#and saying 'nabisco'?

[lovevalley45]

coming up with an organization with a long name that i constantly refer to with its acronym is a curse when i scramble the letters every time i say it

[thebreakfastgenie]

What is your s'mores theory?

It's not a theory about s'mores so much as a theory of s'more-making.

Graham crackers. Nabisco from the red box are ideal. If you can't get those, the Honey Maid ones are acceptable, but inferior.

You need mid-tier chocolate. Hersheys is perfect. Lowest-tier store brand chocolate is no good, but chocolate that's too fancy doesn't work either. The one area where I'm willing to diverge from 100% classic s'more is that in my opinion dark chocolate pairs better with marshmallow than milk chocolate does. However, milk chocolate has a lower melting point so it melts a little better. It's personal preference. Also you really want to pay attention to the shape of the chocolate, because it has to fit on the graham cracker and it has to be the right thickness for melting. The classic full-size bars are the best (half a bar per s'more), two minis will work in a pinch. Don't fuck around with fancy shit like Reeses cups. That's not what we're here for.

Classic marshmallows only. This is so important. They NEED to be ROUND so you can rotate them and make them roast evenly. Those square ones are an abomination unto the lord. The ones coated in coconut just don't roast as well (they are delicious though). You MUST roast the marshmallow on a WOODEN stick. Metal heats up too fast and the inside melts before it's done cooking and it falls off the stick. Sad! Also I'm sorry but the people who say they like to set their marshmallows on fire are just too impatient to cook them properly. It's pure cope. You have to cook them slow to make them puff up!!! If they're not puffing up they're not cooked right!! They should be gooey and melty on the inside and toasty and crunchy on the outside. I like a dark brown exterior it must be said but you will get that by roasting. It works best to roast over coals, not a big open flame, which does kill the bonfire aesthetic a little but oh well. Have two fires or build the fire back up after you make your s'more idk.

S'mores CANNOT be recreated indoors. They never taste right. It's not just about the chocolate+marshmallow+graham cracker combination. For one thing roasted marshmallow is a completely different flavor and it can only be achieved over an open flame. Melting a marshmallow in the microwave will never give you that. Secondly it is also about the TEXTURE and the TEMPERATURE. It's a whole experience. It should also be dark! You should be outside!

S'mores WILL be messy. As god intended. That thing WILL ooze when you bite into it. You WILL have marshmallow all over your hands, face, in your hair. If you're not prepared for that you're not ready for S'mores.

Seriously don't try to make them gourmet! I've tried it! It's never as good! You cannot beat the classics!

[afreakingdork]

You Are My Sunshine, My Only Moonshine - Chapter 19

RotTMNT x Reader

@anixolt is back this week with yet another stunning piece! What's bothering Donnie? Read on to find out!

Rated: Teen and Up Audiences

Relationships: Michelangelo (TMNT)/Reader, Michelangelo (TMNT)/You, Donatello (TMNT)/Reader, Donatello (TMNT)/You

Warnings: POV Second Person, Gender Neutral Reader, Anxious Reader, Introverted Reader, Stuttering, Aged-Up Mutant Ninja Turtles, Romance, Love, Love Confessions, Falling In Love, Unrequited Love, Rejection, Aromantic Asexual Michelangelo (TMNT), Bisexual Donatello (TMNT), Pansexual Leonardo (TMNT), Lesbian Cassandra Jones | Foot Recruit, Demisexual April O'Neil (TMNT), Implied Cassandra Jones | Foot Recruit/April O'Neil/Sunita, Endgame Donatello (TMNT)/Reader, Romantic Love, Platonic Love, Panic Attacks, Sexuality Crisis, Agoraphobia, Social Anxiety, Happy Ending, Fluff

Synopsis:  You’ve lost most of your life to anxiety and fear. Now, in your late 20s, you are desperate to reclaim it and during one such outing you encounter the sun personified. With his and his similarly celestially inspired family, will you finally reach your goal or will you lose yourself along the way?

Also available on Ao3

First 💛 Previous

“… Can stacking competition certificate, cup stacking competition certificate, Oreo stacking competition certificate…” Mikey counted off each accolade with a tap against a fine tablecloth.

You were trying not to laugh the food out of your mouth.

“I have a whole folder dedicated to stacking related awards! I could go on!” While that was what he said, he actually went to take a bite of a piece of bacon.

“W-why would Oreo hold something l-like that?” You got your bite down.

“Big Nabisco works in mysterious ways!” He took on a mind blown look before he came back down. “This is nice. I’m having fun. Are you having fun?”

You had an ‘of course’ loaded, but you’d also taken another bite of croissant.

Mikey accepted an enthusiastic nod instead.

The brunch restaurant was gorgeous.

The crowds were thin.

The food was exquisite.

Your server rarely returned.

You were in great company.

It was the making of a perfect day.

“Sorry… it’s been awhile…” You eventually got out.

He blew a raspberry and waved you off.

“No… I am!” You pressed. “This is the… first time in… over a month?”

“Counting or not counting the grubby run in at the lab?” Mikey’s attention bobbed somewhere behind you.

You stiffened and looked over your shoulder to find a waiter heading your way.

You sank down into your seat so you could prepare your retort for the staff.

You would shake your head if they asked if you needed anything else.

You would nod if they asked if things were good.

You couldn’t mix those up.

“Can I help you?” The waiter asked kindly.

Your eyes shot wide as both your prepared actions couldn’t answer the question. 

“Oh, oops! Actually I was…” Mikey trailed off before chuckling. “You know what!? I’ll get something else! A stack of pancakes, my good man!”

“You got it!” The gentleman’s shoes slipped away from your view.

You peeked at your best friend.

“Apparently I flagged him!” He laughed.

You remembered the wave and came up with wobbling lips.

“I really was debating cakes, no worries. Must be fate!”

“Fate pancakes.” You smiled.

“Fate flapjacks!” He adjusted.

“Alliteration is good… um…?” You thought hard. “Fate… crepe?”

“Oh, a slant rhyme, I dig it!”

You felt satisfied and cornered off some eggs with your fork.

“But yeah, dating’ll do that to ya! Especially when you’re obsessed with each other like you guys are!”

You almost got the food to your mouth and froze.

“Like, Leo is the worst!” Mikey sang the phrase. “He gets so absorbed when he’s crushing! At least when Donnie’s face is glued to his cell, you know he’s not listening. Leo could be looking right at you, be in a conversation with you, actively answering what you’re saying, and he’ll just suddenly be like, ‘Do you think so-and-so likes pizza?’ Like bro, we were talking beach episodes, where are you even?!”

You heard a plop as your forkful flopped back down on your plate.

“Raph’s the best. He’s cute because you can drop a name and he’ll explode with embarrassment! He turns his signature color straight through the green, but otherwise, he’s the same. He listens. He’s there for you and by that I mean me. He makes an effort. You make an effort and I am talking about you this time!” He slapped his own palm in emphasis.

You scheduled brunch, you reminded yourself.

Mikey had told you he wanted it, but you had pushed to make it so. 

You made time because it had been awhile.

You missed your best friend. 

It still stung as you thought maybe you weren’t making as much of an effort or showing that as much as you could.

