat and toward the door.

“Dad,” Dean barked, and the man paused, hand on the handle. “She saved my life. Whatever she is… she’s not evil.” John’s jaw tightened, expression unreadable. “Maybe. But I’ve got questions for her.” Then he was gone.

“Fuck,” Dean growled under his breath. This was nothing new—John didn’t keep them in the loop about whatever his plans were. Sam sighed, caught between wanting to follow his father and stay there with his brother. 

“Sam,” Dean met his brother’s gaze, pleading silently. “Don’t let him hurt her.”

The line—the one between human and monsters—used to be simple. Monsters were evil. They killed monsters. Whatever she was, she wasn’t human. But she hadn’t hurt anyone. She’d healed Dean, and now that line that had always been easy, was gone.

Sam took off out of Dean’s room, following where he knew his father had gone— back to the cafeteria. The last place she’d been seen. 

Dean slumped back, into the pillows, unable to follow. He closed his eyes, the memory of her sitting on his bed replayed in his mind. Her eyes. Her voice. The way she was so calm. Like she cared, even though he was some stranger.

“Please don’t let my dad hurt her,” he whispered, opening his eyes as his gaze lifted to the ceiling, but he was looking beyond it. He wasn’t sure who he was asking. He just hoped someone—anyone—would hear him and answer this one prayer.

—----------------------

You stood, setting your empty bowl on the tray with a soft clink. The soup had helped, but only just. Your limbs still ached, that deep kind of weariness that always followed after giving too much. Too many people today. Too much blood.

You adjusted the sleeves of your flannel, pulling it tighter across your body. I need sleep. With that thought, you turned toward the exit. 

You were three steps from the door when it opened in front of you.

John stepped through like he’d been yanked forward on instinct, and the moment his eyes landed on you, he stopped cold. The shape of your face. The color of your eyes. That same calm stare Dean had described.

It was you.

Recognition hit him like a hammer, and without hesitation, his hand shot out, catching you by the arm.

Your body tensed. Breath caught. You knew the look—militant. Decisive. Dangerous. The hairs on the back of your neck stood up again, instincts warning of impending threat. You didn’t fight, but you did take a subtle step back, testing his grip. Firm. Controlled. Not cruel, but far from gentle.

“You’re her,” he said, voice low and certain. “Don’t run.” “I wasn’t going to,” you answered quietly, eyes meeting his. Not defiant. Just honest. “But if I did, you wouldn’t catch me.” His jaw ticked, eyes narrowing slightly. You didn’t look like much—average build, calm demeanor, not even armed. But that only made you more dangerous. More unknown. Dean’s life had been hanging by a thread, and now it wasn’t. And here you were, standing in front of him like some ghost made real.

“I’ve got questions,” he said, leaning in just enough for you to feel the weight of his intent.

You tilted your head slightly, catlike. You’d made sure no one had seen you. Before you could say anything, footsteps pounded in the hallway.

Sam rounded the corner and skidded to a stop a few feet away, eyes locking on the scene. The tension between you, John, and the air itself stretched taut like a wire ready to snap.

“Dad,” Sam warned, moving closer. “This isn’t the place.” John didn’t look at him. “She’s not running,” he said, still focused on you. “She knows something. Maybe she is something.” “I don’t doubt that,” Sam replied carefully as he scanned the cafeteria. Heads were already turning. Conversations were quieting. “But unless you want a bunch of security guards asking questions or people filming this, we need to take it somewhere else.” You finally turned your gaze toward Sam, studying his face. Recognition stirred. You’d seen him. Near the ICU, maybe. But you still didn’t know who he was. Who either of them were.

John hesitated, grip unrelenting.

“Let’s take her to Dean’s room,” Sam said quickly, cutting the tension. “We only know about her because of him.” John clenched his jaw, his mind ticking through options. He would’ve preferred an empty hallway. A storage room. Somewhere he could demand answers without interference. But too many eyes were on you now. Too many witnesses.

“Fine,” he growled, dragging you forward to keep pace just ahead of him.

You didn’t resist—not even against the bruising grip that might’ve left marks on someone else. But you weren’t someone else. And you didn’t want to hurt them. Not yet. Not unless you had to.

So you bided your time.

You cycled through everyone you’d helped, matching faces to memory, looking for the missing piece. Still, nothing fit—until you passed the ICU wing and saw room 237.

Something clicked.

The taller one—you’d slipped past him. Just for a moment. Just long enough. But the man in the bed… Had the unconscious man somehow seen me?

The hospital door swung open hard, rattling on its hinges as John pushed you through with a hand still wrapped tight around your arm. The light inside was muted, casting long shadows across the room’s sterile walls. You barely had time to register the shape in the bed before it hit you.

There he was. 

Dean. You’d learned that earlier.

His body was still bandaged in places, a little bruised, but his breathing was steady, and only one monitor was now attached to him. His eyes were open. Sharp. Searching.

And locked on you the instant you stepped inside.

The grip on your arm loosened, gone as everything else blurred at the edges.

Dean didn’t just see you—he felt you. A magnetic tug in his chest, like some invisible threat that had been waiting to go taut. Like gravity itself had been off until this moment, and now you were the thing holding him to the ground.

Your breath caught. That pull—you remembered it. The same pull that had drawn you to the hospital. The reason you’d slipped past nurses, past security. The reason you’d thought he was the one you were meant to save.

Maybe he was.

But something shifted behind your ribs, a soft echo of knowing.

No. It wasn’t him.

You didn’t understand why, not fully. But some part of you—instinctual, bone-deep—realized the truth you weren’t ready to say aloud.

He was never going to die.

It was the man who dragged you in here that mattered.

Dean’s lips parted like he meant to speak, but no sound came out. Just that stare. That pull. He didn’t even know your name. Didn’t know your story. But his soul recognized you. Like you were tied to something ancient. Fated.

And for a moment, the air was thick with it—like the whole world had narrowed to this room and the silent electricity between you.

Then John cut through it like a blade.

“Start talking,” he snapped, voice gruff, grounding, already moving to stand between you and the bed.

You blinked, the moment fractured, scattered into the corners.

Sam slipped in behind him, shutting the door with a quiet click, his presence more cautious, more watchful.

John stood like a soldier, feet planted, the kind of man who never wasted a movement unless he meant it. His eyes raked over you again—measuring, calculating.

“What are you?” he asked, voice low, deadly calm.

Not who. What.

He didn’t believe in accidents or coincidences. He believed in monsters, curses, fate. You didn’t know that yet, not fully. But you could feel the suspicion rolling off him like a heat wave. He was already fitting you into the puzzle—already imagining worst-case scenarios.

You stayed quiet, unable to tell him what you didn’t know. It wasn’t like you’d been born with some sort of handbook that explained the things you could do, how you were different.

Dean stirred behind him. “Dad—”

John didn’t look back. “She’s not just some girl. She’s something, Dean.” “I didn’t say she wasn’t,” Dean rasped, his eyes never leaving you.

But that edge was missing. No fear. No mistrust. Just curiosity… and something else, something he refused to consider.

John’s eyes never left you, but the flicker of something passed through them—something barely-there and buried deep. His son was alive. That should’ve been impossible. He’d been considering going dark for just that. Doing something unforgivable so his son could live. Something permanent. Daming.

But Dean was alive, healing at this very moment due to what you’d done. And even if John didn’t trust you, didn’t like this—you were a variable he couldn’t afford to ignore.

