#and then butter and cheese to give those things something more

[sodacowboy]

fan is on three feet away from me and I can still hear the fizz of the energy drink like a foot and a half away from me

[fuckingrecipes]

Do you have any healthy snack suggestions for someone who isn't a huge fan of nuts and dried fruit?

FIRST: A 'Snack' is just a small portion of food. It is a signifier of quantity. 'Snack' does not exclude any type or form of food - it just means a lil' bit of food.

SECOND: "Healthy" is entirely relative to every individual.

'Healthy' is just 'Supportive of a complete nutritional profile, taking into account a person's existing diet, dietary needs, and habits of energy expenditure'

For example:

A small, greasy hamburger is an EXCELLENT snack for a highschool athlete who needs to consume an large amount of calories every day to maintain their body. It has lots of fat and protein for muscle recovery and long-term energy, carbs for immediate energy, and some lettuce/tomato/onion for some extra fiber/vitamins/minerals.

On the flip side, if someone already eats a fair amount of of meat and carbs already but has a lower-energy lifestyle, a healthy snack for them might entail leafy greens, beans/legumes and vegetables, because they need more fiber and nutrients in their diet that plants have in abundance.

--

If you are allergic to or hate eating something, then it's not healthy to force yourself to eat it anyway. Find a different food, or a different way to prepare it that doesn't cause physical or psychological distress!

Don't like peanuts, but peanut butter is good? Eat peanut butter instead! Hate the texture of whole tomatoes, but tomato sauce is good? Eat tomato sauce instead!

Don't be afraid to finely mince or blend your ingredients into a sauce or smoothie if you feel you need or want to eat something for the nutrients but hate chewing it.

--

I'm a big fan of probiotic stuff in general, like fermented foods (kimchi, pickles, sauerkraut, miso, mustard and yogurts), since a strong bacterial colony in the gut has a positive impact on wellbeing for most folks. More importantly, I love the taste.

Buuuuuuuut~ some people are extra sensitive to compounds that are concentrated in fermented foods. Those people should not eat a lot of fermented foods. It's not healthy for them.

--

If you're munching snacks out of boredom when you're not actually hungry, something low-fat but satisfyingly crunchy usually does the trick for me. Something I can keep devouring for the sensory delight, gives some good nutrients, and won't make me feel overly full afterward.

Carrots, bell peppers, mung bean sprouts, apples, pears, jicama, radish, pretzels, sweet onions, green papaya, broccoli, popcorn, cucumber, water chestnut, seaweed crisps, coconut chips, any of those fermented foods I mentioned... hell, coleslaw is mostly cabbage with oil and vinegar - plow through that and have a great time!

--

If you want a snack because you're hungry, but you just want to tide yourself over until the next meal, eat something that is high in fat and fiber. Fat & Fiber makes you feel full.

Cheese, Yogurt, Butter. Olive oil. Guacamole. Tinned fish. Cream. Fry up an egg. Olives, Hard-boiled eggs - These are all relatively high in fat.

Beans, Legumes, Oats, Leafy Greens, and most Berries are pretty high in fiber, and can pair up with any of the fatty things.

Hell, a slice of cheese pizza is also fine! Buttered toast is fine! A small portion of roast beef from last night's dinner!

Eat a little bit, wait 20 minutes, and see if you're still hungry after that. A normal stomach takes 20-30 minutes to register feeling satiated. (Some people's stomachs don't really feel the difference of hunger vs satiation. Those people need to be more mindful of the quantities of food they eat - both eating too much, AND eating too little!)

--

If you want a snack because salty snacks in particular sound fucking amazing, but other fatty and high-protein foods sound kinda gross, Try chugging a glass of water.

If water doesn't resolve the feeling after giving it a few minutes, try something with salt.

Dehydration and not having enough salt in your body both cause salt cravings. Acute thirst is often mistaken as hunger.

Honestly, you can have a handful of chips. Eating a whole family-sized bag of potato chips in one sitting is probably too much salt & fat for most people, but eating a handful here and there is fine. It's just as morally neutral as eating a carrot.

Eat some rice with soy sauce. Eat some pickled okra, or pickled onions. Eat some miso soup. Drink some soup broth. Have some salt-cured meats.

--

So: A Healthy Snack!

Ask yourself: Am I hungry, bored, or thirsty?

Ask yourself: What have I been eating lately, and what has my diet lacked, or had in excess? (Fats, Protein, Carbohydrates, Vitamins/Minerals, Water, Salt)

Ask yourself: Am I trying to provide my body with a complete nutritional profile, including fats and carbs - or am I focusing on an imagined 'purity' of food and assigning moral value to eating what diet culture calls healthy so I can be 'good.' (Aka: Do you think instances of eating candy or fatty food is 'being bad'? Stop that.)

Ask yourself: Am I able to rely on my body's signals for hunger and thirst, or do I need to manually track this?

Sometimes a snack is a small portion of leftovers from yesterday.

Sometimes a snack is carefully sliced, cooked, and arranged on a cute plate.

Sometimes a snack is gnawing through half a head of cabbage doused in vinegar.

Sometimes a snack is a handful of shredded cheese eaten from your own palm so you become both the gentle horse and the stablehand feeding it, and that's all okay

[lostinlovingrevery]

Logan When You're Pregnant

I got baby fever rn, some here's some headcanons for when you get pergananant (am I pergot?) with Lo's baby

(breeding kink go brrrrr)(nsfw section below the fluff stuff)

First off, I think we can all agree that no matter what variant Logan it is, whether it's planned or an accident, he's gonna freak out initially when you both find out your pregnant

He'll keep the initial freakout under wraps though.

70s!Dofp Logan, Old man Logan, and Trilogy Logan would probably be the most freaked out

The others, like Origins, Future DOFP, who are a bit more settled in would probably be more ready

Worst Logan? You're gonna need to give him a hug

Moving on

They all step up though, don't worry

Even 70s DOFP, he may be a menace but he sure as hell ain't gonna leave you or his baby alone

ANYWAY

Logan is so supportive of you. He'll constantly be checking on you. He'll be nesting almost immediately so get ready

He will definitely become more protective too. Like a lot. He'll try his best to not be overbearing but he's went lot of his life losing those he loves. He absolutely cannot afford to lose you and ya'lls baby

Lets say for this that you two are in an established relationship, planned or not, I'll leave that to ya'lls lovely imaginations

hes there for every doctors trip, exam, sonogram, etc etc. he doesn't miss a thing and holds your hand the entire time

The first trimester is rough. Mood swings, morning sickness, aches and pain. Logan handles your mood swings like a pro. He always knows just what to say, and he never really can take it personal when you get an attitude with him- mainly bc he likely deserved it with his own sarcasm

He's patient with you when you get snippy at him. He'll give you space when you need it, or will be extra attentive. Whatever you want. He's learned to read your emotions

He'll hold your hair back and rub your back whenever the morning sickness hits. Get you some tea, maybe a little toast if you feel like you can hold it down

One day you just couldn't hold anything down, by evening you're in tears, frustrated with everything. You attempted to eat some saltines and couldn't even hold those down. You're crying on the bathroom floor and Logan sits with you, cradling you in his arms as he says soothing things,

"You're so strong bub. You're gonna be okay. I'm right here."

You'll get backrubs and footrubs anytime you want

The food cravings and constantly being hungry becomes a lot too. It's fortunate that Logan had learned to be a decent cook over time.

He'll insist that you eat only healthy good foods for the baby, but when you look at him with pouty lips and pleading eyes because you REALLY want that extra cheese pizza topped with extra pepperonis and peppers, along with those garlic knots, and chocolate chip peanut butter ice cream, AND caramel sea salt chocolates. He has to give in. he's grabbing his keys and wallet to get what you want

Listen, you totally want to eat healthy for the baby too, and you do! You take your vitamins, you incorporate so much fruit and veggies and whatever else in your meals

But dammit sometimes that baby just wants fries dipped in ice cream and you learned how to sneak those unhealthy snacks under Logans radar

(or so you think, hes' got heightened sense of smell. he DEFINITELY smells the weird junk food you're sneaking)

You're tossing and turning one night, feeling restless and just wanting to eat. You wake him up, chatty as hell and eventually you tell him you want something to eat

"Bub you just had a whole meal 2 hours ago"

"I know just something small. Like a poptart. or a rice krispie"

He sighs. "No more poptarts or rice kripies. I'll make you something."

He closes his eyes, expecting to get another few minutes of sleep before he goes to the kitchen, but he can't feel you staring at him. Hard. He took a breath, pushing the blankets off as he got himself out of bed, heading to the kitchen to make you a good healthy snack

don't worry, he's not mad. he actually finds he loves the pregnancy quirks of yours

when you start getting those random hormone rushes, bursts of energy, running around doing anything and everything he gets so amused. but he loves it too when you also start getting sleepy

he really loves it when you get sleepy because then all you want to do is snuggle with him.

you get borderline violent about cuddling with him. you wrap your entire self around his body and you do not let go. even with his strength it's nearly impossible to peel you off him and if he does (he made the mistake once) you get extremely pissy and teary eyed

He will not let you do anything

and by that i mean you're not carrying groceries, you're not cleaning, you are not allowed to stand on ladders or counters, no picking up heavy things

You and him have a time of night and morning where you snuggle, and he'll designate time to talk to you, give you kisses and say sweet things, and then he'll move to talk to your belly

"Gotta make sure the lil one knows my voice"

He loves resting his ear on your belly, hearing both of your heartbeats.

he'll give you a kiss, then the belly, then you again

You better be ready to be touched a lot. He's always gotta put his hand on you somehow. It's not just about feeling your preggo belly but just you too.

NESTING

yeah, hes gonna drive you insane. He gets the urge to redo everything. the babys room. your room. the entire house/apartment if you're living in one.

He makes your bed the comfiest spot every so that's a perk. tons of pillows, only the fluffiest and warmest blankets

while you make decisions on the babys room together, he really wants to put the stuff together, so you sit in your rocking chair in the room and watch him as he gets angry over the crib instructions

it's really cute when he insists on a more foresty/woodland themed room for your baby.

As you get bigger, he gets more and more protective

he actually growled at someone once for attempting to touch your belly without permission. not a bad thing to have at least

it's a little more embarrassing though when it's your friends that you did say could touch your belly and logans hackles raise over it

he tries to recognize when he's doing too much but he can't help it, instinct.

Logan is over the moon when the baby kicks the face time

he just happened to have his hands resting on your belly

when he felt it, you both jumped, staring at your belly and then each other

when you realized it was the baby kicking, you both were like giddy teenagers

logan puts his head against your belly, waiting for it when the baby kicks again- right on his face

he gets slightly offended

but he kisses your belly anyway, promising your baby that he's always going to love them and take care of them

it pulls on your heart strings a bit

you and logan don't care if it's a boy or girl- and decide to leave it a surprise,

arguing over baby names though wasn't fun. you eventually though land on a name if its a girl, and a name if its a boy, names that you both adored

when you start shopping for baby clothes, logans looking at the little girl dresses and you could see the softness on his face, the way he adored the little dresses.

he can't even get embarrassed

it's so cute watching logan sit in the middle of the girly baby aisle, surrounded by pink bows.

he gets equally excited over the boys stuff too.

forever believe logan will just be a great dad in general

when you get big enough where doing things are hard on your own, logan starts definitely not leaving you alone very often

he helps you out of bed

with your shoes

if hes around and you're trying to get up from a couch or chair- even if you aren't struggling he'll still be there to help you up

you ever see those trends where dads hold mommas belly up to provide some relief? logan will insist on doing that.

he just thinks your so damn cute with your round belly

logan will eventually express his nerves about being a father. he'll need reassurance here and there that you think he'll do good.

you think logan would be an absolutely wonderful father of course. look how good he takes care of you

not to mention his non-bio daughters like jubilee, rogue, and kitty

and if lauras around too, it won't be like he never had any experience

logan will definitely stay calm and collected when you go into labor

he supports you every step of the way

if you're going to a local hospital, you bet your ass he'll be speaking for you and protecting you from anything unneccessary

all the while supporting you every way possible. don't worry about squeezing his hand too hard. he literally survived a nuke

despite the amount of things he's seen, it is still hard for him to see you in so much pain. he may even hold back a tear or two. he has to focus on you though

when the baby is here, he's all over you first, making sure you're okay. then his instincts kick in and he's all over the baby

that first cry breaks his heart and he doesn't like how the nurses and doctors seemed pleased by the whole thing. okay sure, it's a good thing. his baby is still crying though and he doesn't appreciate the smiling

you guys ever see that picture of Hugh bottlefeeding his newborn, i think it was during the x-movies filming. that is such a cute picture honestly it makes my utereus clench

he's so proud and supportive of you by the way. He takes wonderful care of you both when you get home

all that worrying for nothing. he was a pro with yours and his baby.