“I get it with you guys though! Your whole start to dating was messy so you’re making up time! Plus, you always text me! I’m only feeling like… a little left out like…” Mikey pinched his fingers in demonstration and they almost came together. He then peered through the microscopic part at you. “Maybe this much?”

“T-there haven’t been many family events…!”

“True!” He nodded his head in a sort of time.

“Mikey… I can’t stress how import-”

“We should plan one!”

You shared a look.

He broke out into a grin first. “What’s important?”

You looked away with a fluttering heart. “You.”

“Aww…!” He gushed.

“Donnie…” You returned your gaze for a different glance.

Mikey’s expression shifted for further affection.

“All of you. The Hamato. I’m so glad… we met…”

“Stop!” He tittered and almost flicked his wrist again, but thought better of it. “No more thanking parade! You’re onto the enjoying part! The easy part!”

“Easy…?” You sent him a knowing look.

“Okay so maybe you and Donnie started out as mortal enemies and then preconceived notions kept you two apart, which lead to only like a month of misery, but basically the same thing happened to us.”  

You waited.

“Except…” He turned to you. “The enemy part, but everything else!”

Your head tipped the slightest amount.

Right on time, Mikey buckled under the pressure. “Okay, it’s nothing alike!”

His pancakes arrived like a predestined cue to free him up. He forgot all about his through line and instead started talking about maple syrup. The one on the table was apparently the real kind and tapped upstate. You listened attentively, asked predictably if Mikey had ever tapped trees to which the answer was yes, and he explained why the boring process was one he never bothered to go through again.

All the while, you couldn’t stop thinking about his easy comment.

Were things easier now?

You didn’t really check in with your anxiety now because it had hit a steady current. It was there, you were better equipped than ever to handle it, and your goal of going out was getting easier and easier. After your last mega list entry, you and Donnie had decided that you were both due for regular dates first until a theater production caught your eye. You and your boyfriend discussed going at length until it was decided that you should. It was coming up soon and you were excited, but the company you kept was never a problem.

Being with Donnie was easy.

Though it bothered you that he seemingly always had his brain churning about how to act around you, it also seemed like that was something his mind did in general. You sympathized to an extent because you did the same, only it was for every other thing, but him. When you were with him, your cares were erased and energy appeared to flow. Whether it was speaking to him or moving with him, you felt like the two of you were in constant motion. Being together was a rehearsed dance that came with intrinsic steps.

“It is… easy…” You spoke the fondness you felt.

Mikey only hummed like he could read your mind and slid his plate over so you could have some pancakes as a reward.

“Let’s plan t-that family hangout…” You readied your fork.

“Yes!” Mikey beat his dish like an excited drum. “Okay, let’s see… What should we do…?”

“Uh… b-before that…O-one more t-thing…?”

He paused and looked up breezily.

“Did y-you… well… forgive me…?”

He blinked rapidly. “For what?”

You verbally chased Mikey around the flapjacks, but he never quite recalled having said you needed to be.

-

Donnie could barely take his eyes off you.

Since you started dating, the burst of your existence seemed to never cease. You were a constantly collapsing neutron star and he was haplessly caught up in the surrounding nebula. As novel as you were, he also couldn’t imagine you any other way. You reached right through his very being to grab the long shielded raw side of his psyche and begged it to stay.

He found himself lighter. He laughed more often. He had an endless expanse with which to exceed some romantic lines he’d been holding onto for literal years and you accepted them as they were. You never faulted him for his theatrics and instead did your best to play along.

He adored you.

Which was why as you triple checked the off-Broadway booking before you even left the lair, he was entranced. Scrolling on your phone appeared like an event and the finer clothes you wore for the occasion only illuminated the backdrop of you. He withheld himself yet again, as he often did since his feelings were announced because, yet again, he was chancing moving too fast.

It was a welcomed speed, but he also wanted to savor it.

His favorite flavor of paradox, it was the oxymoron by which he lived his life. He craved structure and yet he also thrived on destruction. When rules were laid down, he appreciated living within them while also prodding them for their every hole. It was a scientific principle by any name and he adored the field.

Thus as you confirmed the tickets were still in your inbox, he happily took your hand to depart. It was one lulled car ride over to the theater. Instead of filling time with conversation, he allowed the show's mounting interest to linger. One you had both immediately been keen on, he snapped up seats and you prepared the checklist. Everything fell into place as it seemed to always do with you and you were soon mingling in a lobby with others.

A check at a counter waved you through and you were flighty on the way to the seats. You’d expressed concerns about being locked in which Donnie dispelled both by citing the Fire Codes of New York State among other things. The worry clearly persisted by your anxious head swings, so he snuck in close behind you. “Good afternoon, my darling passenger.”

You looked back at him with a curious tilt.

He wanted to whisk you away.

He wanted to keep you in his lab.

He’d study why you did the things you did to his heart on a molecular level.

Ah, but you just had to be cursed with autonomy.

“This is your pre-show announcement. We are about to sit down for our show which has a duration of about two hours and seven minutes…”

You giggled as you caught on and addressed him with your full attention.

He languished in it. “While you might be expected to stay in your seats, there is no seatbelt sign. Instead, it is asked that while the stage lights are on that you are to only keep silent.”

You nodded dutifully.

“Our emergency exits…” He brought up his hands as flags and conducted outward. “… are located there by the back right of the stage and behind me where you surely entered. These doors will remain unlocked during the performance in case of emergency or if you simply want to take a call.”

You patted one of his limbs. “I’m okay…”

“You are.” He leaned into you and you leaned up for his favorite move.

Kissing you was one thing.

Hugging you was another.

Seated in a press was rapidly rising up the ranks, but the act where you tucked your nose underneath his chin was his favorite intimacy. By any other eye, it was nothing, but a tap, but for Donnie it was the pinnacle. It was not only the first contact you ever willingly exerted on him, but it also came with closed eyes from you which was a sign of pure relaxation in his eyes. You always came away from the exchange especially endeared to him and it was his dream to spend a night sleeping just like that.

Which was far in the future, he scolded himself.

You leaned away and took your own flight attendant pose to gesture him down your row. He bowed in courtesy and led the way to the seats. The flapped hinge on the retractable seats made it easy to get down the line. It had been his choice to select seats in the dead center of the auditorium as it gave optimal viewing. He watched you test getting your seat down first, before he moved to join you.

The immediate crawl through his sleeves shook him to his very core.

As you looked back and forth between the stage and exit door, Donnie pinched the scratchy armrest. The fabric coating the chair had the quality of burlap and, with one flick of his fingers, he pinched off a fuzz. That meant more would soon coat his clothes, which was another irritant. He shifted at the prospect and again his skin lit. He would have dressed differently had he known. His current coverings were inoffensive, but weren’t designed to act as a barrier. They prevented direct contact with the shoddy seat, but they also rubbed which made him all the more aware of the wretched texture.

Donnie’s eye was on a never ending twitch when you finally settled. “How did the tickets look?”

Data would soothe him. “When I last checked the system, we were looking at 74% capacity.”

Your eye left him to watch the stream of people coming in.

Two hours and seven minutes.

Could he handle that?

All signs were pointing to no, so Donnie went on the mental offense.

There were all sorts of stores nearby and he could purchase any sort of drop cloth.

