#and the food is .... i have the jam in the fridge its so good and its such a good breakfast meal (FRESH VEGGIES THERE TOO) | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

v44v13nna · 4 months ago

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bakery girl ★

angela girratana x fem reader

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this is the worst monday angela has had in months. from the moment she woke up late, missing the time to go to the gym before work, to now, with her current realisation her lunch is definitely still in her car and is definitely inedible. not to mention the irritating itch under her skin, the tension in her shoulders and frustrating urge to be drumming her fingers or bouncing her knee or ANYTHING.

so now the only task on angela’s mind is finding something fresh to eat. rushing to leave the smosh building, she finds herself in a bakery. not a big bakery, or a cramped one, one with a soft muted colour palette with walls filled with beautifully hand written signs and drawings, it’s warm from the recognisable heat radiating from behind the counter and well lit from the sunlight. there’s a constant stream of white noise from the fridges and machinery. it’s nice. angela notes before subconsciously relaxing slightly, until she saw the displays.

rows and rows of pastries, rolls, danishes, anything. cookies, muffins, scrolls, scones, savoury rolls, braids, slices, stuff she couldn’t even name. her head was spinning. what the fuck do i even want to eat?

“too many choices?” huh?

angela looks up to the source of the voice.

“trust me, i think the same thing when i look at it” it’s a girl. dressed in a simple uniformed shirt, fitted apron and a hat. a pretty girl. “do you feel like something sweet or savoury?”

she’s asking me a question oh god. “i think savoury?”

the bakery girl smiles at her before taking a step back to look at the case of baked goods, assessing each product, looking for something, something that angela suddenly wishes to be privy to. bakery girl looks at what must’ve been a clock “is this going to be for your lunch?” angela nods not trusting herself to speak, bakery girl is looking back at her again “well the pizza rolls are a big seller but if i had to recommend anything, you should get the spinach and feta braids. i just had that on my break they’re perfect today, i promise you’ll love them”.

once again angela nods, and watches the girl grab the pastry and finalise the transaction, unexpectedly studying the way bakery girl moves.

after reaching the office, angela wanting to not waste any more of her lunch break, sat at an empty table and began eating the danish. bakery girl was right. angela thought going for another bite. soft butter pastry braided with crumbled pieces of feta and thinly cut spinach in it, truly perfect.

maybe it was the quaint corner shop bakery, or the pretty bakery girl, or the pastry, but this monday ended up being one of the best mondays she’s had.

a week later angela finds herself having déjà vu; paralysed in front of the overwhelming shelves of pastries.

“sweet or savoury today?” maaaajor déjà vu

“umm maybe sweet this time?” angela answers while looking up from the cursed case of food to see bakery girl. same uniform, same fitted apron and hat, same pretty smile, and as she steps back to examine the baked goods, angela can’t help but watch her again like last time, trying to find what it is that bakery girl can see that she can’t.

suddenly her eyes light up. “what about a raspberry coconut slice? its a shortbread base with layers of jam and coconut meringue, and then i grated a little bit of lemon zest on top.”

how could i say no? angela could feel herself relax completely. “how could i say no?” and now she could feel the urge to punch herself in the face.

thankfully, bakery girls laughs, a soft one but it’s more than enough for angela. she leans on the counter as bakery girl hands her the slices. “i hope you like them, they’re one of my favourites to make”

WOAH PAUSE

“you made them? you bake?” angela can barely get the words out, excited by the sudden opportunity to know her. she watches as she’s taken aback but the question, blushing softly.

“well a little? i’m usually just decorating the bigger custom cakes in the display fridge” she points to a seperate display of cakes “i used to bake, but the overnight shifts kill me”

“and so what did you say?” chanse says as angela retells this mornings interaction with bakery girl.

“well some other worker came up and asked her a question and so i just”

“you said nothing? angela really?” he cuts her off, knowing that she has zero rebuttal. in defeat she looks down at the last piece of the slice left, rethinking over the conversation. “do you know her name at least?” eyes snapping back to chanses face as she tries to recollect the small bits of info she does know about bakery girl.

“she doesn’t wear a name badge” i don’t know her name

every monday from that week on angela made it her mission to learn bakery girls name, and over the past seven weeks of spending the first part of her lunch break at the bakery, she still doesn’t know her name. angela is nearly at breaking point. seven mondays planning how to ask, and seven mondays of her leaving with a new fact about bakery girl, a new pastry to try, and a growing frustration at herself for never asking.

sitting at her desk on wednesday morning, angela indulges in her current favourite activity of pining over the nameless worker with mesmerising eyes and a knowledge of baked goods. after trying a new pastry each week, angela can’t help but think about the brownies she got on monday. dark chocolate brownies that was made by the girl.

well chanse and amanda wanted to try, it’s more for their benefit than mine. angela convinced herself as she approached the bakery. she might not even be there so it’s not like im being weird.

as she pushes the door she sees her. in the same spot behind the counter, with the same simple uniform shirt, fitted apron and hat and name badge talking to a customer.

SHES WEARING A NAME BADGE?!

she can’t believe it, shes still too far away to read it without her glasses but it’s clearly there pinned to her shirt and the closer angela gets, the stronger her hearts beating. this is the moment she finally gets to learn the name of the girl she’s been pining for.

the other customer leaves and it’s just her and bakery girl face to face again. since angela has stopped looking at the displays for the past few weeks she witnessed the signature smile she’s acquainted with form on bakery girls face.

but she doesn’t have to be bakery girl anymore, angela glances at the badge. BLARN.

blarn? is that her name

“i wasn’t expecting to see you so fast, monday must’ve come early this week” blarn (blarn???) comments, settling on her elbows as she leans on the counter.

angela laughs, feeling herself rapidly becoming flustered “those brownies you picked on monday were so good so i thought i should share them this time” she laughs at angela’s words and usually angela would be pleased but she can’t look away from the name badge. there’s so many questions.

is that her name? why doesn’t she wear it on mondays? why today?

she’s so absorbed in her thoughts she didn’t even see her grab the brownies ready for her to pay

“hey, you there?” she’s asking me a question oh god oh god

“your name badge” angela fights the words out of her mouth, already feeling herself cringe at her stuttering delivery, quickly tapping her phone to pay as if to try to move on from her comment. bakery girl looks down at the badge, almost as if she’s as equally shocked by the plastic

“oh yea my manager only works wednesdays with me, so when he is in, i have to have a name” she explains softly laughing at angela’s dumbfounded expression.

“ah” a beat.

don’t say anything stupid don’t say anything stupid ang don’t say anything stupid “so what do people call you every other day?” WHAT

she laughs, and angela can feel her internal battle melt away. “it’s (name), blarn is just a fake name”

(name). angela wishes she could tattoo it on her brain, but all she can do is laugh in response, but before she could respond (names) eyes are no longer looking at her, but at the customer that’s unknowingly broken the moment. angela watches as (name) sends her an apologetic smile before having to attend the customer.

usually angela would just head back to the office, but the second she stepped outside she knew she had to go back.

pushing open the door, she waits behind the customer, catching (names) eyes and smiles at her confused but happy expression. once it’s her turn, angela speaks first.

“i’m angela. i didn’t tell you it before but im angela”

“i’m (name)” she giggles “it’s nice to finally know your name”

angela feels like her chest is going to burst “it’s nice to finally know yours, (name)” (name). angela wants to scream her name from the rooftops, more so after seeing the blush gracing (names) cheeks.

feeling her phone buzz, knowing that it’s chanse asking her where she is she knows this is best time to ask.

“can i..” come on ang just ASK “can i get your number?”

“i was hoping you would ask”

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a/n for someone to still think you’re pretty when you’re in your work uniform is the greatest compliment

sorry if this is long and written like a book, that’s what i’m used to 💔

#angela giarratana #smosh #angela giarratana x reader #i have the biggest crush on angela #x reader #yes that’s a bojack horseman reference #i’m the number one biggest fan of the show

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lilypadlys · 11 months ago

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Domestic December Day 12 - Someone Set Off the Fire Alarm

In which Phantom discovers how toasters work. And what the smoke alarm is for…

Notes: Mention of wounds and blood but not too graphic. Don't worry, Phantom just has an accident and Aether quickly patches him up. Prompt list by comp-lady. See prompt list here

Midnight snacks and fire alarms below the cut or on AO3

Phantom wakes up at three in the morning, unable to get back to sleep. No matter how much he tosses and turns, sleep continues to elude him. Sighing, he decides to just get up. Maybe he’ll quietly watch a movie or something. He wanders into the common room, blankets in tow and begins to dig through the dvd collection when his stomach growls.

Phantom whimpers. Usually he sleeps in and the other ghouls have breakfast ready by the time he wakes up. Swiss or Cumulus or Rain also generally help him make food at other meals as well. Now though, he’s on his own. He pads into the attached kitchen and pokes through the cupboards and fridge. While there’s plenty of food, most of it is too intimidating for his novice cooking skills or temperamental stomach. His stomach growls loudly again.