Sam stepped forward, slow and deliberate. “What’s your name?” he asked.

“No,” John snapped, but still hadn’t moved. “I don’t give a damn about her name. I want the truth,” he growled, every word laced with threat. “All of it.”

You opened your mouth, but nothing came out. Because what were you supposed to say? That your blood does things it shouldn’t? That it can pull people back from the brink, like some kind of twisted miracle? That you’d been running from things with black eyes and impossible strength—things that burned when they touched you, screamed like they were dying when your blood hit them? You didn’t even know what they were. You just knew they wanted you dead. Or captured. Or worse.

“I’m waiting,” John barked, snapping you back.

You flinched, jaw tight.

“I don’t know,” you said finally, voice low. “I don’t know what I am.” “That’s not good enough,” he growled.

“Dad,” Dean warned, pushing himself a little higher on the bed, wincing but not stopping. “Back off.” John didn’t look away. “She walks into a secure hospital, injects her blood into you, and you start healing faster than should be possible. And now she’s saying she doesn’t know how?”

“I didn’t lie,” you snapped, your voice cracking before you steadied it. “I don’t know. I didn’t ask for this. I didn’t want it. I just—feel it. Something pulls me to people. And when I get there, someone’s always dying or really sick.”

Silence.

You swallowed hard, pulse thudding behind your ribs. You could still feel the echoes of it—Dean’s soul calling out to you. It was different than the pull of people. But he wasn’t the one. You knew that now. The pull had been real, but it was only to bring you here. To the room. To the moment. To John.

Your stomach twisted.

It was never about saving Dean. It was about saving his father.

John stared at you like he was trying to burn the truth out of your skull.

Sam took a step forward. “You said people are dying—what do you mean? You get a feeling and then just… show up?” You nodded, but that was only part of it all. God, there was so much more than just that. “I try to ignore it, but it gets louder. Like a pressure in my chest. Like something’s breaking apart inside me if I don’t go.” “And your blood?” Sam asked, softer now. “You said you heal people?” “I didn’t say I did,” you replied. “It just… happens. A cut heals. Someone coded once, and I didn’t think—I just bit my lip and pressed it to their mouth, and the monitor beeped again after a few seconds. The nurses thought it was adrenaline. I ran before they could ask questions. My blood heals. Not me.” Dean let out a low whistle. “Well, damn.” Sam, always the researcher, always needed the why, looked like he was already writing theories in his head. “Are there others like you?” You shook your head. “I don’t know. I haven’t met anyone. Only… things chasing me.” “What kind of things?” John demanded, his voice low but sharp.

Your breath hitched. “Black eyes. Not human. They can do things—make people freeze, make them bleed without touching them. They hate me, I think.”

“Demons,” Sam muttered, brows furrowing. “That sounds like demons.” John’s head snapped to him. “Don’t start, Sam.” “Why? Because I know what I’m talking about? She’s describing a possession, Dad!”

“You don’t know anything,” John fired back.

“Neither do you!” Sam shot back, eyes flashing. “But you’re already treating her like she’s the threat, not the victim!” “Because she’s not a victim,” John growled. “She’s the reason Dean is alive. That doesn’t come without consequences.” “I didn’t ask for this,” you said, quieter this time. “I don’t want to hurt anyone. I just… I go where I’m needed. And try to get away before it all goes to hell.” Dean rubbed a hand over his face, exhaling hard. “Okay, enough. Both of you—just shut up for a second.” Neither John nor Sam spoke, but the tension hummed like a live wire between them.

Dean looked at you again, something unreadable in his eyes. “You saved my life. That counts for something.” John’s jaw ticked. “I didn’t say it didn’t.” “But you’re acting like it,” Dean bit back. “She’s not the enemy.” “Not yet,” John muttered.

And that was the problem, wasn’t it?

Not yet.

Because even now, you didn’t know how this all ended. You didn’t know what you were. You didn’t know what you were capable of.

The room dropped into silence—not tension, not dread. A silence, capital-S, like the kind that comes before lightning splits the sky. One heartbeat passed. Then another.

Then—

“Damn it,” someone muttered behind you.

The voice didn’t belong. It wasn’t John, Dean, or Sam. It wasn’t the hospital. It wasn’t anything you’d heard before.

You spun on instinct, stepping back until your shoulder brushed John’s arm. He tensed beside you, but you couldn’t tear your eyes from the man who hadn’t been there a second ago.

He stood near the far corner of the room, fingers pressed to the bridge of his nose like he had a migraine. Messy brown hair. Scruffy beard. Flannel shirt half-buttoned over a faded tee and jeans that had seen better years. He looked like he belonged in a used bookstore, not standing in a hospital room with fury flickering beneath his human disguise.

The Winchesters could only stare, until his eyes landed on Dean. “You were supposed to be mourning, not bonding,” he sneered before glaring at John. “You’re supposed to be dead.”

But there was nothing human in his eyes.

He didn’t introduce himself, not to you, not to them. Chuck let his hand drop, exhaling sharply. “You were supposed to go to Topeka. Not this no-name town in Missouri. That hospital had a drunk driver and a kid with a tumor—not Winchesters.” His eyes locked on yours, suddenly cold, suddenly ancient. “You’re screwing everything up.” You blinked. “Who the hell are you?” “Oh, right. You wouldn’t know.” He gestured vaguely, mock-introducing himself. “Hi. God. Capital G. Author of… well, everything. Call me Chuck. And you, my dear, are a problem.” Your mouth went dry. First demons were what had been chasing you, and now this was supposed to be God? “What?”

“I gave you free will,” Chuck went on, pacing now. “I left some ambiguity, sure. A little mystery, a little magic. But this? This wasn’t supposed to happen. You were never meant to cross paths with them.”

He jabbed a finger toward the Winchesters.

“They’ve already had their arcs. More to come. I wrapped things up with a bow. Neat-ish. You? You were supposed to go quietly, anonymously, fade into myth. Not… this.” He snapped his fingers in frustration, but nothing happened—just a faint crackle in the air.

John had his gun out before anyone could blink.

“Put that away,” Chuck sighed, annoyed. “Bullets won’t help when you’re standing in the middle of a rewrite.”

He turned back to you, eyes narrowing. “So here’s what we’re gonna do. You’re going to go away. Quietly. Painfully, maybe. But gone. So I can fix this and the story can go back to what it was supposed to be.” He raised his hand.

Your body moved on its own—heart slamming, lungs locking, a scream pressing against your throat. You didn’t know why, but every cell screamed danger.

Chuck’s fingers curled, ready to snap.

And then—

A gust of wind. A shimmer of light. The smell of sun-warmed fur and frankincense.

She appeared like moonlight through smoke—silent and regal and terrifying. And you could breathe again, coughing to get air back where it’d been stolen from, bones no longer hurting.

The woman who stepped between you and Chuck wore midnight and gold. Her skin shimmered bronze, her eyes slitted like a feline’s, ancient and unreadable. Her hair was long, black as obsidian, spilling over bare shoulders and down a gown that moved like liquid shadow. Bangles coiled up both arms like serpents, and each step she took echoed like temple bells.

Chuck’s hand froze mid-air.

“Bastet,” he said, voice dripping with annoyance. “Seriously?”

She tilted her head slowly, eyes locking on his raised fingers.