NSFW (mention piv, breastmilk, body worship)

yes i had to include an nsfw part here dont judge me

Logan should have known it would happen eventually. the way he always needs to finish inside you. even if you were using protection, he should have known that it would fail one day

he'll pick up on the hormones quickly, the smell of you triggers something in him and once you both figure out you'll pregnant itll all make sense

at first things are pretty usual with your sex life but the hormones start kicking in

you start gaining a little fat, your breasts get bigger, maybe your ass

you were already irresistable to logan before. now though, pregnant with his baby?

like i said, the mans always touching on you. when youre in private though hes REALLY touching you

don't worry, you feel the same. your hormones start to really kick in and you're aroused 24/7 and he can smell it

"you look so fucking good like this bub." he'll moan when he's thrusting into you, seeing your swollen belly and breasts.

it's not just about you being pregnant but you two just can't keep your hands off each other because you're happy.

your sex life was already very active, now it's even MORE active, like, you cannot keep your hands off him. he's the same way. you look and smell so damn good he can't take it, he HAS to fuck you

logan being a dad to your baby is making him 10 times hotter

logan probably cuts back on being rougher if you both are into that, much to your disdain. your hormones are on fire and you need him to fuck you hard

it takes a little begging and he breaks, giving you what you want

"look at you bub, fucking begging for it. as if i hadn't given you enough already"

logan practically drools anytime he sees you naked

as you get really big, sex becomes less common because you're not really comfortable, and maybe doctors tell yalls to slow it down for a bit.

logan will of course not do anything to risk you or the baby but fuck when you walk around in that tight black dress, tits and belly all swollen. he can barely stand it.

fortunately even if you aren't having penetrative sex, you're still fairly aroused so logan gets to get off to your hand or mouth. he'll return the favor with some light oral

he'll want to help you shower all the time

you're just so beautiful to him.

when you start getting self conscious over your weight gain, logan won't have it. he'll be doing some serious body worship doing your pregnancy, don't worry.

kissing your stretch marks, his hand rubbing soothingly all over your body as he whispers how beautiful you are

when it's closer to your due date, the doctor gives you a list of recommendations to help get things rolling

when logan finds out sex is one of those things, he's over the moon.

you personally, just want to get the mini canadian out of there at this point

it's not the first thing you try, because youre self conscious despite logans affirmations that he thinks you're so sexy

eventually you give in

lets just say you both were on the way to labor and delivery soon after

he adores your body after birth too. like i said. body worship to the maximum. even when you're not banging cause you need to heal first, he's kissing every inch of you to make sure you know he adores you. he sees how you've looked at yourself in the mirror and he isn't gonna have it

oh btw he'll definitely accidentally taste your breast milk straight from the source at some point. he really doesn't do it on purpose, he just got lost in kissing and sucking on you.

lost in the sauce if you may

he wants you to heal and feel good though, so even after the 3 months are up, he'll want to wait a little longer, because he doesn't want to hurt you. he's a big man.

EXTRAS: (random stuff )

the people who are around you are ecstatic over the announcement of your pregnancy

charles is just glad he gets to be a grandpappy (as if he isn't already)

maybe jean and scott are expecting too, or already have their little one, so you guys bond with the couple over parenting as well

wade immediately refers to himself as uncle wade

will also say "our baby" when referring to you and logans baby. logan does not like that.

wade makes a deadpool onesie. you have to stop logan from tearing it apart

okay but a onesie based on logans suit would be so goddamn cute

i said before that logan doesn't like ANYONE touching your belly. even if it's a trusted friend

if someone asks, very politely, you have to make sure logan isn't around before you say yes.

one time hank asked and you said yes, not realizing logan was coming around the corner. it was really embarrassing the way logan ran up so fast, immediately pushing hanks hand off.

hank laughed it off

im sure yall have your own ideas for what yours and logans baby names would be. I think Charlie would be really cute, naming the baby after charles (and it's a gn name!)

rogue, jubilee, and kitty, would be over the moon. they would be so supportive of you and logan

laura would be so excited, a bit curious. you and logan will make sure she doesn't in anyway feel neglected or replaced during the entire pregnancy and when the baby comes

laura is obviously a great big sister.

they would definitely tease logan too btw

you guys don't even need to register. due to the people you love around you- you basically get everything you need before you 3rd trimester even starts

you and logan can be assured that your baby will always be safe and loved no matter what because of the family you both have found. (yes even with origins and old man logan)

[llamagoddessofficial]

Excuse me could we get some farmtale sans headcanon please just a crumb

You don't need to ask twice lol

He's deceptively strong, even by Sans standards. He's on par with Skull for raw strength. This guy carries massive heavy things pretty much for a living; he loads bales bigger than you. He could carry you around on one arm, and he might genuinely tuck you under one arm if he needs to carry you while he's busy

However he is also extremely Somft. He simply wants to sit on the couch and wear chunky knit sweaters and drink soup all day.

His greatest talent is coming up with places to nap that are out of sight of Papyrus. You'll be regularly tripping over him

He's wonderful to nap with! He smells like straw and sweet veg, his strong arms are perfect for cuddles. He is unreasonably comfy.

He flirts by giving you things from the farm. He'll show up to your door without warning, carrying cartons of fresh eggs, boxes full of veg, butters and jams and chutneys... one time, even a whole wheel of cheese.

(Probably saves you hundreds on groceries.)

Papyrus frequently asks you to go check on Sans while he's working, maybe to bring him food or a drink, 'see if he's doing it right', etc. Papyrus knows Sans is absolutely fine and knows how to do those jobs. But he also knows that Sans makes an art out of half-assing certain chores and making them take forever... if you're there, Sans wants to show off, and he ends up working twice as fast.

Sans has a way with animals. His vibes are just so easygoing that even the most high-strung creatures like him. Anytime he falls asleep, he ends up with chickens sitting with/on him until he wakes up.

For a guy who works with plants, he's pretty terrible at remembering the names of them. He knows the important ones, and that's about it. Don't expect him to remember more than he absolutely has to.

He's an excellent seamster! If anything you like rips, let him know. He can make it look good as new.

His love language is acts of service. He does the absolute bare minimum for people he doesn't like, and equally, he does So Much for people he loves (like you). He'll tow you for miles if you break down, he'll pick you up from anywhere at any time without complaint, he'll lend you incredibly important items of his as if it's no big deal. If you leave him alone in your home for too long he'll find something to repair or tweak... clothes, furniture, holes in the walls/creaky windows, etc. You'll come downstairs in the morning to find out he's fixed your heating.

His ideal date is driving out to a quiet field at night, then sitting under a blanket together and watching the stars. He may not know his plants... but he knows his stars, that's for sure.

Too bad he'll be too busy looking at you.

[moorishflower]

West African Chicken and Peanut Soup (Mali)

We're kicking off Soupquest 2025 in a big way by going straight for the unfamiliar: a delightful, creamy, sweet/savory tomato and peanut butter-based soup that originated in Mali but which is common in many countries in Africa, though this one is probably closer to the Ghana-tradition, as it's much soupier.

For those worried about the spice level, this soup uses 1 whole scotch bonnet, cut in half and then cooked in the soup for a time before removing the pepper itself. I was unable to find scotch bonnet peppers, so used habanero instead, and I opted to leave the pepper in for the entirety to give it a bit more kick, since a single habanero does not a spicy dish make. I'm happy to report that this does not at all register as spicy to me, only pleasantly warm, the peanut butter occupying the same niche as cream or cheese would.

This soup is delicious. The way it's often intended to be eaten is with fufu, a side dish made with pounded cassava root and plantains; I wasn't able to find cassava, but rice is perfectly acceptable to serve this over, turning it into something like a curry. It's sweet but not sugary, nutty, creamy, savory, warming but not spicy, and I can see how the fufu would be helpful because I was scraping my bowl for every last bit.

I used this recipe from Delish (presented here via wayback machine). Substitutions I made were as follows:

Subbed 1 habanero for 1 scotch bonnet pepper

Subbed 6 tbsp tomato sauce (reduced) for 2 tbsp tomato paste (I forgot to get the paste okay it's fine)

Added some baby spinach for color

You can make this with canned tomatoes if you'd like. Everything kind of breaks down into a delightful sauce in the end. I recommend using a natural or no-added-sugar-organic peanut butter to keep the soup from being too sweet; I used Jif's natural peanut butter and it was probably still on the sweeter side, but still delicious.

The last thing that you can do differently is use bone-in chicken thighs. Sear them as normal, trim as much meat off the bone as you can, and then put the bones back into the soup while it's cooking down. You can fish the bones out when it's done and easily shred whatever meat is remaining off the bone, and you get a bit of added chicken-y oomph to your soup.

For those who want to preview the soups I have collected (both from the wonderful suggestions here on tumblr, as well as through much googling), you can check out my Soup Map here.

[lizzaneia-elizalde]

Honestly if you could , how would you rate your yandere cooking for Darling (notably the yandere set 2). Like who would be at the tier having the most divine cooking , very talented to mediocre but still try hard for their darling to being banned from entering the kitchen forever cause of fire hazard from frying an egg?? (⁠人⁠ ⁠•͈⁠ᴗ⁠•͈⁠)

Also do you mind if i become 🐧 anon??

Yandere men and their cooking

I'll be answering this and my last ask, then i'll go write my last 3 yanderes, then opening inbox again! I'm still sick unfortunately, so it'll take some time.

YAN! DELINQUENT: 8/10

Liam is a good cook! He definitely prepares the meanest lunch meals out there. Househusband material, he literally has to feed himself by living through his wage and the money his parents give him, so he might as well enjoy! So rest assured he will feed you homely foods that you'll enjoy.

Fav food to cook: pepper beef on rice (quick, efficient, and tastes good!)

YAN! BULLY: 2/10

Eh.. Uno is pampered a lot. What he can probably only make is a scrambled egg, and that's on accident cuz he broke the yolk and mixed it to say "it's intentional". So, unfortunately, you have to cook, or a personal chef. Nothing in between. Unless you're okay with eggs everyday, every time to eat.

Fav food to cook: eggs. (That's the only thing he can cook)

YAN! NSFW ASMRTIST: 9.5/10

Rose definitely cooks the best stuff out there. He's been living by himself for a long, long time so he had time to read cook books, and he definitely watches Hell's Kitchen in his free time. So, expect food for the gods when he cooks for you.

Fav food to cook: Low and slow stew and soups. Meaty, hearty, and pairs well with rice (Full of love, affection, and time.)

YAN! ISEKAI'ED ADVENTURER: 5/10

Aeron is basic when it comes to cooking. He basically only cooks to make sure it's edible, non poisonous, and fulfilling. If he had a choice really, he would just do eat fruits and veggies raw. And when he does cook for you, unfortunately it's not anything remarkable. JUST LIE THOUGH AND SAY IT TASTES GOOD.

Fav food to cook: none... (It's a hassle)

YAN! PLAYER: 10/10

Surprised? He's blessed by the gods. How can this man be awful at cooking? Sure, he would prefer to not cook anything at all, but Amor would be extremely good at it despite not really cooking much because of his blessings. He would be really happy to cook for you though. Anything you want will be miraculously made close to perfection if it's not perfect already.

Fav food to cook: Any of your favorite foods gourmet style (he loves to spoil you while boasting about his... Ill-gotten skills)

YAN! PARASITE:6/10

Acheron knew how to follow instructions, so food is above average at most. As long as the recipe was good, and reviews are nice, then you know you are in good hands. Acheron will cook you food from your favorite cookbooks, so please, don't be shy and send him a link, or gift him a book. He'll be more than happy to cook for you.

Fav food to cook: The simple recipe ones (less chance of messing up the flavor)

YAN! EMPEROR: 0/10

"No. I will not do something like cook."

YAN! COLLEGE STUDENT:8.5/10

Alpheus is a great cook actually, but he never really enjoyed it. He usually does the cooking when Ignatius comes to his home to hang out or teach him how to adapt socially. But, he'll be happy cooking for you.

Fav food to cook: squid ink pasta, and margarita pizza (sharing food for when you or Ignatius eat with him)

YAN! DEEP SEA CREATURE: 0/10

"What is... Cooking?"

YAN! HUNTER: 7/10

Orion is one of those grill dads. Most of the time it's seafood too. But you can guarantee that it will be the most delicious grilled seafood you'll eat. Other meats? Meh... It's more or less okay. His specialty lies by the sea. He will not be opposed in cooking land or sky meat though, just say the word.

Fav food to cook: grilled oysters with cheese or caviar, and lobster with butter baste (best tasting food with low effort)

YAN! KING: 0/10

"A king doesn't cook."

YAN! GOD: 4/10

Well, Liviticus can't cook unless it's very simple like rice and eggs, or like... Ramen. Basically only 1-3 stepped cooking. Cuz essentially, with him being a god, he can just summon the food from thin air. So like, he's your automatic food dispenser. If you want to teach him though, then he would love to.

Fav food to cook: Ramen (Technically not cooking)

YAN! PROSECUTOR: 9/10

Yuta, of course, knows how to cook and he cooks well. Surprisingly, he's into baking. And that's his mastery. He just doesn't have time to cook or bake at all due to being a prosecutor. But if you ask him to, then he will gladly bake or cook for you.

Fav food to make: macarons (time consuming, delicate, and needs his full attention that can distract him from his job and reality)

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

So ranking from basically perfect to definitely not

PLAYER>ASMRTIST>PROSECUTOR>COLLEGE STUDENT>DELINQUENT>HUNTER>PARASITE>ISEKAI'ED ADVENTURER>GOD>BULLY>EMPEROR=DEEP SEA CREATURE=KING

[laiqualaurelote]

Ok but for the file thing, I'm DYING to know more about "The first thing Isaac chopped in half with his hand was the BELIEVE sign" pls <3

thank you for this ask for the WIP game! this is an extremely cracky AU in which the Richmond Players all start manifesting superpowers.

The first thing Isaac chopped in half with his hand was the BELIEVE sign. The second was Zoreaux.

To be fair to Isaac, he had failed to chop Jamie in half. (More on this later.) Thus, while Jamie went off to sulk and Zoreaux ambled up to poke at the broken sign saying, “Maybe we can make a new one?” Isaac thought nothing of clapping him on the back and replying, “Sure thing, bruv.”

His hand went through Zoreaux like a hot knife through butter. Zoreaux didn’t exactly fall apart, but he did sort of peel away in two halves like a melted clock in a Dalí painting. He was screaming the whole time. It was the modern art mash-up nobody wanted to see.

Isaac gaped at him in horror. The other players were yelling. “Bro! What did you do!”

“I didn’t – ” began Isaac. 

Zoreaux was still screaming. Weirdly, there was no blood or anything. The edges of him seemed to have been pinched off, like Play-doh.

“We must put him back together!” shouted Dani. He and Richard were on their knees, trying to jam the two halves of Zoreaux back together, only Zoreaux seemed to be drooping and stretching through their fingers. “Mon dieu,” gasped Richard. “He is like cheese! But not good cheese! Like the cheap mozzarella from Pizza Express!”