His eyes settle on the bread basket. Toast would be good, he thinks. He pulls out a couple slices of bread and sets them in the toaster oven. He turns it on but he’s unsure what temperature to select or how long to leave the bread in there. He wants it done fast so he shrugs and cranks the temperature dial up to max. Then he starts digging around the fridge for the grape jam.

It takes a while, the jar having been moved from its usual spot. When he finally finds the grape jam, the jar is practically empty. Grumbling, Phantom tosses it aside and retrieves the strawberry jam instead. In his frustration, he forgets about the toast. He’s in the middle of trying to unscrew the sticky lid when an aggressive and ear piercing screeching noise begins. Phantom startles, dropping the glass jam jar. It shatters at his feet and one of the shards wedges itself in his bare foot.

Overwhelmed and in pain, Phantom drops to the ground and curls up with his eyes shut and hands pressed over his ears. Mercifully the noise stops and he hesitantly opens his eyes. Swiss is knelt next to him with a concerned look. Aether is holding the fire extinguisher and foam coats the inside of the toaster oven. Mountain is resetting the fire alarm. The rest of the pack sleepily wanders into the common room with confused expressions.

“Hey Bug.” Swiss murmurs. “You alright?”

Phantom manages a nod, too embarrassed and overwhelmed to verbally respond.

“Can Aether take a look at your foot?”

Another nod.

Aether comes over and kneels next to Swiss. “Hey Batling. Gonna see if I can help, okay?”

“Uh huh.”

Aether gently lifts Phantom’s injured foot. There’s blood but not too much. The shard of glass only nicked him. Cumulus comes over with the first aid kit and Aether takes it with a grateful smile.

“I’m gonna get you all patched up okay? Just need to remove the glass and use some antiseptic. Then I can heal the wound. I’m sorry, it might hurt a little.”

Phantom nods and grits his teeth. Swiss holds his hand while Aether works.

Aether counts him down. “Three, two, one.” He eases the glass shard out with tweezers. Phantom hisses and Swiss does his best to comfort him. Aether cleans the wound before healing it with quintessence. By the time he’s done there isn’t even a mark.

“There we go. All done.” Aether says. “Sorry about that.”

“You did so good Bug.” Swiss praises. “Feeling a little better?”

“Uh huh.” Phantom nods. His foot does feel better. Now though, with the issue of his foot resolved, he now notices the fatigue on everyone’s faces. “I-I’m sorry…”

“For what Batling? Accidents happen.” Aether soothes.

“But, I woke everyone up. I couldn’t sleep so I tried to make a snack but then…I just made a mess.” He starts to sniffle, words cut off by choked sobs.

“Hey, hey. It’s okay.” Swiss purrs. “You didn’t mean too. Nobody is mad at you. It happens.”

“R-really?”

“Really. We’ll get the kitchen all cleaned up in the morning and everything will be fine.”

“O-okay.”

“What do you need now, Batling?” Aether rubs his head. “Still hungry or do you want to go back to bed?”

Phantom’s stomach rumbles even more institantly than before, answering for him. Phantom can’t help but giggle as Aether and Swiss chuff.

Aether smiles. “Toast coming right up.”

With the toaster oven temporarily out of commission, Aether gets Dew to toast some bread real quick. Swiss even tracks down grape jam from the communal kitchens. Stomach satiated, Phantom lets Aether and Swiss bring him back to bed. After all the excitement, he’s able to fall right back to sleep.

#the band ghost #ghost fanfiction #nameless ghouls #phantom ghoul #swiss ghoul #aether ghoul #phantom/swiss/aether #domestic december 2023 #lys writes

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silverstonesainz-archive · 2 years ago

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mick coming home after a triple header to reader and Angie asleep cuddled up?

mick is a soft boy fr. im also writing this in the context that he's in merc but here we go:

the triple header killed him. it was the first time you couldn't even make it out to a single race, and add to the fact it had been rough results wise. his best finish is p5, which is something to be proud of.

but he's an overachiever, he wanted to do better... mostly because he knows he can.

"its still really good baby," you coo over the phone, "i'm so proud of you"

"i just can't wait to be home with my girls... i need it."

you promised him his favorite meal and lots of snuggles, your only request is that he gets home safely.

you do cook him his favorite meal, with dessert waiting patiently for him in the fridge. you try to stick to his meal plan as much as possible, but with a two week break you knew mick could get away with eating some things.

he texts you after you finish cooking, letting you know his flight is delayed, but that he'd be taking off shortly.

so you clean up his apartment, take angie out on her walk, and even play a movie to pass the time.

mick finally get's home, a long day of traveling behind him. he jams the key into the door, turning it and opening the door.

he was about to announce that he's home but then he sees you and angie on the couch, fast asleep.

angie is cuddled under your arms, eyes popping open when mick walks through the door. she moves from under your hold, but you dont stir, still snoring softly on the couch.

he gives angie lots of pets as he drops his bags by the door. "did you have a good nap with mama?"

she replies with kisses, to which mick laughs.

after much needed love an attention, he moves over to the couch. he rubs your shoulder, shaking you gently.

you stir, shooting up when you realize he's home. "hey... when did you get here?"

he kisses your temple, "just arrived. go back to sleep love."

you shake your head, "no. no you're home. no sleep."

he chuckles at your stubbornness, letting you lead him into the kitchen. he sits at the counter, watching you reheat the food.

you sit with him while he eats, listening to him tell you all about the last three weekends.

"wish you were there liebe."

"me too. but you're home now, and i have you for two weeks. so lets just enjoy our time together while we have it."

#d's 2k sleepover!#mick schumacher #ms47 hc

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angelmichelangelo · 1 year ago

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hi! um.. so.. could i request a oneshotfic ab 2007!donnie having to deal with being temporary ‘leader’ while leo is away and him having to kinda watch over raph and mikey? maybe he rants ab this to his s/o but if you don’t do x reader fics i completely understand thanks!! :D

finally getting around to this one! thanks for the prompt, amigo! some good ol' 2k7 angst is like. my ultimate jam. hope you enjoy!

The dull thrum of the fridge is the only sound that fills their tiny, poky kitchen as he stares endlessly into its barren contents.

There’s a carton of milk that should have been thrown out a while ago. An old Chinese takeout box that probably has stiff, half rotting noodles laying in the bottom. A secret piece of birthday cake wrapped up in foil, wedged way in the back behind a loose collection of babybel’s.

Donnie sighs. He closes the fridge and the kitchen is quickly swamped in darkness.

He turns to look up towards the platform of their pseudo second floor; the colorful light from Mikey’s nightlight spills from beneath his door whilst Raph’s door is closed and darkness and emptiness lurks from behind.

Donnie stands alone in the kitchen, his gut clenching around nothing. His computer pings and he steels himself for a moment before he moves towards his station.

He always makes sure that the kitchen is stocked for his brothers and his father. He goes out of his way to ensure that Mikey has the cereal he likes, the ones with the overly sugary marshmallow bits in them that are sure to rot his teeth, or that Raph gets his protein bars even if he just snatches them up without saying thank-you. He indulges in his father’s sweet tooth for children’s birthday cake even if it sends his blood pressure into a spin.

Donnie keeps the kitchen stocked, and his own stomach empty because he can’t remember what his own favorite food tastes like.

He doesn’t watch the movies he likes anymore. Mostly because Splinter has taken up his own version of retirement in the form of bad soaps and CW shows every afternoon, but when it’s downtime, Don always lets Mike pick because he enjoys watching the way the smile lines finally etch their way across his face after a long, tedious day. He takes pride in watching the light creep back into his baby blues after they’d clouded over with exhaustion.

Donnie’s box set documentaries grow dust on the shelf but it doesn’t matter because Splinter is happy and Mikey is content and that’s all that matters.

He stops tinkering around for fun and to tickle his own curiosity like he might have done before and now it’s due to necessity.

His blueprints for the jetpacks he used to get giddy over with his brothers are left rolled up beneath his desk and whenever he’s pulling his toolbox out it’s because Raph’s wrecked his bike again somehow or the van needs touching up because more days than not, Mikey’s out working, coming and going from every inch of the city, the tires are worn and Mike’s smile is too, but Donnie knows how to fix that. He should do, shouldn’t he? He misses Leo painfully so. His best friend, always just a bedroom door away, he wakes in the night and finds himself stupidly shuffling towards it before he stops himself, standing in the still quiet of the night, hand hovering over a doorknob to open it to just nothing, there’s a pit gnawing in the bottom of his stomach, and soon, his grief is misplaced and it’s replaced with hurt, because Leo stops calling and he stops writing, and Donnie doesn’t have time to be sad about it, because Mikey comes home in tears one afternoon and he doesn’t stop until Don’s scooped him up and shoved a pint of ice cream in between his hands and wrapped him up onto the couch and there’s a corny rom-com playing on one of the back channels and it makes Don’s eyes grow tired and his head grow fuzzy but he pushes through just to make sure Mike’s face is dry and his smile is still casting a ghostly shadow at the end of it all. And Mike always shares his ice cream with him, even if he’s picked out all the good chunks, because that was just what little brothers were for, but it still doesn’t quell the burning ache Don has, settled deep within his chest, unbudging. He thinks about perhaps talking to Master Splinter about it on a few occasions. When the burning ache grows a little numb. He doesn’t though. Because between Gossip Girl and streams of infomercials, Splinter splits his time to their makeshift dojo, all hunched up and sad looking as he desperately searches for Leo, and Donnie realizes then that he can’t pass along a burden like his.