As long as it was thick enough then he’d be able to stand sitting here.

That meant leaving you.

The option was deleted from his idea pool.

He refused to be anything other than attendant.

He could take you with him.

That proved difficult only because that would be a last minute change.

You had done fabulously and the day was impossibly agreeable to you for your next mega list item.

Could he interfere?

He certainly didn’t want to.

He didn’t want to blemish his amazing boyfriend track record.

He wouldn’t trade one discomfort for another.

He could stand it.

He had dealt with other sensory nightmares.

What was one more?

If he stayed perfectly still then it almost wasn’t noticeable.

There would be the show.

It would be distracting.

He could go into enough stasis with both those things that it wouldn’t be an issue.

He would have to forsake any show cuddling, but he could bear that cross.

He would hold you afterward.

Walk with you and talk about what you had seen.

It helped.

He felt his roiling epidermis cool to tiny popping bubbles.

The heat was turned off.

He would cool down.

“You okay?”

He moved only his head to look at you. “Pardon?”

“You seem… distracted?”

That was one way to put it. “I want to be in the right mindset to evaluate the performance.”

It wasn’t a lie.

You would surely accept that answer.

“Should we have…” Your fingers flexed. “… a program?”

“Playbill and not all productions create them.”

“Oh…” Your crest fell.

He could get up and look.

There was a chance they’d forgotten.

That meant he would have to sit down again.

He perished the thought.

“I’m…” You perked up on your own. “… going to… go check… I think.”

You looked at him with determination in your eyes.

He would deny you nothing.

There was a chance he could bum a cover from the box office.

Any theater production worth their weight in salt had excess fabric lying around. 

That was a workable solution and he berated himself for not coming to it sooner.

He prepared himself for the scrape of standing.

It would be his last uncomfortable movement. 

“I’ll go.” You tapped his arm. “I’ll be quick… Save our seats?”

You had a prepared gleam in your eye.

You were already in the process of standing.

A mega list item was designed so you could exercise your strength.

You were going to prove to yourself that you could do anything.

He was your back up.

You garnered strength from him.

If only you knew upholstery. “They will go nowhere under my watchful eye.”

“That and the stage…!” You took a few steps away. “D-don’t let them start without me!”

“Never.” He watched lovestruck as you shyly slipped around people to exit.

That left him alone with this fucking chair.

He would no longer be civil and scooted toward the edge of his seat. It freed most of his thighs, his limbs, and the edges of his body from the prison of repugnant fabrics. Now only the clip of his ass was tensed through its layers and he debated standing. Looking up for refuge, he debated getting a closer look at the stage for the sake of it.

A tinny sound came from his left.

Donnie looked to find several musicians readying to lay down the soundtrack. Live music had its advantages and a few preparatory notes would come next as they made sure their instruments were in order. Music had always been a faithful distraction and he was no stranger to numbing volumes. He breathed deep to let the congruent sounds wash over him when the trumpet lifted.

It gave a limp squeal that spoke of an obvious malfunction.

The way the other musicians descended on the player perfectly mimicked the way bugs assaulted Donnie’s skin. They writhed and squirmed their way through his pores until his very being shook. His teeth would chatter if it were any other sense. Instead, he slammed his enamel together and squeezed until his jaw threatened to pop because at least that pressure was one he could control.

It was going to be one of those days.

He was no stranger to overload or meltdowns, but it had been awhile. He had long learned to heed the symptoms and work with them. Two maladies in less than 10 minutes said he was already on the sensory edge which meant he needed to look further back. He could categorize the signs to give himself better projections of how long his fortitude for irritants would last. Though it wasn’t acute, there had been a few notable instances since the day began. He had been unable to stomach what was on the menu for breakfast and lunch. He also snapped at Leo exactly three times though when it was happening it seemed justified.

At the time Donnie chalked them up to excitement for the mounting date, but now they read as trigger symptoms.

He was on a much shorter timetable than he anticipated. 

If he didn’t crawl into a comfortable hovel soon then he was teetering on edge of mental collapse. 

Sighing and immediately remembering he couldn’t slump back, he stared out towards the stage. A lighting technician was adjusting something and the cover to the strobe spun as a result. It singed Donnie’s eyes and he felt that dip in clarity towards rage. Years of washing out his temperament flared as a result and it was the only thing that kept him from yelling out about the terrible preparations the crew was going through.

It wasn’t their fault.

It wasn’t their fault.

This was how plays went. They made sure everything was perfect right up until the last moment. The lights had long been tooled for hitting their marks. Someone must have noticed it was the slightest bit off so it was getting that fine tuning. Instruments were fickle beasts that needed care. It sounded like the trumpet’s mouthpiece was off. That spoke to a recent cleaning and replacement must not have been set just right. It would be corrected. That was why musicians warmed up. That was why any of these pre-show tests were occurring; issues needed to be found now and not during a performance. 

They would all be fixed.

Donnie heard you apologize to some people who had sat further down the row.

You looked flustered, but not as put out as he had seen in you in the past when trying to get out of someone’s way. You had two white slips pinched close to your chest and you flicked him an excited gaze. So, it was success that was offsetting your fear. He loved that.

You were on your way to share your victory.

He needed to cancel.

He needed to call this date off.

As much as he wanted to indulge you, if he crushed your current spirit then there was no way he could live with himself.

If he did it now, he would minimize damage. 

It was better to have a controlled burn than torch the entire day. 

You wiggled down the row and were getting closer by the second.

He had to decide.

Either way he was squashing a portion of your spirit, but it was the amount of which that mattered. 

He supposed there was always a chance he could muster the strength to carry on.

“Donnie!” You couldn’t help but give a hushed shout when you were a few sets away.

He would harbor any port in any type of weather for you. “Seems you were successful.”

“They t-thanked me…” You got to your seat and basically slapped it down to sit. “They almost forgot to pass them out. H-here…”

A piece of paper was innocent enough.

He reached out to take the leaflet.

It had a strange composition and he could feel the rough fibers.

“They’re handmade… like… all of it! The paper too!”

“Huh…” His voice had an even keel compared to his mind.

His skin was being torn apart by the playbill.

His fingers were unraveling to bone. 

At the top of the page was one errant strand.

Something akin to the size of a hair.

It marred the already marbled surface.

It was the stuck pixel ready to break an otherwise perfect television screen.

“Now you can know who each actor is…” You looked over the page without the same disdain.

“Are you sure you want me to be able to pair a name with a face?” A voice like his own teased. “I believe the actors will be in the lobby after the showing. Rife time for questions, comments, or concerns.” 

“Uh oh! A Donnie review m-makes or breaks a performance.” You pretended to be concerned, but there was a rustling on stage. 

The hands marched off which signaled it was nearly curtain call.

The musicians took their places and Donnie could feel each valve press the trumpet did as he practiced his notes.

They decompressed his cranium.

In his hand, that splotch at the top of the playbill appeared to get larger and larger.

Its ink bled and dripped into the writing.

The scrawl there warbled as if ready to fall into his lap.

There were several pieces of fuzz that had already somehow peeled off the chair and landed on his lap.

They weighed thousands of pounds and crushed his legs.

He stared at them with wide eyes.

How did they get there?

When?

He hadn’t moved.