“Osti de tabarnak de sacrament!” shrieked Zoreaux. “What the fuck is happening!”

“I got the duct tape!” called Will, rushing in. He tossed the roll to Sam, who began trying to tape Zoreaux back together as the rest of the players rushed in to try and help. 

“Wait, wait.” Something was happening as Sam’s hands brushed against the halves of Zoreaux. They seemed to be melding back together. “Sam!” cried Dani. “It’s you! You are healing him!”

“Wow,” said Sam, staring at his hands as they knit Zoreaux back together. “Wait, I need to make sure he’s aligned properly. Can I get more light?”

Everyone was temporarily blinded as Dani burst into a blazing ball of brilliance.

“...okay,” said Sam after some time, “way more light than I needed, but thank you.”

“De nada, Sam!” 

It was at this point that Trent Crimm walked into the room. He stopped and put on his glasses, as if that would clarify the tableau of the AFC Richmond team duct-taping their cloven goalkeeper together while one of their strikers was blazing like a lighthouse beacon and their captain stood in the corner with his hands apologetically raised in the air. 

“What,” said Trent, “the actual fuck?”

*

Trent’s first thought was that he would have to re-pitch his book as a fantasy novel, because nobody was going to take it seriously as non-fiction any more.

“So you’ve got healing hands,” he repeated to Sam.

“I think so?” Sam stared at his hands. “Or maybe I just have the ability to stick things back together. I don’t know. Perhaps I should test it on another injury?”

Across the locker room, O’Brien cleared his throat. “Sam? Can you touch my butt?”

Trent and the players turned to stare at him. 

“Not for gay reasons,” O’Brien clarified. “For science.”

“Both of those are valid,” said Sam. “I would be happy to touch your butt for you.”

Trying to ignore O’Brien casually dropping trou in the corner, Trent removed his spectacles and pinched the bridge of his nose. Dani’s brightness was giving him a migraine. “I’m sorry, bruv,” said Isaac to Zoreaux for the thousandth time.

“It’s okay,” said Zoreaux. They had yet to remove the duct tape, just in case, so he looked like a very poorly-wrapped package. “It didn’t actually hurt. I was just freaking out, bro.”

Babatunde was holding on to Zoreaux’s little finger and walking across the room while Bumbercatch followed him with a measuring tape to see how far the finger could stretch. “Three metres!” yelled Bumbercatch as Richard tried to cross the room to his locker and ended up having to do the limbo under the finger. “Okay, take it around the corner!”

“I just thought,” went on Isaac, “‘cos I touched Jamie, and I didn’t chop him in half…” He trails off.

“What?” said Jamie. And then, as Isaac made a move towards him, “Whoa! Are you fucking mental?”

“Sorry.” Isaac backed off. 

“Could I test a theory?” ventured Trent. “Bearing in mind that I mean this as a purely scientific inquiry.”

“Sure,” said Jamie. “Whatev – oi!” he yelled as Trent stabbed him in the hand with his pen.

The pen snapped in two. Ink splattered over Jamie’s hand, the skin of which remained unbroken. Jamie screwed up his nose. “That’s disgusting, man.”

“I think you’re invulnerable, Jamie,” said Trent.

Jamie considered this. “That mean I can’t be hurt?”

“I believe so, yes. We’ll have to run more tests to be sure.”

“Huh,” said Jamie. “Sick.”

“It worked!” O’Brien yelled from across the room. “It’s a miracle! I’m healed!”

“Okay,” said Trent wearily, “so we’ve got…five superpowers that have manifested so far. Anybody else feel a superpower coming on?”

“I got one,” called out Jan Maas. “I’m always right.”

The locker room erupted in laughter. “Shut the fuck up, Jan Maas,” they chorused.

Jan shrugged. “I’m just saying.”

[tastesoftamriel]

You know those cheesy pasta dishes with all the fancy add-ins like heavy cream and garlic so we can all pretend to ourselves that we aren't just eating mac and cheese like overgrown children? What sort of equivalent dishes do the people of Tamriel enjoy, that are basically just dressed-up "kid food" dishes?

Who doesn't love a cheeky meal that brings back memories of childhood? Across Tamriel, you'll find all manner of simple, hearty foods that will make you feel like a kid again!

Altmer

In Summerset, young and old alike enjoy mochi, a tasty sweet snack made from chewy glutinous rice flour. Mochi comes in many varieties, with fillings like sweet peanut or black sesame paste. However, almost everyone's favourite is a cold mochi filled with soft gelato of various flavours. My favourite combination is matcha mochi wrapped around a moreish azuki bean ice cream centre.

Argonians

Is there anything that makes you feel more like a kid than some snacking? Argonians are huge fans of anything that packs a crunch, both sweet and savoury. Whether it's spicy and sweet crickets, dark saltrice sauce-coated mealworms, or just good old prawn crackers with some dipping sambal, be prepared to snack your way all day long in Black Marsh.

Bosmer

If you're one of those people who stands in the kitchen gnawing a block of cheese at midnight, you're in good company in Valenwood. A popular late-night treat served at street food vendors across the Province is a simple cup of grilled witchetty grubs slathered in timber mammoth cheese sauce and topped with pulled pork. The grubs are meaty in flavour, and the pungent timber mammoth cheese complements the pulled pork when mixed all together, as the locals enjoy it.

Bretons

Pain au chocolat? Yes please! These deliciously buttery puffed pastries are essentially rectangular croissants enveloping delicious dark chocolate. Served warm, they're sure to make any breakfast or teatime a happy one! To really satisfy those chocolate cravings, pair with a classic Breton hot chocolate, complete with marshmallows and whipped cream.

Dunmer

Marshmerrow cake is the ubiquitous Dunmeri dessert that has gained popularity far beyond the borders of Morrowind due to its mild flavour and unique candy aroma. A soft sponge cake, which is sometimes soaked in comberry brandy, is layered with sweet marshmerrow crème patissiere, caramelised marshmerrow crumble, and maraschino comberries. Sure to knock some years off your age and put a couple more holes in your belt (it's impossible to stop at one slice. Source: me).

Imperials

There's nothing quite like homemade gnocchi with ragout for Imperials when it comes to comfort food. While this homey dish is prevalent across Cyrodiil, every household cooks the dish differently. In mine, my mother pan-fries the gnocchi in an obnoxious amount of butter, and tops it with her top-secret slow-cooked lamb and red wine ragout. While I cannot give away the secrets to her ragout, I highly recommend trying this delicious dish a try when you need to warm yourself, body and soul.

Khajiit

If you think you can turn away cinnamon and cardamom churros with a cup of moon sugar caramel dip, you're deluding yourself. This delicious treat can be found across Elsweyr and is considered one of the Province's most famous foods. Khajiiti churros, which are made from a mix of rice and tapioca flour, have a moist and chewy texture beneath a crisp, golden brown outer layer. They're served hot from the wok, with a cup of moon sugar caramel syrup. A truly divine pairing!

Nords

Spätzle is something I've written about in the past, and it's one of the best things I know (ask any resident of Skyrim and they'd tell you the same). These chunky egg noodles may look unrefined compared to Khajiiti vermicelli, but make up for it when liberally doused in a creamy cheese sauce and topped with fried onions. I like spicing mine up, quite literally, with some chili powder I purchased at a Sentinel bazaar.

Orcs

Nothing screams comfort food (and mess) quite like a good old echatere sausage hot dog. The echatere sausage, rather akin to Blackwood chorizo in flavour, is grilled over hot coals and served in a sourdough bun, served Wrothgar style with a good amount of horseradish mayo, fried radish chips, caramelised onions, pickles, and crispy dried baby shrimp topping. I'd say you can't stop at just one, but it's a hefty meal you can eat with one hand!

Redguards

I have probably written about gulab jamun in the past, a delicious, albeit cloying dessert popular throughout Hammerfell. An iconic dish at festivals and parties, gulab jamun is prized by dessert-lovers for its velvety, syrupy texture. These fluffy balls of cardamom-scented cottage cheese are fried and soaked in a fragrant saffron and rose water syrup, and topped with crushed pistachios. So simple, so good, and so moreish. Just be sure to stop at three, because any more and the sugar rush will send you to Aetherius!

[koolades-world]

What dessert I give you based on your favorite Obey me! character

Lucifer: any type of pâte choux, specifically cream puffs with strawberry jam and whipped cream, it’s fancy and takes a while so it’s definitely giving lucifer

Mammon: tiramisu. Not only does it have a funnily named lady fingers in it, it’s also just really good and perfect for sharing with someone you love cough mammon cough

Levi: churros. While I don’t recommend it, it can be good for eating while playing games. I almost picked s’mores but those are so messy. You can also have a variety of dipping sauces or none if you prefer!

Satan: macarons, they’re harder to make than pate choux which is exactly what Satan would love. They’re also perfect for tea parties

Asmo: rice pudding with cinnamon on top. The cinnamon can be a cute shape if you want it to be. A dessert of my childhood, so simply and yummy and I think asmo would like that about it. It can be healthy but I usually opt for the regular and more delicious version

Beel: walnut brownies, they just hit so different especially late at night. Beel would understand and even though I am slightly allergic to walnuts that will not stop me from eating them

Belphie: flan, another dessert of my childhood. The way it wiggles is so fun. I hate jello because of the texture but love flan because of the texture idk. flan go wiggle wiggle haha

Diavolo: Moon Pies, specifically Banana flavor, I just got a chocolate one and thought he would find it amusing

Barbatos: Frozen Key Lime Pie dipped in chocolate on a stick, it’s a local thing don’t knock it until you try it

Simeon: strawberry shortcake, it’s just so him I can’t explain it any better. They can be so pretty too! Or they can be something simple and homemade, both are good

Luke: macaroons, I’ll take this to my grave but macaroons are better than macarons. My poor baby macaroons always being mixed up with macarons, luke is probably bitter about it too

Solomon: Red velvet cake with cream cheese frosting, idk it’s giving you defend it until the end of time because everyone else says it’s the same as chocolate cake when it’s not

Mephisto: coffee or espresso ice cream, it’s my favorite kind. I feel like he would also enjoy the nice balance of sweet and bitterness, and I like Mephisto lovers

Thirteen: lava cakes! These hold a special place in my heart, they were the first thing I ever baked only the best for thirteen and her fans mwa

Raphael: Brown butter pumpkin maple cookies, my speciality :) you guys seem so nice and warm have my favorite fall dessert, there aren’t many of you but I love you

[chronically-ghosted]

you got your claws in me honey, like a tiger in love

rating: E for Explicit! 18+

word count: 8K

pairing: dieter bravo x f!reader

summary: you arrive at your estranged uncle's door. what else is there to do but catch up over grilled cheese? well, if you have anything to say about it, you might end up doing a bit more.

warnings: dbf!dieter, grilled cheese as a way to guilt trip your dad's best friend/uncle into fucking you, drug use (weed), raising arizona that comes with its own warning, flirting with someone twice your age, no smut — that’s what part 2 is for, reminiscing, a cliffhanger? 👀

a/n: the original fic came out MONTHS before the mcu rumors, so either i have precognition, or the apocalypse is becoming predicable. happy valentine's day you filthy animals because nothing says romance like porking your dad's best friend

🤍AO3 Link

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From the voicemail of Mr. Paul Landeau, official Hollywood talent manager and agent to one Mr. Dieter Bravo . . .

Tuesday, 6:43PM

No, I’m not doing it. I’m not. 

There has to be something else out there. Look, I know Fire Monsters: A Cliff Beasts story didn’t do as well as we hoped, but Reddit says it could be a cult classic so why don’t you focus on making that happen, okay? Instead of giving me shit roles like this. I’m not doing it. 

– the sound of a door opening and the phone being shuffled – – a zipper rips –  – liquid pouring –

We fucking talked about this, man. I told you I needed something different, something new. Tiktok is just reels of me screaming and dying – it’s fucking bullshit – 

– more liquid –

I’m done playing the fucking bad guy. I’m not signing any more headless action figures for those little snot-nosed, little fuckers in line. I’m not asking to sign their moms’ tits, either – okay, maybe – but Jesus Christ, Paul, what you sent over is, like, the opposite of where I need to be. It’s for little teeny boppers with one or two B horror movies under their belt to finally break out into the mainstream – or where actors over forty go to cash in an easy paycheck. And yes, I fucking know we need something, but fuck – is this really all there is?

– liquid stops pouring – – zipper rips – – the sound of a toilet flushing –

Don’t fucking call me back, Paul, unless you’ve got something. Something real.

Tuesday, 8:23PM

OW! Motherf–

– a skillet clattering – 

Okay – fuck, that hurts – okay, Paul, what about this? It came to me in the bathroom. Remember Jack from the Christmas party at the studio’s place? So, he’s got those two Sundance films, right, but they’re in Spanish, so not appealing to an American audience. Nicki told me that he’s thinking about doing another project, one with a wider appeal, and I’m thinking I should totally give him a call. I think we could vibe. I really liked his stuff – reminded me of my old small town, fucking around with the neighbor kids, you know? Kinda hometown hero sort of thing. 

– sharp inhale then a cough – 

It’s not my usual thing, but I think we should give it a try. Gimme a call. 

Oh, do you know how to make a grilled cheese sandwich? Been craving one but I think I might burn down my house if I try again and UberEats doesn’t reach the good places further south. Oh, fuck, wait – 

Hey Google, how do you make a fucking excellent grilled cheese?

Tuesday, 9:21PM

No, fucking– 

Siri – how.do.you.treat.a.burn? 

Calling. . . Burger King . . .

No! Fuck!

Tuesday, 10:49PM

Paul-y! Baby! Paul-ito!

Don’t worry. I got an idea that’s going to make us a million dollars. 

A shop that makes only grilled cheese. But like – fancy grilled cheese. What do the kids fucking call it, ah – boogie – yeah, boogie grilled cheese. Like gouda and white cheddar, and butter churned by blind nuns or some shit. Tomato soups that have been blessed by the Dalai Lama. 