He’s in charge now – it’s clear to him in the way he stocks the fridge, keeps his remaining siblings safe in the way a mother perhaps would with reminders to be careful and to do dishes, and Donnie didn’t ask for this burden. It is a burden and once he’s felt it’s full crushing weight does it make more sense to him as to why Leo’s run off halfway across the world and refused to come back.

Raph stumbles home one evening, late, when Don should have been sleeping but he’d been caught up with one particular customer on his phone line that was prickly and rude and he’s got a headache wedged deep behind the back of his brain and there’s shuffling footsteps that Don would recognise through years of crime fighting as help me, I’m hurt footsteps. He whips around to face his brother standing, propped up against the kitchen table, swaying. “Raph,” he says out loud. His voice is thin and raspy. When was the last time he spoke out loud, he wonders. Raph takes a step forward before his entire body seems to follow suit, a little too enthusiastic as he pitches towards him, almost falling before —

“Got ya,” Donnie says with a breath, all of it rushing out of him at once as he braces Raph’s dead weight against him. “C’mon. Here we go.” He’s able to sit Raphael down in one of the kitchen chairs, slumped and heavy, Donnie watches him for a second before he’s rushing out to grab his med kit. Coming back, he’s relieved to see he hasn’t moved much in the few seconds he was gone. He’s holding his side, taking slow shallow breaths that scare Donnie a little bit. He pries away his hand to reveal a fresh, sticky flow of crimson. Donatello’s heart jumps in his chest. “Oh, jesus, Raph,” he hisses. He slaps his hand back over the wound as he starts rummaging around for the right supplies. “What’s the matter with you?” Raph, who hasn’t made a sound the entire time, huffs a weak little laugh. Golden eyes slide around the room, like his situation was finally catching up to him, they finally land on Donnie. “Uh. You want that in alphabetical order?” Donnie doesn’t give him any satisfaction by even reacting. He’s got the alcohol wetting the cotton. He doesn’t even warn him as he yanks his hand away and starts dabbing. Raph hisses, jolting so hard in his seat that the chair scrapes loudly against the floor with a high pitched groan. Donnie shushes him. Last thing he needs is Mikey waking to all this: he’s got an early start tomorrow at the other end of Manhattan. Upon further inspection, the wound isn’t all too bad, mostly superficial. Definitely a stab wound, that was sure. He isn’t gonna ask. But Donnie could fix this. He could. “You need stitches.” He tells him blankly. He’s got a sparing amount of supplies in his box, but thankfully just enough. He doesn’t want to wake April with this nonsense, not at this hour. “Stay still.” Raph, never one to listen, starts shuffling about in his seat, rubbing his feet back and forth against the floor, hands twitchy and restless. He sighs, tiredly, and Donnie glances up towards him. Their eyes meet, and for a second, Donnie thinks that maybe this is the moment it breaks. That maybe Raph will break down and say his sorry’s and maybe Donnie has some to say too. Maybe Mikey will wake up and they’ll find the couch together and they can watch something stupid like 27 Dresses because that’s Mike’s favorite and there’s a whole tub of untouched ice cream in the freezer with all the good bits still in it and—

“Get on with it then,” Raph says gruffly. He looks away. Donnie’s hand’s tremble for a second, but he steadies them for the thread. “Sure,” he says in a small voice. He stitches Raph back up, bit by bit, he pulls him back together, gives him a pretty little bandaid too. He says a short thank you. Grabs a bit of birthday cake from the fridge. And he leaves. Just like that, he’s gone again.

Donnie stands alone in the kitchen. Raph hadn’t even bothered to close the fridge door behind him, a hue of gentle yellow light spilling from it, lighting up the small underground room, Donnie stands in front of it, watching up at the bedroom doors with watery vision. He doesn’t cry, though. Because that isn’t what he’s supposed to do. He’s supposed to keep them fed and happy and healthy and he’s supposed to fix this. That’s always been his job – now just increased ten fold, it’s been left in his hands and he has to do it, otherwise nobody else will. He sighs, closing the fridge door. He slumps back into his chair. There’s the annoyed chatter of someone barking through his headset at him. The headache never really left, just invisible for those few moments, it lets itself be known now with a sharp jab of pain radiating up his skull. This is his job, he tells himself. This is the job he’s meant to do. Stock the fridge. Keep the peace. Stitch the wounds. He hates Leo for leaving it all for him, but what else is he supposed to do. His gut growls at him and his chest goes airy tight, like something there was majorly missing. This is fine, this is his job. He can do this. He sucks in a shaky breath. He doesn’t want to do this.

#thanks again for the prompt!#2k7 b-team always makes me happy. getting this prompt was super fun :3 #ask #fic prompt #tmnt fanfiction #tmnt fanfic #tmnt fic #tmnt 2007 #tmnt 2k7 #tmnt donatello #tmnt raphael #tmnt michalangelo #tmnt leonardo

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mayihaveyournameplease · 1 year ago

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TIMING: current PARTIES: Siobhan & Beau LOCATION: Tupperware SUMMARY: An unusual fae pair work together to escape and unwelcomed kidnapping. CONTENT WARNINGS: Unsanitary tw. WRSPICE because IYKYK.

Siobhan didn’t sleep much; the night was for having fun and the day was for having fun and there was no time left to not have fun. Terrible things happened when Siobhan wasn’t having fun, anyway. So, when she did sleep, hopefully so thoroughly exhausted that dreams didn’t dare to knock on her skull, she coveted the time; it was sacred. When the smell of varying stale foods flooded her nose and pulled her up from sleep, she was angry. When she looked around and noted the thick, cloudy plastic walls and bright blue ceiling above, she was livid. Siobhan screamed; if anyone was asleep before, they certainly weren’t now. The plastic, for its part, simply quivered a little—being reinforced by its trips through the microwave, into the freezer and the fridge and then back into the microwave. It technically wasn’t freezer safe but that hadn’t stopped it from showing up in the freezer.

Little Beau Beep was counting sheep. They danced and pranced in his dreams, and every time he got close to one it would snap its teeth at him. “I’ll turn you all into lamp chops!” He declared, pulling a flamethrower from the dimension dream items came from. Dinner was cooked well done. Deep in slumber, a cartoon figure donned in a sleeping cap with a singular puff at the end, and a onesie, buttflap unfortunately unflapped. The smell of old food wasn’t what woke him, it lingered well with the greasy feast he was partaking in. Instead, he woke up relaxed, and happy. A big stretch and a yawn, eyes blinking wearily. “Good morning world.” He announced, as if he was the star from which the universe revolved around. It wasn’t his bedroom he caught sight of. Beau blinked, rubbing the slumber from his eyes and eyes darting around. “I am not cheesed to be here.” He mumbled in his plastic container. Spotting another contained individual, Beau raised a hand in greeting. “Hello! There seems to be a mistake. I shouldn’t be here. Haha! I’m going to be late for work! Haha.”

There weren’t many people Siobhan decided she hated upon first sight. To hate someone was usually far more care and attention she wanted to give. Yet, as a chill struck down her spine with the familiarity meeting another fae often did, and as he laughed the way that was too fake and utterly useless, Siobhan decided she hated him. Perhaps it wasn’t fair, they were stuck in a plastic container and that was sure to be what was really souring her mood. She forced herself to smile, in a way that was also too fake, and tried to be polite. “Unfortunately, I’m not the person that put you here! So I can't get you out. Haha.” She imagined jamming his head under the lip of the lid; she imagined it squeezing and popping off like a pea freed from its pod. The image brought her peace. “I’m also not…” she sighed. “…cheesed to be here.” She stepped closer to the man, despite herself. “You wouldn’t happen to know how to get out, would you? I would like to leave.” She paused. “Haha.”

The tingle down Beau’s spine told him that this was another fae, which was nice. Beau hadn’t made many fae friends since coming to Wicked’s Rest. He had met that dumb fae child, but she was a lost cause. Then there was the Doctor fae that kept turning him down. Beau had stolen the knowledge that he was fae from her, so they couldn’t bond over that. Then there was the goat, who didn’t like him. All these Ls and Beau never couldn’t figure out why. Maybe this fae was a chance at redemption. “Haha!” Beau responded, at least this fae had a good nature. Full of laughs! Even if her laughs sounded a bit dry and flat. “Seems like we’ll be tasked with figuring out how to get out ourselves, haha!” He placed his hands on his hips, very much looking like that one construction worker who only ever watched as the others constructed. Beau turned in a slow circle, staring up at the plastic lid. “It would appear we are in very large tupperware.” Beau announced, as if it wasn’t the most obvious thing he could have said, and it was something helpful. “I’m just swissed about this. Haha!” His forced smile burned his cheeks. Beau did the most manly thing he could think of, he kicked the plastic container with his foot. His foot was only covered by the onesie foot. His toes crushed into the plastic causing him to topple over and curse with pain. “I HATE THIS I FUCKING HATE THIS.” He screamed into the air, before remembering he wasn’t alone. One cough. Two coughs. “I mean. Haha.”