He could count each muscle group exerted.

The lights fell.

In time, Donnie’s head rose.

The auditorium doors were closed audibly.

You shuffled in your seat.

This was the supposed lock in.

Donnie was his own captive.

The crowd hushed.

A man walked out to start the play.

His suspenders had buckles.

The buckles caught the light.

The light went in Donnie’s eyes.

The man kept moving.

He monologued and Donnie guessed the terminology should be adjusted.

He used far too much of his body.

It kept reflecting his damned buckles.

Then he was leaving and it felt like relief until the band took a breath.

They played.

The notes went in harmony.

All technically in tune.

The breath is what grated his tympanum like cheese.

He was peeled each time they had to inhale.

Which was all of it.

Every note.

Every wet gasp.

Spit gathered in reeds and catches.

It spewed out into aerosol.

He was inhaling it.

The sound was choking him.

Actors flooded out.

Talk.

Dance.

Movement.

Loud.

They stepped in it.

They expressed their own.

Spit.

Drivel.

Sputtering.

His chair was soaked.

He hunched forward and caught how his veins pressed against his flexed hands.

Inside him.

The bugs.

Your voice sounded miles away and you grazed his arm.

He didn’t look as his head spun.

The exit was flagged.

He looked through mental code.

Too many people in the way.

He calculated the trajectory.

With one press down against the miserable chair, he leapt.

Behind him, it smacked against itself in a flap and cast his decision in concrete.

He landed at the auditorium doors, but their metal bar was stricken with smudges.

Bacteria.

It coated everything like saliva.  

He manifested a simple block with his ninpo and shoved.

It touched the door to open it.

He had to immediately dispel it because the thought of spittle even touching his constructs made him ill.

He made enough of a crack.

He slipped out into the hall where the fluorescence screamed.

It drowned his tympanum and knocked him off his feet.

He stumbled and thought of shoes.

People stepping on New York sidewalks.

Spit.

Piss.

He couldn’t fall in that. 

He hobbled one way and then another.

It was all coated.

All unclean.

UV light.

The thrum of electricity would kill him, but he tried.

He flicked his ninpo like a lighter without fuel and tried to make a lamp.

The components of the filament alluded him.

He heaved.

He wasn’t breathing.

His ninpo wasn’t working.

Everything was sludge.

It slipped through his palms and splattered heavily on the floor.

He felt his vision burn up.

The singed edges as he caught fire instead.

There was yelling.

His hands flew up and tossed his goggles clean off.

Why weren’t they working?

Silence.

He needed quiet.

This was a performance.

Why was anyone shouting?

Someone touched him.

He snarled at them.

They disappeared.

No one was there.

Blinks.

His eyelids were wet.

His pupils picked up the moisture.

He clawed them shut.

He felt a shove.

He swatted back, but whatever push broom was being used to shoo his feral form was a wily one.

It hit him again and again until he saw an opening.

A door.

He dashed towards it.

There was no data past the frame.

He was out of memory.

He crumpled there on the safety of carpet.

Not the scuffed linoleum.

Instead, it was the patched kind for easy cleaning.

His hands hit it and found a tolerable scratchy quality.

He was curled up in an instant.

Made himself as small as possible.

Drowning everything out.

Minimizing all contact.

Disappearing into himself.

Him.

Only him.

Nothing else.

He could hear his breath so he stopped.

Within the cave of his arms then came his heart.

It pounded thick with the blood it surged.

It moved the wet inside him around.

Right atrium.

Superior vena cava.

Inferior vena cava.

Tricuspid valve.

Right ventricle.

Pulmonary valve.

Pulmonary artery.

Lungs.

Oxygen uptake.

Left atrium.

79 BPM.

60.

42.

39.

27.

Donnie took one breath.

His lungs whistled at their fill.

They were dried out.

He filled the husks.

Lucidity came with a pounding headache.

He didn’t know where he was.

His arms were over his head and numb.

He unfurled them and they came loosely.

The blood flow had been cut off.

He stared at them as if that were marvel until pins and needles pricked him.

They were asleep.

He found his knees next.

His feet were awake with a wiggle inside his shoes.

Then came the carpet.

Some cheap kind that was easy to clean.

Fools always alternated the swatches for aesthetics, but that made it harder to vacuum.

Why ruin utility?

His head lolled upward.

White walls with weathered clippings stuck to them.

Something old.

Something utilitarian.

Something nostalgic.

Was he in an office?

His chin moved in its perpendicular placement to his throat.

There was a being in front of him.

Their back sat rigid and they faced the door.

They were between him and the door.

They were you.

You were between him and the door.

He blinked a few times as the night rushed him.

All the data had been held from the crash in a log. 

His meltdown.

He’d run from the theater production.

Where was he now?

He opened his mouth to speak, but he couldn’t vibrate his vocal cords.

His eyes welled at the sight of the back of your head.

What were you doing?

You turned your back on him.

He failed you.

His chin slammed into his Adam’s apple and he saw something white beside him.

It took moving his pinched legs to the other side, but it revealed a stack.

Two water bottles.

One cold with condensation.

The other room temperature.

A bag of crackers.

Expiration date in three weeks and two days.

A snack cake without branding.

A bottle of equally chilled apple juice.

His goggles.

Carefully laid atop what a cleanly folded square of fabric.

A blanket.

One that was clearly soft and aged.

He touched the last item first.

The threads were worn, but felt familiar.

He put his goggles back on, picked up the cloth, and it unfolded along the way.

He pressed it to his snout and it caressed his cheek.

He nuzzled it, building strength.

Its scent said it wasn’t his, but it was now.

He was absolutely going to steal this.

To solidify his ownership, he slung it over his shoulders.

It curled around his head and felt like a snug neck pillow.

He reached toward the water next.

The cold one warned his fingers away so he grabbed the room temperature one.

It went down like nothing.

Flavorless.

His current preference.

He remembered his goggles and it took one tap to the left headset to activate the noise canceling mode.

Now in his controlled environment, he searched the room.

This was clearly an office. There was a desk behind him and a bookcase on the wall. A few stacked boxes held programs and deliveries that weren’t yet opened. A messy spill of papers threatened to leave the desk. Business was done here.

What were you doing here?

Donnie didn’t attempt to talk, but looked up at the door.

It was shut tightly, but he couldn’t tell if it was locked.

It also seemed discolored, but not dirty. 

He stared until he realized that it wasn’t from paint, but some sort of light was reflecting against the pearl sheen of varnished wood. 

It appeared in maroon tones that read the lightsource must have been purple. 

It lowered Donnie’s eye to you.

He studied your shape until he caught your rim was light.

You were holding something.

He tipped his body to one side and his perspective shifted.

Something was glowing faintly in your arms.

Something a fuchsia color.

Something of his.

An incomplete projection of his ninpo.

One of his palms hit the floor to keep him from falling and you startled.

You didn’t look back and only seemed to strengthen your resolve in staring at the door.

Were you that mad?

He inched further to the side to catch a glimpse of your face.

You didn’t have just one object.

He counted at least four.

They appeared to be half manifested lamps.

He didn’t remember making those. 

Why were you coveting them?

You held them as if it were your solemn duty to guard them.

He gave no such command.