Big sign out front that says, Vegans Can Eat Shit. 

They’ll eat it up. 

Fuck yeah, they will. 

– silence for three minutes and sixteen seconds –

Fuck acting, man. Fuck this place. 

And fuck this fucking cheese that keeps burning – goddamn it!

Tuesday, 11:52PM

Paul, why don’t we hang out anymore?

When I got started, we hung out all the time, man. 

Hot dogs on the Santa Monica pier. Beer in the Pacific Ocean. 

You showed me all the cool spots that no one else in LA knew about. You got me my first bump and my first stripper. God, that was fucking wild, man, you remember? I was so nervous I thought I was going to throw up. Did I ever tell you that before? Coke probably didn’t help a kid from a small town in South Cali, but – fuck, it made me feel better. Like I could get my shit together if I really tried.  

What, are you too good for me now – is that it? Am I not good enough for you, huh? 

Look, I’ve got Raising Arizona on right now, so why don’t you come over with a six pack – 

Oh, shit, that’s right. You got a fucking family now. 

Not a good influence, ol’ Dee. 

Not a good –

 

Wednesday, 1:05AM

Fine, Paul. Fine. 

I’ll play Mr. Fantastic in the Fantastic Four reboot. 

Dieter’s thumb brushes the red End Call button and tosses his phone onto the kitchen island with a growl. He can feel himself coming down from the bump earlier – a thing he absolutely did not want to happen – and he shoves his palms into his eye sockets. 

There is more coke upstairs, but that would require him to walk through his very long hallways to get there. Very long, and dark, and empty hallways. 

He should have asked Maria to stay once she was done with the laundry. He would have done it right too – big bowl of popcorn, fully dressed, with a sign around his neck that said, I promise I’m not trying to sleep with you. 

He is becoming increasingly aware of how many erratic voicemails he just left for his agent, aware that behavior like that was libel to get him a sit down in Paul’s office with all the blinds and windows closed, Paul’s narrow face serious and using Concerned Emotion #5, as he asks, “do we need to go back to rehab, Dieter?”

We. 

There once was a “we”, now there was just “he” – in a house with seven bedrooms and a pool that could fit a sixteen wheeler in it. 

And TWO kitchens – why the fuck did he think he needed two kitchens – 

Well, he knew he didn’t need two, but it would have been cool to show them off to someone – If there was anyone to show them off to . . .

Fuck this downer mood.

Dieter snatches up his phone again, and the movement brings up his latest apps. UberEats is the second one. He taps in a few keywords, blatantly ignoring his latest call list. 

Goddamn Burger King . . . 

The front doorbell rings. 

Dieter frowns, pulling the screen closer under his big nose. Now, he knows he is high and he knows he should be wearing his glasses when reading but there’s no fucking way . . .

He goes out of the kitchen, the room still smelling of burnt cheese with the cast iron skillet in the sink and a black husk sticking to its bottom. He goes left, then right, his robe tightly wrapped around him as if he is some huffy housewife, then down a hall and across the marble entrance way – fuming – why is this house so goddamn huge – who thought this was a good idea?

And so he wrenches open the front door – to a girl, not holding a Burger King bag. No, she’s got a roller suitcase behind her, bright blue, and she and the case are dripping wet. Like, just sprayed with a hose kind of wet and her big bottom lip is trembling. Behind her, the sky pukes buckets of rain, groaning with thunder. 

Now, he likes his call girls (he always thought it was classier to call them that) a little more . . . vampy than this, but hell, he had been turned on by much less than this— than her with her big eyes, fat droplets rolling off her lashes, flushed cheeks – and oh, shit, her shirt is totally see-through – is that purple, he feels the back of his mouth flush with spit – wow, is this Paul’s way of apology because – 

“Uncle Dee?” 

And he’s mentally shoving himself back into his pants because no one in years has called him that and that was a very different time in place, when he was a completely different person and if this girl is the person he thinks it is, then – Jesus Christ, he’s bound and gagged straight for hell – 

He squeaks out your name and you smile, sort of grimace, at him and wave. 

“Yep, it’s me. Been awhile, right?” You finally give into the mortification of your stupid plan and you scrunch up your face, your hand wrapped around your elbow. “Look, I’m so sorry, this is too weird. I don’t have your number, but I panicked when my flight got canceled and my phone’s dead and you’re the only person I know in LA and –,” 

“No, no – you’re fine – sorry–,” Dieter blinks before stepping back and letting you through. You sigh in relief and yank your baby blue suitcase over the threshold as you walk in, dripping water everywhere. “Sorry, it’s been a weird night and for, like, two seconds, I thought . . . nevermind . . .”

I thought you were a fucking ghost.

You bite the corner of your lip, glancing at him, knowing it was probably unwise to piss off your one chance at not sleeping on the ground tonight — or if what you were about to say would piss him off in the first place. 

“Yeah, well, it’s been eleven years since we last saw you, Uncle Dee.” 

Early on in his career, he wanted to build up rep as not only an actor but a real tough guy, so he asked if he could do some stunts for an old cop show. For all his bravado, he ended up getting a real round-house kick to the face and it sent him reeling.

This feels a little bit like that.

“No way, it can’t have been that long. Besides, I know I left my number with your dad or your grandma before I left and —,” 

His throat closes up when very old guilt washes over him. It’s intensified when you give him an uncomfortable look.

“So your dad didn’t give you my number then.”

It’s not a question. You shake your head. You don’t tell him that your dad tried to call years ago and got a busy tone for the first few, and then a few years after that, was brusquely informed the line had been disconnected. 

He chews on his lip. 

You try to smile at him again but then another shiver takes hold of you and Dieter grimaces. “Shit, sorry, one second. I think this closet down here has towels.” 

He all but sprint-walks down one of the many halls branching off from the entrance, the ends of his robes flapping. You hear the creak of doors, several, as he digs around in the walls. 

“Why do I have so many fucking linens?” You hear him grumble and you smile to yourself. You feel like you need to wring your hair out but wouldn’t dare move from the spot where he left you.

After a thump and more grumbling, he comes back, rubbing the back of his head, but holding out a giant lime green towel. In the light, you can see the dark circles under his eyes when you take the towel and immediately go to stop your hair from dripping on the marble.

His brain is waffling, ping ponging, between his memories and what is standing right in front of him. This? This is the little girl, not his literal blood relative, but she’s Enrico’s kid – Enrico, a slugger and one hell of a outfielder since he was eight years old, whose mom made enchiladas like nobody else in the goddamn world – Enrico, whose house became like a second home, Ricky's family a better family than his own – this is the same girl who hoarded Skittles like a fiend, the same one who he took to the pool on the weekends in the summer, and the zoo during Thanksgiving break? This little girl – 

– is the same girl who is all legs under damp denim, eyes that could make Cleopatra fly into a jealous rage, and a fucking rockstar smile? 

And, holy shit, those tits –  

Dude, you cannot be checking her out. Dig deep and fight your fucking caveman brain. You’ve fucked up a lot in your life and you cannot do that right now. You cannot do that to Enrico. 

You cannot do that to her.

You notice him grimace as he squints into the light of the chandelier above you both. “So, uh, not that I mind, but, uh, what are you doing here? I mean –,” 

You laugh and it seems to echo in the empty house. “No, that’s a fair question. I was on a flight back from looking at colleges out east and my flight got grounded in LAX because of the storm. I absolutely don’t have enough money to stay in a hotel or rent a car and drive back home, so I needed a place to crash and call my sister to send me some money. And my stupid driver didn’t want to get flagged for harassing a celebrity, so he dropped me off at the corner, hence . . .”

You wave at yourself and inside his slippers, his toes curl, respectfully not looking at your damp legs and a definitely purple bra visible through your shirt. 

Your mouth suddenly capsizes. “Shit, is that okay, if I stay here for a night? I didn’t even think - I - I’m not . . . interrupting anything, am I?” 

Dieter chuckles, your expression undeniably cute, and he shoves his hands into the pockets of his robe. 

“Nah. Not unless you call making the worst grilled cheese imaginable a party.” 

At that moment, your stomach chooses to make the most aggressive growl in your entire life and you flush deeper than the cold outside. 

“Apparently someone thinks that’s a good idea,” you chuckle weakly, horrified that your body is actively trying to sabotage a normal conversation. 

Did it matter that you had posters of him in your bedroom when you were thirteen? That you went to midnight releases of every one of his movies? 

No. Not at all. 

“I got some food, mostly leftovers.” He worries at his lip as he realizes the only thing by way of something green in his fridge is the jar of olives he got for martinis. Even then, he has a sneaking suspicion he replaced the olive juice with vodka, but the memory of that night is entirely butchered. “But, uh, I’m sure we can find something.”

You smile at him. “Actually, grilled cheese sounds great.” 

“Only if you do it.” He smiles, honestly, when you laugh. “What? Don’t laugh — I’m serious. I can’t make a sandwich to save my fucking life.” 

“Pretty sure I can manage two slices of bread and cheese.” 

His eyebrows jump as his lips press themselves together and you watch the thumb-sized bare spot on his beard twitch.

“Yeah, that’s what you think and then your goddamn kitchen is on fire.” 

“Lemme change, do some rocket surgery and brain science, and then I’ll attempt to crack this grilled cheese thing.” 

“Okay, but remember we do have Chinese leftovers and I can definitely crush a microwave. This way.” 

You follow him through the halls, his shoulders loosening underneath the off-green fuzz, and you try and not to stare at the immaculately beautiful walls and expansive, clean floors, so your eyes wander, and then you’re trying not to stare at the immaculately beautiful man in front of you. 

You push away the thought that this house looks nothing like you’d expect someone like Dieter to have, as he leads you to the kitchen — all black and chrome and steel, like what a Norwegian serial killer would have — and nods to a door towards the opposite wall. He’s digging around for the last slices of white bread when he says,

“Bathroom’s down there. I’ll get it all ready, but I’m leaving it up to you. Can’t afford to lose another pan.” 

Your eyes finally drift down from the bare walls, unsure if you should be offended that nothing of the family back home is here, or accept that there was just nothing personal anywhere. You smile gently at him and nod in thanks. 

He watches you go, that bright blue suitcase flashing as loud as a tornado siren, and he shakes his head. God, he needs a drink but drinking also makes him horny and he needs every mental facility available to him if he wis going to make it through this night with his sanity still intact. 

Had it really been eleven years? He always meant to call up Enrico and the old neighborhood gang. He probably forgot about that last fight anyway – even if Dieter hadn’t – even if it wasn’t more than a decade ago. Mama Gonzales always said there’d be a place for him, even after his own father said acting was for maricos and drag queens. It always hurt more when the postcards from the Gonzales family stopped coming than when Mom stopped calling. And he always meant to send back a proper return address when he moved out of that crappy loft after his first real movie premiere but that was the 90s, and much of the 90s was spent between working shit jobs and drooling on the floors of rave warehouses. It wasn’t them specifically he didn’t want to see him like that, but anyone. Anyone who knew him before Dieter Bravo. 

Certainly not anyone who called him Uncle Dee —

Something flashes in the corner of his eye and he realizes he’s always fucking hated the fact that the a) the back of his house is just one big window and b) he never bothered to put in curtains. Because, the thing with windows is they reflect things — things like his pseudo-niece taking her top off in his guest bathroom. Reflected and in full color right across his kitchen island like the sexiest hologram that will haunt his fucking wet dreams until the day hell freezes over. 

Yep, that’s definitely your hips, your ribs, and okay—

Nope. Absolutely not. 

Dieter’s knees give out and he crouches (more like slumps) to the floor behind the island, his palms so far in his eye sockets he can only see stars.

Yeah, only stars. Focus on the stars, not the image of the curve of your gorgeous tits that’s running around his brain like a child with scissors and a Thanatos instinct off the fucking charts. 

Fuck, and he just wanted to get high and watch Nicholas Cage in a mullet. 

“Hey, I’m done. Dee, you still here?”

He stifles a groan and stands up. You smile at him, the wet jeans and agonizing white tank top gone, only to be replaced by a black Fleetwood Mac tshirt and — fuck, where are your pants?

You lower the handle to your suitcase and go to stow by the bathroom door. And that’s when he realizes you are actually wearing pants, black shorts that are practically hidden by the oversized t-shirt and are comically, hilariously, painfully small. He can’t actually see the curve of your ass as you walk around the side of the island but he is absolutely not going to let his gaze linger long enough to confirm. 

He clears his throat as you come to stand beside him. He gestures to the four pieces of white bread and a stack of Crafts American cheese. 

“H-h-have —,” he clears his throat again and his forebearers groan collectively in embarrassment. “Have at it.” 

You smile and tuck your hair over your ear before picking up the knife. 

“D’you have mayonnaise? Butter?”  

No amount of irredeemable hotness can distract him from that. “What? What do you need mayonnaise for? It’s grilled cheese.”

You cluck your tongue, an eyebrow raised. “Brain science and rocket surgery, remember? Don’t question the master.”

He can’t help but chuckle as he goes to his steel monolith of a fridge. 

“Jeez, sorry, I asked,” he grumbles playfully.

He comes back with an (thankfully) unexpired jar and tub of butter and you get to work. Silence stretches a bit too long, something Dieter has never been good with, especially with beautiful women. He loves running his mouth and sometimes he's found that the women liked it too. He resigns himself to sit across from you at the island, watching you spread mayonnaise on both sides of the bread. 

“So, uh, how are the folks? How’s your, uh, dad?”

You nod slowly and even though he hasn’t been around in eleven years to pick up on all your tells, he swears your hackles go up.

“Fine. All good. Dad’s still at the car repair shop — owns it now, actually. Makes decent money, I guess.” 

“You guess?” He hadn’t made it his life’s work to mimic the human condition to not recognize cagey language. 

You glance at him briefly before flipping over the last piece of bread and dropping a dollop of mayonnaise on top. 

“Yeah. I — uh, we haven’t — I actually haven’t talked to them in a while. Though if I had, I probably wouldn’t be here right now.” You sneak another glance, this one ladened with a smile that had a secret curled up in its corners. “Serves me right, probably.”