“Haha,” Siobhan said plainly, using the idiotic phrase to hide the anger that roiled inside of her. As much as she didn’t want to admit it, saying ‘haha’ was an easy way to stop herself from saying ‘I don’t care if you’re a fae I’m going to skin you alive and use your flesh as a wreath’. “Haha.” Watching him hurt himself was nice, like a sitcom one might leave to play in the background; amusing enough but largely a waste of time. Even if the live studio audience in her head broke out in laughter, the more sensible director was keen on keeping them on task. As this man was a fae, despite his obvious flaws, Siobhan decided she would pretend like she cared about him. “Oh! You poor, sweet thing!” She walked very slowly to his side, bending down to try and help him out. “Your toe! Oh, how that must have hurt--this terrible, evil box wants to destroy your strong manly foot. Oh! If only you could use your big, smart brain to get us out of here. Oh! If only, maybe, you could stand on my shoulders and see if the lid will lift!” She smiled tightly at him. “Haha.” She was thinking his eyes would look lovely in a jar.

The throbbing pain in his big toe was infuriating. He hopped around on his good foot for a bit while the other fae started talking. The fae, a woman, she was hot. A bit old looking for his normal tastes, but he could forgive a fae for aging since she was so nice. Beau preened as she doted on him, calling him strong and manly. He is strong and manly. He definitely could use all his big strong manly brain power to get them out of the box. Beau put his hands on his hips, he’d seen superheroes do it on posters and he was about to be the savior of this woman’s world, it seemed fitting. “Have no fear. You should stand on my shoulders. Since I’m so strong and manly. I wouldn’t want you to hurt yourself with effort. Besides, I like a woman on top.” He added a wink, just to let her know that if she was interested in staying in this weird large tupperware container with him, he wouldn’t be against it.

The man looked like a simple tap would have him keeled over, Siobhan didn’t want to think about what having the full weight of someone on his shoulders would do to him. Thankfully, at least, she had fallen asleep in the same clothes she’d gone out in, so there was no free show for Beau if he decided to look up between her legs; pants could be a wonderful thing. “Oh, but shouldn’t we uplift men?” She tried to smile; she didn’t enjoy the fact her words seemed to work so well on him. “In this current political climate, shouldn’t men stand on top of women and push up heavy tupperware lids? What if my weak woman arms can’t do it?” Siobhan might have been born over a hundred years ago, but growing up in a matriarchal society that largely sacrificed its men had given her a very pointed view of the sexes; it was a very spider-like idea of feminism. Even joking in this manner had her stomach twisted into knots; she’d have to be careful about how she was complimenting the sad, small man. “I don’t want to damage your…” Siobhan gestured to his sad excuse for muscles. “...manly shoulders.”

Beau’s chest started to puff out with each passing statement coming out of her mouth. This was a woman chasing after his own heart. Beau bravely ignored the throbbing in his left foot and straightened his back, chasing that extra inch that he knew would make him all the more handsome and impressive in her eyes. “I don’t say this a lot, but you might be the smartest woman I’ve ever met.” His tongue slipped against his upper lip. He’d seen tiktoks of younger men doing the same sign to look attractive to women. He hoped it was working. “Alright, I’ll get on your shoulders and I’ll use my strong manly arms to get us out of here. Anything for you, my excellently aged cheese.” He hoped it wasn’t too soon for fond nicknames. Every marriage needed fond nicknames. Oh wait. Maybe marriage was getting ahead of himself? He mulled it over before deciding it wasn’t. Beau walked closer to the woman, craning his neck up to look at her face. God. She was an amazonian of a woman. “Uppies.” He stated, holding his hands up as if he was the petulant toddler he acted like.

If this man died right now, Siobhan was sure it would be her happiest memory. Nothing would fill her with more euphoria than being able to scream for him and then stab him several times. She was thinking twenty seven times but the count went up every time he opened his mouth. Suddenly, she didn’t want him on her shoulders. Maybe it would have been better if she had just crushed his trapezius with her heels. “Maybe you’re the smartest man I’ve ever met.” A muscle below her eye twitched. “You’re my hero, my egg,” she said, imagining cracking his skull like one. She hoped she never had to see him again. When he said ‘uppies’ she amended her thought: she hoped that she did see him again, thoroughly dead.

Siobhan bent down, lifting the annoying gnat with ease--as, unlike the man, she was strong. A lifetime of rigorous training to be an instrument of Fate had changed her deceptively thin physique into the sort that could easily lift up another person. The feat was probably lost on him. “How are you?” She asked, straightening up slowly. She kept a firm grip on his legs, trying to stop him from falling over; she wasn’t sure what lies she’d have to tell about his manly body to get him to shut up if it happened. “Are your strong, big, thick, manly arms doing anything?”

The woman lifted him up in his big strong arms, and Beau was a little breathless for a second. Strong and a man enjoyer? What did he do to get the whole package? His heart began palpitations. Then she was speaking again, honestly she spoke too much. That was another downside she had. When they got married she’d need to talk at least 95 percent less. Beau stretched his arms against the clear blue plastic cover and started pushing and pushing. At first it seemed like it wouldn’t budge.Then sound of plastic scraping against plastic, and it was becoming loose! “I’m doing it! I’m doing it!” Beau shouted, his feet doing little joy taps against the woman’s shoulders.

Beau was not doing it. A large face appeared. It belonged to a man. The ugliest man Beau had ever seen. “Hahaha! Some feisty ones.” The person’s voice was loud, causing Beau to shake a bit. “Get down. I’m here to deliver your daily milk.” Beau was manhandled. Could you believe it? Man handled! He was lifted off the woman’s shoulders and placed onto the plastic ground as milk began to pour over and around them. Beau was disgusted and a little aroused, if he was being honest. “Hey! Let us out!” He shouted, fist flying against the air. But nothing changed. Milk was delivered and the tupperware was closed.

The only thing worse than having to deal with the annoying, short man would be a shower of milk. How strange it was that the next thing to happen was precisely that. Siobhan seethed, vibrating with the force of her rage. Milk dripped from her hair and soaked into her clothes, which clung tightly to her body in a way that was flattering, though that was the only fortunate thing about it. Milk covered their tupperware in a pool of white, coming up to Siobhan’s knees. She waded through the liquid, ready to be done with it. She’d plunge his body below the milky wavers and drown him. Escape would be more steps away from her but at least the last shreds of her sanity would remain. She stormed over to him, milk sloshing; she felt a little like a slow-motion attractive lifeguard coming to shore. The milky hair flip didn’t help with the image.

She was close, close enough to strangle when she remembered that killing fae was the sort of thing that had gotten her wings ripped out. As much as Siobhan hated him in this moment, as he was the vehicle for her frustrations, he couldn’t be harmed; a fae was a fae and fae were family. “Looks like another case of someone trying to keep men down, my sweet, sweet omelet.” Her hands balled into fists by her sides; she spoke between clenched teeth. Her shoulders ached from where he had tapped in excitement on her. She wanted to crush him like a bug. “What now?” Her gaze dropped, she noticed a strange lump in her pocket--cylindrical. What did she have in there? She pulled it out, staring at the drenched knife. She twisted it, watching the blade catch light. “Would you look at that, my egg?” She grinned.

The worst thing about the milk was not the fact that it was seeping into his onesie, congealing against his toes and setting on his skin in a thick and sticky film. No. The worst thing was the milk was warm. Warm milk? What kind of sin had the woman next to him committed to cause them to end up in this place? Surely Beau had done nothing to deserve such a treatment from whatever giant had opened the container and doused them in warm milk. “Haha.” At this point the laugh had lost any and all luster it once had, the smile which never reached his eyes was starting to not reach his lips. How was he supposed to thrive under these conditions? Then Siobhan was pulling out a knife, and for a second, when she was calling him egg, he thought she was about to poach him. Beau blinked, a little bit of a laugh and went. “Haha, my finest aged cheddar, what are you going to do with that knife?”

Siobhan thought about how lovely the man’s blood would be against her knife; she pictured his skin ripping in layers when she would stab him, flesh given to blood given to bone. What sort of expression would he make, she wondered. Would he haha? She looked at him and then her knife and then back at him. She could not kill another fae. She splashed around the container, making her way to the wall. Siobhan plunged her knife into the worn plastic and pulled down with as much force as she could summon, ripping a jagged, vertical line into the box. It looked suspiciously like a certain anatomical opening, but Siobhan wasn’t going to make that comparison. “Come, help me open this,” she called back at the short man, pulling at one side of the tear. “I need your…strong man arms to help me…because I’m…too much of a woman.” She hoped he’d slice his hand on the plastic, feeding it to the warm wilk (which was surprisingly nice, she thought, like a bath).