“I don’t smite your angels,” she said, voice smooth and rich with ancient power. “You do not touch Touched.” Her gaze didn’t waver. “Especially not mine.” “She’s a glitch,” Chuck said, gesturing at you. “A ripple. This story has nothing to do with her.” Bastet smiled—and it was not a kind smile. “Perhaps that’s because you don’t want it to. I thought you gave them free will?” she mused, riling him on purpose.

Chuck’s eyes flickered, something older rising behind them. “She wasn’t supposed to meet them. This was never part of the design.” Bastet stepped closer, and you could feel her power like velvet smoke wrapping around your shoulders. Protective. Possessive. Dangerous in the way only something immortal could be.

“You made the world,” she said. “And left it. I made mine, and stayed.”

Chuck’s expression tightened.

Bastet hummed, relishing in making this God squirm. “Souls are drawn to each other. You aren’t the only keeper of them,” she mused smugly, like she had him right where she wanted him, but she wasn’t done. “Just because your angels don’t have souls doesn’t mean Touched don’t.”

Chuck’s jaw clenched. She was giving away far more than he ever wanted the Winchesters to know about, and now, he couldn’t even get rid of you without starting a war he wasn’t prepared to fight, not yet. “If you touch her,” Bastet continued, now barely a breath away from him, “or them… I will answer in kind. And unlike you, I do not erase. I hunt.” For a second, the universe seemed to hold its breath.

Then Chuck stepped back, slowly lowering his hand. “Fine,” he said, and it sounded more like not yet. “But don’t come crying to me when it falls apart.” With a blink, he was gone.

The tension broke like a snapped chord.

Bastet exhaled quietly, the room warming in her presence. She turned to you now, and something in you… recognized her. Not by memory, but by instinct. Like a sound your blood had always heard in the dark.

“You aren’t alone anymore,” she said gently. “John will warm up to you. I can’t guide you, but I will be watching. Bobby Singer has a book. It has the answers you seek.”

And then she was gone too, leaving the four of you staring blankly and attempting to figure out what exactly had happened. The scent of frankincense lingered, and the light seemed to bend around the space where she’d stood only a moment ago.

----------------------------------------- Part 2 Series Master List Touched Master List Main Master List

Permanent Tag List: @roseblue373 @flamencodiva @reignsboy19 @stillhere197 @foxyjwls007

@hobby27 @megs-gadom @cheekygirl2309 @mxtansy @ladysparkles78

@ambiguous-avery @spn-fanfic-reblog-writes @jackles010378 @suckitands33 @my-stories-vault

@maddie0101 @bettystonewell @whimsyfinny

If you'd like to be added to any and all future fics, drop me a comment.

[fox-bright]

Rage Cheesecake with Oreo Crust, Whipped Chocolate Ganache Frosting, and Home-Grown Tart Cherry Topping

I took recipe-bits from all over and changed them into something that sounded more like what I wanted, so here's what I did today instead of committing a felony!

RECIPE BEHIND CUT

Oreo crust part:

* 25 Oreos

* 5 tablespoons of melted butter

* Pan--pie pan or springform, depending on how deep a cheesecake you want. This makes a nice, not-too-deep cheesecake in a nine-inch springform; it would be Too Much Filling in a pie pan, which would mean you have extra, and that's always fun too. An eight-inch springform is probably perfect.

1. Preheat oven to 350.

2. You may eat TWO OREOS. Crush the remainder. I have the best time with this when I use a food processor, but if you are *particularly* spirited today, this is a good place to take out some aggression. Just pulverize the things, filling and all, until they are all reduced to the consistency of sand.

3. Add melted butter and mix until it's like *wet* sand.

4. Put buttery chocolate sand into your chosen cooking dish. I use a little jar and push push push pat pat pat until it's all nice and level from the center of the dish to the edge and has no holes.

5. Bake for eight to twelve minutes. You want it to still look a little moist. Do not overcook!

6. Remove from oven and let cool. Don't move the pan around too much before it's cool or you risk fracturing the crust.

Cheesecake part:

* Two packages of cream cheese, room temperature unless you like cream cheese chunks in your cheesecake. No judgment, some people are into that.

* 2/3C white sugar

* 3 eggs

* 3 cups of sour cream (this is a very moist cheesecake!)

* Vanilla to taste

1. Preheat oven to 325F, that's 25 degrees LOWER than for the crust.

2. Cream sugar and cream cheese until smooth.

3. Add eggs, one at a time, mix until just blended.

4. Add all sour cream and vanilla, mix until just homogenous. Don't overmix or you get weird dry pillowy stuff instead of nice dense cheesecake.

5. Cook in prepared crust for approximately 50 minutes, until it's set at the edges but a little jiggly yet in the middle.

Note: Properly you'd do this in a bain marie, but I don't have one, so I wrap the bottom of my springform pan in aluminum foil and set the whole kit and kaboodle into a sturdy cookie sheet, put all that into the preheated oven, and pour water into the cookie sheet once it's safely on the oven rack. If the cheesecake starts to overcook on the top before the center is set, cover it with aluminum foil.

6. Remove from oven; let rest in bain marie/rigged pan for ten minutes before removing springform pan to clean towel. Let rest *there* until it's cool enough to put in the fridge. Cover and chill for two to four hours.

Cherry topping part:

* Sour cherries that have been frozen since last year, or a bag of cherries, or fresh cherries, whichever, approximately 4.5 cups which is too many for just this cheesecake but it's nice to have around anyway

* Granulated sugar to taste

* Corn starch

Or just pick up a can or two of cherry pie filling, in which case you can skip this whole step.

1. Defrost cherries. If you don't do this in a pot, there's a good chance that they will leak precious juice all over your clean counter. Don't be me; thaw that stuff in the pot you'll heat it in.

2. Once they're not a singular ice block but instead a bunch of big ice chunks, turn the temperature on low, maybe around a 2.

3. Once the cherries are separate from each other, add sugar to taste. This changes a lot depending on your cherries' tartness; I eventually used nearly two cups of sugar for around 4.5 cups of cherries. Usually I'd use a good bit less, but they're very tart this time.

4. Cook and cook and cook until the liquid is reduced by about a third.

5. Add corn starch. For those measurements I added about a tablespoon and a half. Remember to make it a slurry before pouring it into the pot; you can either do this with a little water, or you can spoon out some of the cherry syrup (don't burn yourself!), mix that into a little bowl along with the corn starch, and then pour it all into the pot. Bring back to a good bubble for four or five minutes, then remove from heat and allow to come to room temperature.

Whipped chocolate ganache part:

* 1 part heavy cream to 1 part chocolate (I just use Toll House. Everyone says not to do that. It's been fine).

1. Put the chocolate in a heatproof bowl.

2. Warm the cream on the stove until it's juuuust about to start bubbling. Stir frequently so it doesn't get a skin.

3. Remove from heat, pour into heatproof bowl over the chocolate.

4. WALK AWAY. I'm serious. Don't touch it. Don't poke at it. Do not, do NOT, attempt to stir it. Walk away.

5. After five minutes, come back and stir, stir, until it's all one thing. It should be like a very good, very thick chocolate syrup. You *can* just eat this, with a spoon. You can pour it over a cake, or dip strawberries in it. Chilled right as it is, it is a dessert on its own.