In a flick of his wrist, he allowed them to disintegrate.

You looked around in dismay and scrambled to catch the pixels.

They alluded you and you finally looked over your shoulder.

Your eyes were misty.

Your expression warped.

Donnie could only gape.

“I’m… sorry…” You spoke in your best hushed tone. “I tried to h-hold on… I d-don’t know why they…”

You groped the empty air.

He gestured to his chin and out with fingers to sign that it was ‘okay.’

You searched his hands wildly.

Right, you didn’t know ASL.

He hoped to teach you one day under better circumstances.

“Mine…” His voice was hoarse.

Your spine snapped to attention. “D-Don’t f-force yourself!”

He shook his head and held up a hand in a mimic of how you held those ill-formed lamps.

Your pupils flicked up and down in a study. “Those… things… were… yours? T-that’s why I tried to save them…”

He let his limb fall.

You only partially understood. 

He needed to try something else. 

He pointed to himself again with renewed intent.

You thought with your entire being before you chanced meeting his eye.

He sent all the information he could there.

“You… y-you made them… go away…?” You finally allowed yourself to wonder.

He smiled.

Weary and small, but it came into his face like it barged in.

You returned it.

You were so good.

He snapped his fingers while signaling ‘bingo’ because he couldn’t help a bit of flare. 

It sparked flickers of pixels like a lighter that didn’t catch. 

The fuschia color danced a reflection in your eyes. 

“That’s… your… ninpo…?” 

He gave a single nod. 

“You make things…?” You softened. 

His head bobbed a second time. 

“You create…” You spoke to solidify the concept with overflowing affection. “What a perfect expression of you…” 

He’d immortalize that smile in his ninpo if he could. 

Without time or energy, he supposed he had to move onto more pressing topics. 

He spun a finger in the air and cocked his brow for curiosity.

“Where… are we…?”

He nodded.

“We’ve… well I… uh… commandeered the office…?” You sheepishly glanced back at the door.

Had you broken in?

It dawned on him.

He could see everything from an omnipotent view.

His mind churned out a top-down replay of what had occurred after his figure ran from the seating area.

You chased after him.

You bumped legs and saw no one in the process.

Out into the hallway, he nearly collapsed and you tried to get his attention.

He couldn’t give it and presumably the attendant on duty saw you.

Not one to bother others for help, you’d moved on sheer instinct. 

You of all people would know if he couldn’t entertain you then no one would be good enough. 

You sought the closest door that had a hope of giving him shelter. 

This office was unlocked because a certain someone had asked for copies of the playbills.

He ran inside and you followed before the attendant could catch you.

The door was locked then.

You had been guarding him and it ever since.

While he cocooned himself, you scoured the office for items that could help.

You probably dug through the desk drawers for the snacks. 

From the cold bottle, he bet there was a mini fridge behind the desk.

You would be in so much trouble.

You didn’t care.

Or, at least. 

You didn’t appear to. 

Amongst it all, you found time to supposedly save the random ninpo constructions he’d mistakenly built.

He needed you, now more than ever. 

Could he stand it?

He didn’t even care if his body argued otherwise.

He swooped his arms out and the blanket turned into a cloak.

You made a surprised noise and he swallowed you up with the fabric.

You squirmed against his hold.

He gave you only enough space to breathe.

“Donnie! Are y-you sure…?”

He nodded against the side of your head.

You were stiff for a few more moments until you relented into his hug. It was there that your body language read awkward, but you daintily tested your nose beneath his chin. With a drop of his head, he pinned you there and you breathed warmth against his neck. Both in concern and growing affection, you eventually slacked against him. It perfectly hid you away against his body and he gave a satisfied hum that he had you to himself.

You sat like that for both an infinite and painfully finite amount of time.

He then felt the pull of Earth’s orbit and tucked his beak down into his blanket folds. He found you there and nosed your forehead until you giggled at his snuffling.

“Donnie…” You protested without a single complaint.

“You’re wonderful.” He spoke muffled against your head and plied you with a few pecks.

“Donnie…” You tried again, this time mustering up the slightest objection.

“You’re going to get in trouble… for me…” His voice oozed mirth.

You stammered on an unknown syllable.

“My betwitching nova.”

You stilled instantly. “Nova…?”

“Super.” He only clarified.

It wasn’t enough to answer your question.

“The stunning core collapse of an aged star. The end of an era. The most powerful explosion any being could ever hope to see.”

You pushed.

He released you from his cage of limbs.

You moved only far enough away to look him right in the eyes.

You wanted to see if he meant it.

You found he did.

He gave you a lopsided grin.

“I’m so glad I got to see your first crime…” He brushed your cheek with the soft cotton.

You leaned against it and pouted. “Not… the play…?”

“Who cares about the play?! I’d repeat what happened tonight a thousand times just to see you break the law again.”

“H-hey! That’s not-!”

He reeled you back in to silence you.

This time you easily fought back and he didn’t bother to keep you.

You got away on your hands and knees before turning right back around on him.

You were adorably feisty.

The fight fell right off you and what was left was equally cute concern.

“Are you…?”

“I’m okay. Tired, but okay.”

You nodded relief.

“Thanks to you.”

Nerves at the gratitude had your shoulders pinching. “O-Oh well… B-been there… or… something like that…”

“Autistic meltdown.” He identified his calamity for you. “A distress not dissimilar to a panic attack, but completely different triggers and experiences.”

You attentively nodded.

“I’d like to ask one more illegal act from you.”

You squeaked to attention.

“Break us out? I… can’t deal with anyone else. Only you. I want to go home and curl up with you. I have a sensory mode in my room. That’s what I need.”

You weighed the scales of crime against his desire and he was more than pleased to see he came out on top.

“Give me… a f-few minutes…” You nodded to him dutifully before going to check the door.

He decided then that you would never burn out.

His precious neutron star. 

Not if he kept fueling the fire.

NEXT

Me burying my betas @tmntxthings and @thepinkpanther83 in chapters: I love my betas!

[catboybatman]

You ever think about how vulnerable superheros are in a legal sense. Like if a company were to, say, capitalize on a heros popularity and make a lot of money from merch or something like. What even can a superhero do? You cant take them to court without revealing your secret identity because your superhero one isnt legal. Can you imagine being JustSomeGuy with some powers trying to make a differende and fucking. Nabisco of all companies starts selling Oreos with your face on them and you just get nothing? Like what do you even do in that situation. Try to boycott maybe but still. You cant trademark either bc again, legal identity and all that. What im saying is they should unionize but different

[urlsaremeaningless]

collection of funny things people I know have said (part 3)

Feel free to change pronouns as needed <3 have fun! please reblog this if you enjoy it.

im like a 6th month old puppy, im fully grown, buuut-

I love screaming

BEACUSE ITS CHEEEESE!

did we send a dog to Mars?

....we sent a dog AT Mars

Oh, the humanoid keeping cage

We are rehydrating the world leaders with Gatorade

They took away the rabbits titties

Would you peepee in your own bed?....why are you not answering?

I was thinking about how stupid koalas are.

you wouldn't watch censored hentai in public would you?

[name] that man is not wearing pants

the plot thiccccquens

Pittsburg is the germany of Pennsylvania

no no this is not the first time we've had this EXACT conversation....hey [name] whats wrong with our friendship

This is indeed a choice we have made.