Beau smiled broadly as the beautiful and slightly too old and aged looking woman stabbed the knife into the plastic and started sawing their way out. He should have known she would be too weak to follow up. “Don’t worry, I am excellent with my hands.” Beau lied, but since he truly believed that lie to be true he suffered no ill effects. Beau stepped forward, shoving both of his hands into the gash she’d created and started tearing it open. Nothing happened. Beau coughed, adjusting his hands to focus on just one side pulling back instead of pushing the two halves apart. He started getting somewhere! The plastic gave a bit. “Big and strong, what can I say.” With each long and tiresome tug the opening got bigger and bigger until the plastic tore and Beau found himself being spilled out on the counter with the milk flowing out. Suddenly the world was no longer small and tiny and Beau was large. This was the tallest he’d ever been! Except, as he looked around, he started to get the feeling that he was simply his normal height now. Disappointing.

Siobhan knew for certain, in that moment, that her partner in milk was completely useless. She pulled, her muscles flexing--as she’d been raised to be the perfect instrument of Death, there was an undeniable strength held in her limbs. She pulled, and pulled harder to make up for the man’s lackluster efforts. The tiny cut turned into a gash and then an opened and milk sloshed through and their bodies tumbled with it. Out of the tupperware, whatever strange--slightly perverted--magic was at work seemed to wear off and Siobhan was at her usual height, which towered over the obnoxious man. She brushed milk off of her; a futile gesture. “Siobhan,” she said, holding her milky hand out, “I forgot to introduce myself and…” She drew her hand back, which trembled in the cold, dry air. In front of her were a hundred jars, lined up in neat rows, holding their own lakes of milky fluid and a singular figure standing in the liquid. She thought she saw a unicorn in one; she wasn’t even sure those existed. Wordlessly, she tilted her head to the side and wrung milk out of her hair. “I think we avoided something terrible,” she said, “perhaps because of your manliness.” She added that only because she thought it was funny.

In their miniature forms, the woman had towered over Beau. Old and tall, both had been marked against her in his constant judgment. However, stuck in a tupperware container, Beau had been kind enough to offer her grace. Grace that whatever had stuck them in that tupperware had messed up the shrinking process and had shrunk Beau just a little bit smaller. Now as the two of them were standing normal sized in a room full of jars, Beau felt disgust boil over him to realize she actually was just behemothly tall. That was very unbecoming of her. Old or tall. Pick a struggle. Then she introduced herself. Rage danced underneath Beau’s skin, causing it to prickle. He hadn’t asked for her name, eliminating all ease of snagging it from her. Sure. The pull in his chest informed him that she was a fellow fae, but she could have been kind enough to ask. His practiced smile pulled across his face as he turned to look up at her. “Beau. “ He returned his name, “But you can call me Beautiful. On account of how manly I am.” He struck a pose. At least she was smart enough to recognize him as the man he was.

She marveled at the ease in which murderous fantasies involving the man flooded into her mind. By the time Beau had finished introducing himself, Siobhan had mentally flayed, dismembered and tortured him in a hundred different ways. She stared down at him and knew that her favorite of the fantasies was the one where she crushed him like an insect. No, like a tin can; instead of a smear, she’d stomp down and snap bones into a perfect circle. She smiled. “Beautiful,” she said, looking beyond him and into the imagined version that waddled around with his collapsed body, slowly pulling up to reveal smashed bones and flattened skin in the shape of an accordion, dangling limply. “So beautiful.” Her imaginary arms lifted him, laying his accordion body on its side so she could separate each ring of flesh so she could twist it again to get a never-ending cord of his body. She looked around at the tupperware and jars and suddenly it all made a sort of perverse sense to her. The warm milk, however, remained a mystery.

She knelt down to his level. “Beau, beautiful, manly Beau.” Siobhan rested a hand on his shoulder, squeezing gently. “Putting you in a jar would be such a waste. I’d want you where everyone could see. I’d want wrapped around the room like tinsel. I’d call people over, I’d say ‘look at Beau, isn’t he so beautiful’.” You wouldn’t believe it, he was such a tiny man in his life, now look at how tall and grand I made him. It was the sort of irony Siobhan liked. “You’re so special. You would have been wasted here. I’m so happy that you’re free.” Trapped, Beau’s unique, repugnant nature would have been lost to the world. He was a pacifier, sized like one too; her mind reached a new level of calm, setting all its cognitive efforts into cruel punishments. He was meditative, soothing, a zen garden for a murderer. She leaned forward and pressed a quick kiss to the tip of his nose, picturing herself with acid lips to break down his cartilage. “Beautiful Beau.” She rose to her feet. “I hope the next time we meet, there’s less milk.” And she left.

That night, she completely forgot about the stained tupperware and all questions she had about how they got there or where there even was—she didn’t even remember how she got home—but she couldn’t forget Beau. He’d given her so much peace that for the first time in over forty years, she slept through the night, carried by easy dreams of Beau dying beautifully.

Maybe older women had their place in this society. Despite the lines around her eyes, and her probably sagging bosom, Beau was enthralled by the tenderness at which Siobhan reviered him. Despite asking, multiple times, to be referred to as Beautiful, Siobhan was the first to listen to him. She kissed his nose. She left him speechless. If only she was better looking. Beau watched as she walked away, not ready yet to escape from the room that had bound them. Milk clung to him, and he knew it would sour and turn disgusting soon, but there was one thing he needed to do first. He’d seen a unicorn, miniaturized just like they had been, only in a jar. Beau plucked it off the shelf and dropped it into his milk-soaked pocket. This would be coming home with him.

#chatzy #chatzy: siobhan #this was ria's idea #you can all thank ria for being so talented and funny #and making me suffer this #i'm ria's number one fan

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temikoangie · 11 months ago

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OUHH chihiro.. tenko..

LAWL !!

Chihiro Headcanon A: (realistic) the most mentally superb woman ive ever seen. (she has not appreciated the beauty of the grass in like years she lost that in childhood)

Headcanon B: (while it may not be realistic it is hilarious) this is a little more realistic leaning but yeah she totally grew up on the internet. altho much more unintentionally but it may have been her only coping mechanism at the time. she was there during the peak of animal jam while she was learning python coding

Headcanon C: (heart-crushing and awful, but fun to inflict on friends) alter ego is everything she wanted to be. strong, happy, confident in her identity. but in the end, its only a complex ai that draws conclusions based on her creator's pattern of input, whether it'll be her favorite food, to everything she's ever despised of herself. but maybe even little intelligences can learn to grow just like her, one day.

Headcanon D: (unrealistic, but I will disregard canon about it because I reject canon reality and substitute my own.) i culd care less about the cinnamon roll girl or whatever shes not . innocent. do not let her soft spoken voice fool you she'll drop like the most horrifically traumatizing thing ever on you thinking its just an another tuesday bc shes that used to it.

Tenko Headcanon A: (realistic) tenko is verrryyyyy adhd autistic coded it kind of sucks tht ppl tend to overlook th symptoms. like its right THEERRE he wuld not be the way he is now if it werent for those specific symptoms.

Headcanon B: (while it may not be realistic it is hilarious) literally my fav hc but i do think hes an amputee . vigilante isms gone wrong idk. i saw that one cg where he was missing parts of his fingers and i was like yup thats canon. those fingers? gone. that was just his super duper realistic prosthetic arm

Headcanon C: (heart-crushing and awful, but fun to inflict on friends) ohhh hes definitely the freak that doesnt take his advice into his own hands LOL. he'll tell u ''eat three meals daily! get plenty of rest!'' but the conversation in question happened during midnight hours because he has horrific cptsd insomnia going on and hes eating away the little snacks in the fridge bc he forgot to eat earlier

Headcanon D: (unrealistic, but I will disregard canon about it because I reject canon reality and substitute my own.) (SCREAMS AND WRITHES) HIS MASTER IRREPAIRABLY SHAPED HIS VIEWS ON THE WORLD !!!!!!!!! well intended or not i dont care maybe dont send a child to do vigilante things . i sincerely doubt it was just The Minimal stuff you KNOOWW that thing has gone through so freaking much . because he would not be behaving like that if he had like a normal guardian figure. good lord

#norse dialogue #good lord this took me a while sorry </3 #ask meme #ask 2 tag perhaps not sure wht to really tag so LOL

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that-dumb-bitch · 2 years ago

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Coffee mugs ftw

Chocolate bars

Bubblegum

Quiet, responsible, mature for my age(thanks, parents.)

I don't drink soda, but i prefer glass cups for water.

Boho, because i dress like a homeless person bc depression babeyyyy

Earbuds

Movies

The pool, or waves if im near the ocean

Dodge ball

Hmmm, either boiled eggs sliced on toats or a sandwich, and coffee or tea(w lemon and honey)

'songs to cry and eat bread to'

Uhhh. Keyring?