6. Let it cool to room temperature.

7. Come back and use your hand mixer or stand mixer to whip it up. This should get to a pipeable consistency; if it doesn't, you may need to incorporate powdered sugar. If you add butter and powdered sugar, you'll get a very stable buttercream.

Finishing part:

1. Remove springform edge from nice cold cheesecake.

2. Pipe or dollop whipped ganache in ring atop the cheesecake.

3. Fill the ring with cooled cherry filling.

4. Garnish further if you'd like. I used decorative Sixlets and some more crushed Oreo.

5. Finished!

[cooking-thru-shortstack]

Cardamom & Coconut Milk Sweet Potato Pie - 5 Stars

Vegetarian (depending on fat selected for the crust)

This is a heavenly pie. Cooking through these books has made me very familiar with the process of baking a pie from scratch, and while this one is not the easiest to make, it is worth so much more than the effort it takes to make it.

The cardamom and coconut milk bring out the natural sweetness of the potato while giving it a creamy, light decadence and a touch of sophistication. This pie made people light up at work, and having tried it still warm from the oven and then again when chilled, it's fantastic both ways -- but best when cold, which is the mark of a good pie in my book.

The crust is also one of the less fussy and neat crust recipes I've made, possibly ever? It's buttery and flakey, and you can apply this crust easily to something savory as well as the crust itself is not sweet. According to Scott's notes on the subject, he got the dough recipe from Cook's Illustrated, and the fat needs to be extremely cold. I used lard for the first time and put it in the freezer about 30 minutes before beginning the crust, and the results were fantastic. Shortening works too.

I had to take this pie out and bring it over to a party (we were running late), so the picture below you can see the surface that the pie hasn't fully settled just yet. Didn't stop anyone from enjoying it.

Ingredients for the crust:

1 1/4 cups all-purpose flour, plus more for dusting

1/2 tsp kosher salt

1 1/2 tsp sugar

6 tbsp cold unsalted butter, cut into 1/4 inch pieces

4 tbsp cold lard or vegetable shortening

1/4 cup ice-cold water

Ingredients for the filling:

1 1/4 pounds sweet potatoes (about 1 extra large potato or 2 medium potatoes)

2 cloves

3 cardamom pods, smashed

2 large eggs, lightly beaten

1/2 cup granulated sugar

1/2 cup tightly packed light-brown sugar

2 tbsp all-purpose flour

3/4 tsp kosher salt

1/2 (14 oz) can unsweetened coconut milk(shake the can well before opening and measuring)

Make the crust: In a food processor, pulse together the flour, salt, and sugar. Add the butter, using your hands to coat the pieces with the flour. [Actually, don't do this. This is a bad idea because if you do and you want to do it safely, you have to remove the blade and therefore flour will get into the space where the blade normally rests and it's annoying. Scott, not sure if you were thinking this one through, bud.] Pulse for five 1-second bursts. Add the lard (or shortening) and pulse about four more times, until there are no dough pieces larger than a pea. Don't overprocess. Turn the mixture out into a large bowl.

Add 2 tbsp of the ice-cold water to the dough. Using your hands, fold the water into the dough, pressing it into a ball. The dough is ready when it barely comes together; add another tbs of water if needed. Use your hands to shape the dough into a flat disk about 4 inches wide. Wrap the disk with plastic wrap and put it int he refrigerator for at least 30 minutes. (You can leave it there for up to 2 days.)

Lightly flour a work surface. Unwrap the chilled dough and, using a rolling pin, roll it into a circle about 10 inches wide, dusting it with additional flour as necessary so that it does not stick to the work surface. Transfer the crust to an 8 or 0 inch pie tin.

Make the filling: Preheat the oven to 325˚. Peel the sweet potatoes and cut them into 1 1/2 to 2-inch pieces. Add the sweet potato pieces to a baking dish small enough to fit them rather snugly (an 8 by 8 dish will work well). Add 1 cup of water: the water level should be about 1/2 inch deep. If it isn't, add more water until the depth reaches about 1/2 inch. Add the cloves and the smashed cardamom pods. Cover with aluminum foil. Bake until the sweet potatoes offer absolutely no resistance when their centers are pierced with a knife, about 45 minutes.

Pass the sweet potatoes through a food mill, potato ricer or sieve into a large bowl. Let cool. Strain the cooking liquid (you should have between 1/4 and 1/2 cup).

Increase the oven temperature to 350˚. Add the beaten eggs to the sweet potato puree, mixing well. Add 1/4 cup of the spiced cooked liquid and mix well. IN a medium bowl, stir together the granulated sugar and brown sugar until no clumps remain. Sift the flour and salt into the bowl of sugar and stir. Add the sugar-flour mixture to the sweet potatoes and stir well, until the sweet potatoes and sugar are uniformly combined. Stir in the coconut milk.

Add the filling to the pie tin. Trim the dough hanging over the edges of the pie and crimp the edges with a fork. Bake until a cake tester or knife placed in the center of the pie comes out clean and the top of the filling is cracked in places, about 1 hour. [Note: I did not have any cracks, but it was indeed cooked all the way through. Go by what your tester says, but if you want to bake longer than an hour, cover the crust with tinfoil.] If the edges of the crust start to darken before the filling is cooked, cover the rim of the crust with foil.

Let the pie cool before serving it by itself or with sweetened whip cream or ice cream.

[detentiontrack]

In like 2018 when instagram introduced that question sticker where the person could ask a question on their story and people would respond to it, a girl I didn’t like posted on her story a question sticker asking if she can microwave food wrapped in aluminum foil and. Um. I didn’t know that the sticker responses WEREN’T ANONYMOUS so I said something like “yes! It is completely safe and encouraged to microwave aluminum foil! In fact, it helps it cook better and more evenly 🥰❤️” and um. Her microwave caught on fire and was destroyed and she knew it was me and threatened to call the police on me for attempting to burn her house down.

[cindyngx]

Week 12 - Blog

1: How has masculinity or the ideology that gaming are meant for men become a norm in the gaming community?

I personally don't game not because I think gaming are meant for guys, but because I have never really find an interest for gaming. However, I know that my brother does game and so does my male friends and my sisters. While I disagree that gaming are a masculinity subject, I believe it has become such a norm to think that way since gaming is a kind of sport, and sport was dominated my males in the earlier years. Because the idea of women in sport was a major debate, many female gamers in today society often face discrimination, exclusion, and look-down upon. This relate to the Gamergate Movement because it was a movement that targeted feminism, diversity, and progressivism through doxxing, harassment, and threats.

2: In which way does the Gamergate Movement negatively impact the future of gaming softwares and applications?

Since the world of technology and computer engineering are still pretty much male dominated, many of these games lack feedbacks from female developers, which potentially lead to inaccurate representations of female characters in game applications. The Gamergate Movement contributed to this implication and impact it negatively by utilizing online platforms as a mean to spread messages to its target, as well as the use of doxxing, harassment, threats. This toxic behavior reinforces the gap between genders and gender equality in the gaming community. Thus, steering away potential game developers, and influential figures.

3: After watching Surveilled, a documentary by Ronan Farrow, is privacy possible to maintain?

When I think of the online community, I think of it as a safe haven for me connect with my family, friends, and share about my personal life or achievements with those around me. However, after watching Surveilled by Ronan Farrow, I start to question if everything I thought was safe to share, really safe? As mentioned in the film, many of what we share online are now a public property, and it can be sell to various companies or even government for personal objectives. Because the cloud is such a vast canvas, it is impossible to maintain privacy since spyware devices often perform outside of our knowledge and leave little to no trace behind.