“Yeah. Probably.” 

He can’t help but return the smile, one of a familiarity he hasn’t earned yet. You were smiling at him as if you two had years of secrets together, memories and inside jokes that were for the pair of you alone. For the life of him and all the water in his ridiculous pool, he couldn’t fathom why you were being so nice to him. Letting him off the hook. It had been eleven fucking years after all. There are a lot of things he takes guilt free from the world. Your fucking star-eyed smile is not one of them. 

So, he lets you off the hook. He doesn’t push it. If you don’t want to talk about your folks, he is happy to chatter aimlessly about something else. But, his brain winds up, what happened that caused you to fall out with your parents? Enrico, even back then, had been a hard ass, with you and your brothers. Always made sure to walk the straight and narrow. Detested drugs, always shined his shoes, thought tattoos were the devil, never kissed a girl on the first date — 

And here you are, making fucking mooneyes at his daughter. 

Well, one thing was for sure, he muses, something warm spreading in his gut, you are nothing like your daddy. 

The hiss of the bread hitting the hot butter in a pan (you didn’t even need to ask where another pan was, you just helped yourself to his cabinets and he couldn’t have been more proud) jerks him out of his daze and he realizes that annoying silence has set in again. 

“So, colleges, huh? Anything in particular spark interest?” 

You nod excitedly as he found a topic that made you glow. Clearly, no one had asked about your interests in a long time.

“Yeah, actually. Emerson in Boston was amazing. I loved the city, but not sure I’d survive the winter. Swarthmore sounds good, Amherst too, but again, cold.” You grin sheepishly and flip the sandwiches, pressing the spatula (he didn’t even know he owned one of those) into the bread, making the butter sizzle and the air fill with a smell that can only be described as mouth-watering. 

“It’ll be a nightmare, taking out loans for those places, but fuck, I think I’d be really happy there.” 

He leans against the counter, facing you with crossed arms. He smiles a smile that he knows doesn’t reach his eyes.

“What, your folks wouldn’t pay for it? Or at least help out?”

Something sharp flashes in your eyes, like a rabbit catching the scent of a predator, before you shrug your shoulders flippantly. A well-worn deflection, he notes, right next to the place where he’s got all the places you mentioned are about as far away from California as possible. If you had mentioned somewhere in Europe, he wouldn’t have been surprised. 

“Nah. I wouldn’t let them. Don’t want them thinking they get input into my life because they hold the purse strings over my head.” You turn off the stove and he moves to get the plates out from the cabinets – something to contribute as you made him a better meal than he’s had in ages. 

“So, uh, we eat in there?” You glance down the hall to the eerily clean dining room, a place he’s pretty sure he’s never once set foot in after three years of living in this goddamn mansion. 

He chuckles and shakes his head. “C’mon, I already have a movie picked out.” 

You follow him, plates hot, down carpeted stairs to clearly the only room in the house that Dieter actually lives in. The lights down here are low, much more bearable than the white spotlights of the kitchen. Against one wall, there’s a fully stocked bar, with most of the alcohol halfway empty and costing a fortune. Across from the stairs is a massive record collection, going up to the ceiling, next to a gorgeous old record player — all wood and black vinyl — with big, plushy earphones curled up on a black leather recliner. 

But the star of the show is the wall-to-ceiling television, with a brown, mouse-soft leather sofa that wraps like a giddy, up-turned grin in front of it. 

And of course, in between the superstar television and the cozy couch, is a low glass table where he had snorted lines of coke more times he could count and where a virgin joint sits, unsmoked and tempting. 

Dieter flushes as though he’d been caught by his parents with his pants down around his ankles. 

“Fuck, sorry–,” he rushes over, the plate clattering with the glass, and he reaches for the joint, ready to squish it into his pocket when– 

You laugh. “Relax, Dee, I know what a joint is. In fact, we are very well acquainted.”

You fold yourself into the couch, legs crossed, grinning at him as you bite into your sandwich. 

He swallows, unclenching slightly as he sits down next to you. He watches you eat for a moment, trying to think of something cool to say.

“Sounds like I’ve missed my calling as the fun uncle, getting you high for the first time and all that.” 

You snort and swallow your mouthful. “Yeah, by like two fucking years.” 

“Oh, what a fucking lifetime. You poor thing,” he says, pouting dramatically and you giggle again, bumping into his shoulder. It sends his sanity knocking around in his brain. 

You don’t notice, though, your eyes falling to the joint in the small ceramic bowl. The smile slides from your face. 

“Well, you might have missed my first joint, but I’d be more than happy to take this one as my next.”

His eyebrows practically bounce off his forehead. “You’re serious?” 

Your eyes slide away from the joint to his, something distractingly dark hiding there. “I mean, if the parties on your Instagram are anything to go by . . . And, well, when in Rome . . .”

You trail off, smirking, gesturing around you as if you had any idea the levels of debauchery that were obtained in this very room. Come to think of it, he halfway considers picking you up off the couch and putting a towel down underneath your perfect ass. 

This is how it went sometimes, with the slower hook ups. No wet clothes, or grilled cheese, or bringing up family trauma — but initial touches, curling smiles, and then drugs. Always drugs. As if there needed to be another hand that tore off the cap of the pressurized, fizzy soda bottle. He’d play music then, for them, to show off his vinyl collection and have a plausible reason to rub his dick between their ass cheeks while dancing slowly to something croon-y from the seventies. 

Not that any of that would be happening with you. 

He wasn’t a complete monster after all. 

With a playful grin that he had mastered over many press junkets, he snatches up the joint and lighter, and presents both to you in the flat of his hand. 

“First hit goes to you, since you were so kind to make dinner for an old fuck like me.” 

You snort and put your plate onto the table, wiping your hands free of crumbs on your black shirt. 

“Such a gentleman.” 

With deft and practiced hands, you take the joint between your index finger and your thumb, and sparking the lighter, brought the flame to your lips. 

Just for one second, one goddamn second, he swears he saw The Look reflected in your eyes. He glances away, his cock fluttering awake like goddamn Lassy hearing the calls of another well-begotten child. He picks up his own plate.

“Hardly. It was all a ploy to get you to admit you follow me on Instagram.”

You burst out coughing, smoke chugging from your nose and mouth. “Dieter!”

He cackles, his tongue between his teeth, as you shove him away from you — do not think about her fingers clenched around your bicep —  try to sit up and inhale again. You hang your head and groan. 

“Fuck, I can’t believe I said that.” 

“Yeah, and for that, I get two puffs,” he says out of the corner of his mouth, the rest of it full of the most perfectly cooked grilled cheese sandwich he’d ever had. He finishes chewing and swallows. “Hand it over, princess.” 

You hand over the lighter and the joint, the paper slightly greasy from your fingers, leaning back dramatically into one of the many plushy cup holder seats spread out along the very long couch. 

He chuckles devilishly again, far too satisfied, as he lights up and leans back into the cushions. 

“And, as gesture of goodwill, I’ll admit that’s a good fucking grilled cheese.” 

Your eyes snap open and a wide grin splits your face. “Hell yes! Mayonnaise on both sides, butter on the side with cheese. Best family recipe. Mwah!”

“Fuck, even I know that’s too much cholesterol for me,” he grunts and digs into the cushions, feeling around for the remote. 

“Well, that’s not enough cholesterol for me,” you wink as you take the joint from the hand on his thigh, eyes daring you to do something about it. Nowhere near high enough to take the bait, he just narrows his eyes at you as he clicks the button and the entertainment system comes to life with a primordial hum. 

“Jesus Christ,” you mutter, eyes wide, as the speakers roar and the lights dim further and the screen glows, “it’s like I’m in a fucking movie theater . . . in space.”

“It’s great, right?” Dieter moans like a loving father over his first child. This thing is his pride and joy, the only thing he could stomach in this goddamn house.

The DVD buffer for Raising Arizona begins and you squeal quietly, sliding onto your back, the joint dangling between your lips. 

“No fucking way, I love this movie.” 

Dieter stilled. “Really? You do?” 

The few times he felt nostalgic for his old life — his old, old life when he was still a kid from nowhere, a nobody, you couldn’t pick him out of a line up of his sweaty, grubby cousins when they were all cobbled together like crooked teeth in front of Abuela Josefina’s television that still had knobs and bunny ears to watch movie after movie of Nicholas Cage reruns. Even with knees in his back, elbows in his ears, Dieter could quote every single line, his heart swelling.

That’s gonna be me some day. 

“This movie is from, like, another century,” he mutters as he watches you settle in, something sickening like adoration clawing up in his chest. 

“Yeah and it’s great,” you say eagerly, ignoring the way he plucks the joint out of your fingers. “Put it on!” 

He resolutely ignores the pinch in his low stomach at your almost whine and presseS the play button with a little more force than necessary. Then, balancing the joint on the ceramic bowl, he sticks his fingers into his robe, pulls out his glasses, and puts them on without a second thought – just as he always did when watching movies. 

It is only when he realizes he doesn’t hear you breathing that he realizes what he has done. Slowly he pulls the square glasses off his face and looks at them, feeling as disgusted as the day his doctor put them in his hands. 

Near-sighted. Very common. Happens when people as they age.

“Got ‘em–,” his throat closes again, “got ‘em a few years ago. Only have to wear ‘em to see things up close and, uh . . . Well, I think they make me look old as shit.” 

He can’t quite look at you, unsure what he’ll see on your face and knowing for sure that he couldn’t stand it if it wasn’t the way you look at him before. If you just would tease him about it, then —

“No,” you say, your voice very soft and small. His heart nearly punches out his throat, his neck nearly snapping in half as his head whips up to look at you. You sit up on your elbows, the darkness of the room cushioning your soft cheeks and muting the glaze in your eyes as you watch him over the bend of your knees. 

“Nah,” you say, your nose scrunching, the weight of the high clearly settling into your skin, “they make you look . . . Uh, they’re cute.” 

Dieter sucks in the side of his cheek, nodding slowly and sliding the glasses back over his nose. Cute, he could work with that. 

“Jeez, would you start the movie already?” You poke his side with your toe. He doesn’t need to look at you to hear the faint blush in your voice. 

He turns the volume up and crosses his arms, smiling faintly. You’re warm next to him, he thinks vaguely, his own high finally starting to sink into his bones. 

Cute. Definitely not a word he’s going to obsess over. 

The movie goes on. 

Nicholas Cage is Nicholas Cage with a mullet.

Your laugh is the clattering of bells in his ears and he can’t remember the last time he laughed so hard his sides hurt. 

He’s coming up from bent over, knees almost to his chest, laughter nearly popping his ribs, when he realizes your feet are in his lap. The arches of your soles, the delicate bones of your ankles, the long smooth planes that run up to your gorgeous calves— 

They are there, in his lap, and you don’t seem to mind. Head turned towards the screen, face bright from laughing, your arm arched back over your head, pressing your chest up —  it’s like you meant for them to be there. 

It’s just one hand, right? Two at the most. Just putting his hands down where he had them a moment ago. Up and — down. 

You don't flinch. His palm is on the arched top of your foot, the other just above your other ankle. 

You do smile, but that might have been because of Nicholas Cage raging again. 

And then, during another bout of giggles, he clutches your shin bone, wraps his fingers around your heel, and laughs and laughs and laughs. 

You wipe the tears away from your eyes, the end credits rolling.

“Fuck, that’s a such a good movie.” 

He swallows, swiping quickly under his glasses before taking them off and chucking them onto the table in front. 

“You’re fucking right it is,” he says hoarsely, leaning forward and plucking up the last of the joint. He inhales, letting the smoke ease stifle the tears in the corner of his eyes, gulping down a breath before offering it to you.

You take it, distracted, eyes on the credits, the light from the screen glowing on your cheeks. 

He presses up under your ankle with his middle finger. “What? You knew what was gonna happen, you’d said you’d seen it before.”  

You nodded, still not looking at him. 

He goes for a more direct approach. He pinches your calf, and you scowl, the light back in your eyes.

“What are you thinking about?” He asks, a bit sharply. He’s not nearly done having fun with you, not nearly. You take another sip of smoke before setting the joint back on the table. 

You huff, settling onto your back, pinching at your nails. 

“Just . . . Nothing, it’s stupid.”

Dieter hums. He knows when to let him come to you. He taps the arch of your foot.

“How are you feeling?” His gaze nudges the joint on the table. 

You grin. “Really good. Tingly. Warm. Like everything else is a million miles away.” 

Just the two of us. 

“Enough to tell ol’ Uncle Dee what’s on your mind?”

You roll your eyes and sit up a bit, yanking a pillow behind you. 

“Just thinkin’ about the old days, I guess.” You glance up at him from under your eyes. “Not in a bad way. At all. I just . . .”

“What?” If you gave him hell for the last eleven years, then fuck it, he deserved it. He pulls at your ankle. “What?” 

With a big sigh, you lean back, something finally breaking and, with it, comes a great big smile. 

“Okay, remember when you’d put on those plays with the rest of us kids during those super lame family reunions o-o-or Christmas? Marissa would have everything written out, all the cousins cast and you’d beg her to let you play – fucking – Bear Number 5 or something ridiculous – and she’d fight you on it but she’d relent, always putting on a show of her own – as if a ten year old could be put out like that.” You giggled, biting on your thumb, a sparkling in your eyes that made something in his chest burn. 

Yes, he remembers the incredibly stupid fuzzy ears and the bear claw mittens. The fake roaring. TMZ would have a fucking stroke if those pictures of him, baby-faced, were to ever surface online. He smiles at you and basks in the warmth of those memories, his high making them brighter. 

“I think it would have crushed her little heart if you didn’t ask,” you said, heavy-lidded eyes on you again. “I know it broke her when you stopped showing up at all.” 