Any sour candy probably

Romeo and juliet bored me the least

Just sitting but i need to have my legs propped up on something. I like my knees to be high for some reason

I have an old pair of Rebooks ive worn since like 2018. Somehow theire still going strong

Rain, snow, just any cold weather

On my back

My Notes on my phone

Depends on what ere, but almost always video games

Dont have one tbh

I make weird noises at random times

Clear quartz

We Are Number One from Lazytow

Stay inside.

If its snowing, ill go out and build a snowman. if its raining, ill go for a walk. If its just cold, ill stay inside and make things, either food or diy stuff

Misery Meat, Against the kitchen floor by will wood, Viper by derivakat, Im not angry anymore by cummrs, The reeses puffs + misery + cpr remix

Probably talk about video games

Secret places(secret garden, secret library, secret cottage etc)

I can do that no matter what im wearing

I thought you were american, free sha voca do, yeet, i have the power of god and anime on my side, it is Wednesday my dudes

Nothing

Either 10pm or 2am

Trollface

Suitcase

Tea(specifically raspberry tea with lemon and honey)

Lemon pound cake

Not to me but some guy broke his arm bc he broke a window and the ambulance had to come get him

My mom

Pants pockets

Hoodie

Lavander

Fantasy

Pyjamas

Mozzarella

Hmmmmm, banana probably

"Everything happens for a reason"

When my dog ran facefirst into our fridge and make an audible *THUMP* sound

Finals :')

Comic sans B)

Lol very cold(bad circulation)

How to have patience and not murder someone because of how stupid they are(retail)

Beauty and the beast :D

Halloween babeyyyy

Stopped caring what people think about me, stopped believing im not worth something and stopped believing my parents are always right

I can control the focus of my eyemylike you can w a camera lens), i can sing p good, im flexible dispite my large size, and not giving a shit

"Sup, chief?"

Fantasy anime for sure

"You're beautiful because you're *you*, and nothing will change that." Dont remember where its from but its stuck with me since i heard it

Sans, william afton, bob velseb, harley quinn, toriel, doom slayer, izuku midoriya

Simpleflips once told me, love story, you give me feelings, careless whisper, this is it by oh the lancery

Animal jam

A lot of them, both mental and physical

Roses, lavanders, any flower basically

My butterfly and amethyst rings

Black coffee

Wasps don't die after stinging, but bees do

Leftieee :)

Stripes >:T

Math(reason: im queer, so im naturally bad at math)

Chicken nuggets and sour cream, and cucumbers and gravy

It depends on where the pain is. If i have a headache, im taking an ibuprpfen no matter if its a 1, but i generally dont take any pain meds, not even for cramps, unless its a really rare occasion where i absolutely cant take the pain and need meds. I didn't even take anything when i broke my arm and the doctors had to re-break it back into place bc the first time it healed incorrectly

Maybe when i was 6 or 7 i think

Chips, but fries are in 2nd place and mashed and baked in 3rd

Any succulent, probably

Oh god. Coffee from a gas station over grocery store sushi any day.

Schoold id photo bc i dont have a drivers licence

Mmmmmmmmm both

Fireflies :D

PC.Im shit at consoles

Drawing. Traditional, if on paper than with colpured pencils or graphite pencils, if in canvas than with acrylics

Barbie

Mythology. Greek or norse

Cookiessss

Being on stage or doing something in front of other people(social anxiety, everybody.)

To move out, get a job and have my own place and 2 cats

My dog. She's basically my daughter

I dont get this one :/

Bags

Lamps or fairy lights

Nina, Finley, Axe, Dumbass, Bastard, Bandit

Winter :DDD

Stardew Valley(but if you mean like, a general app, Chrome or YouTube)

The standard windows backround bc i havent found one i like yet

One.(my moms.)

Hmmm, probably victorian. Lots of classical music and big poofy dresses

weird asks that say a lot

1. coffee mugs, teacups, wine glasses, water bottles, or soda cans?

2. chocolate bars or lollipops?

3. bubblegum or cotton candy?

4. how did your elementary school teachers describe you?

5. do you prefer to drink soda from soda cans, soda bottles, plastic cups or glass cups?

6. pastel, boho, tomboy, preppy, goth, grunge, formal or sportswear?

7. earbuds or headphones?

8. movies or tv shows?

9. favorite smell in the summer?

10. game you were best at in p.e.?

11. what you have for breakfast on an average day?

12. name of your favorite playlist?

13. lanyard or key ring?

14. favorite non-chocolate candy?

15. favorite book you read as a school assignment?

16. most comfortable position to sit in?

17. most frequently worn pair of shoes?

18. ideal weather?

19. sleeping position?

20. preferred place to write (i.e., in a note book, on your laptop, sketchpad, post-it notes, etc.)?

21. obsession from childhood?

22. role model?

23. strange habits?

24. favorite crystal?

25. first song you remember hearing?

26. favorite activity to do in warm weather?

27. favorite activity to do in cold weather?

28. five songs to describe you?

29. best way to bond with you?

30. places that you find sacred?

31. what outfit do you wear to kick ass and take names?

32. top five favorite vines?

33. most used phrase in your phone?

34. advertisements you have stuck in your head?

35. average time you fall asleep?

36. what is the first meme you remember ever seeing?

37. suitcase or duffel bag?

38. lemonade or tea?

39. lemon cake or lemon meringue pie?

40. weirdest thing to ever happen at your school?

41. last person you texted?

42. jacket pockets or pants pockets?

43. hoodie, leather jacket, cardigan, jean jacket or bomber jacket?

44. favorite scent for soap?

45. which genre: sci-fi, fantasy or superhero?

46. most comfortable outfit to sleep in?

47. favorite type of cheese?

48. if you were a fruit, what kind would you be?

49. what saying or quote do you live by?

50. what made you laugh the hardest you ever have?

51. current stresses?

52. favorite font?

53. what is the current state of your hands?

54. what did you learn from your first job?

55. favorite fairy tale?

56. favorite tradition?

57. the three biggest struggles you’ve overcome?

58. four talents you’re proud of having?

59. if you were a video game character, what would your catchphrase be?

60. if you were a character in an anime, what kind of anime would you want it to be?

61. favorite line you heard from a book/movie/tv show/etc.?

62. seven characters you relate to?

63. five songs that would play in your club?

64. favorite website from your childhood?

65. any permanent scars?

66. favorite flower(s)?

67. good luck charms?

68. worst flavor of any food or drink you’ve ever tried?

69. a fun fact that you don’t know how you learned?

70. left or right handed?

71. least favorite pattern?

72. worst subject?

73. favorite weird flavor combo?

74. at what pain level out of ten (1 through 10) do you have to be at before you take an advil or ibuprofen?

75. when did you lose your first tooth?

76. what’s your favorite potato food (i.e. tater tots, baked potatoes, fries, chips, etc.)?

77. best plant to grow on a windowsill?

78. coffee from a gas station or sushi from a grocery store?

79. which looks better, your school id photo or your driver’s license photo?

80. earth tones or jewel tones?

81. fireflies or lightning bugs?

82. pc or console?

83. writing or drawing?

84. podcasts or talk radio?

84. barbie or polly pocket?

85. fairy tales or mythology?

86. cookies or cupcakes?

87. your greatest fear?

88. your greatest wish?

89. who would you put before everyone else?

90. luckiest mistake?

91. boxes or bags?

92. lamps, overhead lights, sunlight or fairy lights?

93. nicknames?

94. favorite season?

95. favorite app on your phone?

96. desktop background?

97. how many phone numbers do you have memorized?

98. favorite historical era?

209K notes · View notes

backyard-homesteader · 2 months ago

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Canning Plums

As you might recall, I recently had a record plum harvest. Which meant that last weekend I had to do something with all those plums. They don’t keep for very long, and just as importantly, I want to be able to use my fridge again. And so with the dulcet tones of my dogs using their bones as percussion instruments in the background, I rolled up my sleeves, washed my hands, and got to work canning.

I like canning. I really do. But it’s a lot of time and a lot of work. After the first hour of chopping plums, I decided my audiobook was the only thing keeping me sane. My dogs apparently thought I was spending too much time in the kitchen for them to lie on the floor at my feet like peasants, so they dragged chairs over from the living room so they could watch me in comfort.

More plums were eaten as I chopped them into quarters and tossed them in the pot. I'm fairly certain my older dog was stealing from the bin of unwashed plums on the counter when I wasn’t looking.

It took just over half a bin to fill the pot up. When I said I had more plums than last year, I was severely underestimating just how many more. Last year I had one full pot of compote when all was said and done. This year I still had mountains of plums to go. I realized that I should have tried to give more plums away. That I wouldn't have enough jars.

This was supposed to be the year I got everything right. Last year was more than a bit chaotic to say the least, with me having to run out to the hardware store for more jars in the middle of my canning while my partner babysat the pot. And it looked like history was about to repeat itself. Oops. I'll get it right one day.

Time to start cooking.