4: What can people do to protect themselves from being hacked and minimize the availability of personal data in the online database?

Some safety measurements people should take into consideration is to reject unnecessary cookies from websites that they do not visit often, such as one-time-purchase shopping site, blog sites, and random social media links. It is also safer to not use password manager as it contains numerous personal information from username, password, social security number, address, and credit card numbers. Finally, this is something unrelated but after watching Surveilled, I learned that you can wrap your technology device in aluminum foils to prevent the hacker from communicating with or control your device. This method is known as the Faraday Cage method, and it is often used to block wireless signals, prevent remote access, tracking, or wiping of a device.

Hathaway, J. (2014, August 10). What is Gamergate, and why? An explainer for Non-Geeks. Gawker. https://www.gawkerarchives.com/what-is-gamergate-and-why-an-explainer-for-non-geeks-1642909080

Peltz, P., & O'Neill, M. (Directors). Surveilled. [Film]. HBO Documentary Films.

[beardedmrbean]

The madman who carried out a firebomb attack on Pennsylvania Gov. Josh Shapiro’s home was driven by antisemitism and fury over what the Democrat “wants to do to the Palestinian people,” police alleged in a search warrant.

Alleged firebug Cody Balmer, 38, called 911 following the Sunday attack, identified himself by name, and delivered the chilling message addressed to the governor over the phone, according to the warrant obtained by PennLive.

Balmer said he needed to know that Shapiro, who is Jewish and had hosted Passover dinner just hours before, “will not take part in his plans for what he wants to do to the Palestinian people,” the police warrant read, according to the outlet.

“You all know where to find me. I’m not hiding, and I will confess to everything that I had done,” Balmer allegedly told a 911 operator over the phone, according to the warrant.

State police said the accused arsonist targeted the Democratic governor “based upon perceived injustices to the people of Palestine” as well as his Jewish faith, the warrant states.

Shapiro, 51, has been a strong supporter of Israel and criticized anti-Israel protests in his state, calling the targeting of Jewish businesses “blatant antisemitism.” The state pol also said he supports a two-state solution wants Palestinian and Jewish people to live in peace.

His Jewish faith became the focus of national attention when he was reported to be one the top choices to be Kamala Harris’ running-mate. Many anti-Israel activists in the Democratic party opposed him being picked.

Police said Balmer scaled a fence, used a hammer to break a window and hurled Molotov cocktails into the historic governor’s residence as Shapiro and his family slept around 2 a.m. Sunday.

He allegedly told cops he made the Molotov cocktails out of Heineken bottles and gasoline from a lawn mower. The governor and his family were able to safely evacuate, but the homemade incendiary devices caused millions of dollars of damage to the state-owned mansion.

The sicko also allegedly said he would have beaten Shapiro with a hammer if he’d found him during the firebombing attack, according to a criminal complaint.

Pennsylvania State Police obtained warrants for Balmer’s parents’ home, where he was living, for electronic devices, and for a storage unit, according to PennLive.

Investigators did not find any references to Israel, Palestine or the governor in the storage unit, according to the report.

Still, the alleged arsonist has had previous run-ins with the law. 

Balmer was out on bail for a simple assault charge at the time of the attack — accused of stomping on his 10-year-old son’s broken leg and battering his estranged wife, according to a police report.

Family members attempted to have him committed to a mental institution in the days prior to the arson attack.

Mother Christie Balmer told CBS News that her son was “mentally ill and he went off his medication” prior to the firebombing.

The worried mother went so far as to reach out to Penbrook Borough police two days before the attack to ask for help after her son had left their home and vanished.

Christie Balmer was told by police they couldn’t intervene because the 38-year-old hadn’t made a threat against himself or others, which is the threshold for involuntary commitment in the state of Pennsylvania.

Balmer had wrapped his phone in aluminum foil to prevent it from receiving signals in the days before the attack, search warrants revealed.

The alleged arsonist turned himself in to police at state headquarters in Harrisburg on Sunday.

As he was led out of Pennsylvania district court Monday, Balmer taunted reporters — sticking his tongue out and making faces at photographers.

He has been charged with eight crimes, including attempted murder, burglary, aggravated arson, and terrorism. He faces up to 100 years in prison.

Dauphin County District Attorney Fran Chardo has not said whether Balmer will face charges of  “ethnic intimidation” — the state’s version of hate crime statutes.

No one was injured in the attack and Shapiro vowed to remain undaunted in the wake of the jarring incident.

“If he was trying to terrorize our family, our friends, the Jewish community, who joined us for a Passover Seder in that room last night, hear me on this: We celebrated our faith last night, proudly, and in a few hours, we will celebrate our second Seder of Passover,” Shapiro said in a statement after the arson attack.

[ajaxiscat]

The Little Sprout 8/9

Taglist: @torakan

Word Count: 1144

New and Old

At about 12:20 I heard the vent next to the counter open. I had, at this point, cut up the tomatoes and lettuce. I broke up some pieces of the bacon, setting two little pieces onto a plate for her. I heard a little clink and I noticed her grappling hook attached to the counter. I ripped off some lettuce for her and cut off a little piece of tomato. There were a couple of bread crumbs so I set them on her plate too. Once I had finished putting everything together she was back on the counter.

“I took a little bit of everything from my sandwich and put it on a plate for you.” I nodded to the plate next to mine. It was a small saucer about four inches across. 

“Thanks… and thank you for being honest with me earlier.”

“I don’t want to hide things from you. Now eat up.” I picked up my plate and started eating as she attempted to bite into the tomato, then immediately spit it out.

“This is what tomatoes taste like? No wonder I hate tomato sauce…” I chuckled watching her try to wipe off her lips.

“Have you never tried it before?”

“Do you think I could lug a whole tomato to the vents here?”

“Right, probably not then. Have you ever tried the lettuce?”

“Yeah, I take small leaves sometimes.” She quickly ate up the lettuce and I couldn’t hold back my laugh. “What’s so funny?”

“Nothing, it’s just cute how quickly you eat when you’re excited about food.” 

“It’s not. And don’t act like you don’t do the same with chocolate cake on your birthday.”

“Alright, alright. You got me there. But since you’ve watched me on my birthday, do you know the date?”

“I don’t keep track of the date. I don’t have a calendar, let alone need one. I just know it happens during spring.”

“It’s April 15th. Do you know your birthday?”

“No. My 'parents’ didn’t keep track of dates either. They were having trouble with food when I was born so it was probably winter. The humans were also staying up late that night, for some reason. I still don’t know why. But they couldn’t get food for me because the humans were awake too long.”

“Oh… well they were probably staying up for New Year's Eve.”

“I’ve heard about that, but I didn’t know humans stay up late for it. Why?”

“Well it’s in the name kind of, it’s the night before a new year, so some people stay up to watch the clock strike midnight and the new year start. So you were probably born on New Year’s Eve.”

“Interesting. Whatever, borrowers don’t celebrate birthdays anyway, so I don’t care too much.”

“We’re gonna have to change that.”

“We don’t have to.”

“You should be celebrated. It’s not fair you never got that.”

“It’s just how borrowers live.”

“Well, not for you anymore. I’ll make sure we remember it when the day comes.” I pulled out my phone and quickly added it to my calendar. “I’ll add it to my other calendar after we finish eating.” It was more like when I finish eating, considering she was already done.