His heart actually pinches at that. He knows you’re not scolding him but fuck, maybe he’d feel better if you did. What a fucking idiot he was, for leaving all of that for empty mansions and meals from UberEats and all this fucking gunked up shit in his veins that made him feel older and older every year. Like he was chasing something that was never real in the first place. 

“Look, honey,” the pet name is out of his mouth before he can stop it. He’s twisting towards you, both hands under your calves now. “I should have called. Should have made sure that at least you knew where to find me, even if things between your dad and I were fucked.”

“Oh, God, Dee, no. I don’t blame you. I don’t even blame my dad, sometimes. You just were very different people. He’s fine living his life in the same small ass town in the middle of nowhere. But you weren’t. And, fuck . . . I’m not either.”

He frowns. You bite your lip and continue.

“You know, I thought about following you out to Hollywood. Because of those plays. I had the best fucking time doing them and Hollywood didn’t seem so scary . . . with Uncle Dee out here. But, uh, I dunno. I grew up, I guess. Figured I was better at telling stories than performing them. I just knew I didn’t want to end up like my dad. Dying where I lived. Unremembered.” 

His gut doubles in on itself. Please don’t say you gave up your dreams because I stopped calling. 

“Do you still think about acting?” He asks quietly, trying to fight the faint ringing in his ears. 

“Oh God, no,” you wave your hands, dusting away his near-panic that he’d somehow ruined your life. “I really do prefer writing stories, even if they exist only within the pages of a book. Or a really bad pamphlet, once or twice. I tried to continue the plays at home for a few years, after you left and Marissa took up cheerleading and thought she was too old to play with her little cousins anymore. But it just wasn’t the same without her. Or you.” 

He realizes all too late that he can feel your pulse under your ankle. Strong. Pounding. Pounding, hard. Like you’re nervous. So struck by the notion that he can feel something so personal of yours, the smoke trapped in his brain lifts only slightly when he catches your eyes looking somewhere you absolutely should not be. 

Oh, fuck.

Oh, fuck, he knows that look. You blink at him, then your gaze slowly slides down, down to his crotch, as smoothly you can beneath the weight of the smoke in your brain and he battles between the desire to throw your legs off him or pull you underneath him.

It’s The Look. 

Men, women, it didn’t matter. The look was the same.

When the possibility of sex first enters their mind, when that first bloom of lust rushes down their spine and the memory of the physical exertion of fucking – all the panting and the heavy breathing, aching muscles and sweat – comes back, as real as a song stuck in your head. When that spark of imagination threatens to sway from the hypothetical to the actual, it’s a look he knows so fucking well, he might as well be able to carve it from clay, blind-folded. 

And you’re giving it to him, right now. 

You haven’t really thought about seducing him yet, no, that part hasn’t crossed your mind yet. But you definitely are imagining what his cock would feel like inside you, and you and your imagination and your wide-eyed gaze at his lap all whole-heartedly agreed: that would be a great fucking thing. 

You, on your elbows, your heel dangerously close to his half-hard cock, the glaze in your eyes having something to do with what you were so shamelessly picturing, and your short breath having everything to do with what you were so shamelessly picturing.

He was quite sure you were completely unaware of the expression your face was making. Eyes hooded, mouth parted, breath short. Masking your emotions and filthy thoughts is a skill set mastered later in life and perhaps the last time you looked at someone like that, they simply bent you over the nearest surface and railed you till your knees buckled. 

What a fucking excellent idea, his libido trilled. Now get off the couch and do something about it. I’m foaming at the fucking mouth here, man. 

Dieter silences his inner horny monster, unintentionally squeezing his hand, the one that happens to be wrapped around your calf. 

The movement seems to break you out of your dizzying spiral and you blink up at him.

He swallows. With a half smirk on the edge of your lips that you try to not let him see, you take your feet out of his lap, then reach forward, your palm alarmingly high on his thigh as you take the joint from his fingers. Your eyes flash like warning signs.

DANGER. DANGER, WILL ROBINSON. DANGER.

“So, you gonna give me a tour of this place or what?”

End of Part 1 | Next

[goodluckclove]

Skylark's Apple Log: Cosmic Crisp

Hi! Scott Skylark here.

I don't really know why I'm doing this. I was having a nice conversation with my good friend Katy about the importance of putting apples in the fridge so you can enjoy a cold apple, and barely an hour went by before she suggested I make a physical (Digital?) log of my insights and share them with the internet. I hesitated at first, but she insisted it was for the best, as people online might only know of me right now as some "sad boy pretty boy".

To which I said "Huh? What? What does that mean?" But right as she started to explain I suddenly decided I really didn't want to know and made some loud nonsense noises to buy me time to leave the room.

Anyways, I'm definitely no food critic. If you give me some cheese, some bread, a hard-boiled egg or two and like 4-6 apples, I'm good for the day. I'm not picky. I'd hate to put some misinformation out there (Discourse! Can you imagine?) so I've asked the very capable Chef Edgar Gallows to comment on what I say before I post it.

Today I'd like to talk about the Cosmic Crisp, which is absolutely in my top ten favorite apples. They're a hybrid bred in Washington in the late 90s. Did you know there are people who dedicate their whole careers to breeding apples? That was my dream job for a while when I was a kid, but I always struggled with science and apparently that type of work is entirely science. Anyways!

When I can have a Cosmic Crisp and some toast for breakfast, I'm a happy guy with lots of energy for the day ahead. And when it's fresh out of the fridge, it's crisp and chill, so no need for a morning juice. I like to use an apple slicer to make nice inform shapes, but those end up pretty thick, so I'll cut each slice to be about half-thickness. Doing this means you get a better bite to enjoy the flavor - and it also makes it seem like you have more apples to enjoy, which is always fun.

Cosmic Crisps are really big. There are bigger that exist - the Hanners Jumbo for instance, which is actually sold exclusively in Oregon where I live! But the girth of a Cosmic Crisp is certainly nothing to sneeze at. It's really fun, and frankly a great option if you're looking for the most bang for your buck at most average supermarkets. Sometimes it gets to be a little overwhelming, though, because I personally can only eat about three before I start getting a little grossed out. But if you're just eating one or two, this is very much a consistently satisfying variety in terms of sweetness and bite.

In my youth I resented the coloring of a Cosmic Crisp, believing that a red apple should commit to the hue. Now I appreciate the look of an apple that is definitely reminiscent of something grown off a tree, compared to a Red Delicious that mainly just looks like a child's crayon depiction of an apple given physical form by some cruel, confused God. And the crisp! Very crispy apple, potentially the crispiest I've experienced by far.

If you choose to enjoy a Cosmic Crisp apple, I highly suggest pairing it with a little bit of peanut butter, or just eating it on its own. It's very yummy.

I don't know how to end this! If you're reading this I hope you see a video of a cute animal on the internet. There are so many out there. Way more than I remember.

Thanks so much!

Skylark

Chef's Note: I think I'm immediately unqualified to check this kind of writing for accuracy. Up until recently I thought all apples were either green or red. Even after being told otherwise I still kind of think that. It's pretty startling to know there is a person in existence who puts more thought into this type of thing than picking up an apple from a bag on the counter and taking a bite.

Chilled apples are pretty good. I'll give him that one.

-E.G.

Hey Songbird Taglist did you think I'd call you all here to read Scott talk about apples because here we are

@kuebiko-writing @cartoonghosts 

@atlasthecactus @aroaceghosties 

@booksntea6982 @xarrixii 

@mushroommanchanterelle @whoevenknowswhatimwriting

@fukurouonthesea

[jestersprivilegee]

Hey, roomie! ch. 9

thomas j. x reader

Warnings: swearing, AAAAUUGFFHFHGHHHHH

Wc: 2.5k? I think?

Your master plan backfires, cue the crying.

Notes: I think I’m gonna write one more chapter after this and be done, enjoy

Equipped with the new realization that you have a crush and that crush may like you back, you didn’t know how to feel.

You had a date lined up tomorrow night with Samuel who was turning out to be a really pleasant guy, and you couldn’t just ditch him. You were in too deep, and now you have to crawl out of the hole that kept digging itself deeper and deeper.

Options were limited. You could either ditch Samuel for Thomas and confess as soon as possible, or you could show up and let Samuel down gently. Tell him nicely during the dinner that you weren’t feeling it, and you would prefer to stay friends more than anything.

You figured the latter was the safer option. And maybe you wanted to see if Thomas would get jealous.

It was all so obvious to you now. The flirting, the kiss, the pet names, the lingering stares and touches. All of it meant something to you at least. A nagging thought in the back of your mind kept whispering that was just who he is, and if he really liked you then he would tell you himself.

He is a natural flirt, after all. And he does sleep with women on a regular basis, although he’s slowed it down, and come to think of it he hasn’t brought anyone back in a couple months.

What didn’t make sense to you is why would he help you get a boyfriend if he (maybe) liked you? He offered to give you advice, and he watched you walk up to guys to be their potential lover. Would that not hurt? Or did he not like you then and start liking you sooner?

Did he even like you in the first place?

Lafayette didn’t give you a clear answer. All he gave was a hint for you to solve this puzzle by your lonesome. You just assumed that the man you’ve been secretly pining for has secretly been pining for you as well.

You rushed home from Lafayette's apartment building, no clear goal in mind. Your heart was racing and hands were shaking at the thought of seeing Thomas.

The drive home was spent procrastinating as much as possible. In fact, you made a stop at Target to shop for yourself and pick up some things you know he likes. Try and butter him up a little, y’know?

While picking up ingredients for macaroni and cheese, a philosophy book he's been itching to read, and a pint of chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream, you thought about the advice he had given you. Be a better listener, be polite, be authentic, be confident, and compliment him.

You wondered if you tried those tactics on him, would he fall for you?

No other way of knowing then to do it, you decided. If you were subtle enough, you could pull this off. You totally could.

—

Lafayette called Thomas the moment you exited his apartment. Neither would ever tell you that, of course, but he still had to fill in his friend on what went down.

He didn’t say that he told you you’re the only girl Thomas has talked about, but he implied that he merely suggested you both have feelings for each other. Thomas was a little pissed that Lafayette almost said something he shouldn’t have, but in his defense he’s been in the middle of this drama for way too long, and he is sick and tired of it.

So when you got home, Thomas wasn't surprised to see how anxious you were. After having an awakening on your attraction, he’d be having one too. He was surprised that you picked up the things he loves. It was sweet. There weren’t many times you did things like this for him.

“You got stuff for mac ‘n cheese? And you got The Alchemist? Sweetheart, you know me too well,” he grinned, taking the book from the target bag and flipping through the pages.

“Not only that, but I got ice cream.” You pulled out the frozen tub of sugar and milk. His face lit up.

“Am I dying or somethin’? Or do you just really love me?” The words rolled off his tongue so naturally it felt like you really did love him. It made your stomach flutter with excitement, and you couldn’t suppress the smile growing on your lips.

“Just wanted to do something nice.” You shrug, putting away the groceries.

“This is seriously the sweetest thing anyone has ever done for me. Thank you.” He stared down at the book, softness in his voice and an even softer smile.

“Really? You say that as if I just saved you from drowning. Seriously, all I did was buy you some stuff,” you scoff.

He shook his head. “It’s not the items you bought. It’s the fact you remembered and cared enough to buy them for me.”

Your movements slowed. That statement alone made your heart hurt. He was so sincere, no one has ever done this for him before. It made you want to go out and buy the whole world for him if it made him happy.

“…I’m glad you like it,” you say slowly and gently.

His eyes lingered on you a moment more—a different tone to them. They flashed from something darker to adoration to sadness, then back to normal.

It made you second guess your thoughts of going out with Samuel. But then again, you still had no definitive proof that Thomas likes you back. Maybe him and Lafayette were just fucking with you, because why not?

The silence that consumed you was spent choosing your next words carefully. How to break it to him that you were going out tomorrow night with another man. You envisioned how he would react; would he show clear signs of jealousy? Maybe distance himself a little? Be angry or upset?

You hoped for nothing too strong, because you had it all planned out. After going to dinner with Samuel, you’d come home claiming you realized you’ve been in love with Thomas this whole time, and would much rather spend that time with him instead. Then he confesses his undying love for you and you kiss, and you both live happily ever after. The End.

At least, that’s how your fantasy went. Of course you couldn’t control how either Samuel or Thomas would react, and if Thomas would be happy that you bailed on your date to reunite with him. You could only hope.

You cleared your throat, nerves immediately starting up again. “Did I ever tell you about Samuel?”

He was turned around, so you missed the scowl on his face. “No. Is he nice?”

“Yeah. He’s pretty sweet, calls me pretty ‘n whatnot. He’s cute.”

“I’m pretty sweet and cute, too,” he grunts.

“Never said you weren’t, sweetheart,” you laugh, walking around the counter to face him.

“You can’t use my own pet name against me!” He gasps dramatically.

A sickeningly sweet smile crawls on your lips. “All is fair in love and war.” He shook his head, a chuckle escaping his lips and you knew you were about to wipe it off his face from the news about to drop. You bit your lower lip and prepared for battle.

“I uh, have a date with him tomorrow night,” you cleared your throat, the confidence that had built up from the playful banter diminishing. “Thought I should let you know.”

He nodded, avoiding your gaze, and looked like you just punched him in the stomach. “Have fun. Remember what I told you.”

“How could I ever forget your wise wise wisdom?” You attempted to lighten the mood, but he never did laugh.

Instead, he forced a smile that failed to reach his eyes and sucked in a breath. “I told you I was a good teacher, didn’t I?”

“That you did.”

And he walked off, book in hand and mumbling something about how he wanted to go read it. You nodded and let him escape the awkward conversation of your love life. But you couldn’t shake the feeling that what you were doing was wrong. It clearly upset him, and a sick part of you was curious to know if he would be, but now that you have your answer you wish you hadn’t said anything to begin with.

—

The date was only an hour from now. You had already picked out what you were gonna wear. He was taking you to a semi-nice restaurant called the White Stallion and advised you to dress nice.