Unfortunately, as the pot started to warm and the smell of plums began to fill the kitchen, I ran into another snag.

On the second stir of the pot, my spoon broke. So much for a special plastic canning spoon. I was forced to turn off the stove, pause my jam making, and run to the store.

Upon my return with three more flats of jars and a spatula, the only metal implement I could find for less than twenty dollars, I washed everything again, turned on the stove, and got back to work.

I like to heat the plums up just enough to bubble. Plums, especially this variety, are already quite high in pectin, so I didn't need to add any more. Although sugar is often used in canning because of its role as a preserving agent, I don’t usually add any of that either. I try to avoid excess sugar where I can, and I find the plums are already quite sweet on their own.

Between my canning utensils, multiple pots, and towels spread across the counter for cooling jars, my setup took over the entire kitchen. Canning doesn’t need a lot of fancy equipment. Tongs, jar tongs, a pot big enough to fit all your jars with an inch of water on every side, and some oven mitts. The fruit and jars should both be hot when you’re working with them, and the oven mitts are a good precaution in case you forget yourself and use your hands to grab a jar instead of the tongs.

Quick safety tip. Oven mitts don't work when they're wet. I don't think I need to explain how I found that one out.

Before you start canning, make sure you check what lids you're using, and look up what sanitizing and sealing technique you should be using to match. How to sanitize and seal them can vary from manufacturer to manufacturer, and year to year.

While the fruit finished cooking, I boiled the first set of jars to sanitize them.

Swapping my metal spatula for a jar safe plastic soup ladle, I filled the freshly boiled jars, leaving only a light centimeter of headspace. Or quarter inch, for those of you who use freedom units. With a clean cloth I wiped off the rim to ensure no food would get in the way of the seal. Finally, I ran a heat safe plastic chopstick around the side of the jar to pull out the worst of the bubbles. A wooden stir stick should be safe if it's new, but it's generally best to avoid wooden utensils when canning as they can harbor bacteria. Metal utensils can damage the jars. I might have gotten a metal spatula to stir the pot after my piece of junk plastic spoon snapped, but I'm careful to never bring it close to the jars.

Once the jars were ready to go, I screwed on the lids and lowered them into the boiling water. It takes ten minutes of boiling for the seals to properly form. When the time is up, they can be lifted back out of the pot and set on the counter to cool. It is vitally important that you do not mess with the lids at this step. I know it is so incredibly tempting to check on the lids and give them a little wiggle. Or maybe that’s just a me problem. But either way, it can cause the seals to fail and your work to come to naught.

I’ve added a couple of links at the bottom of the post if you're interested in trying out canning for yourself. They're very informative and have reliable, safe instructions. Canning is easy, but it's possible to make yourself or anyone you feed your canning to seriously sick if you mess up. I don't say that to discourage anyone. I say it because it's just something to be aware of should you want to give it a try.

It alternated between frantically busy and literally waiting for a pot to boil. I tidied my kitchen and put away some dishes while I waited. Drew some plans for a new bedframe. That sort of thing.

To make sure things went as quickly as possible, I always had jars in my pot and a full kettle of hot water on standby for top ups. When you spend hours boiling water, you lose a lot to evaporation.

The canning went significantly faster with the new jars. While I was browsing the selection at the hardware store, I noticed that the 500 mL jars were the same price as the 250 mL ones that I normally used. They were also the same width, which meant that I could fit the same number in the pot. By switching jars, I was quite literally doubling my speed. I felt like an idiot for taking so long to realize. But constantly learning is one of the joys of life, and it’s never too late to start something new.

I cooked and canned three pots. As I worked, I started realizing I may not have bought enough new jars. There was nothing to be done about it, however. The hardware store had long since closed for the night. That was when I remembered my uncle’s suggestion of dehydrating some plums. The idea, initially dismissed, suddenly seemed incredibly appealing. I started slicing plums in half and filling up the dehydrator trays.

When all the trays were fully loaded, I still had plums left. Resigned to my fate, I returned to slicing them up for the pot. By the time I had finally sliced up the last plum, I had another half pot to cook. Although I had to scrounge around and dig up a few mismatched jars, I managed to find enough to finish the job. I also had exactly enough compote to fill the final jar to the brim. It was such a satisfying feeling.

My fingers were stained brown, and my entire kitchen seemed like it was sticky, but I was done. Well, done for twenty-four hours, until it was time to test all the seals on the jars. As the jars cooled, I cleaned up the kitchen, listening to the popping of the lids as the seals set. To my pleasant surprise, I only had one jar fail this batch. Not feeling like boiling my pot of water all over again for a single jar, I simply cracked it open and ate the compote with toast and cheese.

I have so much compote. Some of it I’ll give away. It makes lovely holiday gifts. The rest of it I’ll find a way to use up. Somehow…

#backyard homestead #canning #plums #home canning #canned plums

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boatliker · 2 months ago

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i invented a sandwich called the mormon baptism

premise: you are stoned. you have just woken up from a 3 hour nap. you are housebound from debilitating back pain and as such you cannot go to the store, and you ran out of jelly but you happen to have some fruit gel cups in the fridge and plenty of peanut butter. enter: the mormon baptism

you need: bread. peanut butter. dole wiggles fruit gel cup that you got a bunch of at grocery outlet for 79 cents for a pack of four the other week because it was a cheap snack

assembly: step 1: mince the fuck out of the fruit gel in the cup. this shit doesn't spread that well since, yknow, it wasn't made to do that, so just make a mess of it and dump about half of it on your waiting slice of bread and make an attempt to spread it. eat what's left in the cup like a wild animal step 2: peanut buttre optional step 2a: sprinkle peanut butter with abv or put some weed oil on it or something, you're probably gonna need it if you're here spte 3: smash bread together. marvel in your act of creation step 4: forget to take a photo of the finished sandwich because you're so fucking ravenous from the aforementioned "waking up from a three hour nap while stoned" part that you start chowing down on the abomination immediately step 5 (IMPORTANT): post about it online

rating: 3/5 stars it wasn't the worst thing i've ever concocted while stoned but it does not reach the culinary heights of the pizza bagel. this is desperation food at its finest. it tastes enough like peanut butter and jelly if you don't think about it too hard and texture-wise it feels overly literal, like what you would imagine a peanut butter and jelly sandwich to feel like when you were a kid. the jelly squeezes out the side of the sandwich at a higher rate than regular jam since it's not very sticky so to avoid making a mess you slurp the sides of the sandwich like a dog as you contemplate your life choices.

i feel like it was saved by using the fruit gel cup things and not actual jello since it doesn't have gelatin in it, but it's adjacent enough to jello in terms of texture to make it weird. i dont think that if actual jello was used, it could be contained and would just fall out of all sides of the sandwich and make a mess and you'd have just wasted some perfectly good jello.

should i try making a mormon baptism?: look if you are somehow in the specific scenario i described in the premise and you are violently craving a peanut butter and jelly sandwich while missing one of the crucial ingredients because you ran out but hey you got these fruit cup things from grocery outlet that are similar enough that it could work, it hits the spot well enough. any other time im not sure, just use regular jam and save your dignity

why it is called the mormon baptism: if there is any group of humans on earth deviant enough to try putting jello in a sandwich, it's gotta be the mormons and eating this sandwich is like having your head dunked underwater as you gasp for life. i name it in their dubious honor as the primary consumers of jello on the planet. amen

#food #munchies #cursed food #tumblr food #grocery outlet #disclaimer: i am not mormon #sandwich #normal food #mormon baptism

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simp-ly-writes · 1 year ago

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Candles & Pranks

Pairing: Stardew Valley Harvey x Reader

Summary: You decide to prank Harvey by eating a candle, whatever will the doctor do?

Warnings: N/A.

A/N: thank you so much to @minnieplier-blog, for giving me the idea to write this scenario! you make my day with every cute animal video we exchange :)

Masterlist | Taglist | edited.

You had been planning a prank in your workroom for a few days now. Turning the milk you collected a few days ago into butter and allowing it to harden into the shape of a candle.

You planned on surprising your doctor when he came home from the clinic by eating the so-called wax with a piece of bread made by Evelyn.

Snickering to yourself as you lit the top of it and watched as it slowly began to melt on to the plate below. Slicing the bread now you waited for Harvey to come through the door any minute now...

The front door opened to a tired doctor stumbling his way into the house as the wind pushed him inside and slammed the door against its frame. Wincing at the sound, Harvey apologized to the house under his breath while petting the cat that came up to greet up.

Hanging up his coat, undoing his dress-shoes and tie. He placed his bag on the console table before heading into the kitchen; the smell of food wafting from its entrance.

Calling down the hallway, I'm home darling. Before coming into the kitchen and jumping at the sight of you sitting on the counter waiting for him; candle flickering in the light breeze that made its way through the room.

His cheeks turned red at the loving eyes you made at him, taking a bite of your bread and pointing to the rest of it sitting beside you, offering it at the sound of a stomach rumbling.

Didn't get a chance to have lunch today, whos the baker I have to thank?