“You know how you asked if I would be comfortable moving out of the walls a couple of days ago?”

“Yeah.”

“If you can find somewhere for me to stay, I’d like that.”

“Really? Yeah, I can find somewhere. Or you can pick somewhere in my room?”

“There's that one shelf on your desk that’s empty.”

“Yeah, we could set you up there. How much stuff would you have to move?” “Not that much. Just a couple of things. Want me to get started? I can bring them from under your bed.”

“Sure, can I help you down?” 

“Yeah.” She stepped onto my palm and I brought her down to the vent. Once she was safely down I started cleaning up the dishes. 

-+-

Evie started moving her stuff out from under his bed. In reality, it was barely anything. Her belongings fit in a 6x6 inch square. It was a little aluminum foil-lined large matchbox she used as a tub. Her thimbles full of hair care and body wash. A sanitized square pencil sharpener she used to store food. Her bed made out of a sponge that was wrapped in felt. A small jewelry pouch in which she carried her clothes. Finally a small matchbox full of miscellaneous belongings. He was already back by the time she had gotten half of it out. She had just set them next to the cabinets below the TV so he could grab them and set them on the desk. “Hey, could you set the stuff over there on the desk?”

“Yeah, one sec.” He bent down and picked everything up in one hand. It took her fifteen minutes to get all of that out, and he moved it all across the room in one minute. She took several more trips. Eventually, she was done with everything and brought her bed out. She decided to go back and say goodbye to the space. As she was heading under the bed she heard him sigh.

-Orenchi-

All of her stuff was barely held together, it was honestly hard to see. I had a feeling her bed wouldn’t be comfortable. I took out a small mattress I had made for her with some cotton and memory foam. The cover was made with an old pillowcase I took apart. The sheet I put on was the same material. I grabbed the bedding and pillow I made too and set up her bed on the desk. I put everything in the best way I could set up, she probably would want to move some things, but for now, this could work. She probably has more because she went back into the vents, so I’ll wait until then.

-+-

Evie sat in the little vent that connected the hallway and the water heater closet. It had been her home for three years. Saying goodbye to it was sweet and sorrowful, to say the least. It was her home. She knew she would be okay with Orenchi and could always visit again, but sitting in that empty room slightly broke her heart. It didn’t look like a home, not to anyone else. It was dirty, cramped, and far from all the useful rooms. But it was her’s. There were still doodles on the walls, little random items she hung up just because she liked them. She never thought she’d leave this little place between the walls. She grabbed the last little thimble she used for trash and picked it up. 

-Evie-

“Goodbye. For the last time.” With a heavy but happy heart, I turned the screw on the vent cover and left for my new room. 

[pluuginstoreofficial]

Eco-Friendly and Versatile: The Benefits of Uniwraps Food Wrapping Paper

In today’s eco-conscious world, making sustainable choices has become more important than ever. One product that aligns with both practicality and environmental responsibility is Oddy Uniwraps Food Wrapping Paper. Available at the Pluugin Store, this innovative product offers numerous benefits that make it a must-have for households and businesses alike.

The Need for Sustainable Food Wrapping Solutions

Traditional food wrapping materials, like plastic wraps and aluminum foils, are often harmful to the environment. Plastic takes hundreds of years to decompose, contributing to landfill overload and marine pollution. Aluminum, while recyclable, requires energy-intensive production processes. Oddy Uniwraps Food Wrapping Paper provides a sustainable alternative that caters to modern needs without compromising on quality or convenience.

Why Choose Oddy Uniwraps Food Wrapping Paper?

1. Eco-Friendly Composition

Oddy Uniwraps Food Wrapping Paper is crafted from biodegradable materials, ensuring that it leaves minimal environmental impact. Unlike plastic wraps, it decomposes naturally, making it an excellent choice for individuals striving to reduce their carbon footprint.

2. Non-Toxic and Safe for Food

When it comes to food storage, safety is paramount. Oddy Uniwraps are free from harmful chemicals like BPA and chlorine, ensuring that your food remains uncontaminated. Its non-toxic properties make it suitable for wrapping everything from sandwiches to fresh produce.

3. Versatile Applications

This food wrapping paper is not just limited to food storage. It can also be used for baking as a substitute for parchment paper, lining trays, or even as a decorative wrap for gifting baked goods. Its greaseproof and waterproof properties ensure that it handles both oily and moist foods effectively.

4. Durable and Reusable

Uniwraps are designed to withstand everyday wear and tear. Their durable nature means you can reuse them multiple times, further reducing waste and making them a cost-effective choice for households and businesses.

5. Stylish and Functional Design

Oddy Uniwraps come in aesthetically pleasing designs that enhance the presentation of wrapped food. This makes them ideal for cafes, bakeries, and caterers looking to add a touch of sophistication to their offerings.

Oddy Uniwraps at Pluugin Store

The Pluugin Store is your one-stop shop for Oddy Uniwraps Food Wrapping Paper. Known for its commitment to offering high-quality, eco-friendly products, Pluugin Store ensures that customers receive reliable and sustainable solutions for their daily needs. By purchasing from Pluugin Store, you contribute to a greener planet while enjoying premium-quality products.

How Oddy Uniwraps Help You Adopt an Eco-Conscious Lifestyle

Adopting eco-friendly practices starts with small steps, and switching to Oddy Uniwraps Food Wrapping Paper is an excellent beginning. Whether you’re packing lunch, storing leftovers, or preparing baked goods, using this versatile and biodegradable wrap can make a big difference.

Moreover, promoting sustainable habits within your home or business helps raise awareness about the importance of reducing waste. By choosing Oddy Uniwraps, you’re not only making a personal commitment to sustainability but also inspiring others to follow suit.

Conclusion

Eco-friendly products like Oddy Uniwraps Food Wrapping Paper, available at Pluugin Store, are paving the way for a greener and more sustainable future. With their numerous benefits—from being biodegradable and non-toxic to versatile and durable—they offer an excellent alternative to conventional wrapping materials. By making this switch, you can enjoy practicality and style while contributing to the health of our planet.

Visit the Pluugin Store today to explore the full range of Oddy Uniwraps and take a step towards a more sustainable lifestyle!

[efficientcleaning]

Restaurant Kitchen Cleaning

414-305-3074

www.facebook.com/efficientcleanin

Restaurant Degreasing Services | Professional Kitchen Cleaning Description: Highlight your restaurant degreasing services, emphasizing professionalism and kitchen cleaning expertise.: "Our restaurant degreasing services ensure a safe and clean kitchen environment. We remove stubborn grease and grime to maintain health code compliance. Contact us for expert kitchen cleaning today."