I have taken up the MANTLE to read these

So you see, the hamburglar made his debut in 1971, and he looked like a preteen, which means he was probably born in the 1960s, which means he's probably around 60 years old.

you hear that, [name]? No one gives a shit if my ass is toasted!

I would say they are beefing, but the beef started with a can of soup, so I suppose they are actually souping

sometimes, i like to rub myself in vasaline and then i like to crawl on the ground, and pretend im a slug

Less daddy, more dead-y.

We drove through the entirety of Colorado and didn’t see one moose. And frankly, I’m offended.

1000% out of context, it makes sense as a joke i swear

I promise i will never send anyone a dick pick

I can't believe I got jumpscared by a penis

Second printing? Bitch I'm worth a first run

He SHOULD be FLUFFY!! >:|

an octopus has 8 tentacles, so logically if it has only 1, I'm calling it a unipus

[name] is wingdings 1 and im wingdings 2

im not gonna cry over a god damn drone in a fucking porn game

im gonna buy like a billion candy apples....so like two

I know they call them monsters but this is just slavery

we're just trying to get characters to fuck, [name]. stop looking too deep into things!

year nog egg round

Like religious text wise?.... it’s not. But i am fine with it.

Ooooo it burns a little bit when you get more than a tongue full

panic at Nabisco, where you just drop a pack of oreos on the dance floor

[gaykarstaagforever]

I have more comments to make on this.

This is the 1980s Teen Titans. You may not recognize some of these people, because I sure as hell didn't.

First of all, the green guy is Beast Boy, but they called him Changeling at the time. I assume they changed it (lol) because people kept saying it as "change-uh-ling".

It's a weird word.

The lady in red is Wonder Girl, who is either young Wonder Woman from another dimension, or an entirely different character who is Wonder Woman's sidekick. Or both? I refuse to put more effort into figuring this out than DC put into making it clear.

The inclusion of Green Arrow's sidekick Speedy in an anti-drug PSA is either embarrassing nonsense, or some kind of brilliant character arc.

This happened before the PSA, so you be the judge.

The guy with the star belt is The Protector, who was actually an original creation specifically for this anti-drug PSA.

He was a guy whose cousin got addicted to drugs, and it made him really mad. This for some reason attracted the attention of Nightwing, who trained him to karate fight drugs. So his whatever 80s costume is literally 60% of his powers.

He only appeared in DC comics a few other times. Once in the Heroes in Crisis mess of 2019, where Wikipedia says he was somehow ADDICTED TO DRUGS. He was then unceremoniously murdered.

If that's true, then that is very, very funny.

Fun Fact: they only created The Protector because Teen Titans' Robin was licensed to Nabisco at the time of the PSA.

For this:

"I'm sorry, Robin can't rail against drugs for your cookie-sponsored tie in, because we already said another cookie company can use him to just...you know...sell cookies."

Fair enough. This is far from the worst thing they would put Jason Todd through in the 1980s.

[davyjoneslockr]

i wish you would write a fic where mista kisses anasui on the lips. sorry. don’t answer this one

Sorry didn't catch that last part. I can do that.

Mista and Anasui Kiss on the Mouth. By Davy "CaptainsQuarter" Joneslockr.

The year is 2011. Mista decided to go on a nice vacation to Florida; however, due to a series events now commonly referred to as "The Busch Gardens Affair," he now finds himself in a high-security Florida prison.

Mista's biggest problem right now, though? Well, obviously the thousands of dollars in property damage he's racked up. But his second biggest problem? His cellmate is... kinda cute?

His name is Nabisco Anus Yuri, but his friends call him "Anasui," and his American friends call him "Anastasia." Being decidedly not American, Mista calls him Anasui. Anasui, in return, calls him Mista, because that's his name.

"Mista," Anasui says, sitting across from Mista in their flea-infested bunk bed, "have you ever kissed a man before?"

"Sure," Mista replies.

Anasui nods sagely. "I haven't. Because I am heterosexual."

"That's cool. I've kissed a lot of guys because I'm not heterosexual. I even dated a man once."

Anasui leans closer, his heterosexual curiosity piqued. "What was that like?"

"Pretty cool. Until the main villain of our part killed him at 17, sending my life in a downward spiral and ruining my chances at getting close to others forever."

"Woah. Just like Jolyne's dad. That's so hot."

Mista gives him a thumbs up. He does not know who Jolyne's dad is, because he did not read JoJo's Bizarre Adventure Part 3: Stardust Crusaders. Part skipper.

And then they lean in very slowly, like two ants crawling across a very large kitchen floor, or perhaps the truck I got stuck behind while driving home from work today. Their noses brush together gently. Mista feels Anasui's breath ghost over his lips -

Oh okay. Yeah never mind. Mista and Anasui sit in a room together in dead silence and do absolutely nothing. The end

[bulldyke-rider]

Some of the hate for "crunchy moms" is warranted, but a lot of it is giving psyop.

Like, why am I reading tons of comments saying a woman is gonna give her kids eating disorders because she made them cookies and icing homemade instead of buying them oreos? They're gonna have an eating disorder because they got homemade cookies instead of oreos?

And the posts of "uwu rich woman pretending to farm in her million dollar mansion" like, yeah, some of it is an act. But why are y'all so fucking mad when random women don't fund Nabisco?

It's like when people were mad about fucking "cottage core" as if baking bread and fantasizing about having a fucking garden is evil because American land is stolen, as if only white American women want to grow flowers and also as if your fucking apartment complex and the Sam's club you work at isn't on the same goddamn land.

Y'all are walking breathing ads and don't even know it

[barbielore]

Alright... let's talk Teen Talk Barbie.

Teen Talk Barbie is one of those Barbies that gets listed right at the top of list of controversial Barbies, alongside pregnant Midge, gay Ken, racially insensitive Nabisco sponsored Barbie, and Skipper who could grow her own boobs in real time.

If you are thinking that you have never heard of "Teen Talk Barbie" you might recognise her more as "math is hard" Barbie.

Mattel had the great idea of a Barbie that could speak - and in fact, not just a Barbie that could speak, but that any given Barbie would speak a rotation of 4 phrases out of a bank of 270. Theoretically this means if you and your friend each had a Teen Talk Barbie, they would say completely different things! Or kids would want to own more than one, to see what they said.

One of these phrases provoked particular controversy - it has been memed into "Math is hard", but the original controversial phrase was "Math class is tough". If I am being generous, perhaps Mattel thought they were being relatable to young girls who struggled at school and the choice of "math" class was random. However, I'm not sure how generous I want to be with Mattel. And certainly, she was controversial because parents and teachers weren't inclined to be generous.

This Barbie inspired an episode of the Simpsons, in fact! Although the utterances of Malibu Stacy were even more controversial and less likely to have innocent origins, it's absolutely clear what they were referencing.

Mattel's solution was allegedly to promise that the "Math class is tough" line would no longer be paired with other phrases that could be interpreted controversially in the same conversation, such as "Meet me at the mall" or "Want to go shopping?". Mattel also offered an exchange to anyone who had a set of phrases they found offensive.

[mortifiedandawesome]

I haven't washed my hands in 13 years, once I learned about the conspiracy.