You were in the middle of doing your hair and makeup, smoothing out any loose baby hairs and touching up mascara. The clock kept ticking as you continued getting ready, ensuring your go-to black dress fit right. It always did. The vanilla-coconut perfume filled your senses, and no matter what you did, you couldn’t help but over think how wrong this is.

You drew in a sharp breath, clipping the necklace on your neck and eventually the earrings, and walked into the living room. Thomas was sitting on the couch, munching on the ice cream you bought him.

He froze when he saw you, his eyes trailing over your outfit. The face he made yesterday when you told him you’d be going on a date with Samuel—the one where he looked like you punched him in the gut and knocked the wind out of him—haunted you. Because it was back, and this time a flicker of sadness flashed in his eyes.

“Do I look okay? Does it look like I’m trying too hard?” You ask, worry furrowed deep in your eyebrows.

“No, you look perfect.”

Now it was your turn to have the wind knocked out of you. The words were a direct elbow, punch, and kick to your stomach. You nodded, thanking him and nervously fidgeting with your hands.

Of course you were going out with another guy. What Lafayette had told you the previous day must’ve meant nothing to you, because if it did, surely you wouldn’t be walking out the door, about to meet up with someone other than Thomas. Then again, he didn’t know about your mastermind plan (it was actually really fucking stupid and had a 99% chance at failure, but you like to think it will work).

Samuel was outside waiting to pick you up. His pale skin flushed completely red when he laid eyes on you, following it up with how beautiful you looked. You thanked him and tried to feel complimented from it, but it didn’t have the same ring to it when Thomas said you looked perfect.

The drive was about fifteen minutes—it was filled with listening to Laufey, Radiohead, and The Cranberries. Male manipulator music, you deemed. But he had good stories and was genuinely interested in what you had to say, which only added to the guilt of knowing you were to reject him later that night.

When you arrived, he informed the hostess of a reservation for two. She led you to the table, and almost immediately a waiter came and set down a basket of bread and butter. The fancy, brown seeded bread, too.

“This is really nice, Samuel, thank you.” You smiled awkwardly. He lit up, a beaming grin on his face.

“Consider it just the first of many,” he winked. Bold.

“Haha, yeah…” you trailed off awkwardly, avoiding his gaze. God, could you be any more obvious? To avoid this issue, you peered into the menu, eyes scanning over the options and their expensive prices.

He must’ve noticed the shift in your demeanor, because his smile faltered slightly. It was back when the same waiter from before asked for drinks and your order.

You ordered the cheapest thing and a water, and didn’t pay much attention to what Samuel got. You had to prepare yourself for the heart-wrenching news you would eventually tell him.

Wow, this would be harder than you thought.

The end of the night came around. Too slowly, you thought, but it happened. And in the events leading up to it, you felt like a bigger and bigger dick. Every compliment replied with a fake laugh just made you want to rip your heart out.

You split the bill since there was no way in hell you’d let him pay for all of that, even if he insisted that he should pay. You were about to tell him outside his car, but figured it would be better to wait til he dropped you off at your place to save for an awkward ride.

But that would be too easy, wouldn’t it?

“Do you maybe want to go back to mine?” He asked, a twinkle of heat in his eyes as his hands gripped the steering wheel.

Fuck.

“Ah—Sam, I…” you winced.

“We don’t have to, I’m sorry for asking,” he added quickly.

“Sam, as nice as you are—and trust me, you are—I think we would be better friends than anything.”

He paused. “Ouch, okay,” he breathed out. “If that’s what you want.” A short response, but you didn’t mind. He turned up the radio louder, Paranoid Android blasting from the speakers. The rest of the ride was dead silent. And extremely awkward.

“What made you change your mind?” He broke the silence.

“I’ll answer this truthfully since I feel like you deserve an honest answer,” you sigh. “My roommate, Thomas. I didn’t think I would, but I’ve really grown to like him. Love him, even.” You ramble. He keeps his eyes set on the road and nods.

“I kind of had a sneaking suspicion. The way you talked of him…it was so fond. I knew there was no way you hadn’t had some sort of attraction to him.” He turns into your apartment building parking lot.

“Was it that obvious..?” You muttered, gathering your purse and stepping out of the car. He laughed out a yes. “Well, either way, thank you for dinner and taking me home. I’m really sorry it had to end this way.”

“It’s quite alright,” he smiled sadly. “Have a good night.”

And with that, he drove off, leaving you stranded in the empty parking lot. You sucked in a breath and headed up the flight of stairs since the elevator has been under maintenance for months now.

Catching your breath and calming your nerves, you unlocked the door and opened it softly. The words you planned to say replayed in your mind over and over, although in the moment you’d likely forget your preparation.

“Thom—“

You froze.

There on the couch, Thomas sat with another woman in his lap, kissing him fiercely. Both were only in their undergarments, and his hands were in places you wished they weren’t.

Thomas unlatched from her with a gasp of surprise, craning his neck to look at you.

“Y/n—“ he started, but you stopped him.

“I’m sorry for intruding. I didn’t know you had…company over.” You croak out, stepping out of the apartment.

You couldn’t stop the flow of tears that burst from your eyes as you hurried downstairs.

You were wrong. He didn’t like you, he was about to fuck another woman, and now you didn’t know what to do.

[ethereal-writes]

The Things Humans Come Up With (Ft. Beelzebub and GN!MC)

Warnings: Romantic relationships implied

Word count: 0.7k

A/N: Hi :D It's been a while, Character AI sort of took over my life, but I'm back now! There was this one scene from Obey Me! where the boys were absolutely baffled by human technology (like an ice cream maker), so that's kind of where the idea for this story came from. I hope you like it :D

I don't think this story requires many warnings, but if I should add one please let me know!

-Ethereal ^J^

Story below, please don't claim as your own!

Using your spatula, you carefully lifted up the bread to check the color. Nope, not quite ready yet. You put the lid back over the pan, opting to check your phone while you waited for your grilled cheese to finish cooking. You were idly scrolling through Devilgram when you caught something moving out of the corner of your eye. You glanced up, seeing Beel standing sheepishly in the doorway.

"Whatever you're cooking smells really good..." He started, shyly fidgeting with his hands.

"Thanks!" You told him

He took a few uncertain steps, and you swear you could hear his stomach growling. "I haven't eaten since Fangol practice..."

"No?" You asked. You knew what he was hinting at, but it was hard not to tease him on the rare occasion he was shy.

“Y-Yeah…and…dinner isn’t for a while…”

“No, it isn’t,” you agreed.

"Your food smells really yummy..." He gave you a pitiful look as his stomach growled, much noisier this time.

You smiled internally, finally giving in. "Beel, did you want me to make you some too?"

He lit up immediately, nodding. "Yes, please!

You smiled, nodding as you pulled out a few more slices of bread and set to work.

"What are you making, anyways?" Beel asked, coming over to lean against the counter.

"They're grilled cheeses," you answered.

"What are those?"

You nearly dropped the bread in your hand. "You don't know what a grilled cheese is?!"

Beel shook his head. "We don't have those here. It's a human food, I'm guessing?"

Man, culture shock still hit you hard sometimes.

"Yeah. It's like a cheese sandwich, but the bread is crispy, and the cheese is melted. You can put things like meat or eggs in them, too, but that's more of a panini at that point."

"Can you make those too?" Beel asked.

"Not today, but next time it's my turn to make breakfast, okay?"

He nodded enthusiastically and watched as you began to fry up his sandwiches. "You humans always come up with the neatest things," Beel commented.

“Yeah?” You asked.

"Yeah! Like, I heard you guys have a thing that turns food into drinks!"

"A...a what?" You asked.

"Yeah! Like, the thing where you put fruits into the cup with milk, and the magic turns it into a drink!"

"The...Oh, you mean a blender!" You exclaimed.

"Yeah, a blender!" He repeated, as if trying to commit it to memory. "And what's that thing called where there are little cages at the end that spin around really fast?"

"Uh..."

"I've seen them use it on human cooking shows," Beel explained patiently. "You plug it in, then sometimes the little cages spin too fast and goop ends up everywhere."

"Oh!" You snapped your fingers. "That's called an electric whisk. Sometimes people call it a beater.”

"I will say, I don't really like the thing that makes the bread stale."

"The toaster?" You guessed, and felt oddly proud when he nodded.

"Yeah, it just makes it super dry. I'll eat it if I get hungry enough, but it's not my favorite."

"I can't believe you don't like toast," you said. "What did you put on it?"

He paused. "...What?"

"What did you put on the toast after you toasted it?"

"...You're supposed to put something on it?"

“I mean, yeah.”

“…Like what?” He asked.

“I dunno, butter usually? Any spreadable condiment, really.”

“…That makes sense,” Beel admitted. “I’ll have to try that next time.”

You giggled, nodding. “Maybe, yeah.”

You plated all the sandwiches and sliced them each in half, then motioned for Beel to join you.

You didn’t have to ask him twice; he took his seat and grabbed one of the sandwiches.

He took a bite, and his eyes widened. “Mmph!” He exclaimed. “I’mph sho goom!”

You laughed. “What?”

He swallowed, smiling. “It’s so good!” He repeated. He reached for another slice, then suddenly snapped his fingers. “I know!” He exclaimed, grinning at you.

“Know…know what?” You asked.

“I know the best thing that humans have ever come up with,” Beel explained.

“Oh, yeah?” You laughed. “Is it grilled cheeses, because I don’t know if I’d ag-“

“It’s you,” he interrupted.

“A-Ah…” You blushed, staring at the table. He could be so dang sweet sometimes.  When you looked up, you caught him smirking at you for a split second.

He knew exactly what he was doing.

[justforbooks]

Grilled Cheese

On the joy of a small and perfect thing

In writing about the grilled cheese sandwich, I find myself with little to offer but praise. It is difficult to encounter such a thing and not overrun the page with the fervency of my gladness.

This is not a column where I will carp and complain—about air-fryer grilled cheeses, or fancy gourmet grilled cheeses, or Kraft-single grilled cheeses, or the proper application of butter, or the appropriate pan, or the degree and nature of the condiments. To me, each grilled cheese is enough, and more than enough. In this world so full of slaughter and fire, where doubt and monstrosity abound, this much is clear to me: the grilled cheese is a small and perfect thing. And how many of those are there?

So my position on the grilled cheese is unabashedly boosterish, and moreover, it is agnostic towards ingredients and provenance. To your grilled cheese you may add caramelized onions or avocado; bacon, turkey or ham; chutney or cornichons. Make it with Wonderbread or a freshly-baked eighteen-grain country loaf sourced from fields you cultivated yourself in a cantilevered sky-farm with the finest hydroponics. Add goat cheese or smoked gouda or aged cheddar or unidentified plasticine processed cheese product; heat it in a pan or over a flame, under a broiler, in a dutch oven, or with an acetylene torch. I do not care. You have composed something perfect with your own hands. You have made something that will warm and satisfy you. You have, for a small moment, partaken of the act of creation that grants the human animal its sliver of divinity. You have done so by means of the grilled cheese sandwich.

From two perfect things—bread and cheese—arises a more perfect union. In contemplating it and its lessons I think of this fragment from Fernando Pessoa’s “Odes”:

To be great, be whole: nothing that's you Should you exaggerate or exclude. In each thing, be all. Give all you are In the least you ever do. The whole moon, because it rides so high, Is reflected in each pool.

Each grilled cheese sandwich is entirely itself, like the moon is its whole self in a barrel of water. What else could it be? It is enough. To encounter it is to encounter something made for pleasure which gives pleasure in the beholding and in the consuming.

The simplicity of the sandwich engenders its own kind of awe: an internal pause at the perception of this unalloyed good. Describing that complex emotion makes me think of another poem, by Eugenio Montale, about the perfection of lemon trees in bloom:

It is like rain in a troubled breast, sweet as an air that arrives too suddenly and vanishes. A miracle is hushed; all passions are swept aside. Even the poor know that richness, the fragrance of the lemon trees.

You can be too poor or too ill or too overwhelmed to obtain a grilled cheese sandwich, but the thought of one is attainable to anyone; the ideal is there, pleasant to the mind parched of gladness.

I imagine a wheel on which I am turning dizzily and perpetually on the verge of falling off, and then I think of the small and simple and perfect thing, and the wheel judders to a halt and I am blessed with stillness. Joy changes you, it smashes the dark wheel: considering the grilled cheese sandwich I am as Nicole Callihan writes all moonshine on the snowbank, clockwise back to a better self. This thing is humble, not hallowed; it provides not ecstasy, but satisfaction, which is easier to obtain and less giddy to receive. You can hold it in the palm of your hand and be content.

Consider this: each grilled cheese sandwich is a reflection of all other grilled cheese sandwiches that have come before it. All are part of a great whole that rings the world in fat and starchy warmth. Each grilled cheese sandwich bears commonality with each other grilled cheese, in all their guises; it is easy to get wrapped up in the particularities, the innumerable recipes, easy to cavil and quibble and doubt, but perhaps better, and certainly more gentle, to regard the grilled cheese sandwich as an ideal, a thing-in-itself. Faced with this perfect thing, the idea of the small good whole, I am pleased and undone at once.

I am hungry for joy lately. Perhaps you are too. The grilled cheese sandwich for me is an object of consistent joy, which is different in kind than the transcendent ray-through-the-clouds joy that graces any life too rarely. Perhaps that makes it more valuable; reliable pleasure, ordinary pleasure, is as common as light and as necessary. It is only in the consideration of it that I come to appreciate how this mundane thing can be an object of desire and delight. With effort and after much contemplation I think myself toward joy, and welcome its arrival. Life must be leavened by joy to rise; stand and let it in; it approaches with soft footfalls and is easy to miss, or to begrudge in petulance or fervor.

Denise Levertov, too, writes about the pleasure that arrives through effort:

I like to find what's not found at once, but lies

within something of another nature, in repose, distinct. Gull feathers of glass, hidden

in white pulp: the bones of squid which I pull out and lay blade by blade on the draining board—

tapered as if for swiftness, to pierce the heart, but fragile, substance belying design. Or a fruit, mamey,

cased in rough brown peel, the flesh rose-amber, and the seed: the seed a stone of wood, carved and

polished, walnut-colored, formed like a brazilnut, but large, large enough to fill the hungry palm of a hand.