Keywords: restaurant degreasing, kitchen cleaning, grease removal, commercial kitchen cleaning, restaurant kitchen degreasing, professional kitchen cleaning Geo-Targeted Meta Tags (if you operate in a specific location):

Location: Insert the specific area or city you serve, e.g., "Serving Los Angeles, CA" or "NYC Kitchen Cleaning Experts." Service-Specific Meta Tags:

Services: "Deep Fryer Cleaning," "Exhaust Hood Cleaning," "Grill Cleaning," "Kitchen Appliance Cleaning" Contact Information:

Contact: "Phone: (Your Phone Number)" and "Email: (Your Email Address)" Unique Selling Proposition (USP):

USP: "Trusted by Restaurants for Over a Decade" or "24/7 Emergency Kitchen Degreasing Services" Call-to-Action (CTA):

Cutlery:

Knife Fork Spoon Teaspoon Tablespoon Cooking Pots and Pans:

Frying pan Saucepan Stockpot Dutch oven Wok Roasting pan Bakeware:

Baking sheet Cake pan Muffin tin Loaf pan Pie dish Cookie cutters Rolling pin Food Prep Utensils:

Cutting board Chef's knife Vegetable peeler Grater Mixing bowls Colander Measuring cups and spoons Small Appliances:

Blender Food processor Toaster Coffee maker Microwave Electric kettle Utensils for Mixing and Stirring:

Whisk Wooden spoon Ladle Slotted spoon Spatula Tongs Mixing spoon Baking and Cooking Tools:

Thermometer Oven mitts Basting brush Pastry brush Sieve or sifter Can opener Corkscrew Kitchen Gadgets:

Garlic press Nutcracker Egg separator Citrus juicer Potato masher Pizza cutter Ice cream scoop Storage Containers:

Food storage containers Plastic wrap Aluminum foil Plastic bags Miscellaneous Tools:

Timer Meat tenderizer Kitchen scale Trivet Mortar and pestle Kitchen scissors Serveware:

Plates Bowls Glasses Serving platters Salad tongs Gravy boat Trays Culinary Accessories:

Apron Oven gloves Pot holders Kitchen timer

[okinawa-division]

Happy Halloween! 🎃

From Liberty Guild

Ace - Prince Charming

"Ha, this is nostalgic. The last time I wore an outfit like this was back in high school when we were doing a "Masquerade Ball" or something. Shame the shop I bought this from didn't have a mask to go with the outfit, but I think it'll still get the message across. I don't know if buying all white was the smartest move, though. Oh well. It's a rental anyway. ...Anyway, I think I see my 'Cinderella' approaching, so I'll have to cut this short. Here, have a safe and fun-filled Halloween."

You received a treat!

Royal Candy Bars. Delicious white chocolate candy wrapped in blue paper with the words 'Royal' written in white with a crown above it. You bite down on it, letting the white goodness explode in your mouth.

Evelyn - Cinderella

*sighs* "This brings back memories of, like, my high school prom with Acey. It was so wonderful. I could have, liked, danced the entire night away. Maybe I can, like, convince Rashaad to play something other than, like, jazz in his bar before the night is over so Acey and I can, like, get one dance in. I'll have to ask him about it when we get back from trick-or-treating. Oh! Like, here! Take these, by the way! Hope you're having, like, a good Halloween! Stay, like, safe out there!"

You received a treat!

Yellow Glass Slippers. Like the glass slipper from the well-known fairy tale, these hard candies are hard to break unless you bite down hard on them. They have a very lemony flavor to them.

Rashaad - Pirate

"Man, it feels weird without my sunglasses on. I don't need them to see, of course, but when you have something for so long, you kinda get used to having it. Honestly, I don't know what I was going for with this outfit. All I did was draw a line over my other eye, put an eyepatch over it, a face mask, and whola. Instant pirate. I hope I can breathe with this thing on. Oh yes, here's some candy for you! Now go out and have a good, but safe time! Urrgh!"

You received a treat!

Gold Doubloons. Delicious milk chocolate candy wrapped in gold aluminum foil in the shape of coins. They are about the size of a U.S. half dollar, meaning they aren't big, but they are nowhere near 'small' either.

Thanks to @saitama-division for Evelyn's dress!

[alexsgrimoire]

MAKE A BACK-UP: A SOLLUX SPELL (Taken from @popculturepagan (now deactivated))

Sollux Captor is known for many things, but “coming back to life” and “computer programming” are two of the most prominent. This spell combines these two traits to help you. This spell aims to create a back-up, a safety net, a free man, a get-out-of-jail-free-card, so if something in your future goes wrong, you can bounce back unscathed. This spell is a preventive spell to be used before the fact, to help protect your future in luck, love, fortune, or otherwise.

I’m trying to experiment with spells that use more traditional witchy ingredients, while being a little simpler in the process itself. I hope this works well.

What you will need:

A Glass Jar with a Lid

A Horseshoe Magnet, preferably blue/red (Like this)

One or More Symbol(s) of what you’d like to protect

Aluminum Foil

Paper and Pens

Sticky Label/Post-it Note

Optional: A Lil’ Bit of Honey

First, you need to decide what specifically you are creating a back-up of. Is it your emotions, to save yourself from nervous breakdown? Is it your bank account, to save yourself from bankruptcy? Think of anything that you can loose, but gain again.  It will come back to you in a different form, but it will return. Once you have decided on what things you are creating a back-up for, whether it be one or many, you need two things form it. First, is a physical representation of that concept. Second, is a word or two that describes it.

Here are some examples of things you’d create a back-up for, and items and words that represent them.

Money/Financial Security: A Coin, “Money”

Emotional Strength and Reserve: A Photo of You, “Emotion.”

Employment: An Office Pen, “Job”

Loving Relationships: Jewerly, “Love”

Stable Housing: A rock from outside, “House.”

As you can see, the object and word do not have to be “mystical” or even rare, just something that has a strong connection.

Once you have this figured out, write the following ~ATH (“til death”) code onto your paper, replacing “X” with your words. (If you have more than one thing you are backing up, separate with a comma.) Make sure to keep each line and space consistent, they are important.

"copy THIS ["X"]

rename THIS [“X”2]

~ATH THIS { “X”

} execute (“X”2);

THIS (“X”).die;”

Examples:

"copy THIS [job]

rename THIS [job2]

ect…”

"copy THIS [money, emotion]

rename THIS [money2, emotion2]

ect….]

~ATH is a obscure programming language that Sollux has perfected that runs programs at the termination of something’s life. If you’d like to be particularly fancy, you can write the code down using red and blue ink. If you are inclined, you can add personal sigils to the back.

What this code is programmed to do is make a copy of something, and on the termination of the original, release the copy.

Put this piece of paper at the bottom of your glass jar.

Now, take the object (or objects) used to represent what you are copying. Hold them tightly to yourself, and think.

This is no longer just a photo, or a rock, this is my emotions or this my house. Look upon this object as the physical name of a concept far greater, the anchor this concept has in the physical world. Hold it tightly until you believe, and know, of it’s greater purpose.

Take the aluminum foil and wrap the object up, as tight as you can. Wrap it in two layers— two. The foil is a protection agent that will keep the concept safe from whatever comes your way. If you have multiple objects, wrap them up individually. Place them in the mason jar, on top of the coded paper.

Now, add in the horseshoe magnet. This magnet is split and polarized, like Sollux himself, and will function as a good luck charm of a horseshoe and a draw to Sollux. (This is why the blue/red coloring is preferred. If you don’t have a blue/red magnet, you can paint or mark yours, or simply do without.) Try to place it facing upwards, if at all possible. If you are a Homestuck pagan, you can also offer Sollux a prayer (such as the one here, or another of your choice.) This final element should bring attention to help execute your programming (because ~ATH is a particularly finicky programming language, and it seems only Sollux has mastered it…) and just a pinch of good luck that any project needs.