I just wave my hands and say "pappa towahs, pappa towahs, french fry nabisco!" and that refreshes my natural immunity skin from jesus.

I am constantly sick because of the harsh liberal rays eminating from the secret 6G towers buried under libraries.

[pazodetrasalba]

Vae Victis

Dear Caroline:

Just finished reading yesterday this recommendation of yours. It wasn't bad, but if I am to be sincere, it is up to now the least interesting of your 5 star choices. I imagine this comes as a result of my absence from the world it depicts: what might have been personally relevant for an (ex)finance bro like you is mostly irrelevant for me.

Yes, the book is a bit slow and rambling, and yes, it does accelerate and get more thriller-like once the bids are out (title gives away the resolution, though, if for some reason you had never heard of the RJR Nabisco leveraged buyout in the first place). The cast is too big - I actually benefited from watching the movie adaptation before finishing the book so that I could at least make a clear mental picture of the, say, 10 or so main characters.

One way of reading this book (and the popular narrative at the time of the events) is as a story of greed, with stereotyped and villainous figures (the film is much less nuanced than the book, and really goes full-hog in this direction: Ross Johnson is a a snake charmer wallowing in luxury who'd sell his mother for the right price, and Henry Kravis is literally Count Dracula - nobody does 'slightly creepy old dude' better than Jonathan Pryce), the worst of which are Wall Street bankers and lawyers who are out to make a catch with complete disregard for the well-being of businesses, shareholders, workers and public. This is how I would have read it many years ago, in my Marxist years. Now that I have become attuned to the fact that capitalism and markets are (mostly) good and the financial sector is necessary for keeping our social machine well oiled and running, I'd be inclined to make other readings as well.

On a side note -actually, it's not that much in the sidelines-, schools do a very poor job at pushing forward what is an extremely anti-intuitive but truthful view, first espoused by Adam Smith in The Wealth of Nations, and expressed in your own review as "You think about market participants each trying to maximize their profits, and everyone acting in their own interest ends up maximizing total welfare, and that makes sense in a zoomed-out way, and as far as I can tell is not a crazy model of the behavior of companies". But this really beggars belief until you actually see it: it feels no less stupid and false to a smart teenager than religious dogma. On the contrary, the same teenager who reads The Communist Manifesto will find a very believable narrative of the moral and economic progress of History through class conflict, and if he further pursues some basic readings (and remains, as we mostly do, economically illiterate), will also find the theory of surplus value scientific-sounding and a good basis for accusing all capitalists of being exploiters and thieves.

It is, indeed, nothing short of miraculous that individual egoisms actually end up creating a quasi-optimal arrangement for the most part, but I feel Barbarians at the Gate is mostly showing you the scenario when this doesn't actually happen. That is to say, for RJR Nabisco under Johnson's leadership, and through the LBO, it does indeed appear that (quoting you again):

- there is a CEO, who is a guy - there is a board, consisting of a bunch of guys who are friends with the CEO - they all have fiduciary duties and if they fail to meet them they will get yelled at by a judge in Delaware - ??? - shareholder value gets maximized

Love the ???. Actually, if one goes back to those dull, first chapters at the beginning of the book, we do get a glimpse of how companies manage to turn individual egoisms into positive enterprises. The book dwells a lot on the first years of Nabisco and Reynolds tobacco, on how founders made all the right choices of wise investment and expansion, use of local knowledge, ethics, hard work and know-how, treating workers and shareholders well, taking advantage of rising opportunities... It really reads like a guide on what to do, as contrasted with the relative vacuity of what Ross Johnson actually ends up doing. Does he actually create any positive value? Perhaps his best contribution is his rejection of stability and routine, a chaotic undermining of conformity which might help against the inevitable stagnation of consolidated companies, but that appears to be all he does. Yes, he charms board members and presidents, parties hard and lavishes wealth on executives and board members (including himself). on the face of it, all this doesn't seem at all better than its opposite.

I am not economically savvy enough, but moving to LBOs, I imagine one could make the case for them in that they judge company value more efficiently than markets (as seemed to be the case with the stagnantly low value of RJR Nabisco shares), and in that the debt and diet they impose on their companies trim out the fat, the redundant, the inefficient and (once the debt is paid), end with a more economically efficient company that can survive and thrive in the market better. Like all tools, though, they can be misused, making some people very rich (CEOs, their cronies and the lenders) and a lot of people quite miserable (workers and shareholders) through financial trickery and assaults orchestrated through 'phoney money'. It is all a matter of trade-offs, I guess. Still, I like some of the anti-LBO voices: even though the book has no heroes (Johnson might be an anti-hero of sorts), Ted Forstmann comes pretty close (and btw, he become a signatory of the Giving Pledge in 2011). It's a pity the way he's massacred in the movie. And crypto doesn't feel that far away from junk bonds...

The book did have some lovely snippets of humor (loved the private jet piloting Mr. G. Shepherd to safety). As for your belief that "it is reassuring that the whole system seems to kinda work anyway", I fear it seems to be the wrong lesson to learn from all of this; in fact, the book seems peppered with quotes that are the absolutely worst possible lessons one could take, most of them from the lips of Ross Johnson, about disregarding protocols, logic, reason and checks and balances. Your final quote about rows of figures with millions of dollars that no one knows the proper meaning of is actually quite an ominous note to end the review with, a precursor to the apparently very lax and chaotic management of vastly superior sums of money in FTX and Alameda.

Quote:

"It all started with a small lemonade stand in Manitoba,” read one Johnson parody. “The next thing I knew I had sold my mother. The rest was easy.”

P.S.: Among the things you mention that motivate you, "making guys think I am attractive" seems particularly ill-phrased. You are incredibly attractive, Caroline (both as a person and as a woman), so there should be little need of persuasion, except we usually find that these truths and feelings are seldom commutative.

[capitalism-is-parasitism]

Ultra-processed people

“Above all, a restaurant should never be just a way of extracting money in exchange for nutrition,” Van Tulleken says. “Or for paying dividends to offshore investors. And I think these things are actually obvious even if you don’t live, like me, in a world of nutritional studies.” …

His months of eating badly served to show that what he was consuming was not food, it was, as one academic colleague kept insisting to him, “an industrially processed edible substance.” Or “food that lies to us.”

Working in central Africa he saw lots of kids dying of infections. “And the reason they died,” he says, “was not because we lacked antibiotics. It was that they were being fed baby food made up with filthy water … milk formula was directly marketed to families as aspirational.” The more he witnessed of this tragedy the more it became clear that “the solution should be to try to limit that corporate [marketing] power, rather than needing more antibiotics. What we now call the commercial determinants of health.” … It is no accident, he suggests, that tobacco giants Philip Morris and RJ Reynolds acquired, respectively, Kraft and Nabisco in the 1980s: “They knew they had a set of technologies they could apply to food.”

[rabbitcruiser]

National Cookie Day

Bake some sugary, buttery and perfectly rounded snacks, indulge in classics like chocolate chip or experiment with unusual flavors like lavender or cheese.

Cookies are sweet and full of all sorts of delicious goodness, from nuts to fruit to chocolate. They can be either delightfully crumbly or sinfully chewy. Not to mention that they keep forever if they are stored properly…well, this may not actually be true but, honestly, they will probably never last long enough to find out!