I like the juicy stem of grass that grows within the coarser leaf folded round, and the butteryellow glow in the narrow flute from which the morning-glory opens blue and cool on a hot morning.

Still, life can’t all be squid bone and glass-feathers; some pleasures must be simple. As I ponder joy I long for it and for ease; for senses immured in pleasure, for a mind upturned by wonder, for the small good moment prolonged forever.

It is, on the whole, a good thing that our senses are dulled and subsumed by care. Should we stop and observe each perfect thing—the vast, for example, fireworks of dying the trees are now engaged in, as they are each autumn; the coarse grass-stems on the brown ground; the silky peel of an apple; the way cold water feels on the tongue—if we were to feel them completely, we would have no time for any of the rest of it. We would bathe in wonder and cease there, in the pathless woods of pleasure. Nothing would get done and no one would get born; we would be lost in admiration. I can think of worse ends but admit the inefficiency of astonishment. Still I think there could be more room for it. More joy.

Every joy erodes; survival necessitates that no state be fixed. But we can hope for its return, as light returns. I hope you find your small perfect thing, and in doing so welcome joy’s arrival. I recommend going to your kitchen and finding a loaf of bread, and adding to it cheese, and adding to that heat, and from this meeting of good things, attaining a moment of satisfaction to which you may return at any time. Toward that benediction I end this column with a return, to the poem of Montale and his lemon trees, and its magnificent ending, in which the sun pours forth in gladness; may you too be gladdened; there are still small perfect things in this bad world, grilled cheese, and lemon trees.

The illusion wanes, and in time we return to our noisy cities where the blue appears only in fragments high up among the towering shapes. Then rain leaching the earth. Tedious, winter burdens the roofs, and light is a miser, the soul bitter. Yet, one day through an open gate, among the green luxuriance of a yard, the yellow lemons fire and the heart melts, and golden songs pour into the breast from the raised cornets of the sun.

Daily inspiration. Discover more photos at Just for Books…?

[babycharmander]

If you’re like me and you never learned a whole lot about cooking from your parents and, when you have to cook for yourself, found yourself cooking the same one or two things constantly or just eating a lot of foods that can quickly be cooked in the microwave or oven, here’s a tip I’ve learned to branch out more:

Be curious, and trust yourself a little.

Cuz, here’s the thing—if you let yourself occasionally wonder “huh, I wonder if I could make that,” there’s a very good chance that, yes, you can!

For ages when I had to cook for myself, I would often just make spaghetti or some kind of canned food or order out or whatever, because I didn’t know how the crap to cook. It especially didn’t help that when I tried to learn to cook by watching my parents, I learned bad habits like “eyeball the amount of ingredients instead of following the goshdanged instructions” which led me to, for a short period, freak out whenever I tried to make myself a box of mac n cheese.

Yes, I was that bad. But if I was that bad and got better, then you probably could, too.

The thing is, at the time, I kindof saw cooking as a magic thing that only skilled people knew how to do. Several of my family members are very very good cooks—good to the point where they didn’t always have to rely on recipes. I thought you had to be able to guesstimate or eyeball accurately all the time in order to cook at all.

But eventually, I started to just look at the recipes, trust there was not some magic skill there that I lacked, and do it. As dumb as this sounds, I know one of the things it started with was the aforementioned mac n cheese—rather than trying to guess or eyeball everything like my mom did, I just… followed what the box said for the amount of butter and milk to add, and what do you know? It turned out fine.

Beyond that, I also started to let myself be curious about foods—both in trying new ones and just in wondering if I could make them.

One day I ran across an animated recipe video for banana bread. I’d never made it or even eaten it before, but it was during lockdown and I had little else to do, and I realized I had all the ingredients on hand and thought “huh, why not” and gave it a whirl. Turns out it was very simple, fun to make, and tasted good! I’ve made banana bread muffins many time since then.

Another time I got a random YouTube video recommendation for a “3-minute breakfast” which turned out to be chilaquiles. I’d never even heard of that before, but I thought “well, making breakfast in 3 minutes sounds nice” so I watched the video. The ingredients all sounded like stuff I would like, so I decided to give it a swing and made half a recipe. It has since become one of my favorite things to make for breakfast.

Instances like this opened me up to being more curious about recipes. Sometimes I run across an interesting food video and try making the dish alongside it, other times I think of a food I’d had or heard of but never made before and go “huh, I wonder if I could make that.”

Sometimes the answer is “no.” There’s been times I’ve failed, or where I just did not like a recipe. But far, FAR more often, the answer is “yes,” and I learn something new I can enjoy!

(On top of that, there’s the added benefit of learning that there’s certain foods you like better when YOU prepare them yourself. I used to not particularly enjoy homemade hamburgers until I realized it was entirely the way my parents made them—through trial and error I’ve learned the ways I enjoy them the most!)

If you’re scared of messing up, look up simple recipes online or in cookbooks. (Libraries, if you have access to them in your country, can have a TON of different cookbooks to look through!) Starting with simple, easy recipes can help you build confidence.

If you’re scared of winding up with a food you won’t like, look for recipes for foods you’ve enjoyed previously, and try making those.

If you want something new but are still worried about not liking it, instead of looking at the finished product, look at the ingredients. I’ve found new foods I enjoy just by looking at the ingredients of different recipes and going “oh, yeah, I know I like all of most of the stuff that’s in here, so I’ll probably like this too.” Most of the time, I’ve been right!

If you’re feeling a bit braver and want to try something you’ve never had before, check out how much the ingredients cost first and decide if you’re willing or able to risk that. If so, go for it! You might find something new you really enjoy!

I know this isn’t particularly groundbreaking advice, but man I wish I’d been told it back when I was a young adult, or even a teenager. I hope this helps… someone out there.

[dialovers-translations]

DIABOLIK LOVERS ZERO Animate Tokuten Drama CD “A Vampire’s Late Night Snack Terror” [Kanato ver.]

Original title: 夜更かしヴァンパイアの食テロ飯 [カナト編]

Source: Diabolik Lovers ZERO Vol. 5 Animate Tokuten CD

Audio: Here

Seiyuu: Kaji Yuki

Translator’s note: Maybe this is a thing in Japan but the dessert/sweet in this track did not sound appealing to me at all. I thought she was going to make caramelized bananas at first but then this girl added PIZZA CHEESE to bananas???? I guess the unholy amount of maple syrup and cinnamon which Kanato poured on top in the end would probably mask the cheese flavor but that still didn’t sound like something I’d dig into. I’d much rather just eat a normal banana to be honest. 

You enter the kitchen.

“Uu...Hic...Uu...”

You rush over to his side.

“What’s wrong? What brings you to the kitchen...?”

You explain.

“I see...You came looking for me...But I don’t feel like going back to my room right now. Please just leave me be.”

You ask what happened.

“What happened...you ask? Can you really not tell by looking at this empty container...!?”

*Thud*

“Somebody ate my pudding! The pudding I kept in the fridge to enjoy as my bedtime snack!! I bet they’re watching from somewhere right now, snickering as they see me suffer from not being able to sleep as a result! It really pisses me off...!!”

You ask who did it.

“Kuh...I don’t care who the culprit is! ...I’ll burn everyone in this manor to ashes...No, that won’t do it. Instead I’ll smear wasabi on top of a cream pie and throw those in their faces! At once!”

You stop him.

“...Why are you stopping me? Could it be...Aah, I get it now. It was you, wasn’t it? You are the one who ate my pudding, aren’t you? Unforgivable...I won’t let you get away with this!”

You shake your head in denial. 

“Do you truly believe you can talk yourself out of this? I am enraged right now. Being deprived of my beloved sweets is basically torture! Uu...How could you...This is simply too much...! I was...looking forward to it so much as well...Uu...My pudding...Uuー”

You try to comfort him.

“You will...make some for me...?”

You nod.

“Really?”

You nod again.

“ーー Please say that sooner next time. Just think about all the unnecessary energy I wasted on crying.”

*Rustle*

“Come on. What is taking you so long? Chop-chop!”

You seem surprised how he stopped crying at once.

“Those were obviously fake tears! ...More importantly, get started on that pudding for me already.”

You open the fridge.

“What’s wrong? Don’t tell me...we don’t have the right ingredients?”

You chuckle nervously. 

“Are you...making fun of me, perhaps? Is it fun to give me hope first only to crush it into a million pieces afterwards? Are you so desperate for a severe punishment, is that it?”

You shake your head.

“Hah! Your shamelessness knows no limits, does it? Fine then! I’ll use your blood as the sauce to drizzle on top of my shaved ice!”

You offer to give him another type of candy.

“Are you trying to butter up to me like that? Those sweet words don’t make me happy in the slightest right now! Some store-bought candies won’t calm this anger I feel. ...Unless you serve me something worthy to be on the menu of a high-rate cafe, I’m not eating it!”

You promise to make that. 

“What do you mean ‘fine’? Did you not hear me when I said that I’m only accepting something exceptional?”

You say that you will make that.

“Haah...? You’ll make a dessert when you don’t even have any milk or eggs?”

You nod.

“I won’t believe you right away. Prove that you can make it. I shall put your punishment on-hold until then. ...You better believe I won’t forgive you if you serve me something vile.”

*TIMESKIP*

*Rustle rustle*

“Hm...”

*Cling cling*

“Are these the ingredients?”

You ask if he would like to help out.

“What nonsense are you spouting? As if I would ever help out!”

You agree. 

“Exactly. If you understand that, hurry up and get those hands moving.”

*Rustle rustle*

*Thud*

*Chop chop chop*

“Hm? You halved a banana before slicing it lengthwise? Hah! What a strange thing to do. You’re repeating that process several times...Let me be so kind as to give you a little warning. If you’re thinking about making something as boring as a fruits parfait, I will boil your blood and make jam out of it, do you understand?”

You ask him to have faith in you.

“I cannot have faith. I can already tell what sort of dessert you will serve me. Do you truly think you’ll be able to exceed my expectations?” 

*Cling cling*

“Eh...? A frying pan...? Don’t tell me...You’re going to fry those!?”

You put some butter in the pan.

*Pshhh*

“...! I can smell the rich aroma of butter. It’s finally starting to look a bit more like it. At least for now, that is. ...You’ll add the cut-up bananas from earlier into this pan and fry them, correct?”

You nod and add the banana slices.

“Hm? Why are you arranging them neatly next to one another like that?”

You explain.

“Good point. A good dessert should look pretty as well. If you plate it in a cute way, it’d fit my tastes better. Mmh. I can tell that you put some actual thought into this. I wouldn’t mind getting my hopes up somewhat. ...So, what will you do next?”

*Rustle rustle*

“Did you just sprinkle some cheese on top? It’s the type that melts easily when exposed to heat, correct? ...It’s starting to gradually crisp up, almost like the crust of a pie.”

*Pshhh*

“You’ll flip them over and fry the other side as well, right?”

*Rustle rustle*

“Then put even more cheese on top...Hmm~ It’s starting to smell delicious. I cannot get enough of this aroma of cheese and butter. Say, how much longer before it’s done?”

You tell him it just needs a few final toppings.

“Ah! I will put the final toppings on there!”

You frown.

“Are you talking back? I’m the one who will enjoy this dish, so do you have an issue with me seasoning it to my personal tastes?”

You shake your head. 

“Fufu, glad you understand~ ...Let’s douse the whole thing in maple syrup~! Next up is a generous amount of cinnamon, no need to hold back with it!”

He adds his toppings.

*Thud*

“Now it’s perfect! ...Melt-in-your-mouth sauteed bananas ー seasoned with maple syrup and cinnamon, all done! ...I can’t wait to dig in! Come on, please put them on a plate!”

*Rustle rustle*

*Cling*

“Ah...Well then, bon appetit~”

He takes a bite.

*Nom nom*

“Mmh~~~!! ...Mm...So sweet...~~ The crispy cheese melts in my mouth...It pairs incredibly well with the maple syrup as well! And the richness from the butter has properly seeped into the banana! The warm bananas are super soft as well, melting on my tongue...This is pure bliss!”

*Nom nom*

“Mm, mm~~ ...Hm? Hmph. You can look at me like that all you want, I am not sharing any with you. This dessert is mine. ...However, if you insist, I suppose I could consider it.”

You seem surprised. 

“Yes. I happen to be in an excellent mood right now after all. I suppose I can let you have just one bite.”

He cuts up a piece for you.

“Come on, open your mouth. ‘Aahn’...Fufu~ I fed it to you, so make sure to savor it thoroughly, okay?” 

You tell him that it’s delicious. 

“Of course! I acknowledged this dessert, so of course it is! Besides, the banana slices have been plated to resemble a flower, so it’s also pretty to look at! ...Say, did you decide to fry them in this shape because you thought I would enjoy it? Of course you did, didn’t you?”

You confirm it.

“Fufu. I see. You are so cute like that. ...Right, let me praise you. You worked hard for my sake after all.”

*Cling*

“Allow me to pat your head. ...Accept your reward, okay?”

*Rustle rustle*

“Fufu...You are so docile tonight. Just like a doll, it’s adorable. The thing about the pudding pissed me off, but I suppose it no longer matters now. I realized that the sweets you make are my favorite after all. I suppose I no longer need Reiji then. I’ll have you make all of my desserts and snacks from here on out.”

You flinch.

“Hm? Do you have an issue with that? Just look at how thoroughly satisfied I am, so you won’t possibly turn down my request, right?”

You shake your head.

“Fufu, good girl. Haah~ I truly feel great tonight. ...I’ll have a sip of your blood as well once I’ve finished my dessert, okay? I’m on a roll right now, so I’ll have plenty.”

*Rustle*

“Please entertain me until the morning dawns, okay? Fufu...”

ーー THE END ーー