Evelyn as always, I don't know how she does it. You replied, taking another bite as you did your best not to laugh at knowing what you were going to do next.

You watched as Harveys neck moved to him humming in agreement as his glasses slipped down his nose while cutting himself a slice and moving towards the fridge for a jar of jam.

Turning back around, the glass jar shattered against the floor, his mouth going agape, he couldn't believe that he was watching you dip your slice of bread into the candle. Rushing over to you, in no worry of his own safety to the shards of glass covering the floor; he quickly swatted the piece of bread out of your hand as you shouted playfully in return.

Pulling at his hair, he inspected your mouth and skin for any signs of reaction as his mouth began running a multitude of questions at you. Taking the back of his hand, he pressed it to your forehead while closing his eyes; awaiting a replay as his other hand shook violently in your own.

Guilt now eating you alive, you reached over to grab another slice of bread before hovering it over the candle. Harvey watched your every move intently, his concern only growing over your state as he grasped your wrist and did not allow it to move any further.

He apologized of course, for handling you in such a way as he began to ramble about taking you back to the clinic for a quick check up. Grasping at your hips and pulling you off the counter and into his arms.

Yet before you could leave the kitchen you watched as his shoulders fell from the news in relief, the candle was butter Harves- no need to worry, I just thought it would be a good prank, and it was not, im sorry for stressing you.

You kissed his cheek then his lips as he let out a sigh in recognition before allowing you to stand in the hallway so he could clean up the mess he made. Shaking his head as me moved towards the broom closet down the hall.

You felt terrible now. Taking the broom from out of his hands, you looked up at him, witnessing him crack a smile and then it blew out to be a full blown laugh as you joined in yourself.

Harvey took your hand in his, smiling gently and said, it was a very good prank, gave me a heart attack, but it's good to know that you will always keep me on my feet. Before leaning down and giving you one last distracting kiss, taking the broom out of your hand in the process before striding over to the kitchen to clean as you went to make sure the cat was not going to step in the glass.

#stardew valley harvey #sdv harvey #sdv harvey x farmer #sdv harvey x reader #harvey stardew valley #stardew harvey #stardew valley #stardew valley fanfic #harvey x reader #fanfic #fanfiction #simp-ly-writes #simp-ly

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lemoncarddboard · 5 months ago

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Hi. I'm the pickiest bitch I've ever seen in person for reasons (mostly) not due to allergies.

Are you fine with the way most food tastes, but absolutely despise the texture of almost all fruits or vegetables you've ever put in your mouth? 'Cus boy do I have a food for you.

It's spaghetti, and its delicious.

Do you have any idea how many things you can fit into a tomato sauce without making it feel (or taste) any different??? Because that number is Very high. Extremely fucking high. Most vegetables can be puréed into oblivion if needed, or not if thats not your style. And you can make/freeze it in bulk. You can purée a shit ton of vegetables, make the sauce, and pre-portion it into so many containers that you wont run out for ages. It's literally the perfect depression meal as long as its already made, I'm not even joking.

This is the base-ist, most basic version of the one I make that I could find written down in my recipies. Go nuts.

Fried rice, (usually instant) ramen, chicken soup, and curry are also all favorites of mine.

Chicken soup and curry are also easy to make/freeze in bulk on a good motivation day, and can be jam-packed with nutrients depending on how you make them. Chicken soup in particular has so many variations too, from noodle to dumpling to rice. Theres something for everyone there.

Fried rice and ramen are good "I'm basically out of food rn, I need something filling that i can make out of almost any vegetables currently in the fridge" foods. The amount of meals I've cobbled together from the very last remaining bits of leftovers combined with rice or noodles should be a crime, really.

i mean this in the gentlest way possible: you need to eat vegetables. you need to become comfortable with doing so. i do not care if you are a picky eater because of autism (hi, i used to be this person!), you need to find at least some vegetables you can eat. find a different way to prepare them. chances are you would like a vegetable you hate if you prepared it in a stew or roasted it with seasoning or included it as an ingredient in a recipe. just. please start eating better. potatoes and corn are not sufficient vegetables for a healthy diet.

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captainstevenjohnstonme · 1 year ago

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Mutant Moth.

When I walked into the kitchen I heard a rustling sound coming from the pantry.

My first thought was maybe I had a mice or cockroach, so imagine my surprise when I opened the door and hundreds of tiny moths flew out.

I grabbed a can of fly spray and gave the pesky insects a good spurt but it had no effect on them at all.

The moths weaved and dodged the insecticide like they were dancing to the flight f the bumble bee.

So they want a fight do they? well i will give them one.

I went to the store and bought a few pantry moth baits then headed back home whistling the theme from 'Rocky'.

The baits work by attracting the male moths to a female's pheromone that causes the randy moths to stick to the glue on the bait where they die without losing their virginity.

Like seagulls swooping down onto a chip the moths divebomb the baits and by midafternoon most of the moths are stuck fast.

I grab a cold beer from the fridge to celebrate my victory then sit down to watch a footy game on the TV.

At 6o'clock I ring to have a pizza delivered and notice that most of the trapped moths have begun to turn black on the edges like a teenage goth.

When the food arrives I eat it heartedly and wash the pepperoni down with another beer.

A couple of hours later I am searching netflix for something decent to watch when a single mishappen moth lands on the coffee table and gives me the death stare.

'Holy crap maybe I should lay off the beers for a while?' I mutter to myself, but this is my house and I will do what I want.

After I open the beer I check out the bait that is on the running board in the kitchen and the moths to my drunken eyes all look at me as they all wriggle free leaving behind an assortment of wings, legs and some even fly off leaving behind their heads.

Soon all of the baits are moth free and my house is full of the deformed creatures.

I don't have an energy to deal with this shit so I run upstairs to my bedroom. close and lock the door than jam a few shirts beneath the door just in case the moths learnt how to crawl before they could fly.

In the morning I wake feeling a little seedy than suddenly remember what happened last night so I jump out of bed put an ear to the door but there is complete silence so I remove the shirts beneath the door and walk downstairs half expecting to see the living room swarming with reincarnated moths but there is nothing to be seen.

I have been having trouble with my weird neighbor so I am hoping that the moths flew over there crawled up his arse and built a giant nest.

Now that would be the ultimate revenge.

A month has gone by and my life has returned to normal, I haven't seen a single moth.

Maybe they have flown south for the winter or gone back to where they belong but no such because when I go to check the letterbox after work I got swooped by what I thought was a magpie because it was their breeding season but when I looked up I saw that I had been attacked by one of the moths.

This moth was the size of a small bird and had half of its head missing.

Soon it was joined by around fifty other moths in with various deformities.

The flock swooped down attacking mainly my face and neck region and luckily I was able to make it back to my car but I had received quite a few nasty bites so I decided to drive to the hospital to have them checked out.

The doctor on duty asked me how I received the bites I told him that I had been attacked by a few crazy magpies. 'That is strange because magpies Don't usually attack in groups.'

'What can I say doc, these birds were out of control. I could of been killed.'

The doctor cleans my wounds before sowing them closed with 37 stitches. then he gives been a bottle of painkillers and sends me on my way.

I am tempted to go to the police station and tell them that I had been attacked by a flock of giant mutant moths but I have no desire to get locked up in the loony bin so I drive home open the garage door by remote and drive in.

Then I lower the door and wait until it is fully closed before exiting my car.

After putting a few slices of leftover pizza in the microwave I slump on the couch to rest but than I hear a loud noise coming from the roof of my house and when I stand up a few tiles fly past a side window and crash to the ground outside.

Then I hear the sound of something like one hundred birds peaking at the paster board on the ceiling but I know that it isn't birds up there so I say a prayer and make a run for it but I don't get very far before the ceiling collapses and a huge flock of mutant moths fly down.

I duck and weave like a featherweight boxer, well middleweight because I have put on a few kilo's but I cant avoid being broadsided by a giant moth the size of seagull.

The pain is intense when I feel my left hip shatter and I fall to the ground in agony.

The moths are flying around the living room in a frenzy and some even fly into the drywall leaving holes the size of tennis balls.

I struggle to my knees, grit my teeth to mask the pain but the effort is all too much and I crash to the floor and when I look at my hip I yelp in agony because a bone has broken through the skin and l know that I am in deep trouble.

One of the seagull sized moths slams into my face and I am again prostrate on the floor.

All I can do is roll over onto my back in an attempt to ease my pain and hope that the moths just go and leave me alone but I know that that is wishful thinking.

Most of the moths have gone but around ten gather around me on the carpet then fly back and forth covering me in gossamer threads and soon I am covered from head to toe with only my face left exposed.

One of the mutant moths lands on my upper chest and we look at each other eye to eye.

The moth probes my neck a few times with its proboscis before ramming it in.

I am now wrapped tightly in a cocoon with no means of escape plus my insides will soon turn into a soupy mush ready for the moths to feast on whenever they choose.

My eyes close and I begin to drift away.

THE END

Part Two coming soon.

#horror #moth #mutant #cocoon #frenzy.

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