There’s no doubt about it: cookies more than deserve their own day, and that’s why National Cookie Day is celebrated around the world in order to pay tribute to these delicious little treats. So grab some flour, butter, and sugar, and let’s get to celebrating, shall we?

The History of National Cookie Day

Cookies, themselves, can be traced back much further than most people would imagine. It is estimated that in the 7th century AD, Persians were some of the first to grow and harvest sugar cane, which would have eventually been turned into baked goods. The movement of people for trade and war led the glory of sugar to be brought into Europe and, by the 14th century, cookies had come there as well.

Then, when Europeans migrated over to the Americas, they brought with them their sugar as well as their cookie recipes. Americans eventually began developing their own types of cookies, the Chocolate Chip Cookie being one of the most famous of all.

In 1987 Matt Nader of the San Francisco-based Blue Chip Cookie Company created National Cookie Day, saying: “It’s just like having National Secretaries Day… It will just be a fun thing to do.” This fun and sweet holiday have also been championed by The Cookie Monster from Sesame Street, obviously a supporter of all things that are cookie-related.

Although the day did not originate with him, some details about National Cookie Day can be found in Random House’s The Sesame Street Dictionary, which was published back in the 1980s. Since then, the word got around the globe that there was much tasty fun to be had on December 4th, and people from various countries all around the world began to celebrate National Cookie Day.

In fact, a number of variations on National Cookie Day are also celebrated around the world, such as Oatmeal National Cookie Day and Bake Cookies Day. This is likely due to one of the greatest things about cookies: they come in hundreds of shapes and sizes and are relatively simple to make.

So get ready to celebrate everything that has to do with cookies–baking them and eating them!

National Cookie Day Timeline

1st Century AD

Scottish oatcakes

While some might argue this started out as a version of bread, what they turned into is something that is certainly very close to resembling a cookie! They were often used by traveling clansmen as a staple of their diet.

7th Century AD

Mini cakes are used to test ovens

When testing to see if the temperatures were right, ancient Persians (some of the first to grow and harvest sugar cane) may have used tiny “cakes�� to check their ovens. These little cakes may be the ancient ancestors to today’s cookies.

11th Century

Lady Fingers emerge

These delicate little spongy cakes actually resemble something like cookies and were first made in France. The first recipe hails from the House of Savoy.

14th Century

Cookies become commonplace

With the growth of access to sugar, many residents of European cities find small treats such as cookies are fairly accessible. In fact, most of the earliest baking cookbooks from this time contained recipes for cookies. Of course, in England, they may have taken on the name “biscuit”.

1792

First published American cookbook includes cookie recipes

Just 20 years after the independence of the country, the first American cookbook is published. It contains recipes for regular butter cookies as well as a “Christmas Cookey”.

1902

Nabisco makes Barnum Animal Crackers

Although they are named “crackers”, everyone knows they taste sweet like cookies! These, produced by American company, Nabisco, are in the shapes of animals and named after the famous circus showman, P.T. Barnum.

1937

Chocolate chip cookies are invented

In what began as a happy ‘accident’, Ruth Wakefield of Massachusetts, USA, was baking butter cookies and wanted to make them into chocolate cookies. She thought if she put tiny chocolate pieces into the dough, they would melt and turn into chocolate cookies. Wakefield ran the Tollhouse Restaurant, which she named the cookie after.

1984

Cookie Dough ice cream is invented

When an anonymous fan suggested they add piles of unbaked cookie dough to their vanilla ice cream, Ben & Jerry were just crazy enough to try it!

1997

Chocolate chip cookie represents Massachusetts

Following a bill proposed by a class of third graders from Somerset, Massachusetts adopts the chocolate chip cookie as the official cookie of the commonwealth. This gives a nod to the invention of this cookie at the Tollhouse Restaurant in Whitman, Massachusetts.[9]

How to Celebrate National Cookie Day

So simple and easy, celebrating cookie day means enjoying a cookie–and perhaps sharing one with a friend. Try out these other ideas to make National Cookie Day special:

Enjoy Eating Cookies

While some people might consider cookies to be something to pack in a child’s lunchbox, they’re certainly delicious for adults to enjoy too! Small or big, cookies are inherently perfect for sharing. They’re the ideal treat for a family gathering or a kid’s soccer game. Stop by a bakery on the way to work and grab a few cookies to share at the office. Or bake some at home and pass them around to neighbors.

Whatever is happening on this day (or any day, for that matter) will obviously be much better if it happens with a cookie in hand!

Try a Unique Cookie Flavor

Make National Cookie Day memorable by stepping off the beaten path a bit and trying a cookie flavor that you normally wouldn’t have. Go beyond that typical chocolate chip or peanut butter cookie recipe. All sorts of unique and adventurous cookie flavors are out there just waiting to be tasted, and here just a few:

Peanut Butter Chocolate Bacon Cookies. They say that everything is better with bacon. Why not try adding it to some delicious cookies? The blend of sweet and savory is absolutely to die for.

Fruity Pebbles Cookies. Just for fun, these treats use a basic cookie recipe and add in a couple of cups of colorful, crispy Fruity Pebbles cereal.

Savory Herb Shortbread Cookies. Almost like crackers, these cookies work nicely as an appetizer. Made with parmesan and freshly minced rosemary, these cookies pair well with a glass of red wine. And they can be just as tasty when made with asiago cheese and freshly cut thyme.

Salted White Chocolate Lavender Cookies. Keep to the herb garden with the delicate edible lavender combined with white chocolate.

Source

[iminthetunnels]

hey Bella, how do you gradually come off sugar? I been meaning to try this for the longest time but it's so hard its literally in EVERYTHING?

omg u called me BELLA!! no one ever calls me bella anymore<3 that’s so cute, u must actually know me LOL.

it IS in everything, i just relapsed on candied ginger i made. it helps a lot tho, i used raw cane sugar, which is brown in color. u should see how i shop…. this why is i do mostly everything handmade. now this isn’t to say i stopped eating fruits. i eat fruits still. i just avoid cane sugar like the plague.

it’s not hard for me to immediately stop something. but i know for others it is. once u stop consuming so much, it’ll be easier over time, maybe!! it’s also insane that companies don’t have to legally list all their ingredients, and can hide ingredients in the “natural flavor” listed. ugh. so evil. there needs to be a better way to help ppl be aware of this, death to nestle, kellogg’s, nabisco, p&g, and j&j

[dreamy-conceit]

"[Paul] is going to be my sexual consultant," Wilson was heard to say. "When I want his fucking advice, I’ll ask for it."

— Tylee Wilson, quoted by Bryan Burrough and John Helyar, 'Barbarians at the Gate: The Fall of RJR Nabisco'

[postmoderntongues]

Some cute things I learned about the behind the scenes of Oz:

The set is in a building that used to be a Nabisco factory and smelled like processed Chips Ahoy

R E Rodgers was originally supposed to just say his 3 lines in the season 2 premier and get his dick bitten off but hit it off with a bunch of the other actors on set and they liked him enough that they kept writing him into more and more scenes

JK Simmons took Eamonn Walker to his first major league baseball game

The cast liked to go out bowling together