Finally, seal the jar with the lid tightly. Label the jar “back_up.~ath” with your label or post-it note and place the jar on a shelf where it will be safe to protect your back-up until it is needed. When it comes time for it to be needed, don’t remove the objects from the jar! Keep them in the jar so they can function from with in. When it is used, it might be a good idea to thank Sollux for aiding you in the execution of this spell.

As an optional step, if you are in a place where you can do so, add a lil smudge of honey to the lid of the jar. This is a symbolic offering to the purple programming bees that run computers on Alternia. Do not eat the honey. Under no circumstances, should you eat the honey.

I hope this spell can help you recover from a lot of things and keep on your merry way, as well as give you peace of mind. We all need a little back-up.

[snowflake-of-destruction]

Angel Dusted Strawberry Cannoli for our favorite spider's birthday

INGREDIENTS

1 1/3 cup flour (Plus extra for dusting cutting board)

2 TBSP regular sugar

1/2 TBSP cocoa

2 TBSP oil (Possibly a little extra for greasing foil molds if you don’t use non-stick spray)

2 eggs

2 TBSP white grape juice or white wine

1 cup mascarpone

1 1/2  cup  heavy cream

4 TBSP confectioner’s sugar (Plus more for dusting)

8-10 strawberries (This is not an exact science)

EQUIPMENT

Rolling pin

Cutting board

Knife

2 mixing bowls (or one bowl you wash)

1 small cereal bowl

Mixer

Cling wrap

Aluminum foil

Cookie sheet

Pastry brush (Or, like, a fork or clean fingers in a pinch. We are giving down to earth solutions here)

Spoon

INSTRUCTIONS

Stir together flour, regular sugar and cocoa, oil, one of the eggs, and juice.

Once dough is formed, knead in bowl for about 20-30 seconds to make sure dough is completely mixed

Form dough into ball, wrap in cling, and refrigerate for 15 minutes

Dust cutting board with small amount of flour, smack your cold dough ball on there, and roll thin and flat.

Pre-heat oven to 350F

Tear off sheets of foil, roll your sheets into cylinders, and crunch together. You are forming stick shaped molds to wrap your cannoli dough around so they bake as hollow shells. You can also turn a muffin pan upside down, drape parchment paper over it, and try to form cannoli tubes by pressing dough in the spaces between the muffin cups, but I would recommend aluminum foil molds. …You can also buy real cannoli molds, but I am assuming we are going in never having made cannoli homemade before, unsure if we are going to do so again, and willing to MacGuyver. 

Grease your molds well. Spray it with non-stick spray, rub it in Crisco, rub some oil on it, just make it slick so your baked cannoli shell will slide on off

Cut rolled dough into rectangles of a size that will wrap around your molds, and, well, wrap them. 

Whisk the remaining egg in your small bowl and use your pastry brush or fork (or finger, I won’t tell anyone you serve these to) to brush an egg wash over the dough to seal the edges where your wrap comes together so the tube will be solid.

Bake on cookie sheet in oven (at 350F in case you missed that step) for 15 minutes.

Let cool until they are safe to slide off of molds, let cool more to room temperature before filling.

Speaking of filling….chop those strawberries and/or throw them in a blender.

Get out that electric mixer (or mix by hand if you hate yourself) and beat together mascarpone, heavy cream and sugar until mixture starts to thicken

Toss in those blended strawberries and blend more. Blend until it seems hopeless. Blend until you lose all sense of time. That will be the point where it has turned into thick, whipped filling.

Spoon filling into cannoli shells. Pack ‘em full.

Dust stuffed cannoli with confectioner's sugar 

Angel Dusted Strawberry Cannoli! You did it! Eat up!

[applejuicetastesgood]

Good morning did you know that the thing that protected Voyager 1 and 2 from Jupiter's intense radiation was literal aluminum foil you could find in grocery stores? The scientists created a local aluminum foil shortage when building the two and the would unfurl them, wipe them with alcohol wipes and then wrap them around wires

Oh I love that so much ‼️

I did not know that but my life is a lot better by knowing that, I can imagine the scientists rocking up to all the American shops with shopping trolleys and taking literally all the aluminium foil and when a cashier asks why they need so much they’re honest and say “we’re NASA scientists, we need it to cover the wires of voyager 1 and two to keep them safe from jupiters radiation” and the cashiers just laughs in their faces hahahah.

Good morning to you too by the way my friend! May your morning be relaxed and full of little satellites :3

[oneworldcable]

Shine Bright in the Kitchen: Aluminum Foil's Essential Role in Food Packaging

Introducing Shine Bright in the Kitchen's Aluminum Foil for Food Packaging – the ultimate solution for all your culinary needs. With its exceptional quality and versatile applications, our aluminum foil is here to revolutionize the way you store, cook, and serve food. From preserving freshness to enhancing flavor, our product is a must-have in every kitchen.

Unmatched Quality and Durability:

At Shine Bright in the Kitchen, we take pride in delivering only the highest quality products to our customers. Our aluminum foil is crafted with precision and attention to detail, ensuring its exceptional durability. Made from premium-grade aluminum, it offers superior strength, tear resistance, and heat retention capabilities. Whether you're wrapping leftovers, baking, or grilling, our aluminum foil will withstand the rigors of everyday kitchen use, providing you with reliable performance.

Preserve Freshness and Flavor:

One of the key benefits of using aluminum foil for food packaging is its ability to preserve freshness. Our foil acts as a protective barrier, shielding your food from moisture, oxygen, and light, which are the primary culprits behind food spoilage. By securely sealing your meals and ingredients in our foil, you can extend their shelf life and keep them tasting as delicious as the day they were prepared. Say goodbye to wasted food and hello to long-lasting freshness.

Versatile Applications:

The versatility of our aluminum foil knows no bounds. Whether you're storing leftovers, wrapping sandwiches for a picnic, or marinating meat for a barbecue, our foil can handle it all. Its pliable nature allows it to conform to any shape, ensuring a snug fit around your food items. Moreover, our foil is oven-safe, making it ideal for cooking and baking. From tender roasts to perfectly baked potatoes, our foil helps you achieve culinary excellence with ease.

Effortless Convenience:

We understand the importance of convenience in the kitchen. That's why our aluminum foil is designed for effortless use. The roll design allows for easy dispensing and tearing, ensuring hassle-free handling. Whether you need a small piece or a large sheet, our foil provides the flexibility you need. The convenient packaging ensures that our foil remains neatly organized and protected, ready for whenever you need it.

Eco-Friendly Choice:

As champions of sustainability, Shine Bright in the Kitchen is committed to offering eco-friendly solutions. Our aluminum foil is 100% recyclable, making it an environmentally responsible choice. By choosing our foil, you contribute to reducing waste and promoting a greener future.

Trust and Confidence:

When it comes to your kitchen, we understand the importance of trust and confidence in the products you use. Shine Bright in the Kitchen has a longstanding reputation for delivering excellence, and our aluminum foil for food packaging is no exception. We prioritize your satisfaction and strive to exceed your expectations with every purchase. With our foil in your kitchen, you can have peace of mind knowing that you have chosen the best.

Experience the Difference:

Say goodbye to subpar food packaging solutions and embrace the brilliance of Shine Bright in the Kitchen's Aluminum Foil for Food Packaging. With its unmatched quality, versatile applications, and dedication to sustainability, our foil is a game-changer in the world of culinary preservation. Elevate your cooking experience and discover the countless possibilities our foil brings to your kitchen. Visit our website Owcable at to learn more and experience the difference for yourself.